Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The bartender has such colorful nails - acrylic maybe? Elsbeth isn’t sure - that watching her make cocktails is almost hypnotic. The glossy colors are so appealing, little flashes as she expertly spins the shaker around, flips it in the air, pours the drink through a strainer with a flourish. Elsbeth glances down at her own hands which feel dull in comparison. The sensation of anything more than polish coating her nails makes her feel like she’s suffocating so she’s resigned to appreciating them from afar. From her seat at the counter she observes the bar staff and early-evening patrons, sipping her Shirley Temple and enjoying the crunch of slushy ice.

“Sorry I’m late,” comes a voice to her left, and Elsbeth is grinning before she’s swivelled her barstool around to see her best friend in the entire world.

“Kaya!” They saw each other at the precinct only hours earlier, but Elsbeth hops off her stool to give Kaya a hug anyway.

Her coat carries a slight chill from outside, but she’s warm and smells comforting and familiar, and Elsbeth adores how they fit together, and she’s trying to be better with boundaries so she holds herself back and doesn’t say so, but she loves hugging Kaya so much.

“Interviews went on,” Kaya explains with an eye-roll, then holds out a small gift bag, “happy birthday Elsbeth.”

To celebrate her birthday, Elsbeth has organised a gathering of all her favorite people - from Kaya and Teddy down to the witnesses from their last case and the hot dog vendor around the corner from work - at her apartment on the coming weekend.

Her actual birthday has fallen on a Thursday this year; her least favourite day of the week because Tuesday already began with a T and it throws off using initials for calendars. (She knows Saturday/Sunday have the same issue but at least they have the courtesy to be weekends to make up for it.) Thursday usually has little going for it, other than sometimes poker night, and Kaya insisted they do something more special than bring froyo night a day forward.

She never really celebrated birthdays, or anything other than alternate Christmases back in Chicago. If she was miraculously free enough to celebrate, none of her acquaintances would be. It’s one of the many changes in her life since the move, and one of her favorites.

“Kaya! You didn't have to get me anything,” Elsbeth says, which is true, but she loves gifts, and ones from Kaya especially. She resists the urge to tear it open right away, instead collecting her drink, coat and bags and moving with Kaya along to one of the booths along the far wall of the bar.

“This is so cosy,” Elsbeth shuffles onto the seat across from Kaya.

“Right?” Kaya says with a smile, “I thought you’d like this place.”

Elsbeth could live a hundred lifetimes and not get bored of everything New York has to offer. It's far less exciting to Kaya, but her willingness to indulge Elsbeth - and, on occasion, a reluctant Teddy - means the world.

“I love it,” she grins at Kaya across the table, and a compliment slips out before she has time to think twice; “also - you look so good tonight.”

She noticed Kaya’s dress as soon as she took off her coat at the bar, because she notices everything, but it’s different now, sitting opposite under low lighting. There was nothing wrong with Kaya’s wardrobe before her promotion, but since becoming Detective and getting a more-than-deserved pay rise, new suits and dresses have been making appearances and it’s all Elsbeth can do to stop herself staring. There’s a marked work/home divide; Detective Blanke’s closet is largely monochrome and practical, while bold, playful colours only make an appearance out of hours. Tonight’s dress is dark blue with bright orange accents, a barely on-the-shoulder cut and fabric that makes her want to reach across the table to see if it’s as silky as it looks. She holds herself back, instead downing the last of her drink.

Kaya meets her eyes; flattered but not embarrassed. “Thanks, Elsbeth.”

Excited about the present as much as grateful for the prop, she holds up the giftbag, “can I open this now?”

Kaya smiles in that way she does, like Elsbeth has said or done something endearing. “Of course you can - be careful though, they’re fragile.”

As carefully as she can, Elsbeth gently pulls apart pink-white tissue paper to reveal a set of three glass flamingos.

“Oh Kaya, I love them!”

“These might need some explaining-” Kaya says, reaching to pick one up, “I know you’ve been struggling with your plants recently.”

This is true. Elsbeth loves the vibrancy houseplants bring to her home and office, but thanks to a focus best described as erratic, they always end up dying prematurely from either over- or underwatering. Last year Steve presented her with a cutting from his pothos as part of an office-wide Secret Santa and she was so thrilled she immediately killed it through her attentiveness - a metaphor applicable to several relationships that she’d rather not think about. (Distraught at the idea of hurting Steve’s feelings, she’d come up with increasingly implausible reasons for why he couldn’t enter her office in case he noticed its absence. This charade lasted for two months until Kaya and Wagner staged an intervention and she came clean; Steve, naturally, wasn’t at all offended.)

“See how the legs are little tubes?” Kaya continues, “the idea is, you fill them with water and they’ll water your plants for you over time.”

Elsbeth reverently holds up a flamingo, turning it gently before lifting it to her eye and looking at Kaya through the pink glass, “that is such a good idea!”

“You still need to remember to fill them up, but I figured if I do it when I come over, between us we can keep them topped up.”

“Absolutely,” Elsbeth nods, and the excuse to invite Kaya around even more feels like an additional gift.

“And… you said how much you like those plastic lawn flamingos,” Kaya continues with a small shrug, a twitch of the shoulder Elsbeth knows means she’s trying to be nonchalant, “I figured this is the closest practical thing.”

“Kaya,” Elsbeth beams, delicately placing her presents back in the bag so she can reach across the table with both hands for Kaya’s, “thank you so much.”

After a moment Kaya pulls back and gestures to Elsbeth’s glass, empty except for the maraschino cherry that she always saves for last. “What are you drinking?”

Elsbeth is a restrained drinker; alcohol in almost any quantity makes her peculiar, and she's self-aware enough to know that by most people's standards she’s pretty unusual when stone-cold sober. Kaya isn't most people though, and it's her birthday, so as she chews her cherry she peruses the proper-cocktail section of the drinks menu and selects the one most likely to come with a bendy straw and little umbrella.

“Summer berry bay breeze,” Kaya repeats, “got it. Be right back.”

Alone at the table, Elsbeth turns a flamingo over in her hands, warmed by Kaya’s thoughtfulness. Even the little gift bag looks like a miniature version of one of her totes.

“Good evening.”

Elsbeth looks up to see a man, probably in his fifties, whom she registered while waiting for Kaya. In her earlier observation she noted his expensive suit, suggestive of old New York money. Up close she can sense a confidence implying the same.

“I saw you at the bar,” he says, standing so near that Elsbeth leans sideways to put distance between them, the angle pulling her core muscles, “I thought you were here by yourself.”

“Well, I’m not,” Elsbeth shrugs with a grin, hopes it’s enough to communicate her disinterest.

“You are right now,” he says, and Elsbeth glances over to where Kaya’s standing at the bar. The cocktails are mixed properly here, which is half the appeal of the place, and Elsbeth realises with a sinking feeling that her fruity extravaganza is going to take a while to make. “Are you celebrating?”

“It's my birthday,” the words are a reflex, and she wants to kick herself the moment they've left her mouth.

“Well, happy birthday,” he says, leaning closer, and Elsbeth can smell bourbon on his breath mixing sickeningly with his cologne, "you can do better than spending the evening here."

"I want to be here," she insists, then backtracks, "my friend-"

"Why don't we go somewhere we can dance?" A silk pocketsquare that Elsbeth can tell costs as much as one of her jackets is folded unevenly, one side poking out of his chest pocket an inch above the other. The asymmetry on top of everything else is too much to bear and she wants to scream.

“Hey babe.” Elsbeth nearly cries with relief at the sound of Kaya’s voice. She's suddenly, wonderfully here; without drinks, so she must have spotted them from across the room and come to save her. Every day Elsbeth thinks she couldn’t be more grateful to have such an amazing best friend, and every day Kaya surprises her. Elsbeth’s hands involuntarily twitch as she wants to reach out to her.

The endearment is new, and despite the desperately uncomfortable situation, she likes it. Though she was previously sitting opposite Elsbeth in their booth, Kaya steps deliberately in front of the man and slides in to sit next to her.

“We were having a conversation,” he says, barely looking at Kaya.

“I think a conversation requires two interested parties,” Kaya shoots back. There’s a flash of anger in her eyes, and Elsbeth can feel a tingle of adrenaline course through her - part alarm, part thrill.

Kaya’s so controlled; it’s one of the things Elsbeth admires most about her. Elsbeth knows she wears her own heart on her sleeve. She’s nearly incapable of hiding what she’s feeling, and if she’s upset or angry during a case - or really, any other time - Kaya is the steadfast anchor that keeps her grounded.

So when Kaya’s arm slides around her waist, the squeak of surprise is really not her fault.

“Do you wanna move along?” Kaya asks, but it's not a question. Elsbeth can picture her look of disdain - eyebrows raised, the corner of her lip tight - but she’s determinedly not looking at Kaya’s face, or at where her hand is possessively curled against the jut of her hipbone. She's ticklish there, always has been, but for a reason she’s trying really really hard not to think about, she feels more like melting than laughing.

“Is this your girlfriend?” the man asks, his mouth curled into an arrogant grin.

“Is that a problem?” Kaya replies coolly, and Elsbeth is unbelievably grateful not to be handling this situation because so many things are happening and generating so many feelings that she’s channeling all her energy into not causing a scene.

“I don't believe you,” he sneers.

“We have nothing to prove to you,” Kaya says, “are you going to leave us alone, or am I going to make you?”

“I would love to see you try.”

Before Elsbeth has time to blink, Kaya’s standing, and she hears the indignant yelp at the same moment Kaya expertly twists the man’s arm behind his back. Elsbeth has seen Kaya restrain suspects and perpetrators dozens of times, it’s part of their working life. But Kaya jumping to her aid, following the unexpected, dizzying pretense that they’re a couple, makes Elsbeth’s face flush and her heart pound.

“There,” Kaya says calmly into his ear, “happy now?”

“Alright!” he pleads, “enough!”

Kaya releases him; all his previous confidence evaporated. Elsbeth’s not a vengeful person, but it’s very gratifying. She shoots him the kind of grin she imagines someone whose girlfriend just publicly humiliated her harasser would wear.

Cradling his arm, the man glares at them both as he stumbles away, towards the bar and out of the door.

“Are you okay?” Kaya asks, bravado gone as she turns to Elsbeth.

“I’m fine,” she nods, grateful she opted for a Shirley Temple earlier because she's lightheaded enough, “Kaya-”

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Kaya explains in a rush, “my friends have a code where we look out for each other like that; I thought it was the easiest way to get rid of him-”

“It was perfect,” Elsbeth says, reaching for a hug for the second time in one evening, “thank you.”

“I know you can handle yourself,” thanks to the angle of their embrace, it’s said right into Elsbeth’s ear; she closes her eyes for a moment, holding tight and wishing the moment didn’t have to end, “I didn't want you to have to deal with him on your own.”

She can handle herself, but not always without embarrassing everyone. Kaya’s method is far preferable, and as Kaya pulls back from the hug, Elsbeth can still feel the phantom presence of her hand around her waist.

“You've got my back,” Elsbeth does finger-guns - not very smooth but her hands have a life of their own - as she quotes Kaya's favorite show.

“Always.” Kaya promises, unexpectedly softly, and it's all Elsbeth can do to stop herself welling up with tears or hugging her again. Kaya wanted to make the evening special, but Elsbeth finds herself wishing they were back at her apartment, squashed together on the sofa with Gonzo and a pint of vanilla-peach froyo between them.

“That did kind of ruin the vibe,” Kaya says, as though reading her mind as she glances towards the doorway, “do you wanna get out of here?”

Elsbeth nods, gathering her belongings and clutching her precious present close to her chest.

She loops her arm through Kaya’s as together they head out into the evening.

Chapter Text

“I like the cinnamon, but I love the raspberry,” Elsbeth says, gesturing between two cakes with a pastry fork, “what do you think?”

Kaya has moved her laptop out of range of where sugar granules and crumbs of pistachio might get caught in the crevices of her keyboard. They’ve just concluded their investigation of a murder over forged paintings at Sotheby’s auction house, and Kaya’s write-up is complete but for the final sign-off. More importantly, a new bakery has opened on Elsbeth’s commute, so this morning she has arrived with a sample of seemingly every kind of dessert Scandinavia has ever produced.

“I like whatever this one is,” Kaya says, holding up a bun on a floral-patterned plate that Elsbeth has procured from one of her office shelves, “but I’ve got a one-pastry limit for breakfast.”

Elsbeth chews a forkful of berry-topped pastry, her eyes closed in bliss, fork waving back and forth as if she can't contain her delight. Kaya observes her and wonders what it must be like to experience life the way Elsbeth does; every sensation hightened, colors and flavors bursting in a technicolor Kaya can only reach vicariously.

Elsbeth opens an eye, catches her watching. She points with the fork and grins at Kaya. “I'll save you some of this one for later.”

Kaya takes a bite of her cardamom bun. “Thanks.”

