thelongdormantcop | (no subject)

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grace faraday

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They wake up like this most mornings now, curled together, in one or the other's bed. Though it's been months now since they both got here, Jerry still finds that he has trouble getting used to it, despite the fact that he's pretty sure they've had just about as long, if not longer, in Darrow than they did sneaking around behind Cohen's back. He just never thought for a second, back then, that they'd get to have this. Hell, he wasn't even sure if she'd want it, no matter how logical it might have been. (It wouldn't have made sense, after all, for her to go to all that trouble and take all those risks if it were just about getting laid.) Now, even if they haven't exactly clarified what this is or what they're doing, it's at least a lot clearer now, when it couldn't have been before. That's what really matters to him.

It just makes it all the more breathtaking to wake up beside her, knowing that neither of them really has to rush off anywhere. Even on days when he has to get to the station, or when she's had work to get to, neither of them is as pressed to get out the door as she used to be, or even as he was when the squad started requiring so much of his time. They can have this now, no more hurrying to someone else or pretending like they don't wish things could be different. Strange as living in this city is, as much as there are aspects of it that he finds unsettling, even unlikable, what they've gotten in return is more than worth it. He worries more than he'd care to admit about what would have happened back in Los Angeles, but he isn't sure he'd trade this freedom for anything. They both did more than their share of fighting. They deserve the break they've gotten from that, he thinks.

Whatever else has changed, he still gets up early, too used to it not to, the sun slanting through the blinds drawn over his window. At his side, Grace is still asleep, or she looks like it, and he considers for a moment waking her, but he doesn't have the heart to. She looks too peaceful like this, too beautiful. Though he wouldn't know how to tell her so, he's long since thought that she looked best this way, without makeup, her hair a little mussed, not pretending in the slightest. Now is no exception. It keeps him from looking away from her as he starts to carefully draw himself away, not wanting to stir her, but figuring he might as well start breakfast or something. He doesn't get very far before he can't help reaching over, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, chest tight as he does. "I love you," he says, soft. It's been true for a long damn time now, he thinks, and maybe he wouldn't know how to tell her directly, but there's still something almost relieving in saying so, proof in itself that it's more than true. He's goddamn crazy about her, and he can't pretend otherwise.

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Grace can feel him moving, though she has no inclination to open her eyes, still too drowsy to bother. She has nowhere to be today, and though that's disappointing in some ways, she's trying to make the most of it by being here and sleeping in. As he starts to draw back, she thinks absently of saying something, asking him to stay, but she can't bring herself to yet.

Tipping her head toward his touch, she almost doesn't hear him say it. It isn't as if she's been waiting for him to say something, though she's wanted it. She's known for a long time that he must love her, but it isn't at all the same as hearing it. Just those words are enough to start rousing her from her dazed half-sleep, her heart tightening in her chest. She can't recall the last time someone said that to her. No one, she's sure, has ever meant it the way he does. Reaching slowly up, she rests her hand on his wrist, urging him back toward her, her head lifting slightly for a kiss though she can still hardly get her eyes open.

Jerry really isn't expecting her to move at all, her touch startling, though responding to it is just about instinctive. Even if it weren't, there isn't anything else he could do but lean in to kiss her gently, his hand staying at her cheek as he shifts back towards her. It's easier than trying to say anything, anyway. He isn't sure if she heard him or if that was what started to wake her in the first place, and he finds, surprisingly, somewhat inexplicably, that he hopes she didn't. It's not as if it isn't true; it is, more than he can entirely wrap his head around, and has been for longer than he even knows. He just isn't ready to face her with it yet, not sure what she'd have to say or what it would mean for them. There are just too many things he still isn't certain of, even if the way he feels about her isn't one of them.

Kissing her delays having to find out one way or the other, at least, and it isn't something he's ever had any kind of problem with. When he does ease back, it's slowly, his hand running through her hair, mouth pulling into a crooked smile. "Morning," he says quietly, nearly against her mouth still. "I didn't know you were up yet."

"I'm not," Grace murmurs, though she slowly opens her eyes now. Even with her vision still adjusting, the look she gives him is warmly fond, her fingers curling lightly against the back of his neck. She wants to ask him to come back to bed, but if she delays responding to what he said before, she knows they'll both just let it go. All the same, her heart is beating too fast, body still adjusting to being awake, and she can barely find the words she wants.

Something, she needs to say something, and she wants it to be good, to express properly how deeply she cares for him. In the end, though, there's nothing else for it, no more eloquent way to put it, than the same old tried-and-true words. "I love you," she says, quiet, almost shy. As long as it's been since she's heard those words, it's been longer still since she last had cause to speak them.

