Work Text:
I miss you. From across the room I wish you'd
read my mind, you turn me see-through.
Oh, can't you tеll?
Something is wrong with Adam Karadec.
And Morgan Gillory is determined to figure out what it is.
He’s standing at the case board, tapping a pen in the palm of his hand. Morgan perches on Karadec’s desk, ankles crossed, and narrows her eyes to scan him up and down. He hardly ever taps his pen like that, a dead giveaway that something is bothering him. His posture is stiff and rigid too — and not normal police-robot-intensely-focused-on-the-job rigid. He’s clenching his jaw and staring hard at the board like it holds the answers to the universe.
But perhaps the biggest sign that something is wrong is that Karadec has barely met her gaze for the past few days.
The precinct has been in a shake-up in the week since Wagner’s death and the looming news of a potential new captain. Morgan knows Karadec has been stressed about that and dealing with the fallout from Lucia’s arrest. And Morgan has been struggling too with the recent traumatic events.
She rarely sleeps well as it is, but rest has been even more elusive these days. She’s been having nightmares. Can I even call them nightmares if I’m still awake when they happen? she wonders. As soon as the kids are asleep and her bedroom is still, Morgan lays flat on her back and stares at the ceiling. And then she relives it: Wagner, covered in blood. His blood literally on her hands. Morgan can still smell the iron, can still feel the exact moment that his heart slowed and then stopped against her chest. She remembers the too-bright lights of the ambulance, the paramedic who pulled her away from Wagner and tried to soothe her. Morgan was nearly hyperventilating trying to explain what happened, explain anything out of the ordinary in the park that she noticed.
The next day, everyone at the precinct tried calling her and checking in to make sure she was okay. She let their calls go straight to voicemail. Ludo offered to stay with her and the kids but she waved him off, insisting she just needed a little alone time. (Ludo skeptically raised his eyebrows at that but took Ava, Elliot, and Chloe to his place for a few hours.) Morgan stayed in bed nearly the whole time, covers pulled up to her chin. She screamed and sobbed into a pillow. She was about to start throwing objects at walls when her phone buzzed.
It was a text from Karadec, short and simple: “I’m here if you need me.” The echo of her words the night before immediately lowered her blood pressure. And when Ludo returned with the kids in tow later that evening, Morgan had actually managed to shower, change into clean clothes, and pull herself together long enough for a family dinner night.
But whatever is happening with Karadec right now isn’t just stress. Call it intuition, her HPI, or just knowing the man but Morgan is convinced something deeper is wrong. Which is why, after their shift, she shows up at Karadec’s door with a six-pack of his favorite beer and takeout from the Thai restaurant she knows he frequents.
“Morgan,” he states as he opens the door, seemingly unsurprised and unbothered by her presence. Which is weird. He should be subtly irritated, maybe groan or roll his eyes.
She takes note of the fact that he’s already changed out of his suit and into a heather grey pair of sweatpants and a dark blue T-shirt. Something about seeing him wearing mismatched socks on his feet causes Morgan’s stomach to do a little swoop, and she crosses the threshold.
“You, my friend, have some explaining to do.”
Karadec’s eyebrows shoot up. “Ah, so not even a little bit of pretense then. Just straight to the point.”
Morgan flings her bag on Karadec’s kitchen island. She folds her arms over her chest and watches Karadec eye her. To be fair, she’s also decided to embrace casual attire tonight — an oversized graphic T-shirt and yoga pants — and she’s not sure he’s ever seen her without jewelry and makeup on like this either.
“Yeah, straight to the point. Something is wrong with you.”
Karadec arches an eyebrow. “Is it?”
Morgan throws up her hands in frustration and groans. “Yes, and it’s driving me crazy and you of all people should know my brain will not let this go until it has an answer. You’ve been acting differently. Something is off. You barely look me in the eyes anymore.”