“There you are,” Wagner says, stepping into the open doorway.

“Captain,” Kaya swallows her mouthful as abruptly as she can without choking. “Were you looking for me?”

There are computers for hot-desking in the bullpen, but every detective has their own paperwork style. Donnelly borrows private offices or takes work home; Edwards does everything on her phone, usually while walking between places for maximum efficiency; Fleming scribbles his notes while leaning on the dashboard of his car.

Kaya does take her laptop to the communal spaces on occasion, but pretty much the entire precinct knows that if they’re looking for her, the place to check is Elsbeth’s office. Getting work done next to Elsbeth isn’t always easy, but her insight is invaluable and her running commentary is better white noise than the hullabaloo of the precinct. And - she glances over at Elsbeth, who is looking expectantly at Wagner, a smudge of powdered sugar on the left corner of her mouth - being around Elsbeth makes work, and nearly everything else, more fun.

“I was looking for both of you.”

“Do you have a new case for us?” Elsbeth asks, her smile broadening as though this morning keeps getting better and better, “would you like some skolebrød?”

“No, thank you. And not… exactly,” Wagner says, and the unexpected response coupled with his rigid body language puts Kaya on edge, “please come in, Detective Smullen.”

Elsbeth hurriedly returns the pastries to their boxes and she and Kaya both watch as Smullen, hands in his pockets, slouches into Elsbeth’s office.

Wagner shuts the door, and Kaya and Elsbeth exchange a look at the formality. She tries to focus, steadies her breathing.

“There’s been a suspected homicide at a lesbian nightclub in Brooklyn called Redhead’s,” Wagner explains, and no amount of regulated breathing can soften the jolt of surprise. She’s not a regular, but Kaya has visited a handful of times with a group of Academy friends, “Detective Smullen is lead on the case. We don’t know if it’s accidental, a hate crime, or something more personal; neither the employees or patrons are cooperating with our investigation.”

Kaya and Elsbeth both turn to look at Smullen, who holds his hands up defensively. “Don’t look at me! I got no problem with gays. My sister’s a lesbian.”

Elsbeth’s expression shifts from accusatory to delighted and she gives him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “Good for her.”

“Unfortunately,” Wagner says, clearing his throat, “decades of discrimination from the NYPD have, understandably, made relations… difficult. So, in order to continue our investigation, the two of you will go undercover and make your own inquiries.”

“I love going undercover,” Elsbeth beams, but as she turns to Kaya her face falls, “Kaya?”

“You want both of us to go?” Kaya asks, before catching herself, “Respectfully, sir, why us?”

“As I said, there’s a lot of hurt and mistrust, and I believe that including our Consent Decree lawyer on this case will keep everything above board,” his eyes turn searching, and Kaya has a taste of what suspects must have felt like under his interrogation back in his Detective days, “and you work best with Ms Tascioni. Would you rather I send in someone else?”

Kaya doesn’t like the stab of jealousy she feels at the idea of Elsbeth going undercover with anyone else, especially on this particular case. “No, Captain.”

Wagner nods. “Then let’s get to work.”

With Wagner called away to another meeting, Smullen gives them both an overview of the case so far: their victim died three nights previously, in the early hours of the morning.

“Vic’s a Jennifer Curran, 32, living in Manhattan for two years. Works as a writer but she was apparently paid under the table for some casual work at the club,” Smullen rattles off his notes, “body was found in the bathroom after closing, no obvious trauma. Cause of death still to be determined by the M.E. but looks like it could be poisoning.”

“Poisoning,” Elsbeth repeats, tapping her chin thoughtfully, “a woman’s weapon.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t really narrow things down in this case,” Smullen says with a shrug. “Time of death estimated to be three in the morning, but security footage showed everyone but the victim heading home when the club closed at two.”

Kaya looks sideways at Elsbeth, who meets her eyes with an excited sparkle; Elsbeth loves nothing more than getting her teeth into a case that doesn’t make sense.

“Look,” says Smullen, glancing between them, “I’m gonna go talk to the officers, get things set up for tonight. Are you two happy to get familiar with the case and prep what you need?”

“Yes,” Kaya nods.

“See you later Bobby!” calls Elsbeth.

There's a communal jug of filter coffee in the bullpen just outside Elsbeth’s office. The coffee is awful, and Kaya doesn't touch it unless circumstances make it truly unavoidable - called in so urgently that a Starbucks run wasn't an option, working till 2am and nearing a breakthrough, or being told she's going undercover at a lesbian bar with a quirky consent decree lawyer who causes all kinds of complicated feelings under normal circumstances.

Trying her best to ignore the smell and consistency, which could both be described as tar-like, she pours herself a cup. She needs more than the sugar from the pastries to get her through whatever today holds.

“Let's get some information on this place,” Elsbeth says, tapping away at her keyboard, then grinning at Kaya over her laptop screen, “going undercover should be easy enough - I’ll fit right in.”

Kaya nearly drops her coffee. “What?”

“Redhead’s?” Elsbeth says, pointing at her own hair, which today is poking out from under a polka-dot beret, “not that you need to have red hair to go, but it can’t hurt, right?”

“Right,” Kaya nods, exhaling. She takes a long sip; it's as disgusting as usual but the action means Elsbeth won't be able to read disappointment or any other traitorous emotions across her face.

Oblivious to Kaya's plight, Elsbeth continues; “And you don’t strictly have to be a lesbian either, but I have dated women before, so I guess that’s two points in our favor.”

The information is thrown out so casually that no beverage in the world can hide Kaya's wide-eyed look of surprise. Barely avoiding spluttering, she wants to ask her to repeat herself, make sure she heard correctly.

Kaya's mind races. Elsbeth has never mentioned an ex-girlfriend, but she doesn’t talk a lot about previous relationships other than general disappointment with her former husband. The more she thinks about it, Kaya can’t help but acknowledge Elsbeth’s collection of beautiful, high-flying female friends, from her Chicago days and from more recent cases. Even among their suspects she has a type; older, successful, guilty of murder, though Elsbeth does at least tend to stop flirting once that last one’s confirmed.

Elsbeth tilts her head. “Kaya, are you okay?”

“Yes, sorry - just thinking about the case.” She needs to get her act together better than this if they're going undercover.

“Is this about me? Is that why you asked Captain Wagner?” her tone is both hurt and accusatory, and Kaya wants to explain herself but has no idea where to begin. Elsbeth continues, “do you think Detective Donnelly would make a more convincing lesbian than me?”

“No-” Kaya protests, though she’s not sure which of Elsbeth’s questions she’s responding to, “you just… you haven’t had the training that we have.”

“I went undercover at that wellness center before.”

Kaya remembers all too well. “Elsbeth, you nearly died.”

“But,” Elsbeth points a finger, eyebrows raised and a grin on her face, like a lawyer with incontrovertible evidence, “I didn’t!”

Despite everything, Kaya can’t help her resigned smile in return. “Let’s keep it that way.”

“Here’s your panic buttons for emergencies,” Smullen says, turning around in the driver’s seat of their parked vehicle to hand a small keyring-like device to Elsbeth and Kaya, both sitting in the back, “otherwise, use your work phones to communicate with us. Any sign of trouble, let us know; we’ll be here the whole time, and we’ve got another car two minutes out.”

Kaya nods, and in doing so catches a glance of herself in the rearview mirror. She’s relaxed her hair and gone a little extra with makeup - it’s been about a decade since she last set foot in Redhead’s, but the last thing she wants is to be recognised, either from a previous visit, or by anyone she might have crossed paths with through work.

She turns to Elsbeth. “You ready?”

Elsbeth’s earlier excitement has tempered into determination, and there’s steel behind her eyes.

“You know it.” She nods.

Kaya’s trepidation about going undercover with Elsbeth recedes a little. For all her whimsy, Elsbeth is never more focused than when solving a case, and as long as Kaya’s there to stop her putting herself in danger, they’ll be fine. She resists the urge to reach for Elsbeth’s hand; Smullen and the officer are watching them, and Elsbeth already knows she’s looking out for her.

“Right,” Kaya says, opening the car door, “let’s go.”

The hole-in-the-wall club is just like she remembers; a far cry from the cocktail bar they visited for Elsbeth’s birthday. Or, Kaya assumes, any establishment that Elsbeth has entered as a customer since passing the bar exam, if not before. The furniture is worn and scuffed, posters on the wall have been pasted over each other probably going back decades, and Kaya is mindful not to stand in one place for too long in case the soles of her shoes fuse to the stickiness of the floor.

“This is fun,” Elsbeth leans close to be heard over the music, and as her breath tickles Kaya’s ear, she can hear the smile in her voice. A few patrons sit at the bar, behind which two women are serving drinks, and a scattering of couples are moving to a Lady Gaga remix in the dance area. It’s not busy, but it’s also 9pm on a weeknight. They’d aimed to come at a time when it was quiet enough to talk, but not empty enough to be conspicuous, and as Kaya looks around it seems they’ve judged it exactly right. It’s much warmer than outside, and when Elsbeth removes her fluffy blue coat, Kaya calls upon every bit of training to stop herself staring.

“Elsbeth,” she says, keeping her eyes ahead, “are you… dressed as the lesbian pride flag?”

Elsbeth looks down at her own outfit, a gradient of pink and orange with white accents. “As the what-flag? This is what I always wear.”

Kaya can’t argue with that.

“I’ll have a look around,” Elsbeth whispers, glancing in the direction of the bar, “if you want to go and order?”

One of the few profiles Smullen was able to put together was of Katherine Murphy, the bartender and owner of the club. Distinctive with short, bright ginger-red hair, and nearly all her visible skin covered in tattoos, Kaya identifies her instantly. She doesn’t need to see behind the bar to know she’s wearing leather boots.

“What can I get ya?”

“Can I get a-” Kaya pretends to eye the selection, chooses something in a bottle because it won’t be noticeable if she doesn’t drink it, “Stella and a lime and soda?”

As she slices a wedge of lime, Katherine’s eyes flick between Kaya and Elsbeth, who has taken to the dancefloor. “Haven’t seen you two around before; I’d have remembered.” Kaya can’t tell if the comment is flirtatious or an honest assessment of seeing Elsbeth. “You local?”

“Chicago,” Kaya says, her accent toned down enough to be believable, “took a trip for our anniversary.”

“Congrats,” Katherine says, flicking the cap off Kaya’s beer with an opener, “hey - is your girl okay?”

Kaya, because she’s a great cop who more than deserves her detective shield, doesn’t visibly react to Elsbeth being referred to as her girl. She follows her eyeline to see Elsbeth undulating slowly around in a circle to a Chappell Roan song. She watches as she bumps into a nearby couple, nearly stumbles over, apologises, and strikes up a conversation.

“The dancing is endearing when you’re used to it,” Kaya confides, and she’s in trouble because it’s absolutely true.

In the time it takes for Kaya to pay for their drinks - cash only, because it’s that kind of place - Elsbeth has made her way back over to the bar. It’s not crowded but she presses up close.

“Your drink,” Kaya says, sliding it over.

“Thanks babe,” she says, the curl of her grin confirming she’s deliberately using the endearment Kaya gave her back at Elsbeth’s birthday. She takes a long sip, then addresses Katherine, “so I overheard that someone was killed here last week?”

“Killed?” Katherine pauses wiping a glass, “no, someone OD’d in the bathroom. Tragic, but it could’ve happened in any club in Manhattan.”

“That is tragic,” Elsbeth nods sympathetically.

“Thank god the bastards let us reopen,” Katherine says, and over the music Kaya can hear the squeak of the cloth against the glass as she cleans more aggressively, “we’ve been operating on a knife-edge since the pandemic, it’s all we need - anyway. Forget about it. Don’t let it ruin your special night.”

The loud music and ambient noise make talking discreetly impossible, so Kaya takes Elsbeth’s hand and guides her through a narrow door in the far corner of the room that leads into a small corridor and further to the club’s bathroom.

There’s nobody else in the corridor, so she releases Elsbeth and asks in a whisper, “what do you think?”

“I don’t know,” Elsbeth says, brow furrowed as she swirls her drink thoughtfully, “she’s not telling the whole truth, but it doesn’t make sense for her to commit murder at her own bar; she’s clearly worried about getting shut down. I also think she’s a lot more upset than she’s letting on.”

“H-hey you,” comes a voice from behind them, and Kaya turns to see a young woman with an undercut and overalls she recognises as the second person behind the bar, “I overheard you just now.”

“Just now?” Kaya asks, voice calm but one hand readied to reach for her alarm.

“What Kat said about Jen,” the woman says, and though the corridor is dim, away from the disco lights of the club Kaya can see her eyes are watery and bloodshot, “Jen was clean.”

