Work Text:
Eve has a terrible poker face.
Your mind was delicately handcrafted to notice the nuances. Trained to be fully aware of your surroundings - abrupt movements, irregular blind spots, forced smiles, suspicious mannerisms. It’s habitual.
So when her left eye twitches and her brows pull together, her smile now dropped, you know she doesn’t believe you.
Despite being in hiding, she still keeps close tabs on her former investigations. Haphazardly strewn papers on the kitchen table have become a regular guest in your home.
Her attention can’t be divided. You’ve come to terms with that.
She sits at the end of the table with her pointer finger trapped between her teeth and doesn’t acknowledge your presence while you turn on the kettle. You only receive a mumbled "thank you" when a mug is placed beside her, eyes still locked on her screen.
You sit at the opposite end of the table to observe her fully. First, the delicate pulsing of her furrowed brows. You know it’s a gruesome case by the way her foot swings with excitement.
Left. Right. Up. Right. Left. Right. Up. Right.
You watch silently at the end of the table while she continues the scan the length of her computer. Once, twice, and so on. You count 16 rows before her eyes light up and takes a sip of her tea, a small smile lingering on her face as she swallows. She found something. A critical piece of evidence, another bone to chew on. She radiates confidence. You’ve come to find that this is the true Eve. The person you’ve only seen in glimpses of in the form of absentminded dancing while folding laundry and bellowing laughter from a shitty sitcom joke.
“God, I love you”. The statement is breathy with a small shake of your head.
You instantly regret it.
She quietly places her mug down, smile dissipated, and continues to read with no acknowledgment of your comment. The lines of text she scans with her eyes are no longer linear. They jump back to the left side of her screen each time she blinks, restarting the paragraph.
She’s distracted. Her attention can’t be divided.
Up until now, those words haven’t been spoken since Rome. A pang of guilt washes over you at the thought. A new feeling that has become more frequent now that you’re with Eve. It’s not welcomed. You’ve never had to care for or about anyone else before. So you force the feeling aside. Store it in a box and throw away the key. Eve has a box of her own. She’ll keep it out of sight, but you know the contents of it.
Neither of you has ever been conventional, so why start now?
You slowly rise from the table without another word. Her eyes burn through your back as you make your way to the living room. Suddenly it’s all too quiet. The once comforting whir of the ceiling fan isn’t enough to drown out your thoughts. You need something stronger.
A shitty sitcom will do just fine.
It’s roughly 30 minutes before you hear Eve chuckle from the kitchen. Another 90 when you feel thick curls sliding up your chest. She hovers over your body and places a light kiss on your neck. Her arms hug your torso as she lies down beside you. Instinctively, your arms wrap around her.
You don’t talk about it for the rest of the day. It lingers in your mind for weeks until it quietly exits to its respective box. You figure it’s better this way. It’s comfortable here. She’ll continue to work with the same excitement and you’ll watch from afar. When she gets inebriated, she'll slur her words and talk about Bill. You’ll listen, even ask some questions of your own, knowing she won’t remember it in the morning. When she wakes up in the middle of the night sobbing and screaming, you’ll hold her close until her body rests.
You’ll tell her you love her over and over, through cups of tea, stolen glances, and undivided attention.