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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"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."

His neck tingles under her touch, and his features warm.

"Helps havin' a good partner."

They move in a slow circle to the music of thier closeness. Bending his neck, his nose turns into her and he takes in the smell of her hair, the light tang of wine, and the soap he gave her for Christmas.

A pleasant shiver runs through her; her fingers thread into his hair.

"I think you're right."

She closes her eyes, soaking in this unexpected moment.

Turning, he presses his lips against her cheek.

"Mm, s'good t'be home."

For the first time in awhile, things seem right; he has a light buzz from the wine, she's close against him in his arms, and he's finally back.

Life is finally settling down.

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