#chuckles nervously

You can tell it's a rough one.

Just from the way she looks.

It's late, far too late, when she crosses the threshold into your place. It's so late you'd usually be asleep and Alex knows it. It's why she's chosen now to come home.

But you're not asleep tonight, instead you're standing in the kitchen, pouring a glass of wine, intent to curl up on the couch and read, usually one of Alex's nerdy linguistics books. They make you feel closer to her when she's away.

You don't hear her come in, but she's standing in the doorway of the kitchen when you turn around. She flinches when you jump, just subtly. A nervous tick left from her abduction by The Replecator.

"Sorry."

She mumbles. The word lost in the low rumble of her voice, and you know. You know instantly that she's shut down. It doesn't happen very often these days—the two of you having a better understanding of the warning signs— but when it does you know what to do.

"That's okay hun." You whisper, keeping your voice as low and as still as possible. "I just wasn't expecting you back so soon. Usually your cases have you away for a few more days."

Briefly, you wonder if something has happened, but you tuck it away for later.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

You ask her, even though you know the answer, its still nice of you to ask. She shakes her head, moving further into the kitchen, watching you move about in practiced fluidity. It's a routine she is familar with and that calms her.

"Okay. You don't have to talk. You don't have to say anything." You assure her. When she's shut down like this, the kindest thing you can do is not force it. "You wanna have a drink with me instead?"

She nods slightly, just once. Quick and fluid, and it makes you smile.

"Okay. We can do that."

You promise, reaching for another glass in the cabinet and pouring more wine. When you hand the glass to her she swirls the liquid around and stares into it.

"I'm sorry." She repeats.

"You don't need to be sorry. You don't ever have to apologize."

She doesn't say a word, just flashes you that goregous smile of hers that made you weak in the knees. She follows you out to the sofa, you sit first, grabbing her hand and pulling her down with you. You brush her hair behind her ear and set the wine glasses down on the coffee table as you pull her against your chest.

"It's okay. You're okay. You're safe."

You hum the usual assurances, things you know do help on occasion. Not always, but most times, it's enough.

You feel her start to cry. You don't hear the tears—she's mastered the art of keeping those silent— but you can feel the way she shudders against your chest. Unable to speak, rendered utterly unable to use that impeccable brain of hers to spit anything out.

You hold her tighter, and wish there was something more you could do. She's confided in you once before, on a rare day a shutdown let her speak more than a few words at a time.

"This is stupid. I study linguistics and I can't even speak. What kind of doctor am I? What kind of professor? What am I doing in the bureau? I'm useless."

"Alex." You murmer her name against her ear, "Alex. Alex. Alex." Sometimes just hearing it works, reminds her that she's someone. She's more than a doctor and a professor, she's someone. She's yours.

Today, tonight, though, it doesn't seem to be. These storms were the hardest to ride out, when there was nothing you could do except be there. Be a body against hers.

"You don't have to speak baby, but can you nod for me?" She nods once, and you keep going. "It was a bad one wasn't it? Worse than usual."

"Mmhm." She hums, nodding once more, and you kiss the top of her head in gratitude. "Kids."

"Oh hun, I am so sorry." She leans forward to reach for her glass, her hand shaking as she does. "It reminded you of Ethan didn't it?"

Another nod, hardly preceptable but you catch it.

But you know that's not the whole of it. Ethan reminders were pretty much guaranteed in her line of work, and not all of them prompted a shutdown.

You don't push further, not yet, not now. She'll open up when she's ready. So, until then, you shift further back against the pillows, taking her with you, and you pick up your book. Without even really understanding what you're reading, you just start reading, and you let the words wash over the silence. Alex enjoys hearing you read, even if you stumble over the more complex terms.

"The french vernacular you're using has a feminine prefix but you're pronunciation is masculine."

She corrects about halfway through, causing you to put down the book and smile down at her. She looks up, grinning softly too. She's not even close to okay, but she's a little better.

"Ah, so that's why it wasn't making sense."

