His voice was soft, deep, quiet. It was last call at Fortolini's and the hunch of his back told of a long week. There was nothing abnormal about his tone when he posed the question. His expression never faltered. It slipped out as if he asked her every day. "Want to come home with me?"
It hung in the air as she blinked, but he was nonplussed, sipping his drink as he waited for a response. As if he'd just asked what kind of bagel she wanted. If she stuttered when she managed out a "I have to get back to Noah…" he didn't notice, just nodded in acceptance.
She followed the draw of his back as he settled his tab, slung his coat onto rolled up sleeves, and held her own coat for her to slip into. And his soft, somehow sad, smile as he bid her a "Good night, Liv" sunk into her memory and found hold, lingering in her mind throughout the trip home.
She was expecting ramifications the following morning, an explanation, apology maybe, for him to show up groggy and worse for wear, distraught by his advance. But when the squad walked into his office at little past 9am he was his usual self. Not a hair was out of place, there was no particular exhaustion evident beneath his eyes, and when he met her gaze it was as steadfast and sturdy as ever. Nothing had changed. It was a comforting lie to fall into.
But a residual weight had crept upon her, a feeling pushed aside now invigorated.