She's right. No point denying it. "You did fine."
"Fine? That's it?"
"You held your own with Sullivan, impressed Hayes and Garcia, and Santos actually smiled. That's more than fine."
"Santos smiled?"
"Twice. That's basically a standing ovation from him."
She grins. "So I'm acceptable?"
"You're more than acceptable."
"Then why do you look worried?"
Because watching her with my team made this real. Made it clear that this isn't just protective detail anymore. Made it obvious that I'm in deeper than I intended to be.
"Not worried. Just thinking."
"About?"
"About how well you fit." I move closer. "About how my team read the situation in about thirty seconds."
"What situation?"
"That this stopped being professional somewhere between the breakfast argument and now."
She tilts her head. "Does that bother you?"
"Should it?"
"You tell me. You're the one who kept pulling away because of professional boundaries."
"Yeah, well. Those are pretty thoroughly destroyed now."
"Good." She rises on her toes, kisses me softly. "Professional boundaries are overrated anyway."
We clean up together. She washes, I dry. Domestic routine that's becoming familiar.
"Your guys are good," she says after a while. "I can see why you trust them."
"They liked you too."
"How can you tell? Sullivan spent half the night making inappropriate comments and Garcia kept asking about surgical disasters."
"That's how they show affection. If they didn't like you, they'd have been polite."
"That's concerning."
"That's Marines."
She hands me a plate. "They care about you. I could see it. The way they watch you, check in without making it obvious."
"We've been through a lot together. That builds bonds."
"It's more than that though." She turns to face me. "They're worried about you. About you being alone."
"I'm not alone. I've got them."