Though they probably shouldn't, when he's the one who just said it, the words make Jerry go still, if only for a fraction of a second, his breath caught in his throat like he doesn't know what to do with it. That part, he does, but with what she's said, he doesn't. On some level, he thinks he ought to have known already, that it isn't really any kind of a surprise. The night he found her here, she said she'd gone back to Los Angeles for him, at least in part, and he doesn't think she would have done anything so crazy for anything more casual. Even so, it's more than he can quite wrap his head around.

Though it's not like he doesn't believe her, he wants to tell her not to say it if it isn't true. He wants to tell her not to say it just because he did, which, in retrospect, might have been the point of saying it while she was asleep, or while he thought she was. There's no obligation that way, as opposed to this, when he doubts she'd be saying so if he hadn't already. It occurs to him that she might have been waiting for him to, but he doesn't see why. He's loved her for ages, since before the morning they fought at his place, though he might not have known how to say so at the time. She was the one who was always caught up with someone else.

Not sure what, if any of it, he should try to tell her, he just climbs more fully back into bed instead, leaning in to kiss her again, lingering a little longer this time. It's true, what he said, and now that he's said so, he can't for a second try to pretend like it isn't, something made clear just by the way his mouth meets hers, his thumb smoothing along her cheek. "I... didn't really think you'd hear that," he admits, a little sheepish, his forehead against hers. He can't fathom how she wouldn't have known already, but he couldn't have held it back, either. He has for too long.

Grace makes a soft sound, surprised, against his mouth, though she arches up to kiss him again before she speaks, uncertain. It isn't what she was expecting to hear in response, not after what she said. She'd thought it might be a bit more romantic, for one. When she's still barely awake, it hadn't occurred to her he might not have thought her still asleep, and the idea of it is nearly as sweet as it is disappointing.

She sinks back after a moment, fingers brushing his cheek, and looks up at him, though he's still so close. "Did you not want me to know?" she asks, hesitating, trying to pretend that doesn't bother her like it does. It isn't as if she wasn't aware before in some fashion. Hearing it, though, makes such a difference, perhaps more than it should, and the idea he hadn't wanted to tell her leaves a weight in her chest that's uncomfortable, even painful, to bear. Maybe he didn't want to hear it from her either.

Instinctively, Jerry opens his mouth to respond — to protest, really — but finds, when he does, that the words don't come. It's too difficult to know what to say to that, a question it takes him a moment to realize that he doesn't understand at all. Of course that couldn't have been the case. He's loved her for so long, and so much of what he's done has been because of that, that it never occurred to him that there was a chance of her not already knowing. If he didn't want her to, it would have been far too late for that; the only thing he could have done to prevent it is keep his distance, and he already tried that once, with no success. After nearly losing her like he did, there isn't a chance in hell that he'd have found it worthwhile to try that again, anyway.

Frowning, he leans into her touch even so, keeping close. "Of course not," he says quietly. When he's aware that there's every chance he's already gone and fucked this up, however inexplicably, he doesn't want to risk saying the wrong thing now, even if he can't hide how puzzled he is. "I kind of figured you'd know already." More accurate would be that he can't comprehend how she wouldn't, but already, this hasn't gone as he intended it to. He's got the sense enough to try not to make that worse.

"Oh, no, I —" Grace nods, not wanting him to think otherwise. She's not nearly awake enough to speak seriously, but it matters far too much for her not to try. "I do. Of course I do, Jerry." Everything he's done for her, the way he talks to her, touches her, looks at her — she's known for a long time now that he loves her, however she might have doubted it at one time. When he's been so good to her, it makes her a little guilty to think he might believe she doubts him again.

"It's only... you've never said it before," she says slowly. She shakes her head, tries to shake the whole thing off. It doesn't matter. How she heard, when she heard, it doesn't have to mean anything. What's important is that it's true. It isn't as if she's offered up the words before today, after all. She just thought he would do it first, and faith in him hasn't been enough to erase the fear, however irrational, of somehow losing him. Hands smoothing over his shoulders, she smiles. "I'm glad you have now."

He couldn't have said it before, not really, Jerry thinks. For that matter, he couldn't pinpoint when it first became true, nothing that hit him suddenly or without warning, but that crept in without permission, almost like it had always been there. What he does know is that it was off-limits before this place, however much it may have applied then, too, and that showing up somewhere safe hasn't made all of those reservations, no matter how illogical, disappear. For all he knew, admitting to this would have been a mistake. It wasn't, though. He turns her words over in his head as he presses a kiss to her neck, barely able to believe she said them, though, deep down, he knows it's all that makes sense. He's just shaken, probably, from having been unexpectedly heard, from her thinking he hadn't wanted her to know. That would be enough to unsettle anyone.

His heart's still pounding, though he does his best not to think about that, focusing instead on the way her hands move over his shoulders, all thoughts of getting out of bed forgotten. There isn't any reason why he should have to move away from her in a hurry now. "Good," he murmurs, lifting his head to kiss her again. "Just... You know, as long as you know."

