He loved working with her.
The long hours in the precinct. The bad coffee. The endless nights of Chinese take-out. The smell of dry erase marker that lingered in his clothes even after he had left the station. The uncomfortable chair he had claimed as his own for years. The strain on his eyes after looking at financial statements for hours. The thrill of catching a lead, of pulling pieces together. The jokes thrown across the bullpen late at night when they're running on caffeine fumes. The naps snuck on the break room couch, heads resting on the other's shoulder. The hours and hours of paperwork after closing the case.
He loved working with her.
But he loves her even more.
The long hours in bed. The amazing coffee. The endless nights of 'research' for his books. The smell of her hair after a shower. The way their bodies sink into the couch in his office. The times when his eyes ache from writing and she knows to drag him away from his laptop. The thrill of making her laugh after a bad day. The jokes tossed over the dining room table. The times when they abandon actual work and take a nap instead. The hours and hours of laughter.
He loves her even more.