Kaya recalls the bare-bones profile Smullen provided of this woman: Miri Lee, thirtysomething, general gofer at Redhead’s for at least a few years, and excluded as a suspect on account of being in Queens on a day off on the night of the incident. She sways slightly on the spot, and Kaya recognises the combination of grief and alcohol - gin, if she had to guess from the smell - of someone deep in mourning.

“Why does it matter what Kat said?” Elsbeth asks, setting her glass on the floor so she can rummage for a pack of tissues in her pared-down undercover bag.

Miri takes an offered tissue. “She’s been telling people - probably the cops too - that Jen died of an overdose.”

They shouldn’t, but Kaya and Elsbeth share a look. Fortunately, Miri is too busy blowing her nose to notice.

“Do you have any idea why Kat would lie?” Elsbeth asks gently.

Miri shrugs. “I guess to protect the bar’s reputation? There’s not, like, a lot of fights or bad blood here. Other than relationship drama, and Jen kept out of that.”

“Was there anyone Jen was close to?”

“She was one of those people who was friends with everyone, but didn’t really open up with anyone, you know?” She pauses, hiccups, swipes at tears, “she always seemed cheerful, I guess, but she kept a lot to herself.”

Kaya manages not to look pointedly at Elsbeth, who reaches to touch Miri’s arm.

“You really cared about Jen, didn’t you?” Elsbeth says.

“I loved her,” Miri says, then half-laughs, half-sobs, “everyone knew but her. We were friendly - friends - but there’s so much drama here, so many other women… she didn’t even look at me twice. I’m just a janitor.”

“Hey,” Kaya says reflexively, “there is nothing just about being a janitor.”

“She was found in the bathroom,” Miri's voice cracks, and she pulls away from Elsbeth to lean against the corridor wall, hunching into herself, “she was only on cleaning duty because I went to my stupid brother’s gig. If I’d been here, maybe she wouldn’t have-”

“You can’t think like that,” Kaya says. Normally, this would be where she reassures the victim’s loved one that they’re going to catch the killer and bring them to justice.

As her script runs out, Elsbeth saves her. “If Jen’s the kind of person you’re describing, she wouldn’t have wanted you in danger either.”

“Maybe,” Miri shrugs, wiping tears with her sleeve and pocketing the tissue, then standing up straight. “I should get back to work. Thanks for listening, I guess.”

Kaya and Elsbeth watch in silence as Miri heads unsteadily back to the main bar.

“Poor thing,” Elsbeth says, retrieving another tissue and dabbing at her own eyes.

“You okay?” Kaya asks, her voice tight. She can usually stay professionally detached while working, but hearing Miri’s story and the way she described their victim makes this case - which is not technically hers, and one she didn’t even want - feel personal. Before working with Elsbeth she’d try and shut down her own feelings on a case, but as her eyes meet Elsbeth’s in the dark corridor, she knows feeling empathy with the victim and her loved ones isn’t a bad thing. As long as it doesn’t blinker her investigation, having a better understanding of the victim’s relationships is what they’ve been sent to find out.

Elsbeth nods, and Kaya looks along the corridor to the door at the end that leads to the bathroom. “Guess we should go look at the crime scene.”

Kaya’s seen some revolting club bathrooms in her time and, kudos to Miri, this one isn’t so bad. There’s graffiti everywhere, cracked tiles, and one of the stalls is cordoned off as out of order, but it’s not filthy. Kaya checks that all three cubicles are empty before she and Elsbeth begin investigating.

“According to the crime scene pictures, she was found here,” Elsbeth says, spreading her arms out to indicate a human-size shape on the floor just in front of the sinks, “curled up in a fetal position, facing the door.”

Kaya places her beer bottle next to the sink and looks around the room for anything that seems out of place. Her eyes catch on a small door behind where Elsbeth is standing, at the opposite end of the small room.

Kaya tugs and twists the doorknob. “It won’t open - must be locked.”

Elsbeth crouches to line up her eye with the small keyhole. “If we lockpick, any evidence is inadmissible.”

Kaya raises an eyebrow. “You know how to lockpick?”

The door to the bathroom swings open, making them both jump; Elsbeth straightens up like a meerkat. In the mirror above the sink, Kaya spots Katherine, the bar owner, about to enter. Her eyes widen and they have less than a second to appear casual, standing around in the bathroom-slash-potential murder site, and before she can think about what acting natural might look like, Elsbeth is suddenly kissing her.

She tenses with surprise, then as rational thought kicks in she tries to force herself to relax, which is made difficult as Elsbeth nudges her back against the cupboard door.

Elsbeth moans, the small noise huge in the empty bathroom, and Kaya shouldn’t have doubted her undercover credentials because she’s really committing to this performance. Kaya has, on occasion, wondered what it might be like to be kissed by Elsbeth, if she kisses like she does everything else; chaotic but focused, awkward but insistent. It’s somehow all of the above, and as Kaya kisses back she can taste the lime and soda on her mouth, and Kaya’s never going to look at limes in the same way again.

“Ladies.” comes Katherine’s voice with a hint of amusement, and Kaya realises that - rookie mistake for undercover work - at some point during the kiss she closed her eyes.

Returning to reality, Kaya pulls away and steps back from Elsbeth and the cupboard door, which Katherine unlocks to retrieve some dishcloths. As she does so, Kaya catches a glimpse of the contents of the storage cupboard, and her eyes widen as she’s hit with an idea.

“Glad you’re enjoying your night,” Katherine nods with a knowing grin, securing the door before heading back out to the rest of the club.

As soon as the door closes, Elsbeth looks at her, panic in her eyes. “I’m so sorry-”

“What are you sorry for?” Kaya asks, reaching for Elsbeth’s wringing hands. There’s no time for Elsbeth to freak out now and, if she’s honest, she doesn’t want to hear about how Elsbeth is sorry for the kiss at all. Her heart, still pounding, suddenly feels heavy with disappointment. “There wasn’t exactly time to ask permission. You saved our cover.”

Elsbeth steadies, as though Kaya’s hands are grounding her. “Right.”

“I had a thought,” Kaya says, and takes advantage of their proximity to explain her theory to Elsbeth, voice hushed in case anyone else decides to enter.

“Detective Kaya Blanke,” Elsbeth says, beaming with pride, “you really do deserve that shield.”

“We can’t confirm anything without access to the cupboard though,” Kaya says, shoving emotions from Elsbeth being proud of her firmly into the same box she’s put the feelings about their kiss, to be unpacked in private at a later date, “getting a warrant breaks our cover and upsets relations, and like you said, forcing entry makes any evidence worthless.”

“I have an idea,” Elsbeth says with a grin, pointing across the room, “you’re not drinking that, are you?”

“That?” Kaya looks to her beer bottle, which is still sitting on the edge of the sink, “no, why?”

“Sorry Miri,” Elsbeth says like a prayer, before taking the bottle and upending its contents onto the bathroom floor.

Kaya steps back just in time to avoid getting splashed, “Elsbeth, what are you-”

Elsbeth’s game face is on. “Let’s go and tell Miri there’s a cleanup required here.”

“I’m really sorry about this,” Elsbeth apologises, fussing around as Miri surveys the scene; beer has been splashed all over the floor in front of the sinks, puddling in the middle of the room.

“Don’t worry about it,” Miri says, clumsily unclipping a carabiner of keys from her beltloop and unlocking the cupboard.

As she reaches inside, Elsbeth pokes her head into the small space, “Kaya, you were right.”

“What are you-”

“Wait! Don’t touch those!” Elsbeth shouts, as Miri reaches for one of the chemical bottles on the shelf.

Miri snaps her hand back. “Why not?”

“First, let me ask you this,” Elsbeth says, though it's without any of the usual theatrics that accompany the resolution of an Elsbeth-case, “if you mopped the floor with a vinegar wash and then used bleach as a cleaning agent, what would happen?”

Miri’s eyes widen, clarity breaking through her liquor-induced stupor. “You’d make chlorine gas.”

“See,” Kaya says gently, “you know that because you’re a janitor. I’m so sorry, but Jen almost certainly didn’t.”

Miri’s expression crumples, and the devastated look on her face hurts to see. Though she loves her job - she works hard, and is very good at it - breaking difficult news to families and loved ones never gets easier.

“You… think she p-poisoned herself,” Miri stammers, “by accident?”

“It’s easy to do,” Elsbeth says, reaching out a sympathetic hand.

Miri pulls back, shakes her head. “How do you know all this? Why are you asking all these questions?”

“We’re with the police,” Kaya says, because at this point the only way forward is to bring in forensics. Katherine won’t be happy, but if they’re right - and nothing else explains the camera footage confirming everyone else had left the building - it will allow the case to close without the shadow of suspected murder hanging over the club, “we’re investigating Jen’s death.”

“Oh.” Miri looks shell-shocked, one hand gripping the edge of the sink to support herself as she takes in everything Kaya and Elsbeth are saying.

“We can check the chemical bottles for fingerprints,” Elsbeth explains, “if Jen’s are present, it will confirm she was handling them before she died. We can also tell the Medical Examiner to test for chlorine poisoning.”

“It means nobody wanted to hurt her,” Kaya says, and she hopes it’s somehow comforting, “and proves her death wasn’t drug-related.”

“Right,” Miri manages, wiping at tears with her sleeve as they begin to fall.

As expected, Katherine is not pleased with them, but after Kaya and Elsbeth explain their discovery, she grudgingly permits Smullen and some forensics officers access into the building.

“I get that you’re cops,” Katherine says with distaste, almost spitting the word, “but you’re not together?”

Elsbeth and Kaya have shared looks at the aftermath of a case before, but none quite as charged as this.

“Nope,” Kaya manages, “sorry for the deception.”

“We’re partners in crime…solving.” Elsbeth does a little flourish at the end, and Kaya has to bite her lip to stop herself smiling.

Katherine stares at them both for a moment, then shrugs. “Whatever. I owe you for figuring out what happened. It means a lot to me, and I know it means the world to Miri. Since you’re here, do you want a drink?”

As evidence is collected and the case begins to close, Kaya and Elsbeth sit together at a beaten-up table at the corner of the bar, a ginger ale each, watching colleagues in their white CSI suits trail in and out of the building. Across the room from them, Miri is slumped at another corner, a pint of water in hand as she watches through glassy eyes.

The bulk of the paperwork can wait for tomorrow, but they need to stick around for the case debrief, so Kaya makes her own notes while events are still fresh. Beside her, Elsbeth intently scrolls through the case files Smullen sent them earlier.

Elsbeth sits bolt upright, staring at a page on her screen. “Aha!”

“What is-”

“Miri!” Elsbeth calls across the bar, and the young woman looks up.

Elsbeth nearly tumbles over in her enthusiasm as she gets up from their table and skitters over to Miri’s, and Kaya follows at a normal human pace.

“I’ve been looking through the evidence for this case - I wanted to show you this,” Elsbeth says, showing her a photograph of a stack of paper on her phone, “our officers have been processing Jen’s belongings; you know she was a writer as her day job?”

“Yeah,” Miri shrugs, “she never let me read any of it though.”

“The manuscript she was working on was taken in for evidence; look.”

Kaya watches as Elsbeth flicks through photographs of the unpublished piece, showing it from different angles until she reaches a picture of the title page.

‘For Miri.’

“She did care about you,” Elsbeth promises, “even if she didn’t say it, she wanted you to know.”

“Oh,” Miri says, tears welling as she processes the two small words and everything they contain.

“The manuscript will be held until the case is fully signed off, but once we’re done we’ll see if it can be released to you.”

As Miri’s sobs grow louder, Katherine appears at the table, every bit as intimidating as the organized crime bosses Kaya’s crossed paths with over the course of her work.

“Look. Can you stop making my employee cry?”

Elsbeth all but throws her tissue packet on Miri’s table as an apology as they leave Miri to Katherine’s care and hurry back to their table.

“That was really kind,” Kaya says, “what you did for Miri.”

“Oh, it was nothing really,” Elsbeth waves her hand, then sighs, “it’s just so sad. Love like that, never realised.”

Despite Elsbeth’s obvious, sometimes bordering on embarrassing, fondness for her, Kaya has long accepted that things between them are destined to remain as they are; slightly codependent best friends and coworkers.

Elsbeth might be less heterosexual than previously thought, but based on observations of the kind of women Elsbeth is into, Kaya decidedly does not fit the criteria, and anyway, to try would mean risking their friendship and their careers. Still, Kaya can’t help but feel a little hurt that they’ve known each other for so long and she’s never mentioned anything.

“How come you never told me you’ve dated women?”

Elsbeth looks sheepish, lowering her eyes as she fidgets with her glass. “Maybe ‘dated’ is too strong a word. I’ve had relations, but probably not anything you’d call a relationship. Not sure if it’s because of the woman thing or the me thing.”

“Elsbeth,” Elsbeth is so practiced at hiding it that Kaya forgets sometimes that, despite her effervescent highs, Elsbeth is just as capable of low points as anyone else. Kaya doesn’t want to give herself away but can’t let that go unchallenged, “anyone would be lucky to date you.”

