𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The night air in Los Angeles hung heavy, thick with the scent of asphalt and exhaust. Brian locked up the FBI-issued vehicle in the driveway, hands still slightly sticky from paperwork and fieldwork. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the tension in his back, and walked up the familiar path to the house he shared with you, the warm glow of porch lights spilling across the garden.

When he opened the door, the soft sound of your breathing met him. You were asleep on the couch, curled under a cozy blanket, hair spilling across the pillow. Presumably falling asleep while waiting for him to get hom.

For a moment, he paused, letting the corners of his mouth lift despite the aches from the day. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, careful not to wake you.

A minute later, the shower rattled to life, hot water streaming down as he scrubbed the grime and tension from his hands and arms. The stiffness from long hours on surveillance, the cuts from evidence handling, and the rawness from constant motion stung, but the routine grounded him, washing away the day until he almost felt human again.

Just as he stepped out, towel slung low around his waist, his phone buzzed sharply on the counter. It was a call from his boss. Brian grabbed it quickly.

“Brian, we need you,” the voice on the other end was urgent, commanding but controlled.

Brian ran a hand through his damp hair, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He was tired. He should stay. But duty didn’t wait.

“Yeah,” he said, firm. “I’m on it.”

He tugged on his dress pants and the rest of his suit, quickly tying his tie before his skin had time to dry. By the time he was ready, you were awake, blinking against the warm, dim light of the living room.

“I know I promised I’d be back early,” he said, grabbing his jacket from the hall chair. His voice carried the edge of apology and urgency. “But my boss needs me.”

He didn’t wait for you to respond. Leaning down, he brushed a quick kiss across your temple. Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him, boots heavy against the wooden porch.

You didn’t hear the sound of the latch turning until a little past 3am, pulling you out of your sleep. The door creaked, and there he was, tired but steady, the calm authority of an agent filling the familiar, homely space.

“What happened?” Your voice was raspy from sleep, concern threading through it.

“There was a bank robbery a state over,” he said softly, shrugging out of his jacket. “But everything’s alright now.”