As much as it throws her off at times, Grace likes the way he makes her feel — not the vamp, but the ingenue for a once, and God knows it's been an awful long time since she was that, if ever she was. With him warm over her, looking into her eyes, she feels small and delicate and protected, and she adores it. She's safe, she's cherished, free to soften beneath him, to shed old acts in favor of new truths. She doesn't have to try and hide her expression, the way she looks up at him, so warm and loving as she rests a hand against his neck, kissing him again.

She nods when she rests her head against the pillow again. "I do," she says softy. "I do, and nothing makes me happier. But I like to hear it said." She hopes he'll take that as a cue to do so, since she can't yet bring herself to ask. But she was practically asleep when he said it before, and even if that hadn't been the case, she'd want him to say it, to keep saying it until she drowned in the sound of it.

Jerry just about smiles at that, though it isn't much of one, soft, fond, his fingers brushing against her cheek. She's as good as just asking him to say it again, but he doesn't mind that. Little as he knows about all of this, he's pretty sure it isn't the sort of thing to establish once and never give voice to again, and especially when he didn't mean for her to hear it, he probably owes it to her to tell her the right way. It's certainly more than true enough. It has been for a long time, and he thinks maybe he should tell her that, too, but he doesn't know how. For the time being, this is enough.

"I love you," he says, voice still quiet, leaning in for another kiss once he's spoken. "Grace —" That's it, though, all there really is to say, even if it feels like there should be more, like just that much isn't sufficient. It hardly seems to sum it up, how crazy he is about her, how absolutely lost he was without her, but he'll just have to hope all of that speaks for itself.

That moment of hesitation is enough for Grace to arch up and kiss him again, deep and slow, if only to hide how terribly moved she is to hear him say that. Even knowing it's the sort of thing other people get worked up over, too, it flusters her to let on how much it means to her, even as she tries to let him know. If she's honest with herself, she'd stopped thinking anyone was ever going to love her until he came along. Young though she is, it seemed as if all her chances had passed her by already, and love a part of another life she's left behind.

"Jerry," she says, a soft exhale. He can't know how she's waited for this, perhaps more even than she realized. "Oh, Jerry. I love you so." She'll never get back any of what she's lost, but now, at least, she has something to hold to, someone to hold her.

It isn't even the first time she's said it, but it just about stops Jerry's heart to hear, or at least it feels like it. Maybe it should have been obvious before now. Hell, maybe it even was. There's a far cry, though, between that and having it put into words, and when he hadn't even intended for her to hear him, it means more than he wants to admit to have her saying it now. That alone makes any worries he might have had more than worth it. In retrospect, they seem pointless, anyway.

"Gracie," he murmurs, ignoring the way his voice wavers slightly. Hand trailing down her neck and over her shoulder, he kisses her again, not wanting to move yet. Distantly, he remembers having intended to make them breakfast, but that seems considerably less important after this. With as long as he waited to say anything at all, food can wait a little longer now, too.

Grace wouldn't move from here for anything, not until he wants to, maybe not even then. It's still early enough she doesn't have any qualms about staying in bed, languid beneath him, content enough she might as well be purring. Before this and him, she can't recall having had the urge to say those words to any of the men she's known, not in any serious way. She's put more emotion into the recitation of lines than her love life. Now, though, she thinks she gets it, the pleasure of saying it as well as hearing it. It slips out so easily once said, and the way he says her name is the second-best thing she's ever heard. Hands sliding down over his back, she arches up against him, a leg hiking up against his side to keep him close. Just the way he kisses her feels like hearing it all over again.

Jerry really isn't expecting her to try to keep him here like this, though maybe he should have, but he responds to it almost instinctively, his hand hooking against her thigh, holding her close. There isn't anywhere he'd want to be right now anyway, thoughts of cooking breakfast all but gone. At a time like this, it only makes sense to stay near her, lips parting against hers as he leans into the kiss, her words still playing like an echo in his head, more stunning than he'd have expected. On some level, he knew she had to love him, but it's different put into words, especially after all they've been through. It's just like she said, really. Much as it might have stung to think she didn't already know he loved her, that knowing is a far cry from hearing it, which just makes him want to tell her again. He will, he thinks, when he can bring himself to draw back.

It's not at all how Grace expected this morning to go when she fell asleep last night, too sleepy and languid even to trouble fully dressing again, assuming everything would go the same as usual. It's easily the nicest surprise she's ever had, though. Even now, she just keeps replaying his words in her head, arching up against him. His body warm and solid against hers, she lets out a soft sound against his mouth, fingers sliding into his hair. Today of all days, she's in even less of a hurry than normal to get out of bed or to stop kissing him, not caring about her breath or her mussed hair or anything like that. Lingering here with him feels like the only thing that matters.

