They hadn't had a fight in what felt like light years. They hadn't even had a disagreement. But they always disagreed, her pessimistic mind protested. It was how they were organically - very different in almost every aspect of their beings. She'd accepted it.
But there they were - resolving one case after another with relative ease. He'd make jokes. She'd laugh with genuine glee. He'd ask her out for drinks after particularly long days at the post office and she'd say yes. Quickly and with no reservations. His touches were calculated and careful; a pat on her shoulder on Tuesday. A hand on her lower back guiding her to a restaurant of his choice the following Friday.
But the utopia they'd submerged themselves in was too comforting to be long lasting. Comfort was a just an anesthesia of the shittiest kind; the kind that made the pain worse after.
She'd been preparing herself for the inevitable downfall such harmony was sure to bring.
It was 11 p.m. on Saturday, but she couldn't wait. She arrived at his safe house to give him an update on the case they were working on. The update could be communicated just as efficiently over the phone, she knew. He'd realize it too, and she was comfortable with the prospect.
Dembe greeted her at the door and motioned for Reddington's bedroom in understanding.
She didn't bother herself with needless reasonings as to why she was so mesmerized by the sight of Reddington undressing, not in preparation for anything remotely sexual, but purely because he was craving the basic pleasure of sleep. It was unlike him, not to realize there was someone at the door of his room.
So, she kept watching.
His watch went first.
Then the shirt.
She knocked on the door frame right after he unbuckled his belt...
TBC
