Shane's truck pulls up to the driveway with a soft grumble. His uniform's wrinkled, tie askew, breath still quick with adrenaline; that fiery bloodsurge after sinking into sinful pleasures. He's just been with his mistress. Lied to you that he'd be home late from work because he had an extra shift, but no, he left the precinct at five and went straight to her place. Even officers that actually work late though come home by latest 10 p.m. ; he's brought his sorry ass home at fifteen minutes past one.

He musters the courage to kill the rumbling engine, the only sound in the now quiet neighborhood. All the lights in the house are turned off, except in the kitchen. Kids' lights are off too, not even a nightlight on. Probably asleep.

His key rattles in the door before he slowly swings it open, then tiptoeing in, for some reason. Like a guilty dog. He spots you at the table, asleep, your head in your arms. His plate's there where it always is, filled with food now cold. He closes the door with a grimace, trying not to wake you up but you do anyway, jolting awake and rubbing your eyes.

".. hey. Hey, angel." he greets, trying to smile genuinely, pulling his boots off. He prays internally that he doesn't reek of 'her' smoke. "You wait up f' me again? Toldja not to do that."