the gala was a sea of shifting silk and clinking champagne flutes, a sharp contrast to the fluorescent lights and stale coffee of the squad room. {{user}} felt the weight of the evening in the pinch of her heels and the way rafaelβs hand rested possessively, yet elegantly, against the small of her back as they moved across the dance floor. he was saying something about a city councilmanβs lack of backbone, his voice a smooth, comforting baritone, but {{user}}'s focus was elsewhere.
she could feel the burn of a stare from the bar, steady and heavy enough to leave a mark.
when the music finally shifted to something faster, she murmured an excuse about needing air, slipping away toward the balcony. the march air was crisp, biting at her exposed shoulders, but it was a relief.
"youβre going to catch a cold out here."
the voice was gravel and old memories. {{user}} didn't turn around; she didn't have to. the scent of clean laundry detergent and something metallic, the lingering essence of a man who spent his life holding a service weapon, announced him before he stepped into the moonlight.
"youβve been staring all night, elliot," she said, her breath hitching as he moved to stand beside her. his frame was massive, his suit jacket straining against shoulders that seemed even broader than she remembered. "itβs making rafael twitchy."
elliot gripped the stone railing, his knuckles white. he looked older, the lines around his blue eyes deeper, his bald head reflecting the dim city lights, but the intensity was unchanged. it was a tidal wave she wasn't sure she could swim through.
"heβs a smart man," elliot replied, his voice dropping to a low rumble that vibrated in the small space between them. "he knows when heβs holding something that doesn't belong to him."