Elsbeth turns to look at her and for a moment there’s an expression on her face, open and unguarded, that makes Kaya’s eyes widen and - just for a second, before logic catches up with her - reassess her conclusion that Elsbeth is definitely not interested. Elsbeth’s modus operandi has always been playing silly and allowing herself to be underestimated until, evidence in hand and all questions answered, finally delivering the fatal blow. Kaya’s heart pounds as she holds Elsbeth’s gaze. Elsbeth has a history of hiding things, including from Kaya, and Kaya wishes she knew what she was thinking. What other secrets she’s holding close to her chest.

Just as she feels she’s made some kind of breakthrough in better understanding her partner, Elsbeth turns the conversation around. “Speaking of not telling each other things,” she says, her tone light but still that intensity in her eyes, “you didn’t tell me you’d been here before.”

Kaya’s mouth falls open. “How did you-”

Elsbeth takes a pointed sip of her drink, raising her eyebrows at Kaya in a rare expression of smugness.

“The layout of this place is really confusing, but you knew where everything was,” she says, pointing fingers in different directions as if miming a maze, “even the bathroom, which is impossible to find without asking.”

She can’t argue with that. After Elsbeth’s honesty she doesn’t even want to, and feels guilty for pressing Elsbeth about her past without sharing her own. “I came here a few times in my Academy days,” she says; pauses. “with friends. A girlfriend once or twice.”

Elsbeth doesn’t make a fuss, just nods in understanding. “But not anymore?”

Elsbeth’s inquisitive looks are too much, and Kaya stares down at her glass. “Work keeps me busy these days. I’ve lost touch with most of them anyway; I don’t have anyone to go with.”

“Well, even though we were dealing with, you know, everything,” Elsbeth says, fingers splayed as she gestures everything, “I had a nice time here tonight. I hope you did too.”

"Detective Blanke! Ms Tascioni!" Kaya looks up to see Detective Smullen waving them over. The last of the evidence has been secured, and after a debrief they can all go home. It's already late, and she foresees a long night with a lot of processing and not much sleeping.

Still, she can't lie to Elsbeth.

“Yeah," she nods, "I did.”

Chapter Text

When the invitation arrives in the mail, it’s not a complete surprise. Elsbeth doesn’t speak to her ex-husband more than she absolutely has to, but Teddy keeps her in the loop with anything he feels she should know, and there’s been a definite uptick in mentions of his father’s girlfriend. He insists he doesn’t take sides - loves his parents equally, alternates Christmases between them - but from a young age he's possessed a sense of loyalty that makes Elsbeth proud.

She collects the thick, elegantly off-white envelope from her mailbox along with the usual takeout fliers, and is enthralled by the paper quality for exactly two seconds before realizing what it’s likely to mean. She’s already dressed, taken Gonzo out for a loop of the park, and stands in her building entrance, her other mail wrinkled in a vice-grip, staring down what is unmistakably a wedding invitation.

Elsbeth will face down anyone from unscrupulous lawyers to cold-blooded murderers - Kaya has expressed that she wishes she would do so less gleefully - but it takes five minutes of pacing, brewing a mug of tea, and psyching herself up before she opens the envelope. Fears confirmed, she slumps into the couch. Ever-loyal Gonzo hops onto the cushion next to her, nuzzling into her free hand.

“What do I do, girl?” Elsbeth sighs. She strokes Gonzo’s comforting wiry hair, which steadies her a little, but the terrier doesn’t supply any answers. Setting the invitation on the coffee table, Elsbeth reaches for her phone in her jacket pocket.

Are you free? her fingers type the message without conscious thought, and before she can think better of it, she’s sent the message to Kaya.

what’s up? Kaya replies almost immediately.

Texting isn’t Elsbeth’s preferred method of communication, and she spends the next two minutes writing and deleting messages, unable to corral her swirling thoughts into a rational enough order to send.

The incoming call jingle pierces the silence of her apartment. Elsbeth starts, nearly dropping her phone in surprise. She fumbles it twice more, knocking the device from hand to hand before finally securing it and looking down to see Kaya’s lovely, reassuring profile picture as she videocalls.

Swiping up to accept the call, Kaya appears onscreen. She’s at home, dressed casually; hair tied up and wearing a well-worn hoodie. She looks even more beautiful than her picture.

“Are you okay?” Kaya asks, a concerned edge to her voice.

“No,” Elsbeth wails, because there's no point deflecting, especially to Kaya, “my ex-husband is getting married.”

“Oh, Elsbeth,” Kaya says, worry giving way to sympathy, and the kindness in her voice makes her want to cry even more, “did he - has he invited you?”

“Elsbeth Tascioni and guest,” she reads the elegant cursive, certainly not her ex-husband’s handwriting.

“Do you actually want to go?”

“I don’t know,” Elsbeth sniffs, wringing her hand, “we used to move in all the same circles, so lots of old friends and colleagues will be there. And Teddy, of course. And… is it bad that I’d like to see him married because it fully-fully closes the chapter on our marriage?”

Kaya takes a moment to consider this. It’s usually only Elsbeth’s consent decree that stops her from being dismissed out of hand by everyone, and she wishes Kaya knew how much it means that she takes Elsbeth's point of view seriously. “No, I think that makes sense.”

Elsbeth glances back down at the invitation, the ‘and guest’ written like a taunt. “I just hate the idea of showing up there by myself, you know? Teddy will have Roy, and he definitely won't want his mother being an... oh, that thing that's like tricycles.”

“Third wheel?” Kaya offers.

Elsbeth slumps onto her couch. “Right.”

“When’s the wedding?”

“Next month. The 30th. It's in upstate New York, I don't even have the excuse that it's far away.”

When Elsbeth’s thinking hard - anything from a case to contemplating what kind of bagel to get from the place near the precinct - it's obvious to everyone. Kaya is much more subtle; a tightness in her mouth, a crease by her eyebrows. Elsbeth can spot her tells even over video and knows she's considering something.

“If you want to go, and don’t want to be by yourself… I could be your guest.”

Elsbeth holds her phone with both hands inches from her face. “Kaya, are you sure?”

“I’ve been your plus one to like a dozen events before. It’s not a big deal.”

It is quite a huge deal. Elsbeth knows this, and she’s pretty sure Kaya does too.

From as far back as she can remember, Elsbeth has had the same reaction when she sees a beautiful woman. Her pulse picks up, her chest feels light and fizzy, and there's an impulse (that she learned a long time ago that must be resisted) to reach out. She assumed for years that these were feelings everyone had. She's accepted that the intensity with which she feels everything is heightened compared to everyone else, but the underlying feelings are surely the same; women are objectively beautiful, a fact as universal as puppies being cute, or donuts being delicious. And even if the baseline feelings are attraction, it doesn't have to mean anything significant.

When she lays eyes on Kaya, dressed up in a gorgeous silver halterneck gown Elsbeth hasn't seen before, her heels making her three inches taller than Elsbeth in flats, the feelings are as strong as anything she can remember.

“Kaya! You look amazing.”

“Elsbeth,” Kaya says, eyebrows raised, “you look…”

“Boring,” Elsbeth sighs, smoothing out the skirt of her coffee-colored A-line dress, “you can say it.”

“I was going to say ‘nice’.”

“Thanks,” she says, but even the compliment from Kaya doesn’t buoy her spirits. She holds up a clutch purse, the biggest one she could find in her closet. “I feel naked with just one bag.”

Elsbeth inputs the address on her phone, which calculates the route; there's little traffic and once they're out of the city they should get a clear run. The venue is a two-hour drive each way, up to a mansion in the foothills of the Catskills. She was initially going to book a car with a driver, but Kaya felt weird about it, so Elsbeth - willing to do anything to make Kaya comfortable, given what she's giving up an entire day off to do - has hired a car and sits in the passenger seat while Kaya drives. She queues up the newest episode of the official Lavish Ladies podcast because she knows Kaya won't have had a chance to listen to it yet.

As it navigates them out of Manhattan and onto the I-87, Elsbeth grips her phone in her hand. She's done a not-insignificant amount of research - of the location, of other guests, of the new-future-Mrs Tascioni. It's not stalkerish, she tells herself; she's always wanted to know everything about everything, and it's basically just an extension of her new job.

Her new job, which gives her freedom to investigate the truth, to put her inquiring mind to good use, to see Kaya every day, to meaningfully help people. She takes a deep breath. She looks down at her brown dress.

"You okay over there? You're quiet."

"Just - thinking."

"Anything you want to talk about?"

Elsbeth's thoughts are a muddle, but Kaya understands her better than anyone, so she gives it a go anyway. "When I was a lawyer, there was… an expectation, I guess. Of how to dress. I always had to tone myself down."

Kaya glances over at her. "That's pretty hard to imagine."

"Right? When I came to New York, I made myself a promise; I'd wear what I want, with no firm or clients telling me what is and isn't," she air-quotes, "'office appropriate'."

"But you're toning yourself down now?"

Elsbeth shrugs self-consciously. "Well, it is someone else's wedding. Rule number one of weddings, don't upstage the bride, right? But also… I feel like my Chicago friends are used to seeing me a certain way. Like, when you visit your parents, do you and your family fall into the same old patterns?"

"Oh, for sure," Kaya's smile is the bright one often seen when talking about her favorite TV shows or new DIY projects; it dimples her cheeks and Elsbeth is staring as Kaya's watching the road, "my brother is thirty-five and still tries to steal food off my plate. We make fun of dad for still saying the same weird phrases he did when we were kids."

"Right!" Elsbeth nods, "but at the same time, you're expected to behave a certain way, right? Even though his sayings don't make sense, you don't want your dad to stop saying them."

"I guess," Kaya says, "is this about Teddy?"

"I'm not sure," Elsbeth drums her fingers against her clutch bag, wishes the car was less modern and had switches and dials she could fiddle with, "I feel like a different person now."

"I get it," Kaya nods, "I told you I fell out of touch with lots of my Academy friends. I miss them, but we're not at the Academy anymore; it's different."

"I'm sure they'd be so proud of you, Detective," Elsbeth smiles, can't help the compliment.

"Well, your old friends should be proud of you, too. You've made a mid-life career change, brought justics to so many families - I think if anyone has a problem with the New Elsbeth, it says more about their insecurities than it does about you."

Elsbeth beams, encouraged by Kaya's words. "And with you as my date, I think they'll all be too jealous to say anything."

Kaya looks at her and Elsbeth freezes. They've been to dozens of fancy events together, most but not all work-related, though the D-word has never been officially used.

They also haven't talked about their kiss at work. What happens undercover stays undercover - she's not sure if that's a line from television or an actual adage of police work - but it doesn't mean Elsbeth has stopped thinking about it. It's been weeks, but she oscillates between daydreaming at her desk and kicking her feet like she's experiencing her first crush, and hugging Gonzo on the couch, consumed with regret that it was a pretense, in a club bathroom where someone had literally died, and Kaya wasn't even an active participant.

At least she hasn't ruined things; Elsbeth can't help her expressiveness, but she hasn't said anything incriminating. Kaya hasn't said anything either, and things have continued more or less as normal.

"That is - do you mind if I call you my date? I mean, I can say guest, or plus-one-"

"No, that's fine," Kaya says, signalling to change lanes even though they don't really need to, "I'm happy to be your date for the day."

The afternoon's itinerary is pretty standard; reception, with drinks and mingling, then the ceremony itself in the main hall, followed by a sit-down meal and then a party into the evening. Elsbeth ordinarily likes a shindig, but hopes to be long gone by the time the party's in full swing.

They're greeted at the door by a young man in a waistcoat who ushers them through to a grand reception hall.

Elsbeth turns in a slow circle, taking it all in.

Elsbeth’s mind is a busy place to be, and usually never moreso than when she’s in a crowded place. Despite the bustle of the grand hall’s reception - familiar voices in the crowd, the violin in the string quartet missing a note, opulent arrangements of lilies which are toxic to dogs but it’s okay because Gonzo’s not here - Elsbeth finds she can move the chaotic thoughts to one side. She links arms with Kaya, her presence grounding.

“Hello, Fantasia,” Elsbeth goes in for a hug with her old colleague, then gestures proudly to Kaya, “this is my date, Kaya Blanke. She's a Detective."

The introduction rolls easily off her tongue. She's never introduced a woman as a partner before, finds it's much easier than she expected.

After exchanging pleasantries, Fantasia moves on to mingle with other guests and Elsbeth continues flitting around the hall, expertly avoiding her ex-husband - just because she's at his wedding at his invitation doesn't mean she has to speak to him - while catching up with acquaintances. Kaya is an angel, facing introduction after introduction with grace and a beautiful smile.

Across the room, nearly hidden behind a grand pillar, Elsbeth spots a tall figure skulking in a corner, scrolling on his phone.

