SecretSophie
Hit and Run
Title:Life
Disclaimer: not mine
Reviews: yes please
Life is when you solve a case no one else dared to handle.
You can feel it inside of you, a feeling of glory and happiness. It's when you go tell the victims mother or wife or daughter that it's ok now. That they can sleep safe tonight. Sometimes they cry, sometimes they smile. Sometimes they invite you in for tea or coffee, asking a million questions about the how and what. Sometimes they ask you if you've got a girlfriend or a wife. It makes you smile.
When you come home, she'll be waiting. Sleeping on the couch, or reading a book. Sometimes she's made you dinner and you sit outside on the old fire escape to eat it. You love it when she smiles between bites of spaghetti, or when you offer to share the last meatball. It's all very cartoonish, in your opinion, but you wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. Sometimes she'll play the radio, lots of country songs about longing and love and loss. She'll sit in your arms, her feet dangling over the edge, with her head leaning against his shoulder. You'll take in the way she smells and the sound of her voice.
Sometimes, when you're sad, she makes you tell her, and she lets you cry or get angry. You don't have to pretend for her. You'll make love, sometimes soft and slow, until she begs you not to stop. Other times, when the case didn't go well, you'll take her against the kitchen counter, or in the shower. Rough and wet and over before you even realise what you're doing.
Life is coming home to her, to this little world where pain and horror aren't welcome. Life is loving her first thing in the morning and last thing at night.
It's everything you never dared to dream about.
Disclaimer: not mine
Reviews: yes please
Life is when you solve a case no one else dared to handle.
You can feel it inside of you, a feeling of glory and happiness. It's when you go tell the victims mother or wife or daughter that it's ok now. That they can sleep safe tonight. Sometimes they cry, sometimes they smile. Sometimes they invite you in for tea or coffee, asking a million questions about the how and what. Sometimes they ask you if you've got a girlfriend or a wife. It makes you smile.
When you come home, she'll be waiting. Sleeping on the couch, or reading a book. Sometimes she's made you dinner and you sit outside on the old fire escape to eat it. You love it when she smiles between bites of spaghetti, or when you offer to share the last meatball. It's all very cartoonish, in your opinion, but you wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. Sometimes she'll play the radio, lots of country songs about longing and love and loss. She'll sit in your arms, her feet dangling over the edge, with her head leaning against his shoulder. You'll take in the way she smells and the sound of her voice.
Sometimes, when you're sad, she makes you tell her, and she lets you cry or get angry. You don't have to pretend for her. You'll make love, sometimes soft and slow, until she begs you not to stop. Other times, when the case didn't go well, you'll take her against the kitchen counter, or in the shower. Rough and wet and over before you even realise what you're doing.
Life is coming home to her, to this little world where pain and horror aren't welcome. Life is loving her first thing in the morning and last thing at night.
It's everything you never dared to dream about.
