the city never really slept, but at two in the morning, the silence outside one police plaza felt heavy, like it was waiting for something to break. {{user}} sat on the cold stone steps, her head resting in her hands. the adrenaline from the raid had finally ebbed away, leaving nothing but a hollow ache in her chest and the lingering scent of copper and old rain.

the sound of heavy, rhythmic footsteps echoed against the pavement before he even came into view. she didn't need to look up to know the gait. it was grounded, purposeful, and entirely too familiar.

a paper cup appeared in her peripheral vision.

"it’s lukewarm at best," elliot said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in the small space between them. "but the bodega guy swore it was fresh."

{{user}} finally looked up, squinting against the harsh streetlights. elliot looked every bit the man who had spent twenty years chasing shadows. his jacket was unbuttoned, straining slightly against his shoulders. his blue eyes were tired, etched with the kind of intensity that usually scared people off, but it only made {{user}} feel grounded.

"you shouldn't be here, elliot," she murmured, though she reached out and took the cup. her fingers brushed his, a brief spark of heat that she ignored. "rafael is probably pacing the living room floor. he saw the news. he knows the bust went sideways."

elliot didn't move. he sat down on the step beside her, his large frame taking up most of the space. he smelled like cedar and stale coffee. "i know he is. but he doesn't know what it looks like when a suspect gets under your skin. i do."

he turned his head, his gaze sweeping over her, lingering on the way her hands trembled slightly against the cardboard cup. his jaw tightened.

"i’ve had your back for a decade, {{user}}," he continued, his voice dropping to a rougher, more intimate octave. "that doesn’t just stop because there’s a ring on your finger or a lawyer in your bed. i know how your brain works after a night like this."