It's nothing new, when it comes to Grace, just how easily he can get lost in her, lose any focus on anything else. Now, Jerry thinks it might be truer than ever. Though he's too preoccupied with kissing her to free his mouth to speak again just yet, it's about all he can think, that he loves her, an easier thought to bear now that he's said it out loud to her. He's loved her for a long time, he knows, longer than even makes sense, but he isn't sure he knew just how much until now. Still clasping her leg against his side, he echoes the sound she's made, only half-aware of it, eyes shut as he leans into the kiss.

Breaking away for a moment to catch her breath, Grace laughs, a low, throaty sound, her head spinning. It feels too good, being here like this, all wound up in him, his voice in her head. Time and repetition haven't made this any less wonderful to her, only moderately less exciting because of the lack of danger, something that's exciting to her in and of itself. Hearing those words still feels like something akin to a miracle, dreamlike after having wanted it so badly for so long. "Now this," she sighs with another quick kiss, "is what I call a good morning."

"Yeah?" Jerry asks, grinning as he leans in to kiss her again. Whatever nervousness he might have felt, whatever confusion there might have been earlier, all of that seems worth it now to hear her sound like this, so warm and pleased, and to know he was the cause of it. Even now, it almost doesn't make sense, like something that shouldn't be possible. That's all the more reason not to take it for granted, as if that were even possible. She's right, after all. It really is a good morning. That doesn't mean there's any reason to leave it at that. "I bet I can make it a better one."

Grace arches an eyebrow, smiling wryly. "Is that so?" she asks, though she has no doubt that's the case. Hell, he could lie here and just keep telling her he loves her, and that in itself would make the morning absolute bliss. She has a pretty good idea what he actually means, though, and she can scarcely conceal her approval. Just because she can guess doesn't mean she doesn't want a demonstration. "Well, how do you mean to do that?"

"Oh, I don't know," Jerry says, too casual, clearly not meaning it in the slightest, even as he lifts his shoulders in a shrug. "I've got a few ideas. I'm still deciding." Leaning in to kiss her again, he lets his hand drop lower, fingers brushing along the outside of her thigh. It's true enough that he does have a few ideas, but they're all related, and when he has no doubt that she knows that already, he might as well let her give him a few cues, too.

Humming appreciatively, Grace kisses him, trying to ignore how quickly so little can get to her. It's a lazy morning, and she can't see any reason to rush. "Who says you've got to pick just one?" she asks, tipping her head to press a kiss to his shoulder. Starting the day with him has become commonplace now, and, despite some of the obstacles still in her way, happiness isn't the stranger it us to be. Today, though, she's happier than she's been in quite some time, which is saying something. She could just about float away with it.

"Oh, I never said that," Jerry says, laughing as he shakes his head, kissing her again when he can. There's nowhere to be other than right here, nothing he'd prefer doing to being with her; he had no intention of just picking one option and settling for that in the first place. Even now, having all this time available to them seems like a luxury, and one to make the most of. If anything, he thinks he'd be crazy not to, all the more so at a time like this. "But I've still got to figure out where to start."

Grace hums, thoughtful, her fingers tracing along his side. "Well," she says, "I suppose that depends on what you want most." She wants so much to give him whatever will make him happy. Her skills are few and far between, and she knows she isn't like the other girls of her time, not really raised to be prepared for a relationship, but he doesn't seem to mind and she's got other talents to make up for it. She just means to do all she can to keep him pleased in her own ways. Arching slightly, she pulls the hem higher on her slip, easy enough to take off even from under him and all she could be bothered to put on before she slept last night. That, too, she figures, is a good enough place to begin.

"I suppose it does," says Jerry, all teasingly innocent, his hand sliding higher once she's started drawing her slip up so he can help tug it off her entirely. It's certainly not doing any good where it is, and even if it were, he'd be hard-pressed to ignore a suggestion like that at a time like this. Even without intending to hurry, he can't think of a single good reason why she should stay dressed if she doesn't want to be. She's beautiful, warm beneath him, all his, the latter of which still seems noteworthy even after months; she loves him, a thought that's headier than it has any right to be. He might not have meant for her to hear him, but he's sure as hell glad that she did. "Gracie," he murmurs against her mouth, "I just want you."

No matter how many times she hears it from him, Grace never tires of that. It's one of the few constants in her life, needing to be wanted in one way or another, and he fills it time and again, today more than ever. That it's not news makes it no less exhilarating. Kissing him, she runs her hands down his back, tipping her head to brush her nose against his cheek and kiss his jaw. "I'm yours, Jerry," she says softly. "All of me, every bit." Just saying it, she feels as if she's shaking. It's the kind of ridiculous, romantic thing someone might say in a movie, and she's alright with that, with playing as if everything is a film, but it's altogether different, even terrifying, when she means it. He's the nearest thing she's had to a home in such a long time.