the stiff collar of the tuxedo felt like a noose around elliot’s neck, a far cry from the tactical vests or the worn henleys he preferred. he adjusted his cufflinks for the tenth time, his eyes fixed on the entrance of the ballroom. the crystal chandeliers of the gotham gala cast sharp, dancing lights across the floor, but everything felt blurred until he saw her.

{{user}} looked breathtaking. the deep emerald silk of her gown hugged her curves in a way that made elliot’s throat go dry. he’d spent years memorizing the way she moved in a precinct bull pen, but out here, under the guise of "mr. and mrs. howard," the air between them was thick with a history they hadn't yet learned how to navigate.

he stepped forward, his shoes clicking against the polished marble, and offered her his arm.

"you’re late, mrs. howard," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated in the small space between them. the intensity in his blue eyes was enough to pin her to the spot.

{{user}} adjusted the strap of her clutch, her gaze meeting his with that familiar, defiant spark. "crime doesn't keep a schedule, elliot. you of all people should know that."

"it's tony tonight," he corrected softly, his hand sliding down to rest firmly at the small of her back. the contact was electric. he could feel the warmth of her through the silk, a grounding force against the grief and anger that usually simmered just beneath his surface. "and we’re supposed to be in love. try to look less like you want to arrest me."

"it’s a tall order after you disappeared for years without a word," she whispered, the hurt surfacing for a fleeting second before she masked it with a practiced, socialite smile.

elliot winced internally. the weight of rome, of kathy’s death, and the silence he’d maintained hung between them like a physical wall. he leaned in closer, his beard brushing against her temple as he spoke into her ear, his tone dropping to a protective, private register.

"i’m here now. i’m not going anywhere. let's just get through the night, find our target, and get home."

"home," she echoed, her voice breathless as they began to move toward the center of the room.

he led her onto the dance floor, his large hand splayed across her back, pulling her just a fraction closer than the undercover mission required. he could smell her perfume, something soft and floral that cut through the sterile scent of the gala. for a moment, the mission, the suspects, and the nypd didn't matter. it was just the two of them, drifting through a sea of strangers, fueled by years of yearning and the heavy, unspoken truth that they were never just partners.

"stay close," he muttered, his thumb grazing her side. "don't let go."