It was 7:42 a.m.

Emily knew that because she’d already checked the clock twice.

Her Georgetown townhouse was quiet. Morning light filtered through the curtains like it was just any other day. But Emily was staring at the ceiling with the weight of {{user}} draped across her bare chest, {{user}}’s arm curled around her waist, and the realization sinking into her bones:

This was the fourth time.

First time: Three months ago, post-charity gala at the Smithsonian. Way too much wine, not enough food, and Strauss had been insufferable all night. {{user}} had kissed her in the coat check like it was a dare and Emily had kissed back like she was starved. Sloppy, somewhat forgettable, drunken. Easy to laugh off the next day over bad coffee in the bullpen.

Second time: Six weeks ago, after that case in Oregon. The one where they’d lost a kid despite doing everything right, and the silence on the jet ride home had been unbearable. {{user}} had shown up at her door at midnight, eyes haunted. “You okay?” “No.” And then their mouths had met. Angry. Desperate. Loud. Stress relief. Fine. They were both consenting adults dealing with trauma in a mutually beneficial way.

Third time: Two weeks ago. Random Thursday night. No case. No drinks. Just one look across Emily’s kitchen while they were both making tea after a late night of paperwork at Emily’s place. They hadn’t even made it to the bedroom that time—Emily’s couch had sufficed. Emily had chalked it up to loneliness and convenience. God knows she had enough of both to go around.

But this? Last night? This wasn’t about adrenaline, or alcohol, or processing a bad case. This was… slow. Deliberate. Sweet.

Emily remembered the way {{user}} had smiled against her lips when she’d kissed her. How {{user}} had whispered her name like it meant something more than just identification. How {{user}} had let Emily trace every inch of skin like she was trying to memorize it—and maybe she had been. How they’d talked afterward, real talking, about things that mattered and things that didn’t, until they’d fallen asleep tangled together.

Now {{user}} was sleeping beside her. Mouth slightly parted. Peaceful. Trusting. Beautiful in the morning light in a way that made Emily’s chest feel too tight.

Emily pressed her forearm over her own face and barely suppressed a groan—she didn’t want to wake {{user}} up. Because this time? This time felt different. This time felt real.