A/N: Stahl's wife's name is Marta per canon.
Next morning, he is not that ungrateful. He thanks everyone but omits thanking her.
Three days later, the train ride is calming as the rails hum underneath them. Stahl sits in the corner and watches sun and wind play in his boy's hair.
Back at the precinct, the air is lighter. Verco is gone to deal with Baker and Woz is smoothing out the rest. Days pass and none of them need the Freezer. It's a darn beautiful thing.
Harlee sits at her desk and taps the wood with her pencil. Tap, tap, tap... Her mind feels like a dryer where the facts bounce around but don't quite change. All that is new is a headache. And she can't push it or the guilt away. During the day her thoughts are more or less rational but at night...
The trees and the light toss spidery lace on her pillow and she tosses and turns.
"I need to fix this", she whispers.
The cemetery is quiet save for the chirping of birds and raindrops hitting the leaves. The day is in luminous color, prismatic and bright, perfect for living. By the gravestone, he cuts a strong figure: hands in pockets, black suit, white shirt. A study in contrasts. She approaches slowly, heels sinking into moist earth. All she gets is a curt nod as he continues to stand there.
As the day is shut out of the back of black Lincoln they sit far apart. The silence and tension hang heavy between them. What was she going to tell him? She stares out the window until a large brick estate begins rolling past. So that's where he comes from... She doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. He wasn't kidding about surprises. Soon, the car rolls to a stop and he helps her out.
"I have to go see them, don't leave", he drops and walks on ahead. "And I have to see you", she counters inaudibly. Then her heel scrapes against something and she looks down. Cobblestones. Just lovely. When she finally reaches the entrance the noise and the sight hit her: the house is bursting with people, memorial service too loud. Hmm...A self-guided tour, then. What else can she do?
The hours go by and the house grows quiet. The last car, old, with its equally old owners finally disappears around the bend. Stahl sighs and closes the curtains.
He makes his way through the house looking for her. A dumb part of him wishes to find her in one of the bedrooms but he pushes the thought away.
She is in the study. He watches her for a minute like a cat would a mouse. Frowning, she is trailing her fingers over book spines, knickknacks and glass. He shuts the door and locks it behind him.
"Not afraid to leave fingerprints, Detective?"
"The books. Are they yours? " she turns around.
"Yes, and my mother's. Don't look so surprized".
"That you have a mother?"
"No, and had. But let's get back to you. You must be here for something so tell me".
She is leaning against a bookcase, silent. The time and place are all wrong for this and the words won't leave her mouth.
"Allright then, I will wait". He takes off his jacket and tie and flings them across a chair. Careless. That's a change. Then old leather creaks as he stretches out on the couch, crosses his legs and grabs a newspaper from the side table. She continues her journey around the room in silence. She is usually way more decisive but now... The wind picks up outside and rain starts pelting the windows. Thank God for one thing that is warm in this room-the fire.
"Harlee, I'm falling asleep here". No answer. He throws the newspaper aside and in one fluid motion he is up and in front of her, so close she wants to back up. But she holds her ground. He leans in and she stops breathing but he only reaches around to pick something off the shelf. This is too hard but isn't this what she wanted? She is torn. He, on the other hand, seems determined. He looks at her with his icy blue eyes and with a finger under her chin moves her head to the side and a bit up. He moves her hair aside and she feels his warm breath ghost over the skin of her jaw. He whispers, "What. do. you. want, Harlee?" Ah, a million dollar question.
And he is not finished with her. He runs a gentle finger down her neck to her collarbone. She shivers and...moans. Fuck. This sound-it cuts him to the bone. "Again," she whispers and he licks the side of her neck, his senses ahead of his brain. "I am such an asshole", he thinks as she shifts under his lips and, not quite bold, smoothes her hands down his shirt to his belt. He freezes. She opens the buckle, the button, the zipper and he is out and, oh, her hands, her hot little hands...He grows in proportion to his need for her and it is enormous.
She lifts her head from his shoulder, looks up and he is floating in warm honey. Her lips part and his imagination completely runs away- he sees himself filling her wet beautiful mouth as she willingly kneels to pay her debt. Before, he would have killed for it. But now? He's made his choices and he will be damned if he doesn't abide by them. Besides, he knows himself all too well-if he goes there tonight he will want to keep her here forever. So when she looks at him for permission, he does the only thing possible- stops her.
"If you are here to apologize, don't bother", his voice is cold and flat. He removes her hand from him and presses something cold into it. "It matches the other, take it, and don't come back".
"Pardon?" A look of confusion crosses her face.
"Harlee, you heard me. I have my family back".
What the hell did she do? Her cheeks burst with color. Embarrassment, disappointment are so intense that her eyes are burning. She doesn't let him see that. She steps aside and turns and no further words pass between them. As she walks away he is gritting his teeth.
When Marta walks in he wishes he wasn't breathing.
"Come here", he whispers.
She is surprised.
"Rob..."
He silences her with his hands on her bottom. He seems different and with new-found hope she cannot help but want him. He pulls off her sweater and drags her bra down and soon she is naked in front of him. He is clothed but cannot wait.
"I missed you", he lies as he pushes inside her. His need is so primal, so raw that he f..cks her like they are not married.
Two weeks go by filled with mindless f..cking. The furniture, gardens, the cellar- nothing is off limits to him. He fucks her so hard she wonders how she is not broken. Old uneasiness licks at the back of her knees as they rest on his shoulders. He is so full of goodness but also so rough. And she cannot take it. It doesn't take her long to remember his demons and, just like before, she doesn't want them. His sins, his desires- they are too deep and too much for her. So when he pins her down over the couch she knows what he wants. Let go of me! enters his thoughts. He feels like he was yanked out of slumber and it clicks-it's not his thought, it's her voice. He lets go right away and she scrambles for her clothes. The last thing he hears is the click of the lock.