Two days into working at the precinct, Adalind has a brand new, wholly unexpected sympathy for Juliette. When he's on a case, Nick has a laser kind of focus that seems to override everything else—sleeping, eating, fucking, or talking about just about anything besides means, motive and opportunity.
She wants to tell him about the house—she's tracked down the realtor and made an offer that's under consideration. She wants to tell him about the appointment to remove her IUD that she's scheduled for the end of the week. And she wants to tell him that Monroe is a great cook and a wonderful host, but they really can't impose on him much longer. But every time she opens her mouth to talk about anything other than the case or flirting that goes nowhere, Nick gets this glazed look in his eyes, like he's tuning her out.
It would piss her off, but she doesn't even think he's doing it on purpose. He genuinely doesn't seem to be able to think about anything else. It makes her wonder about Ian's case last week—Nick hadn't had any trouble focusing on her then—but then maybe she was also a case to him last week, and he'd been able to divert his attention to solve the puzzle of how she could fit into his life. Now that he's figured that out—now that he's placed her squarely in the girlfriend compartment of his life—he seems to be trying to sideline her the same way he would have Juliette, and Adalind has had more than enough of that.
She's waiting for him when he gets back to the precinct. He and Hank had run out with a little man named Bud to talk to a witness hiding out from a death threat hours ago. The shift has changed since then—the precinct growing dark with a skeleton crew illuminated by little spheres of light glowing out from desk lamps dotted throughout the open floor plan. Nick returns in a flurry of activity—grinning at Hank and Wu and stripping off his jacket with a practiced swagger that speaks of long nights spent sinking into his chair and rolling up his sleeves to get to work on the paperwork.
Only this time he draws up short. Adalind is in the chair he was going to sink into, and she's doing her best to glare her way past his obsession with the case.
Nick blinks—looking for all the world like he's waking up—and then he winces.
"I forgot something important, didn't I?"
Hank and Wu are frozen on the other side of the desk, watching her and Nick with outright fascination. Adalind sighs and rises, taking his hand and leading him away into an interrogation room. It's a harsh vibe for this conversation, but she thinks this might be the one he's questioned her in before. That thought gives her a warm little feeling in the pit of her stomach.
It's her turn.
"You forgot that I'm not Juliette," she says, directing him into the suspect's chair. She takes up the interrogator's chair and leans forward with a little grin. She has his full, wide-eyed attention now.
"I'm your partner," she says. "Your other partner besides Hank. And I love you, but you can't disappear for days every time someone dies in this town—not unless you want to find me another part-time partner and father for our kid. I know what you do is important, and I want to help you do it—but for that to work, you can't silo me from your work, and you can't silo yourself from the rest of our life when you're on a case. I'm not expecting you to be thinking about me and the baby when you're out in the field, but when you're with me? I need you to be open to thinking about something else for a minute or two."
Nick nods slowly, leaning forward across the table. They're close now—close enough to feel each other's breath, to see the way his eyes are a little more dilated than they were the moment before.
"I'm sorry." He sounds a little breathless. "I forgot. I've never had a girlfriend involved in my work before. I forgot that I can share it with you."
"You can—you are. Earlier—before Bud showed up—that was good. We were good together. It's the life stuff we need to make a little more room for. You tune it out when you're on a case."
Nick frowns and leans back, running a hand through his hair. "I guess. It just never seems as important, you know? Not when there's a murder to solve."
Adalind sighs. "There's always going to be a murder to solve. There's always going to be a crisis—more probably if we're really going to do this Switzerland thing. If we can't deal with anything but the current crisis for the rest of our lives, Diana will be twenty before we've ever bought a house. Hell, she might not even get conceived at this rate."
Nick's eyes get darker and he leans forward again, reaching for her hands on the table. "You name the date and time, and I'll be there."
"No," she says—gently but firmly. He tries to pull back—a flash of pain in his eyes, but she holds on tight. "I am not going to be your secretary. I'm not going to tell you where to be and when, and I'm not going to nag you when you don't show up. We're partners. We're going to decide what's important to us and when it's going to happen and then we are going to do it together, every step of the way."
"Oh." Nick's not trying to pull away now, he's rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand and looking like he's never thought about a partnership like that before. "Huh."
"Yeah."
He blinks and meets her eyes with a wry little smile. "I owe Juliette a lot of administrative support, don't I?"
Adalind snorts and shrugs. "I mean I wasn't there for most of your relationship, but yeah, I suspect she deserves an executive assistant to clear her schedule and eat her out on demand."
