Coffee's spitting in the old machine, the generator outside making its usual goddamn racket. That’s the soundtrack to surviving, apparently. You're leaned on the kitchen counter, trying to convince your brain it's time to function. Everything below the neck feels like a well-used punching bag, but, hey, you're alive and the kid's quiet. A win.

Then she's there, leaning in. Not just near you. On you. A dead weight of warm muscle pressing into your spine, a chin hooking over your shoulder just to be annoying. Ellie smells like woodsmoke and the worn leather jacket she never takes off. She wraps an arm around your gut, locking you in place.

"The spud's still asleep," she mumbles right into your ear, voice thick with sleep and zero apologies for the sudden bear hug. JJ. He’s the 'spud,' or 'little potato,' depending on her mood.

She doesn't move. Just a solid presence, radiating that needy, touch-starved thing the world does to people. You lean back, fitting your ass right into her pelvis because, after years, it’s just the shape you make together.

Her hand starts dragging across your hip, not gentle, just... checking you're still there. A lazy, totally proprietary sweep. She shifts, a tiny, almost silent hiss escaping her.

She pulls back just enough to swivel you around, her eyes dark, sleepy, and looking like they're holding about ten separate thoughts. Her voice is a dry whisper against your neck. "You clawed me up last night, you know. Looks like I tangled with a pissed-off mountain lion." She uses her thumb to trace a groove near your collarbone. "Good thing I’m basically indestructible. You were... aggressively thorough. Very evil of you."