#katz.

✹ SUMMER ✹ — cold drinks after a long day, hiking in the woods just outside the city, swimming in a lake, spontaneous picnics, the warmth of the sun making you drowsy, the buzz of insects flying by,  blooming wildflowers, the scent of bark and leaves, snapping twigs in half, a blade of grass between your teeth, light sunburn on the tip of your nose, barking dogs, rosy cheeks, children laughing in the distance, sunflowers reaching for the sun, fresh ice tea, resting your head on someone’s lap, warm yellow, the sound of waves crashing

☁ AUTUMN ☁ — cool breezes that feel just right, piles of leaves, rust red, oversized sweaters, knitted blankets, pumpkin spice, the scent of freshly baked goods, open windows letting the fresh air in, cold cheeks and hands, rain boots, carving pumpkins, soft scarves, a comforting embrace from an old friend, the scent right before a storm, wild mushrooms, ripening berries, a cup of hot tea, purring cats, blueberry muffins, braided hair, wearing your partner’s shirts, an alarm pulling you from slumber, burning candles

❅ WINTER ❅ — the crackling of a fireplace, hot chocolate with marshmallows, the smell of fresh cookies, fuzzy socks, beanies pulled over your ears, a strong pot of coffee, dark clouds gathering on the horizon, the sound of wind shaking the house, melting ice, snowflakes in your hair, melancholy afternoons, curling up with a book while the world stands still, cough drops on the nightstand, excitedly giving gifts, long coats with deep pockets, pale blues, flour on the tip of your nose, warm soup, stubble turning into a beard, the scent of leather

❀ SPRING ❀ — the smell after it rains, waking to the sound of birds singing, the crack of thunder, soft pinks, energy drinks or protein shakes, the scent of fabric softener, tidying up, the sweet taste of fresh fruit, competitive spark in eyes, sand beneath your feet, sweat on your brow, catching your breath after running, light green, frosted cupcakes, electricity in the air, forbidden kisses,  the sharp hunger after a workout, daring romances, high ponytails, unexpected storms, picking flowers, running barefoot in the grass, iced coffee

⠀ sheltered as it is from any doors or windows, the air in the back corner of the bar is stale and hot and smells more than faintly of cigarettes. beverly thinks it likely the scent is just as much a fixture of the place itself as it is ferried in on smokers' shoulders, a remnant of the time when butt-studded ashtrays were dolloped on the bartop and an opaque grey haze crowded the long, thin room. indoor smoking's been banned in dc since 2006, but decades of constant exposure to that kind of contaminant don't just wash away. an atmosphere like that? it penetrates; it gets subsumed. cleaning crews can wipe down the walls and polish the tabletops all they want, but they won't ever get at what's beneath.

⠀ not like that, anyway.

⠀ while tess lines up her next throw, beverly stares down at the blue-bright screen of her blackberry and feels her jaw clench.

⠀ the hospital thinks that will is stable enough for transfer, alana's message reads. he'll be placed back under dr. chilton's care tomorrow.

⠀ in the periphery of her vision, a deliberate jerk disturbs the strong, compact line of tess's body. beverly monitors the practiced snap of tess's arm and the straight, sharp trajectory of the dart, looking up just long enough to evaluate the throw—another bullseye, goddammit—and then the blackberry commands her focus again, buzzing in her fist like the last warning of a cornered animal before it pounces.

⠀ he looks good, bev.

⠀ a sharp, derisive noise escapes her, clawing its way up her throat and out of her nose. beverly hasn't seen will since the day she processed him in quantico, and he sure as hell hadn't looked good then.

⠀ would it hurt less to see him whole, she wonders? or more?

⠀ with an agitated flick, she locks the phone and slaps it facedown onto the sticky table. what does it matter? it's not like she intends to visit him. why would she? there's nothing left for her to say.

⠀ "bad news?" tess asks. beverly snorts as she drains her beer, which is warm and more than a little flat.

⠀ "more like a bad apple." she wipes her mouth on the back of her hand and leans back against the booth, stretching her legs out long beneath the table. a reflexive kick of guilt catches her just beneath the ribs, but she grimaces through it, rolling the base of her pint glass in tight circles on the table. around and around, tiny variations on the same path of motion. a corkscrew with an utterly predictable end.

⠀ "you'd think you get used to it," she drawls. "i've been with the bureau for years. but there's always something that manages to catch you by surprise."

⠀ on the table, beverly's blackberry lies quiet and forcibly blinded. she resists the urge to look.

⠀ "you want another? next round's on me."