"Teddy!" Elsbeth calls, pulling Kaya along by their joined hands. Teddy glances up; he looks wonderful in anything, but the three-piece suit makes him seem so grown-up and handsome she feels a swell of maternal pride. She makes a mental note to track down the wedding photographer and make sure she gets a picture of him for her desk.

"Hi Teddy," Kaya says with a little wave.

“Kaya?” Teddy’s eyes flick between them, back and forth as though processing difficult information, “what are you doing here?”

“Kaya's my date for today,” Elsbeth says, frowning, “I messaged to let you know.”

“You sent me, like, fifty messages. I didn’t have time to read them all.”

Elsbeth tries not to look hurt, but suspects she doesn’t do a very convincing job because she feels Kaya’s hand gently touch the small of her back. She changes the subject. “Is Roy here?”

“No.” Teddy looks across the room, his jaw set in a sulk that reminds Elsbeth of when he was seven years old and denied a second ice cream sandwich. “We had a fight. It’s no big deal. Anyway, I thought you’d be here by yourself.”

“Um,” Kaya gently interjects as Teddy’s tone becomes accusatory, “shall I go and get us some drinks?”

“Thank you,” Elsbeth touches Kaya’s hand in gratitude, and doesn’t realize how intimate the gesture must look until she notices Teddy staring.

“Are you and Roy okay?” she asks before he can cut in with questions of his own.

“It’s no big deal, honestly,” he says, scuffing his dress shoe, “he’s got deadlines coming up with his podcast, and I said something stupid about his work. And about not wanting him to get close with my other parent.”

Elsbeth can’t keep the disappointment out of her voice. “Oh, Teddy.”

“It was stupid; I know. But I apologized and we’re more or less made up now," he shrugs, "but the seating charts here were already finalized.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here anyway,” she wants to hug him, but settles for reaching for and squeezing his arm, “and if you don’t feel like mingling, you can hang out with us!”

“Mom,” Teddy places his hand over hers on his arm, but rather than a touch of reassurance, he holds it steady as if she might flee, “are you actually dating Kaya?”

“No,” Elsbeth says, heart hammering, “I’m not.”

Teddy fixes her with a gaze and Elsbeth feels exposed like a butterfly pinned to a display. Her stomach twists with guilt at the thought of all the cross-examinations and suspects she’s caught out over the years, because being on the receiving end of a laser-focused Tascioni stare is actually very discomforting. He slowly releases her hand. “But you want to?”

She knows she's never been subtle about her affection for Kaya. Even when she's trying to respect Kaya's boundaries and professionalism it comes spilling out, either as pure adoration or tears when she inevitably messes up and pushes Kaya away. She and Teddy don't have the relationship she dreams of, but he knows her, and has her ability to observe and draw conclusions. She would love to date Kaya. She's so in love with her that sometimes it physically hurts.

Elsbeth’s shoulders slump as she sighs; there’s no point in lying. “Is it that obvious?”

“It’s not exactly a huge surprise,” Teddy says, then makes a sweeping hand gesture Elsbeth recognizes as one of her own, “I can’t believe you're all up in my personal life when you had this going on.”

“That’s just it, though-” Elsbeth insists, “there is nothing going on.”

“So why’s she here as your date?”

“Because she’s the most wonderful person in the whole world,” she sighs, and she feels a weight lift as she comes clean; she’s always been terrible at keeping secrets, especially from people she cares about. “She knew how I felt about coming here by myself, and offered.”

Teddy’s look is incredulous. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but that’s not something a normal, just-a-friend would offer to do.”

Elsbeth wants to protest and tell him how pretending to be a couple is just a thing she and Kaya do sometimes, but the sight of all her old legal coworkers milling around reminds her that the law protects individuals against self-incrimination and she stays quiet. Amid the crowd she spots Kaya caught in conversation with an old practice partner, and even though she knows none of these people she’s smiling and she looks so beautiful all dressed up that Elsbeth’s forgotten completely about her ex-husband and the reason they’re here, and just knows that, for this one day, she can hold Kaya’s hand like she wants to.

“Oh my god, Mom.”

Elsbeth snaps back to their conversation. “What?”

Teddy’s looking at her, a strange expression on his face. His gaze is just as intense as before, but rather than dissecting her, he's looking with new eyes. It feels like he’s seeing her, not as his mother, but as her own person for the first time. “I’ve never seen you look at anyone like that.”

Elsbeth sways on the spot, unsure how to respond. A few long moments of silence pass between them. “Are you… okay with all this?”

“Yeah,” he says, “I like Kaya a lot. Not as much as you do, obviously.”

Teddy has made clear that her approval of Roy is a strike against him; she tries not to think about it too much because even though all parent-child relationships are complicated, it makes her want to cry. Meanwhile, Teddy's approval of Kaya means the world. Even though there's no relationship to actually approve, having at least one person - the person who means the most - know how much she loves her female best friend makes it feel wonderfully, terrifyingly real.

“Is this why it didn’t work out with dad?” Teddy asks, and there’s a note of empathy in his voice; an acknowledgment of this thing they have in common, and Elsbeth is sure she’s never loved her son more than in this moment. “Is this what ‘different hats’ means?”

“There were so many reasons,” Elsbeth clenches her hands because there simply aren’t words to explain. She winces at the guilt of all the pain she's caused; the absence, the divorce and everything in between, “the marriage might have been a disaster, but I could never, ever regret it because otherwise I wouldn’t have you.”

For the first time - not just at the wedding, but in a long time since Elsbeth has seen him - Teddy smiles. "Thanks, mom."

Elsbeth can't help herself. “Can I hug you?”

Teddy nods, and Elsbeth steps forward and wraps her arms around him; he's tall and sturdy and it feels like yesterday that he was small enough to pick up.

"Whatever the reasons, you should forgive yourself, y'know," he says, and Elsbeth buries her face into his shoulder in an attempt to dam her tears, "I'm okay, and dad's okay. And you deserve to be happy."

Elsbeth holds him close and hopes that he's right.

"Hi Kaya," Teddy says. Elsbeth opens her eyes, vision slightly blurry, and sees Kaya standing next to them with three glasses and a soft smile. She can't help extending an arm, reaching for Kaya and pulling her into the hug too.

"I'm so glad you're both here," Elsbeth says. She's happy, here and now, whether she deserves it or not.

Kaya gracefully manages not to spill anything as Elsbeth releases her and Teddy; she hands them a glass each. "I got us ginger ales; the closest thing the bar had to a Shirley Temple."

“Thanks Kaya,” Teddy says, “sorry I was rude before. Got a lot going on at the moment.”

“Hey, no worries," Kaya waves her free hand, "I get it."

"Are we doing a toast?" Elsbeth asks brightly, lifting her glass.

"I think the toasts come later," Kaya says.

"Let's do one now," Teddy says, his eyes on Elsbeth. "To new beginnings."

When the time comes for the actual wedding, Elsbeth wants to sit at the back; Teddy feels he should be near the front. They compromise, and the three of them sit next to the aisle a quarter of the way down.

The ceremony itself is lovely, Elsbeth can admit. The new Mrs Tascioni looks beautiful, and her ex-husband - Michael, she supposes she can call him now - looks happy in a way she feels he never was with her, even in the early days. There's readings and vows, and a feeling that everyone wants to be here.

The next item on the agenda is a four-course meal. Teddy is seated at their table, along with some distant family members on the bride's side, two lawyers, and a dog stylist. Elsbeth spends most of the entrée course showing the stylist, and then the rest of the table, pictures of Gonzo, and by the time dessert arrives, Elsbeth makes them all promise they'll stay in touch.

She’s just getting up from the table when there’s a voice behind her. "Hello, El."

Elsbeth turns around, pointedly slowly. "Hello, Michael."

She hasn't seen him in person since Teddy's high school graduation. He's looking well; less hair, but there's a sparkle in his eye and lightness in the way he holds himself. Love does that, Elsbeth supposes.

"Wasn't sure you'd come."

"I RSVP'd."

"Still wasn't sure."

Elsbeth turns her attention to the woman at Michael's left, in a white Vera Wang gown so luxurious that Elsbeth has to clench her hands so she doesn't try and touch it. "Congratulations," she says, "what a lovely ceremony. And you look beautiful."

"Thank you," she says, "and thank you for coming; it means a lot to have you here."

"It does," Michael adds, and things will probably never not be weird between them, but she appreciates it.

"This is Kaya," there have been a few moments, since Kaya first agreed to attend the wedding as Elsbeth's guest, where Elsbeth has imagined the look on Michael's face as she introduced her. Would he be surprised, annoyed, even jealous? But as she raises her hand to Kaya's back, touching skin exposed by the halterneck, and introduces her as my date, she's not looking at her ex-husband at all.

"Nice to meet you, Kaya,” Michael says magnanimously, reaching to shake her hand. "You two look great together."

"Thank you," Elsbeth says, looking at Kaya and feeling like a sunflower facing the sun, "we are great together."

Teddy joins the conversation, allowing his father to pull at his tie and ruffle his hair, and Elsbeth knows it's a miracle he's grown up to be as well-adjusted as he is.

"Mrs Tascioni?" Elsbeth doesn't turn her head, knows she's not the one being referred to, and the young woman Elsbeth presumes to be the wedding organiser continues, "Mr Tascioni, the first dance will be taking place in the Reception Hall shortly."

"Well, you heard the lady," Michael laughs, "got the day planned down to the minute. Reminds me of your color cards. Good to see you El, nice to meet you Kaya."

The new Mrs Tascioni looks at them. "Well, we'll see each other again soon at Teddy's graduation. You too, Kaya?"

"Yes," nods Kaya, and though she's just being polite and playing along with their charade, Elsbeth's heart soars.

As the newlyweds are ushered away, guests are being guided through to the reception room, where things have been set up for the evening's party. The sound of the band tuning up echoes into the room, and Elsbeth looks at Kaya, who's looking at her.

"Ready to head home?"

Evening has drawn in; the sky is inky blue, with the pinks and oranges of last light catching on the jagged outline of the westward Catskill mountains. It's much colder than in the crowded venue and she misses her hats and gloves, but Elsbeth takes a moment to lean against the hood of the car, looking up at the early evening stars.

"I love New York City. I wouldn't change it," Elsbeth says, squinting as she picks out Orion's belt and the big dipper, their shapes a comforting constant, "but you don't get views like this."

Kaya folds her arms against the cold, but joins Elsbeth on the car's hood, and Elsbeth isn't sure who's leaning against whom. "I can't remember the last time I saw actual stars."

"Thank you so much for coming with me today. I'm so glad I came in the end, and I'm not sure I would have without you."

"I had a good time," Kaya says, and when Elsbeth shoots her a disbelieving look, insists, "I did - and the food was great."

"It was," Elsbeth concedes, "I love creme brulee."

"Are you and Teddy okay now?"

Elsbeth knows she's smiling her goofy smile that shows all her teeth but she doesn't care. "Yes. Better than okay."

"Good." Kaya looks up at the sky and Elsbeth looks at her, and she wants to apologize for the kiss at work. She wants to ask if they can try again; here, under the stars and away from everything. She wants to tell Kaya about all her big feelings, and how she feels ready now. She doesn't want an experiment or a fling, she wants something meaningful and real.

But her courage falters and the words don't come out. Kaya is pressed close, warm and near enough for Elsbeth to smell the scent of her, the faintest traces of her perfume lingering after a long day, but there's still a distance between them. One she can feel is of her own making.

When Kaya stands, stretches and says "we should get going," it's for the best. There's a dozen reasons and she seizes a few at random: the complication of work, Kaya deserves better, the very real possibility that Kaya doesn't feel the same way. Having her heart broken and then having to sit in a car for two hours next to Kaya sounds like a torture on par with her marriage.

The drive home is smoother than the way there; Elsbeth’s not twisting herself up in knots, and at the late hour there’s hardly any traffic to speak of. She resists the lull of sleep, the streetlights ticking by as they drive, and before long New York City glows on the horizon.

Kaya pulls up next to Elsbeth's apartment. The 24-hour stores across the road have clusters of people milling around, and though she has a fantasy of leaning across and kissing Kaya goodnight, she knows she won't.

"I'll get a cab tomorrow to drop the car back," Elsbeth says, "but message me when you're home?"

"It's only across town-"

"Message me anyway."

Kaya looks at her, expression unreadable, but it makes Elsbeth's heartbeat pick up.

After a few stretched seconds of silence, someone outside breaks something made of glass, and there's a chorus of drunken cheers.

"The sitter will have left; I should go see Gonzo," Elsbeth says, and there's the selfish, desperately sad feeling she gets whenever Kaya bids her farewell at her door, that Kaya doesn't live with her anymore. She's too much, even for Kaya, and Kaya moved out, because she was always going to, and their time together might have been the happiest of Elsbeth's life, but she has to accept that this is how things are.

"Give her a cuddle from me."

"I will," Elsbeth promises, "see you tomorrow."

