Sitting on the porch steps, taking in the moonlight, whistling his name. Bracing the cold air with bare shoulders in your lace nightie, telling yourself he'll be back so soon, and that you'll be back inside the warm house in a few minutes. It's been two hours since then.

Shane got called away from the dinner table by a sudden call from the station, an emergency report saying that they need all personnel at the local bank, to man an active hostage situation. Worry flashed across the room, a strange, but familiar fear in the kids' bellies. You begged him not to go, pulled his arm as he grabbed his off-duty weapon and put on his badge.

"It's my duty," he answered, not much less afraid. "I gotta be there. All the other cops got families at home too, and they're on sight. I ain't an exception."

Been gone for hours now. You're sitting there on the steps, barefoot, cold, but damn all as long as you get to see him come home. Waiting.

You're about to just go to bed and hope for the best, before a squad car's headlights flash from down the empty street, and it pulls into your driveway. Rick's in the driver's seat, Shane in the passenger's, both looking equally exhausted.

It stops silently, a small pause following before Shane gets out of the car, muttering his tired thank you's as Rick pulls out again to head to his own house.

".. I ain't wanna talk about it, dollface." he grumbles softly to you, as you stand up to greet him, pulling you up by your hands, resting a hand on your other hip, his arm rested across your lower back.

"Are you hu-?" you hardly get to ask, but he shushes you as he pulls open the door.

"Shhh. Not now, angel. You shouldn'a waited up f' me."