Nick gets that glazed look again. She's pretty sure he's not thinking about Juliette or the case anymore.
"Is that what you want? On demand?"
"Demand—request—what's the difference when it's just us?"
He's out of his chair in a second, lifting her out of hers and onto the table, pressing himself between her legs.
"Oh, I don't know," he says—voice like gravel, hands hot and demanding on her hips—"I bet making you beg would be worth it."
"Big talk, Burkhardt," she says, pushing at his shoulders until he sinks to the floor between her knees and starts kissing his way up her inner thigh.
"Christ." He's muttering now—harsh little words against her—followed by his rough fingers running up her skin so gently. "You're perfect. Never stop wearing these dresses, for the love of God."
"Now who's begging?" She's aiming to sound teasing, but the little gasp he drags out of her with a harsh swipe of his tongue against her clit through her panties really undermines the effect.
In the end, they're both begging—begging to get closer—begging to go higher, together—begging for each other—him panting into her, stroking into her with two fingers while his other hand works himself—her gasping her pleas to the harsh fluorescent light in the ceiling, wondering if the white behind her eyes is the light or just him, pushing her past all reason.
They collapse into each other—Adalind spread out on the table, her legs balanced on Nick's shoulders, his forehead pressed heavily to her hip, breath tickling her flushed skin. Long minutes pass before they can move again. Nick raises his head first, eyes moving over her body like he can't quite believe she's there—that he's here with her. She lifts up on an elbow and reaches out to stroke his hair out of his eyes. It's a mess from her fingers, but then she's a mess from his, so maybe that's okay.
"So," he says shakily, resting his chin against the dip of her hip, "scheduling. We should work on that."
Adalind laughs, something bright bubbling up in her chest. "Yes. We need to schedule a meeting with the realtor, and I have an OBGYN appointment to get the IUD out on Friday."
"Do you want me to come?"
"You don't have to."
Nick shrugs—a strange feeling under her thighs—and presses a kiss to her belly. "I'll be there. What time?"
"2pm."
"I'll take a late lunch and meet you there. Text me the address?"
"Sure."
"Want me to call the realtor?"
"That would be nice. She's got our offer, but we should meet her for a proper tour of the property—schmooze a little—make a good impression."
"Okay, Saturday good for you?"
"Saturday would be great."
Nick grins at her and drops another kiss to her thigh. "Should we do all our admin like this, do you think?"
"With you on your knees, you mean?"
"Sure," Nick says lightly. "Postcoital, anyway."
"It couldn't hurt." She starts to shift, the discomfort of craning her neck to see him finally making its way through her blissed out fog of pleasure. "I'm feeling much more amenable all of a sudden."
Nick hums, running his hands up her thighs to help her slide back on the table and find a more supportive perch for her hips.
"Yeah, that really took the edge off. If all our fights came with an orgasm break, I never would have wanted to kill you."
"There's an idea," she says, squirming a little to try to right her underwear and mostly failing. "Fight halftime sex?"
"I like the way you think." Then: "Shit."
She looks up at his curse. He's looking down, registering for the first time that he's made a mess of his hand and the floor. She snorts and reaches up to untie the neckerchief she wore today to cover what's left of the hickey he gave her. She hands it to him to help clean himself up. They really need to start carrying more wet wipes or something. She adds it to her running list of Schade-Burkhardt household logistics.
He finishes cleaning up and stands finally, legs looking a little shaky for a moment before he finds his usual grounded footing. He helps her descend from the table, straightening the skirt of her dress with careful hands, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her lips.
"I'm sorry, but I'm not done for the night," he says. "I have to go to an Eisbiber lodge and try to convince them to let my witness testify."
Adalind nods. "Want me to come? Convincing people is kind of my thing."
Nick grins and kisses her again. "Yeah, actually. I think they could be a really good place to start our pitch for Switzerland."
"Ooo, look at you identifying strategic alliances." Adalind bats her eyelashes at him, just to make him laugh. "I've never wanted you more."
"I know what you like," he says, guiding her towards the door out of the interrogation room. "There might even be motions and objections and abstentions. Try to restrain yourself."
"Oh please," Adalind says, rolling her eyes. "Where would the fun be in that?"
A/N: I feel like this goes without saying, but I don't advocate having sex in the workplace outside of stories, especially in an interrogation rooms. They probably record that shit. Anyway, thank you for reading!
