He is the suit-clad wall walking in front of her, annoyingly tall, devilishly handsome while leaning over her to hold the door to a small-town police station.
He is the shadow glued to the heels of her power shoes on the way from the morgue, quietly spinning theories for her to shoot down with her expertise.
And he is… the broad, bare back on the edge of a motel bed when she snuggles into his warmth and a hand wrapped around hers when she tickles his stomach. Her bare toes pressed between his calves. A low sigh and a kiss on her knuckles, drawing her close.
Sun filters through the blinds.
"Hey." He murmurs into the palm of her hand.
"Hello." She smiles when stubbly cheek tickles her fingertips.
In these few moments of stillness he is all hers, body, mind and soul. And she's his. And they belong to each other.