She exits the car, turning to wave as she unlocks her building door. Kaya waves back and doesn't drive away until she's inside, and Elsbeth hurries upstairs to watch the car turn the corner of her street. She shrugs off her dress, relieved to be able to swap it for pajamas, and gives Gonzo her promised hug. Gonzo patiently allows her to hold her close, stroking her fur in a soothing pattern for an indeterminable amount of time, until Elsbeth's phone pings.

Home safe.

Thanks again, Elsbeth replies, and then, before her nerves get the better of her, you were the perfect date.

Chapter Text

When the Captain summons her into his office in the middle of the day for an unscheduled meeting, Kaya isn’t sure how anxious she should be.

“Captain, what is-”

“If you’ll just take a seat there, Detective.”

Following his invitation she sits in one of the hard-backed wooden chairs opposite the intimidating desk. She watches as Wagner paces the room, twisting his wedding ring, a tell of his she's learned from poker that usually means things are not good. Kaya’s heart sinks; this is probably more serious than improper lunch storage.

There's a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Wagner says, and Lieutenant Connor enters, followed by Elsbeth, who looks as perturbed as Kaya feels. Their eyes meet across the room, and Elsbeth’s hand noticeably reaches out and then pulls back. The movement probably wasn’t conscious, but knowing that Elsbeth is here and in her corner takes the edge off her nerves.

“Detective Blanke,” Wagner says, not meeting her eyes, “does the name Clinton Jefferies mean anything to you?”

“No, sir.”

“He is a major donor to, among other organizations, the NYCPF. He is also alleging that, on Thursday October 8th, you harassed and assaulted him in full view of the public at The Pineapple Bar in Downtown Manhattan.”

“That's ridiculous,” Kaya says reflexively, before the familiarity of the date - Elsbeth's birthday - and place sink in. She turns to Elsbeth. “Wait - is that the guy who wouldn't leave you alone?”

Elsbeth's eyes are wide. “I think it must be.”

“Is there any truth to the allegation?” Connor asks flatly.

“No!” Elsbeth insists, but Kaya's mind is racing and she can’t find words. She thinks back to the altercation; in the moment her only concern was getting the man to back off. She’s been trained in de-escalation, but she was acting as a woman concerned for her friend and not a NYPD detective.

“He was harassing me,” Elsbeth says in a rush, her voice pitched high with anxiety, “Detective Blanke didn’t do anything wrong.”

Connor turns his attention to Elsbeth. “Did Mr Jefferies touch you or your property at any point?”

Elsbeth’s hands wave frantically. “No, but-”

“Did Detective Blanke-” he checks his notes, “-put him into a wrist lock?”

“Well- yes, but-”

Connor’s face is coldly professional. Kaya knows he’s just doing his job, but it hurts to be castigated by someone she considers a friend, and doubly so with Wagner standing next to him. “If this goes to an internal investigation, these are the kinds of questions you will be asked, Ms Tascioni.”

Kaya finally finds her tongue. “Why are you asking Elsbeth?”

“Because she was there,” Wagner says, firmly but sympathetically, “and she’s our Consent Decree lawyer. She’s duty-bound to report fully and accurately to Internal Affairs.”

Kaya doesn’t get in trouble. It’s why finding out the lack of credits for the Detective track was such a crushing blow; her whole life she’s worked as hard as she can to do the right thing. It’s part of the reason she and Elsbeth work so well together, and why suspecting Wagner of corruption was so hard. Spots appear in the periphery of her vision as she feels adrenaline rush through her; she’s worked so hard to get to where she is, and one accusation could bring it all down. And having Elsbeth testify against her - she’s not sure either of them could take it.

She instinctively looks across to Elsbeth. She’s hunched in her chair, brow more furrowed than Kaya can remember ever seeing, her hands twisting together in her lap. Suddenly, like the sun emerging from behind thick clouds, the expression on her face transforms from troubled to inspired. She stands up and raises her hand.

“Sidebar,” she announces, stepping forward and reaching for Kaya. At a loss for anything else to do, Kaya allows her arm to be taken and Elsbeth leads her out of the office.

“We’re not in court-” Wagner’s voice fades out as Elsbeth all but pulls her down the corridor.

With one hand curled around Kaya’s elbow, Elsbeth marches with a determined sense of purpose. They pass the bullpen before arriving at the closet that served as Elsbeth’s first office at the precinct, now returned to its original function. Elsbeth turns on the light, ushers Kaya inside and closes the door behind them.

Kaya can’t remember the last time she felt this shaken up. “Elsbeth, what are you doing?”

“Spousal privilege,” Elsbeth says with a flourish.

Of all the things Elsbeth could have said after pulling her out of a disciplinary hearing and into a cupboard, this feels like one of the least likely.

“What are you talking about?”

“I was thinking,” Elsbeth’s gesticulations are constrained by the tiny room they’re in, but she manages an expressive range nonetheless, “I can’t break the law, can’t perjure myself, but I refuse to do something that would damage you or your career… and I thought of something that would mean I couldn’t legally be compelled to testify against you.”

Kaya’s not a lawyer but she’s smart enough to deduce where this might be headed. “Did you say spousal?”

Elsbeth nods, like she’s brilliantly, singlehandedly solved a murder. “Yes! According to New York state law, no individual can be made to testify against their spouse or civil partner,” she holds up a finger, “including about events that took place prior to the marriage.”

Kaya’s not convinced she’s not dreaming. Just in case, she says, “It feels like stating the obvious here, but we’re not married.”

“Easily solved,” Elsbeth has the audacity to wave a hand like it’s no big deal, “we can go to City Hall; I still haven’t been inside-”

“Elsbeth,” she cuts across, “are you actually suggesting we get married?”

For the first time since exiting Wagner’s office, Elsbeth falters a little. “I can’t think of another way - this would protect us both.”

“This is crazy,” Kaya runs a hand through her hair, fingers catching on a stubborn curl. She knows she’s deflecting anger at herself for being careless onto Elsbeth, who is only trying to help, but she can’t stop herself.

Kaya's not a romantic. She's a homicide detective and sees the worst of humanity every day, and before that she wanted to be a homicide detective. Even in her earliest memories she was more likely to play cops and robbers with her siblings than give any thought to an abstract dream wedding. Nonetheless, this isn't how she ever thought she'd be proposed to by someone she cared about. Anxiety about her job and a potential misconduct investigation is suddenly superseded by hurt.

“And your plan is to- to get a divorce when this all settles?”

Elsbeth looks like a floral-printed deer caught in headlights. “I… if that's what you wanted.”

Elsbeth has been inconsiderate of Kaya’s feelings several times throughout their friendship, sometimes by withholding information, but also through her single-mindedness. It's what makes her the best at what she does, but when Elsbeth gets an idea in her head she's not good at considering other perspectives. Kaya tries to rationalize; she knows Elsbeth is caught up trying to save her job. The job she knows better than anyone how hard Kaya’s fought for. Still, the cold practicality in the face of Kaya's very real, if hidden, feelings is almost physically painful.

“So what, I'd be your ex-wife to go along with your ex-husband?”

“Kaya, no!” Elsbeth’s shoulders slump, fully deflated, and somewhere under the hurt Kaya feels guilty, “you'd never, ever be like him. We've pretended before- I thought -”

“This isn’t being a plus one, or getting some creep to leave you alone,” Kaya says gently but firmly, hands determinedly by her sides as if in counterpoint to Elsbeth’s big gestures, “those other times, I shouldn’t- We got carried away-”

“Kaya-” Elsbeth’s eyes are big and brimming with tears, and the raw emotion forces Kaya to acknowledge that the proposal might be more than pragmatism on Elsbeth’s part. It’s easier to be hurt than acknowledge everything that would mean.

“This is real,” Kaya continues, “my job is serious, getting married is serious.”

“I know,” Elsbeth says, her voice cracking, and Kaya has to look away because otherwise she’ll start crying too, “that’s why I can’t be the reason your career is in jeopardy. You’re in trouble because of me. I want to protect you as well.”

Kaya has dedicated her life to protecting people. She’s never wanted or needed protection herself; past boyfriends, usually insecure about dating a police officer, would often act in a way they probably believed to be chivalrous but Kaya always found patronising. Elsbeth might be misguided, but her offer is coming from a genuine place of thoughtfulness and concern.

“We can’t get married, Elsbeth.” Kaya says it as flatly as she can, though there’s a pain in her chest as she does. Pragmatic or not, she loves Elsbeth. Is in love with her, and has been for some time.

Elsbeth nods, her face downcast. It’s easy to forget how small she actually is. Her loud accessories and huge personality have the effect of making her seem larger than life. With her bags back in Wagner’s office, and hands uncharacteristically still, she seems diminished. Despite everything, she wants to reach out to hug her.

“But I’d do it again, you know,” Kaya continues, “even if I get disciplined for it. You were in trouble, and scared, and I don’t regret doing anything to make him leave.”

Elsbeth looks up, and tears spill down her cheek to her chin, dripping onto the bow of her shirt. “Kaya…”

There’s a knock on the door, and they both jump.

“Ms Tascioni? Are you in there?” comes Wagner’s voice from the other side of the door.

“Yes,” Elsbeth replies, swiping at tears as she steps back from Kaya. She misjudges the space and bumps into a set of shelves, and the movement sends a stack of box files crashing onto the floor.

Kaya winces as Wagner says, “would you like to come out?”

Giving Kaya one last look, expression unreadable, Elsbeth opens the door, and bright light from the main office floods in. Kaya blinks as her eyes adjust. She tries not to look too sheepish as she follows out after Elsbeth, and prays the rest of the precinct isn’t staring at them.

“Welcome back,” Connor greets them, back in Wagner’s office. He offers the box of tissues on the desk to Elsbeth, who dabs at her eyes and blows her nose.

“As I was saying before you, uh, left,” Wagner says, “Mr Jefferies has made this allegation against you, and as per NYPD disciplinary procedures, we have a responsibility to take it seriously.”

Kaya nods. Her conversation with Elsbeth might have been upsetting, but she feels a sense of conviction in her chest; she’s no longer scared. “Yes sir.”

“However,” Connor says with emphasis, “as part of the complaints procedure, you have the right to respond before this goes any further. If this accusation does make it as far as Internal Affairs we can discuss your options. Perhaps make sure Ms Tascioni is less emotional under questioning.”

Elsbeth nods sheepishly.

“If this goes to an internal investigation,” Wagner continues, “if Mr Jefferies was displaying intimidating behavior, a justification for reasonable force should be sufficient to have the complaint dismissed. Were there any other witnesses to the altercation the night in question?”

“There were other people who saw this guy harassing Elsbeth,” Kaya says, forcing herself to focus and casting her mind back. So much has happened since then, but she remembers with clarity seeing Elsbeth looking distressed and afraid, “the bartender definitely saw.”

“The bartender with the colorful nails!” Elsbeth says, a spark of her usual enthusiasm returning, but with no accompanying hand gestures it doesn’t feel quite right.

“Good,” Wagner nods, “let’s see if we can get in touch and get a statement today. The sooner we can get this dismissed the sooner the finest duo in the precinct can return their full attention to their actual jobs.”

“Aww, Captain,” Elsbeth grins, but it doesn’t crinkle the corners of her eyes like her smiles usually do. She doesn’t look over at Kaya like she usually would.

“Lieutenant Connor, if you could track down the bartender in question. Detective Blanke, there are insufficient grounds for suspension at this time, so please continue with your case. Once we have an independent witness, we’ll look at drafting a formal response.”

Kaya nods. “Thank you, Captain.”

As Kaya and Elsbeth are dismissed from Wagner’s office, the energy between them is tense. Kaya finds herself wishing Elsbeth was on another case, investigating with someone else, because working together in close quarters right now feels overwhelming.

“Kaya, I-” Kaya anticipates an apology, but Elsbeth cuts herself off. “Are we okay?”

Kaya’s not sure. Her head is spinning with the events of the past half-hour. Her job is at risk and whatever is happening with Elsbeth - and something is happening - has thrown their relationship into a weird, uncharted place.

“You bet,” she says with a smile, but she’s pretty sure it doesn’t reach her eyes either.

Chapter Text

Elsbeth still works alongside Kaya most of the time these days, but when a case is high-profile enough, or Wagner and Connor think it could use the oversight of the precinct’s consent decree lawyer, Elsbeth is often assigned with one of the other detectives. She likes them all, and she's pretty sure that over time, one by one, they've each come round to her. The cases are often the most interesting and challenging, but she finds herself counting down the hours until the final paperwork is signed off and she can get back to working with Kaya.

Her current case isn't particularly high-stakes or awash with political intrigue, and Elsbeth has suspicions that Wagner has, at least temporarily, split herself and Kaya up on purpose.

She chews her lip as she spins around a globe on the victim's desk. Her panic in the light of Kaya facing potential investigation wasn't her proudest moment, and neither was her - she can't think about it without cringing - misguided proposal to Kaya.

