"Good." She stretches, my t-shirt riding up. "So my apartment is officially safe now."
"Yeah."
"And I officially don't need protective detail anymore."
"No."
"Good thing I'm staying anyway." She props herself up on one elbow, watching me. "My lease is up next week. Need to do the final walkthrough."
"Want me to come with you?"
"Please. I'll probably need help carrying the last few boxes."
"I own more than five shirts."
"You own barely enough for a week. I counted." She's grinning though, eyes bright with the teasing that always gets under my skin. "My stuff has already taken over your closet. You're down to like three hangers."
"Looking forward to it."
She kisses me, morning breath and messy hair and absolutely perfect. "Go make coffee. I need to shower."
"Need help?"
"You need to be at formation in an hour. I need to actually get clean, not distracted." But she's pulling me toward the bathroom anyway. "Give me a few minutes. Then coffee."
We make it out shortly after. She stays to get dressed for rounds while I head to the kitchen to start coffee. Her medical journals sit stacked on my coffee table. Her shoes sit by the door. Small pieces of her life integrated into mine over the past weeks, and now we're making it permanent.
The coffee maker beeps. I pour two mugs—hers in the navy blue one, mine in the standard black. It's a routine I don't want to give up.
My phone buzzes again. It's a group text.
Sullivan: Morning formation. Don't be late.
Hayes: Captain's never late.
Santos: Captain, you coming solo or is the doc riding in with you?
I respond:
Solo. She has rounds.
Sullivan: Bet Garcia twenty bucks the captain's late because he's too busy with domestic bliss.
Garcia: Bet accepted. He's never late.
Sullivan: First time for everything. Man's in love. Makes people stupid.
I show Gwen the messages when she emerges in scrubs, hair pulled back, looking every bit the trauma surgeon who can save lives with steady hands and sharp focus.
"Your team is obsessed with our relationship," she says.
"My team needs better hobbies."
"They have a hobby. We're the hobby." She takes her coffee, leans against the counter. "Are you actually going to be late?"
"Never."
"Good. I'd hate to cost Garcia twenty bucks." She checks her watch. "I need to go. Rounds start in thirty and I want to review the post-op notes before morning briefing."
