wheelsy_sheriff | (no subject)

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Bill opens the door from Milliways that leads into his bedroom, steps in, then holds it open for Kate.

It's strange to come back after being gone so long and find everything just as it was the morning they left.

He can smell the coffee from the pot in the kitchen that's still on, and the bed is still unmade from when he got up that day.

Giving Kate a small smile, he turns around to open the closet again, this time the door reveals his hanging clothes, and he puts away his dress uniform that he had taken for Doc's wake.

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She laughs at that.

"If you can even finish one," she says, reaching for the canola oil to drop a tablespoonful into the pan, "I'll be impressed."

Smirking, she flips the burner to high; while the pan heats, she generously seasons the meat with sea salt and cracked black pepper.

"Impressed, huh? Guess I better do a good job eatin' then."

Snagging a tomato, he glances around the kitchen.

"Anything else I can do?"

"Leave some salad for dinner," she tells him mock-seriously.

"And set the table."

Once the skillet is hot, it doesn't take long to sear the steaks on both sides; Kate's wrists and forearms protest when she takes the heavy skillet from the stovetop and sets it aside to add some butter and extra-virgin olive oil to the meat.

Thick potholder wrapped tight around the handle, she slides the skillet into the oven with a soft oof, then pulls a cutting board from the cupboard.

He nods, smugly snags another tomato, then gets to work on setting the table.

He's pulling down a pair of plates when she starts moving the heavy pan.

"Didja need -- "

Caught between moving forward and staying where he's at, he watches her load the oven.

"I coulda gotten that."

"I know."

She shoots him a grin and digs a meat thermometer from a nearby drawer.

"But I want you to take it out."

Once he does so five minutes later, Kate places the steaks on the cutting board to rest an extra five minutes.

(The incredible smell is torture, causing her stomach to growl.)

While she waits for the internal temperature to rise a bit more before cutting the meat into strips, she turns to place a kiss to Bill's shoulder.

"We're celebrating, you know."

After returning the hot pan to the stove, he brushes his palms on his jeans, focus on the steaks until she draws his attention back.

"Celebratin'?"

She nods.

"In honor of tomorrow."

Refusing to let her smile slip, she takes two wineglasses from the cabinet and slides over a bottle of red wine for him to open.

While he contends with the corkscrew, she'll slice the steaks and transfer the strips to their plates.

There's a brief hesitation from him while he studies her, but her smile never wavers and something loosens a little in his chest as his smile widens.

Pulling out the cork, he's happy and grateful, because he knows he has her support.

Pouring out the wine, he sets the glasses at their place settings and sits after she does.

She scoops out some salad for herself, then offers the bowl to him.

Once he's doled out a serving for himself, she lifts her glass and swallows past the golf ball in her throat.

"Congratulations."

He lifts his own glass and meets her eyes, wishing he could say how much he appreciates her.

Rather than stumbling through words in an attempt to express his feelings, he gives her a smile and sincere, "Thank you, Kate."

"No thanking, sheriff."

She blinks once, hard, and concentrates on the soft clink of their glasses, then the taste of the wine on her tongue.

Tomorrow, after Bill leaves for work, she'll face the sharp, irrational fear behind her ribs (what if he gets hurt, what if he gets killed). Tonight, she'll be happy for him, because he's wanted this for so long, damning his decision would be as cruel as a knife to his kidney.

A slow swallow of wine, and she sets down her glass in favor of her fork.

"You know I'm always gonna forget that."

He chuckles, then digs into the meal, making a sound of appreciation when he bites into the steak.

"There's no rule 'gainst compliments, right? 'Cause this is great."

She makes a muted sound of agreement as she chews; the steak is near-perfect, crusted brown on the outside, melting velvet on the inside, somewhere between medium and medium-rare.

"None," she says when she swallows, and gestures to her plate with her fork.

"I'll remember this is the real secret to keeping you happy."

He laughs at that while taking a drink.

"Hey now, don't forget desserts. I can't be truly happy without those."

"Sarah put back some of those dessert bars to send home with you."

And they're tucked inside a plastic container on the counter.

"But," she says, glancing at her plate, "I can't believe you're even thinking about dessert right now."

A beat.

"Wait, no, this is you we're talking about. I guess I can."

"She did?"

He grins, then looks down at his plate.

"I'm just remindin' you so you don't forget, since you were talkin' 'bout makin' me happy. Right now, me an' this steak got some business to settle."

Like how he's going to eat all of it.

And, possibly, have room for any dessert after.

"Good luck with that," she teases, and tucks into her salad.

As for the steak, well, as delicious as it is, she's not nearly as valiant as Bill. She's willing to concede defeat a little more than halfway through, breathing a soft sigh of contentment.

"Mmm, god, that was good."

She tips more wine into her glass, the simple movement sending images of the night she and Bill spent with Beckett in Provence flashing through her mind's eye; she takes a slow sip to hide the sudden flush in her cheeks.

It takes some work, but Bill manages to finish off his steak.

He has to decline Kate's offer of what's left of hers, though.

Sitting back in his chair, he breathes deep and fiddles with his glass.

His own thoughts start to return to France and what happened after the card game, and he shakes his head to clear them, then drains the last of his wine.

Setting his glass down, he smothers a smile and tries to sound serious.

"Whoo. Kate, I'm afraid this is a rare occasion, when I'm actually gonna have t'pass on dessert. I'm very, very sorry."

She chuffs a laugh and stands, placing a consoling hand on his shoulder.

"I don't think less of you, I promise."

A beat.

"But I might if you leave all the dishes for me."

Shooting him a playful look, she begins clearing the table.

"Well, sure can't have you thinkin' less of me, my ego couldn't take it."

Letting out a laugh, he makes a show of the effort it takes to get up, then heads to the sink to start some water running.

Once the dishes are done and the leftovers are stowed in the fridge, she hooks her index finger into one of his belt loops and tugs gently.

(God, she doesn't want the clock to keep ticking; she wants to keep them here, now, with Bill safe beside her in plainclothes.)

"Thanks."

He starts to reply, then smirks. Moving closer, he sets his hand, mostly dry, on her hip.

"No thanking."

She smiles up at him and steps in, both hands sliding up his torso and settling on his shoulders.

"Okay."

She's had just enough wine to leave her warm and loose-limbed, and she fits her body against his, hips swaying.

"Then dance with me?"

Eyes on his, she doesn't care how silly the request may sound, standing in the kitchen with no music.

He returns the smile and is in too much of a good mood at the moment to care if they're being silly or not.

Placing his other hand on her hip, he starts to slow dance with her; leading them away from the sink and towards the empty floor space between the counter and table. His eyes are on hers, and his smile is warm and happy.

She moves with him, laughing under her breath; one hand slides higher, her fingers playing along his nape above his collar.

"You are good at this."