"Among a myriad of other things."

"A myriad, listen to you Professor Blake."

You lean over her to grab your own glass of wine, which is no longer chilled the way you tend to enjoy it but it doesn't bother you too much. You're just glad she's finally spoken. Spoken a full sentence.

"Did you do that on purpose? Knowing I'd catch it?" She asks, her voice still carrying that sad kind of softness, but it's a bit more clear than before.

"Hey. No fair profiling me." You pout.

"You make it easy."

Alex leans her head back against your chest, the sound of your heartbeat again thrumming in her ears, it makes her feel safe, warm, protected, loved.

"Thank you." She breathes after another tense beat of silence. So long you fear you'd lost her again to another shutdown. "For not pushing."

"You don't have to thank me for that. Never."

"James would—"

"Do I look like James?"

You raise an eyebrow in a way that makes her laugh, the kind of laugh she has to hide her face in her hair to fully laugh. You wonder why she does that, and how long she had felt she had to.

"Of course not. And do not look at me like that, he was a really good guy, I still care for him. And I know he cares for me." You catch the word usage, for instead of about. You know she doesn't use words by accident. "Our son... Ethan links us forever."

You kiss her temple again worrying the glass from her hands and setting it aside again.

"Such a good guy, but he can't handle this?"

"Hush." She smacks you playfully on the arm but her voice is sad again, "it was... hard for him. To understand. This... part of me that is so brillant yet so unpredictable. And after Ethan, and Harvard... he'd had enough."

You nod this time, exhaling as she snuggles back against you. She's exhuasted, mentally, this job takes a toll on her, you know. You wish she'd let you in more, but you love the way she feels the need to protect you, to shield you from the worst of it, from the blood and gore and violence of her day to day.

"And anyway, him letting me go—cutting my rope— it was the best thing he could have done because it gave me you. I never would have met you."

Again, her use of that phrase, cutting her rope, it sticks out. Alex Blake never says anything without meaning.

"Strauss... you were in love with her."

Its not a question, she's already given you the answer.

"In love is strong, but something like that. Once, a long, long time ago, she meant things to me once that you do now, and even James once upon a time. But that's not what you care about is it?"

"Alex love, I care about everything you say."

"I'm sure you say that to all the middle aged women huh?"

"Nope, just you."

"Good."

She seems content with it, and she hooks one leg around yours, pinning the both of you together. It's clear that the conversation is over. At least for now, for tonight. She's too exhuasted. Both physically from work, and mentally. Shutdowns spend a lot of her energy, and she's still really foggy from it. You notice, the way she goes wordless again, signaling she's finished talking and isn't likely to resume anytime soon.

"Can I take you to bed?"

Under other circumstances, that might be an invitation for something more sinful, but not tonight, tonight is about Alex, and making her feel safe again. Again she nods, and you're proud of her, for remembering to communicate with you in some way when she finds she can't speak.

You tuck her into bed and almost immediately after you find your way onto your side of the bed, she's flush against your side again.

Something else you learned, just because Alex doesn't speak during a shutdown, doesn't mean she doesn't want to be near you. Only you, as it turns out. A shutdown used to mean total silence and total isolation, but not since she'd met and fallen in love with you.

"I got you." You sigh, one hand tangling in her hair, watching as she drifts off, usually she struggles to sleep, so you're thankful for the nights sleep takes her without a fight. "You're safe. You're home. You're loved."

Every word a promise, every promise a scared vow. Not for the first time do you wonder if she's ever felt as safe with anyone as she does with you. You knew she loved others before, you weren't that insecure, nor that naive, but Erin had never reciprocated, and James, James had never really understood. Not the way you do. Never the way you do.

You're happy to be the first. The first person she doesn't have to pretend around. Because there's nothing about her you don't love.

Absolutely nothing on earth.

You wouldn't change not one thing about Alex Blake. She wouldn't be Alex Blake anymore, and the thought of that, of her ceasing to exist, aches in your chest more violently than a gunshot.

"I love you."