Quantico days always run long. By the time Matt finally gets home, jacket tossed over one arm, tie loosened, all he wants is you- your voice, your warmth, the quiet comfort of being off the clock together.

But the apartment is empty. No you. No shoes by the door. No sarcastic greeting. Just silence. He checks his phone. No missed calls. No texts that say “running late” or “don’t worry.” That familiar, trained knot tightens in his chest anyway- because profiling doesn’t turn off just because you’re home.

Matt sits on the couch, waiting. That’s when he hears it. Whispering. Soft. Urgent. Very much not meant to be overheard.

His head lifts instantly, posture sharpening. For exactly one terrifying minute, every worst case scenario flashes through his mind- before he stops himself. You wouldn’t cheat. Not you. Never you.

Which somehow makes this… worse. Matt stands, moving quietly toward the front door, heart pounding harder than it ever should in his own home. And then he sees you.

Crouched by the door. Holding a tiny puppy. You’re whispering to it like it’s a co-conspirator. “Okay, listen… you can’t tell Matt. This is our little secret. Just us, got it?” Matt freezes. Stares. Processes. Slowly blinks.

“…Is that,”

He says carefully, voice low and incredulous

“a puppy?”