As if to underscore her point, Karadec looks somewhere over Morgan’s shoulder in the kitchen. He sighs, wearily, and scrubs a hand over his beard. Morgan has noticed that there’s more grey in it these days. (It’s neither the time nor the place to unpack the fact that it’s kind of hot and also definitely uncoils a kind of want low in her belly that she has been ignoring for a while when it comes to him.)
“Are you… is this about Lucia?” she attempts, voice tentative.
That gets Karadec to focus sharply on Morgan’s face. “What? No. I mean, that obviously has been part of why I’ve —”
“Aha!” Morgan interrupts, pointing a finger accusingly at her partner who simply rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “So you admit that you’ve been different.”
“Fine, Morgan!” he says in exasperation. “You win. Of course I have been different lately. Lucia is a criminal. Wagner was murdered. And before all of that, I was in a building explosion and there was a dangerous raid that nearly resulted in my partner getting hurt — or worse. So maybe, Morgan, the question is not why I’ve been different but why you haven’t.”
The woman lowers her finger and frowns in confusion. “What does that mean?”
“I mean, how do you go through a near-death experience on Mother’s Day, then watch Wagner die in front of you and just… keep on acting normally? How are you not falling apart?”
Morgan’s frown deepens and instead of immediately answering, she opens the takeout bag and wordlessly places their food on the counter. Karadec meanders into the kitchen and opens a drawer, handing Morgan a bottle opener for their beer. The air is quiet except for the hum of the apartment air conditioner. The silence stretches from comfortable to awkward and then back again a few times as Morgan picks up her food and walks toward the table.
When Karadec sits down opposite her, she finally speaks. “I don’t have the luxury of falling apart.”
After stirring her pad thai, she continues: “I promise I’m not trying to be rude, but… I’m a single mom, Karadec. If I experience something traumatic at work, I still have to go home and cook dinner for three kids. And then I have to review homework. And make sure alarms are set. And pack lunches. And do a million loads of laundry.” Morgan takes a bite of her food before concluding: “By the time it’s finally just me and my thoughts, I let myself fall apart. But then I wake up and I’m in mom mode again. My job is to make sure my kids are safe and healthy and happy. If they thrive, I succeed. Sometimes that means I just fall apart at 3 a.m. alone on my bathroom floor.”
Karadec’s eyes soften and he opens his mouth, but Morgan speaks first. “And like I told you,” she says, a little more forcefully than she means to, “I don’t like falling apart in front of people anyway. Why would I possibly let anyone see that? My bedroom walls, on the other hand, have witnessed a lot of meltdowns the past few months. So has the precinct bathroom, actually. The night of the raid, Lucia showed up and she was clearly upset. You had your relationship to focus on. I get that. Honestly, I do. So instead of falling apart in front of you, I just fell apart a few seconds later in the bathroom. And then the night Lucia was arrested, I set aside what I had discovered about Roman because you needed me. After Wagner died, I didn’t want or need to be yet another issue for you to have to handle on top of everything else.”
The room is still and Morgan pokes at her food, the aftertaste of bitterness curling around her throat. Her brain let these confessions out without filtering them first, and the sudden force of it all smacks into her like a wave. The thing is, she knows she wasn’t really jealous of Lucia being with Karadec (current complicated feelings about him aside). She liked Lucia; she was sweet and seemed good for him. No, the bitterness is because for the first time in a long time, a man had proven he wanted to take care of Morgan. A man had cared deeply about her well-being. And of course Morgan had let herself lean a little too much on Karadec, let herself sink into the good feeling of being protected and looked out for. When Lucia ran into Karadec’s arms at the precinct, it was a stinging revelation to Morgan: she was Karadec’s work partner. He could put her first — at work. But in his personal life, she was never going to be at the top of his list of priorities. That space would belong to his romantic partner.
It was the longing for that sense of safety and security from Karadec all the time that would break her heart in the end, Morgan decided.