"Elsbeth," Donnelly shoots her a sideways glance from across the luxury apartment that is their crime scene, "you good?"

"I'm fine!" as she says it, she hears the strangled twist on the i and knows it wouldn't convince Gonzo, let alone a seasoned detective.

"It's none of my business," Donnelly says, and there's a long enough pause that Elsbeth thinks she might leave it there, "but I'm sure there's someone you can talk to."

And isn't that just the heart of it. Kaya has become the person that Elsbeth talks to about everything - joys, sorrows, anxieties - that when the thing playing on her mind is Kaya, she's at a loss. She wouldn't dream of talking to anyone from work because she knows how private Kaya is. Teddy has been so supportive in a way that means the world, but it doesn't feel fair to unload her personal drama on her son who has already endured enough for her sake, and has plenty of his own personal baggage to deal with.

And, she's brave enough to admit to herself, she's embarrassed.

She feels a wave of shame each time she thinks about it, but it's not the first time her desire to solve the problem directly in front of her has outweighed good sense and rationality. Elsbeth is more relieved than words can say that the complaint ended up being dismissed out of hand - statements from witnesses including bar staff confirmed Kaya's accuser had been seen harassing patrons before. But the fact that she managed to jeopardize the most significant non-familial relationship in her life over nothing is mortifying.

Classic Elsbeth.

Kaya's doing a better job of pretending things are fine than she is, but Elsbeth can tell she's keeping a distance. She begged off froyo night with a family birthday (Elsbeth knows that nobody in Kaya's immediate family has a birthday for the next six weeks) and an invitation to a new exhibition at the Museum of Natural History (Fantastic Felines) has been conspicuously ignored.

"I know," Elsbeth says, "I will. Once we catch this guy."

"That's the spirit," Donnelly nods, an expression on her face so unfamiliar it takes Elsbeth a moment to realise it's a smile of encouragement, "have you spotted anything new here?"

They're revisiting the crime scene of their current investigation. Leads are running dry as their main suspect - the victim's brother - hasn't been seen or heard from since the night of the murder.

Elsbeth pulls herself together, tamps down on all the feelings other people don’t need to know about, and surveys the room with a critical eye.

As she narrows her focus to the section of the room leading to the bedroom, the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. Her gaze is drawn to the treadmarks on the carpet, the exact positioning of the curtains; something feels off. She follows her sense of unease around the large bed and to a closet door at the far side of the room.

"Detective-" she calls out.

As the word leaves her mouth, the door smacks outwards, sending her reeling backwards. A man - things happen too quickly to be any more precise - leaps past her and dashes into the living room. Elsbeth gathers herself, then chases after him, shouting to Donnelly.

As she rounds the corner into the open-plan living room, Elsbeth feels a hand seize her arm from behind. She hopes for a second it's Donnelly, but when she sees that it's large and black-gloved, her stomach sinks with dread. She looks slowly up to a face that looks uncannily like their victim.

"You must be the brother," Donnelly says, voice steady but Elsbeth can hear the underlying caution. Donnelly reaches out an arm, her other hand on her holstered weapon, "we've been looking for you. You want to let my colleague go and come with us down to the station."

"I had nothing to do with- I didn't mean to-" the man stammers, and Elsbeth's heart pounds as he pulls her in front of him, a shield between Donnelly and himself.

"Look, all we want is to talk," Donnelly's words are firm, but she keeps looking at Elsbeth, slowly drawing her gun, "please just step back from my colleague."

"NO!" he howls, shoving Elsbeth away in one direction while bolting for the door in the other. Already off-balance, Elsbeth stumbles, falls, and she puts her hands out but it's not enough to stop her head from making sickening contact with the glass coffee table.

"Elsbeth!" shouts Donnelly, holstering her gun and rushing to Elsbeth's side. Elsbeth reels, her vision splintered and hearing reduced to a distant ringing. Somewhere beneath the crushing pain consuming her head's right hemisphere she registers damp; she reflexively lifts a mittened hand to investigate and when she pulls it back the glove is stained with blood.

The last thought she has before she drops unconscious is how cosmically unfair it is that this is happening while Kaya's upset with her.

The next thing Elsbeth is aware of, she's waking up in hospital.

She winces against the bright strip lighting above, slowly blinking her eyes open. It takes some effort; her eyelids feel almost glued shut. Worry shoots through her: do Kaya and Teddy know where she is?

"Ms Tascioni, you're awake," says the nurse, reaching to Elsbeth's bedside to pour her a glass of water, which Elsbeth gratefully receives. The nurse has pink hair, which Elsbeth instinctively wants to compliment, but she forces herself to focus and finish her water.

She looks down at herself, then reaches a hand up to where her head is bandaged. As she traces a finger along the length of her injury she remembers confronting their suspect and hitting the table; the acute pain has gone, replaced with a dull ache. Under her breath she counts to ten, recalls Teddy's birthday, recites the preamble of the Constitution of the State of Illinois. Confident her memory is intact, she glances around. The room is spacious, and hers is the only bed. Her life might be a mess but at least she has good health insurance.

"What's going on?" she asks finally.

"You're safe, and recovering," the nurse reassures, "I'll let the doctor know you're conscious. Your girlfriend will be back any minute. She'll be disappointed she missed you waking up."

Elsbeth blinks. She turns to look at her bedside, where a chair is pulled up and a familiar black coat is draped across the back. Surveying the room with a keen eye, there's evidence of Kaya everywhere; crumpled in the small trashcan beside the bed are empty packets of Reese's cups, Kaya's stress-snack of choice. On the bedside table sits a jug bursting with colorful freesias, a flower she knows Teddy won't have remembered is her favorite. Somewhere under the sharp scent of antiseptic Elsbeth can smell the faintest hint of irises; Kaya's perfume that she wears when she wants to give herself a boost. She must have been here for a while.

The nurse smiles kindly. "Let me get the doctor."

The doctor is a young woman who reminds Elsbeth of Detective Edwards. The familiarity is comforting, even as her efficiency outweighs bedside manner as she sharply orders Elsbeth to do things like stare into a light and follow her finger back and forth. Elsbeth appreciates the directness, and when the doctor says things are looking good and she's recovering well, she breathes a sigh of relief.

Elsbeth listens intently as the doctor explains what her recovery is going to look like; how her meds will taper off, her scar will be hidden by her hair, and provided she commits to a slow, gentle recovery, there should be no long-term complications.

She’s holding back questions about how her stitches will dissolve over time - she loves that science has produced something so magical-sounding - when the door opens and Kaya enters. As she meets her eyes - tired, worried, beautiful - Elsbeth hopes her heart rate monitor isn't thrown off by the sudden spike in cardiovascular activity. She feels dizzy in a way that she's certain is unrelated to her injury.

"Elsbeth!" as she sees Elsbeth sat up in bed, Kaya's face is a look of surprise, "how are you feeling?"

Kaya rushes to her bedside, and Elsbeth honestly doesn't know how to answer. Kaya's sincere concern feels so undeserved; she's behaving like she would have before Elsbeth messed things up.

"I'll leave you both to catch up." The doctor's air of clinical efficiency warms a little as she nods at them both, puts her light-pen back in her pocket, and exits the room.

Kaya sits in the bedside chair, leaning forward attentively. Her face is so close that Elsbeth wonders, stupidly, if her injury has somehow left her vision enhanced; she can see Kaya's individual eyelashes, barely perceptible freckles across her nose, the crease of her eyebrows as she looks at Elsbeth with concern.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Elsbeth says reflexively, "have you been here long?" Despite the water and short chats with the nurse and doctor, the words come out raspy.

"Donnelly let me know as soon as it happened. Then HR at the precinct called me when you were brought in; apparently I’m your emergency contact?"

"Oh," Elsbeth says, adding yet another crossed boundary to her list of transgressions, "I put you back when you were living with me, and never got around to updating it - Teddy's always coming and going, and you're better in a crisis than he is-"

Kaya reaches for one of her gesturing hands and takes it in her own. "Elsbeth, it's fine. Of course I want to know if anything ever happens to you. Just- when they called me, I was so worried."

"The doctor says I should be fine-"

"You're always putting yourself in danger," Kaya says, her tone gentle but Elsbeth can tell this is something that's been eating away at her, "I worry if I'm not with you, and look at what happened-"

"I'm sorry," Elsbeth says, holding Kaya's hand and looking down at where Kaya’s fingers intertwine with her own. Their jobs are dangerous; there's no way to prevent risk entirely, but she can avoid running towards danger. For Kaya's sake, if not her own. “I’m sorry for a lot.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay.”

They sit like that for a few long moments, the only sound the quiet whirring of the machine Elsbeth is hooked up to, and carts distantly rolling past in the hallway.

It's treading into dangerous territory, but Elsbeth's curiosity is too strong not to ask; "The nurse said my girlfriend had been waiting?"

Kaya smiles a particular smile - a little self-conscious, almost an eye-roll - that Elsbeth has missed so much these past weeks. "I think the word I used was partner. Technically true, right? And while you're unconscious it's only meant to be family."

Elsbeth nods. “Speaking of family-”

"Teddy knows - I called him as soon as I heard,” Elsbeth squeezes Kaya’s hand in gratitude, “he came by yesterday but I think it was really hard on him seeing you like that."

Elsbeth’s heart sinks as she imagines how she'd feel if anything happened to Teddy. "I understand. Is he in the city?"

"He and Roy are staying at yours. I'll message them now."

"The only reason Donnelly hasn’t come to visit is because she's been spending every minute gathering evidence and building a case against the guy."

One day later, Kaya is catching her up with all the gossip from the precinct, including updates on her case. Elsbeth is so grateful for Kaya’s white lie about their relationship to the hospital staff; talking with her, hearing about normal life, helps her forget where she is. When she’s listening to Kaya she stops fixating on the discomfort of her bandage, the wires connecting her to the monitor, the drugs she has to take every six hours.

Teddy visited yesterday afternoon. She was overjoyed to see him, but as she suspected, seeing her laid up in a hospital bed upset him in a way that wracked Elsbeth with guilt. She recalls visiting her grandmother in hospital as a child - she’d broken a hip trying to change a lampshade - and remembers her being almost unrecognisable without her ruffles and rhinestones. She looks down at her own clinical gown and considers if there’s anything she can do to brighten it up.

“I swung by the precinct this morning to pick up some paperwork and she was leaving,” Kaya continues, “she’d been working all night.”

Her guilt intensifies, but she’s glad they’ve caught their killer. "It wasn't her fault, at all-"

Kaya continues, "and, as of this afternoon, he's been charged with his brother's murder, and with grievous bodily harm for what he did to you."

A knock on the door interrupts the story. They draw apart, and as Elsbeth's nurse enters the room, Kaya stands and stretches; she's been here for hours.

"Good news, Ms Tascioni," says the nurse, "the doctor wants you to stay in for one more night for observations, but if things continue as they have been, we're happy to send you home tomorrow."

"That's great," says Kaya, her big smile beautiful as Elsbeth absorbs the news.

The nurse looks at them both. "Do you need anything?"

Elsbeth focuses on the nurse and doesn't look over at Kaya. "I'm fine, thanks."

As the nurse leaves, Kaya sits back in her vigil spot and reaches for Elsbeth's hand, resting on the covers. "Home tomorrow! How are you feeling?"

Elsbeth's first instinct is to grin and say how fine things are. She feels Kaya's thumb rub gently back and forth across her hand as she considers her words. "Teddy and Roy are staying at my apartment. I don't want to feel like a burden to them."

"Elsbeth," Kaya says, "you're not a burden to any of us. We love you. You know that."

Elsbeth squeezes Kaya's hand.

"I've spoken to Wagner; he's happy for me to take some time off work making sure you're doing okay, getting back on your feet. I was thinking, if the boys want to stay nearby, you could come back with me? Stay at mine for at least a few days?"

"Kaya, are you sure?"

"You should be where you're most comfortable; if you want to think about it-"

Elsbeth loves Teddy. From the moment she first held him, she felt a love she didn't know was possible welling within her, and though their relationship hasn't always been easy, the love has always been constant. She knows she has blind spots with him, but he's young, unused to responsibility, and very squeamish. She doesn't doubt that he'd do his best looking after her, but if Kaya is offering-

"I'd be most comfortable with you."

"Good," Kaya says with a smile that makes Elsbeth's heart monitor pick up again; Elsbeth can see the numbers change on the screen and is relieved Kaya's facing the bed. "Let’s make a list of everything you need - I'll pack a bag at yours tonight. Let's get you out of here before you start bedazzling your hospital gown."

Elsbeth is under strict instructions, from both medical staff and Captain Wagner, to take it easy. She's never taken anything easy in her life, but for Kaya's sake she tries not to push herself. As she recovers at Kaya’s she eases into a slow routine: gentle walks around the block. Doctor-approved stretches. No attempting to solve any mysteries more complex than the NYT crossword.

