"You know what I mean." She reaches up, touches my face. "When you lost Suzy, you shut everyone out. Built walls. Your team sees that."
"You've known me a week. How do you know all this?"
"Because I did the same thing after the malpractice suit." Her thumb traces my jaw. "Built walls, kept people out, told myself it was safer that way."
"Is it? Safer?"
"Safer, yeah. But also lonely."
I turn my head, kiss her palm. "Yeah."
We finish the dishes in comfortable silence. The evening stretches toward night, familiar now. Gwen settles on the couch with her book. I review files at the table.
But instead of maintaining distance like we did before, she glances up occasionally. Makes comments. Asks questions. And I respond, and we exist in the same space without walls between us.
"I should probably get some sleep," she says eventually. "Early surgery tomorrow."
"I'll be there soon."
She heads down the hall. I finish my work, run final security checks, then follow.
She's already in bed when I enter, blankets pulled up, hair spread across the pillow. She watches me move through my routine—bathroom, teeth, change into sleep clothes.
When I slide into bed beside her, she immediately curls into my side.
"This okay?" I ask.
"Yeah. This is good."
My hand traces patterns on her shoulder, gentle and absent-minded. We lie there in the quiet dark, and I think about Santos's knowing look, Sullivan's inappropriate comments, Garcia's grin.
They saw what I've been trying not to acknowledge.
This isn't protective detail anymore.
This is something else entirely.
"Thatcher?" Gwen's voice is quiet.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For tonight. For letting me meet your guys."
"You fit."
"I was terrified."
"You hid it well."
"Years of practice." She shifts to look at me. "They're important to you. I wanted to make a good impression."
"You did."
"Even with Sullivan making sex jokes all night?"
"Especially with Sullivan making sex jokes. You handled him perfectly."
She grins. "He's not subtle."
