#contamirot

he lets her sit with that question. lets her rethink it and how he moves from one side of the room to the other while it marinates in so much silence. she's not owed an explanation and he's not overeager to give one, either. chooses, instead, to busy himself with the empty clip he ejects and its successor, frisked from his hip, is aloft for scrutiny. " you've been off comm for two days. "

shink! metal kisses metal and the first of many rounds is chambered. " do i have to remind you of our arrangement ? " and what would happen if her end of it fell through. " i don't enjoy babysitting you. " ada's acknowledged at the edge of peripherals, red glow haloing behind shades that only just keep the shine from peeking through. not that he feared her knowing. one spoke on his wheel ; it would turn without her.

" you have a job to be doing. " on the other side of an island crawling with the unimaginative results of an unworthy mind. headaches he'd topple easier, on his own, though dirtied hands were better suited for more admirable foes. names and faces he'd put to memory, years ago. " or did you forget ? "

they dance around each other in every room they enter. pretend their relations a cordial sort. small talk is allotted in brief, passing bursts. and then they wind up back here. free of expectations and the clawing eyes of their peers, each of whom would have salivated for the opportunity to know what went on behind closed — and locked — doors. where an evening is shed alongside their clothes and a ruthless hunger, crawled up from the core of that scar on his chest, makes itself known at the swell of hers. rings of teeth, an interwoven signature she'll hide beneath the same dress she now asks him to assist her with.

" you can't handle it yourself ? " he chides and its mirth is unmistakable. the beast is sated, for now.. an offering of flesh at its altar makes his strides, slow, but deliberate. " i'm disappointed. "

it will take only a second, the tiny peek of a zipper's tongue lulling out at him from a parted seam. it will take only a second, but the night is still young and bare hands don't hesitate when they smooth up and over the curve of thin shoulders. a walk across pale skin, raised and pink in spots he knows to look for.. to thumb over. a man appreciating his work and the valuable way his canvas never fails to display it.

he doesn't make a habit out of it. talking like this. walks the fine-lined tightrope of professional and personal with all the care he applies to everything else in his life. but there are moments, finite and fleeting, where albert's sat in the quiet company of a conversation he doesn't strictly shut down. be it the bags under chris' eyes or that sag to his shoulders so unbecoming, the dragged feet of a lackluster march.. it's not like him. disconcerting to a point of contrition, he's leant back in his own seat, traditional and leather, to watch that sulk fold over the edge of his desk.

" of course not, " cool toned, but lacking bitterness. no bite that chews off the small talk and settles them back on business. his is a mild but tempered interest. the pulled brows of an uncertain appraisal. " you haven't left the precinct for three days, " he knew because neither had he. " last i checked, we didn't have the luxuries of a hotel here. "

if it's a joke, it's a brittle one, tempting the corner of thinned lips in the process.