Though her more elaborate outfits - including, to her chagrin, hats - will have to wait until she's fully recovered, Elsbeth is relieved and grateful to be back in her own clothes. Kaya picked up a selection, and the bright pinks and yellows are exactly what Elsbeth herself would have chosen.

“Elsbeth, I’m back!”

Elsbeth’s heart swirls in the whirlwind of emotions those three words kick up. The joy and pain of Kaya’s stay with her is brought back to the fore by Elsbeth now, however temporarily, living with Kaya.

“Welcome back,” Elsbeth watches as Kaya takes off her coat and shoes, places them in the entryway next to Elsbeth’s far more colorful versions.

"I went via that Scandinavian bakery you like." Kaya holds up a paper bag and walks with Elsbeth over to the kitchen table.

"Kaya, that is not on the way, even a little bit! You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to."

Kaya doesn't own pastry forks - Elsbeth has considered the sneakiest way to gift her some - and sets out a spread of the desserts on plates for them both to share. It's so perfect that Elsbeth wants to pinch herself, make sure it's not a vision somehow brought about by her head injury.

"I love this," she says without thinking. As soon as the words leave her mouth she regrets them because it's true, of course it's true, but she cannot keep inflicting her half-thought-out desires on the woman she is somehow still lucky enough to call her best friend.

Kaya reaches for her hand, but Elsbeth pulls back. Drawing away from Kaya feels wrong on a fundamental level. Like opposing the force of a magnet, or trying to resist the pull of gravity.

"Kaya, wait." The words don't come any more easily.

"Elsbeth, what-"

"I don’t want you to feel like you’ve got to do things just because I got injured," Elsbeth says, gesturing to the pastries even though it’s about so much more than the pastries, "I know I hurt your feelings, I embarrassed you."

"Elsbeth," Kaya says, "I know I've been distant. I'm not angry at you. I just… needed time to think about things."

“What things?”

“You know what things,” Kaya says, and Elsbeth does. She’s good at denial but is observant enough, and knows Kaya well enough, to know what the looks and charged moments all mean. “I want to stop pretending.”

Elsbeth thinks back to the evening of her ex’s wedding, of cuddling up to Kaya on the hood of the car and wishing the pretence of their relationship was real. The same fear that stopped her then stops her now.

She balls her hands into fists, feels her nails dig into her palms. "I don't want things to change just because you feel guilty."

"That's really what you believe, isn't it?" Kaya says, looking at her with an intensity that sets Elsbeth's heart racing, no matter how much she wishes it wouldn't.

"What?"

"That you don't deserve," Kaya pauses, and Elsbeth's mind fills the gaps with everything she doesn't feel worthy of - Kaya, Teddy, love, happiness - "good things."

Teddy said she deserved to be happy. The times she spends with Kaya are undoubtedly when she's happiest.

"I don't know what you want,” Kaya continues, “but I know I like you so much. More than I should, maybe. But we're adults, and best friends, and whatever's happening, I think we can work it out if we just talk about it."

"I'm meant to be good at talking," Elsbeth says with a sad half-smile. A decorated career as one of Chicago's top lawyers, and her current job which largely involves irritating suspects until they incriminate themselves. But she freezes at the thought of laying bare her feelings for Kaya; so much could go wrong, and she's already pushed her away half a dozen times by acting impulsively or not properly considering Kaya's feelings. It's so hard, with Kaya looking at her with wide, understanding eyes, to articulate how Kaya deserves someone better.

"Elsbeth, look," Kaya says, "I know you sometimes feel like- like there's a sheet of glass between you and everyone else. I know you try to not let it bother you."

Elsbeth stares and does her best to hold herself steady as Kaya brings her deepest-hidden insecurities to the surface.

"But you're not alone," Kaya gestures at the cards and bouquets that decorate every surface of the apartment, "you have so many people who love you,” she pauses. “I love you.”

“When I'm with you,” Elsbeth says, finding her tongue, “spending time together, or working together when we're out on a case… there's no barrier at all. It’s never felt like that before, with anyone. There's just me and you."

Kaya raises a hand and Elsbeth knows she wants to reach and touch her face, her hair, but pulls herself back on account of Elsbeth's injury. Instead, Elsbeth reaches forward and cups Kaya's face, gently stroking her thumb against her cheek. It's something she's thought about doing, nearly done, a hundred times.

She doesn't know what she's done to deserve someone like Kaya in her life, even as a friend. But Kaya loves her, and she loves Kaya, and keeping things from Kaya has only ever pushed her away.

“What do you want, Elsbeth?” Kaya asks.

“I want to be with you all the time,” she says, “I want to hug you and not have to pull away, I want to kiss you for real.”

Kaya smiles and leans in and it's the most gentle kiss Elsbeth has ever had. It feels impossible that such a small movement and meeting of lips - it's not even their most passionate kiss, that award surely goes to the one in the club bathroom - represents so much. But unlike that kiss, and all the other times they've pretended, there's no audience to convince. There's just the two of them.

Chapter Text

They'd originally planned to head to the gala together, but Kaya's case developed across the afternoon - their suspect in custody flipping on his buddy - and Kaya barely has time to rush home, hurriedly fix her hair, dress and makeup, and make it back into the city for 7pm.

Objectively she doesn't look her best, but any self-consciousness fades when she sees Elsbeth. She's standing by herself in the building's grand foyer, and Kaya sees her eyes light up as she spots her.

"You look incredible," Elsbeth effuses, reaching out to her.

Elsbeth has said this, with any number of superlatives, countless times throughout their friendship. But there's something different in the way she says it now, like it's something she's allowed to say, without holding herself back.

"Thanks Elsbeth," Kaya says, extending an arm to meet her in a hug, "you do too."

Kaya is still not a gala gal. But she is, though she sometimes struggles to believe it, Elsbeth's girlfriend, and here as Elsbeth's date. Officially. Not pretending.

Kaya thinks back to the first time they attended Wagner's Foundation Gala, back when they were barely on a first-name basis. She remembers Elsbeth excitedly greeting her, as if she wasn't fully sure she'd come, then proudly showing her off to anyone who would listen, crediting her fully for the closure of their case.

Even in their earliest days, when she was a beat officer and Elsbeth was so important they'd invented a whole new job just for her, Elsbeth treated her not just like an equal, but a partner she wanted to work with.

She feels Elsbeth's arm loop through the crook of her elbow and feels a sense of inevitability. In some ways everything has changed - she wakes up next to Elsbeth, who has cleared out a section of her closet for Kaya's work clothes when she stays over, the black and gray a striking contrast to the technicolor explosion - but it's surprising how little is actually different.

"We don't have to tell people," Elsbeth assures, leaning close enough that she brushes the curls framing Kaya's face, "this can just be a regular night."

Kaya appreciates Elsbeth's thoughtfulness, but since walking arm-in-arm into a gala full of detectives, Elsbeth smiling that smile at her and she's sure she's giving the same in return, that ship has pretty much sailed.

She finds she doesn't mind at all. She sees Wagner across the room, greeting important patrons and guests alongside Claudia. Near the drinks table Smullen gestures as he discusses something with his wife. Connor walks past them, his partner at his side. She and Elsbeth are just one couple in a sea of people - perhaps more eye-catching than most courtesy of Elsbeth's bright orange gown and feathery fascinator she bought specially since getting the all-clear for wearing headgear again.

"I was thinking I'd show you off this time."

It's amazing, the difference a shield makes. Kaya has always got along with the Detectives in the precinct, but being one of them means she can stand with them at the edge of the function without feeling like a child at the grownups' table. She can chat about cases, trade stories without feeling like she's got anything to prove.

Next to her, Donnelly sips her beer and points out senior NYPD officials from different jurisdictions, ranking them in difficulty to work with.

"Kaya, you have to try this!" Elsbeth suddenly appears, a macaron in each hand. In their early days Kaya might have been embarrassed at the interruption, but she just feels a rush of affection as Elsbeth beams at her, expectant and excited.

"Hello Elsbeth," Donnelly nods.

"Jackie," Elsbeth waves around the treats, gesturing that she'd hug if her hands weren't full, "have you tried the desserts yet?"

"They're not bad," Donnelly concedes, "worth coming to these if only for the food."

"I know, right?" Elsbeth says, before gently placing a macaron in Kaya's palm, "this one is raspberry - I was in the back, talking to the chef-"

Kaya listens to Elsbeth describe the skill involved, the precision with which almond flour and egg whites must be baked. Elsbeth sees admirable traits in everyone; appreciation for the pastry chef, the caricaturist, the mixologist. Love comes spilling out of her like a wellspring, her heightened appreciation for everything.

She accepts the macaron - it's pastel pink with raspberries and cream and looks like it was made specifically for Elsbeth. As she eats it - it is pretty delicious - she sees Elsbeth bite into hers and close her eyes in unabashed joy. Kaya catches the look on Donnelly's face as she watches her watch Elsbeth.

Donnelly turns to Elsbeth, "how are you doing?"

Elsbeth looks at Kaya with sparkling eyes, "I'm so good."

"I meant," a variety of emotions flash across Donnelly's face; distaste at the display of emotion, a grudging happiness for her colleagues, "your head. Are you properly recovered now?"

"Oh yes!" Elsbeth says, adjusting her fascinator and pulling back a curtain of red hair to reveal a barely noticeable white line about two inches long on the side of her head.

"I never said," Donnelly says, hands in her pockets, "I'm sorry you got hurt on my watch."

Kaya feels like she's speaking to her as much as to Elsbeth, like she failed to protect Elsbeth in her absence. Kaya never discussed her feelings for Elsbeth with the other Detectives - everyone would die of embarrassment or awkwardness - but her fondness for and protectiveness of Elsbeth, if not anything deeper, was always an open secret.

"Don't be silly!" Elsbeth says, dropping her hair and waving a hand, "it was all him. And me going off on my own. I've promised I won't do that anymore."

"Wow," Donnelly raises her eyebrows, "I'll believe that when I see it."

Elsbeth has a waiter in her sights. She pulls Kaya along by the hand, weaving through a throng of people in pursuit of what look like tiny mango cheesecakes. Kaya nearly spills her flute of champagne as Elsbeth suddenly veers to the left, abandoning the waiter for a familiar face in the crowd.

"Claudia!" Elsbeth says, drawing up next to the Captain's wife, "you look amazing as always."

"Thanks Elsbeth," she nods, "hello Kaya."

"Thank you for the flowers!" Elsbeth gives her an exaggerated wink, "I thanked the Captain, but they were so lovely I'm pretty sure he didn't choose them by himself."

"You're so welcome; I'm glad you're doing well."

"Never better, honestly."

"Speaking of which," Claudia says, a knowing sparkle in her eye, "I believe congratulations are in order."

Elsbeth blinks, uncomprehending, until Claudia gently inclines her head towards Kaya.

"Oh! Yes! Did the Captain tell you?"

"He did, but I think almost anyone with eyes can see it from across the room. I'm so happy for you both."

Kaya knows better than anyone how Elsbeth struggles sometimes. Knows she sees herself as the lucky one in their relationship. She steps closer to Elsbeth, slips her hand around her waist, and feels Elsbeth instinctively lean into her touch. "Thanks, Claudia."

Claudia smiles. "You know, Charles has always had a soft spot for you two."

"We have a soft spot for him," Elsbeth confides, and it's true, "he's a big teddy bear really, isn't he?"

"He is," Claudia says, "but don't let anyone here hear you say it."

Kaya thinks about all the events they've attended together - as friends, as colleagues, as a pretend-couple - and how she always felt a pull at the end of the evening. Even in the earliest days there was a gravitation towards Elsbeth; she enjoyed this strange woman's company so much she never felt quite ready to part at the end of the night.

She takes Elsbeth's hand and feels grateful that now they don't have to.

"Do you want to come back to mine?" Kaya asks.

She knows that being with Elsbeth means compromise. Elsbeth is not quiet, orderly, or predictable. But despite all their differences and the difficulties they will inevitably bring to their relationship, one thing she never has to doubt is that she's enough for Elsbeth.

"Always," Elsbeth says, holding Kaya's hand tight.

They step out of the grand hotel lobby and into the cool New York evening, and across the river the Manhattan skyline is lit up like Christmas. The Empire State Building, One Vanderbilt, the Chrysler Building. Teddy once described New York City as 'just buildings', but the city means so much more to Kaya, and she knows it means as much to Elsbeth.

Elsbeth looks happier than Kaya can remember seeing, the lights of the city reflected in her wide, excited eyes. Kaya pulls her by the hand and leans in and presses their lips together, uncaring of who might step out of the gala and see.

Kaya won’t ever experience the world like Elsbeth does; the bright sensory explosion, the vividness of every color and sensation. But when she kisses her - softness and almonds and sweetness - she gets a taste.