“Is that what you really think?” Karadec asks so quiet and pained that Morgan instantly regrets starting this entire conversation demanding brutal honesty. She looks at him and his dark eyes are swimming with emotion. “Morgan,” he starts, voice raw, “You are not a problem to me. You are —”
“Why have you been avoiding me then?” she interrupts. “Tell me.”
Her partner closes his eyes for a moment and exhales steadily, scooting his chair back from the table. He moves into the kitchen to lean against the island, putting distance between himself and Morgan. The woman, in turn, adjusts her chair so she’s facing him directly.
They just stare at each other, silently, for a few minutes. Karadec’s voice uncharacteristically wobbles as he admits: “I’ve been thinking a lot lately about that raid. I keep replaying it in my head.” His eyes bore into hers, and even from across the room Morgan can see that they are glassy again. “I keep thinking about how I should have fought Wagner harder when he insisted that you go into the field. And then I keep thinking about how when we got down there, I should have been right by your side the entire time. I shouldn’t have agreed to any of it but I definitely shouldn’t have left you. You had… you had a gun pointed at you, Morgan.”
When she notices how wounded Karadec looks, she insists: “But that wasn’t your fault.”
Karadec shakes his head. “It was. Morgan, you’re my partner. You’re my…” He trails off, snapping his mouth shut to prevent whatever he was about to say from escaping. Morgan wonders what it would have been: You’re my best friend. You’re my person. You’re everything. She involuntarily swallows at the emotional weight her brain is putting on this conversation. When Morgan demanded honesty, her brain seemed to take her up on the offer too. Thoughts she has managed to keep carefully labeled and buried in her subconscious are suddenly flooding her mind.
Karadec continues: “It’s my job to protect you. If anything happens to you…” He lets his sentence hang in the air for a moment and Morgan assumes he won’t finish it. But then, quietly, he says: “I don’t know what I’d do, Morgan. The few seconds in that raid, thinking the worst when I heard a gunshot… it was hell.”
Morgan quickly blinks tears from her eyes and attempts to reassure him: “Again, this isn’t your fault. It’s the fault of the person who pointed a gun at me.”
“You know why I can’t look at you, Morgan?” Karadec starts. “Because I can’t stop thinking about how in two intensely traumatic experiences recently, I failed you. I have been thinking over and over again about what would have happened to you if Wagner hadn’t shown up when he did. How I would have had to be the one to tell Ludo and the kids — to look them in the eyes and admit that I didn’t keep you safe. And I can’t stop thinking about how you were in a park by yourself when Wagner died. Or how his killer could have been waiting nearby for you. The fact that you had to experience someone dying is awful. But the fact that you were alone haunts me. If I’d gone to Ava’s art show with you, like you offered, then I could have done something. Or at least I could have been at the park instead of you and —”
“Adam,” Morgan interrupts quietly. His startled, apologetic eyes find hers and Morgan’s heart aches.
“Morgan, I can’t look at you because every time I do, I think about all the ways I could lose you. And that scares the hell out of me.”
The woman takes that as a sign from the universe to comfort him like he’s done for her. She sets her beer down on the kitchen table and crosses the distance between them, instinctively winding her arms tightly around Karadec’s middle and pressing her cheek into his chest. He hesitates for a moment before gripping her waist tightly with both hands and exhaling deeply, dropping his chin to rest atop her head. After a moment, Morgan pulls back slightly, Karadec’s arms still holding her in place. She lifts a hand and gently cups his cheek. Her thumb rubs back and forth slowly over his beard. She watches him swallow hard, sees the emotion swimming in his eyes.
“Adam, I’m safe,” she murmurs, more to herself than him. “I’m safe. I’m okay. I’m here.” His fingers loosen their grip on her waist for a brief moment before he begins gently trailing them up and down both sides of her spine. Morgan shivers involuntarily even though the distance between them feels warmer and more overwhelming by the second. Or maybe because of that.
His eyes meet hers and Morgan’s acutely aware of how hard she’s breathing, of every point where his fingers are touching her, of the fact that her hand is still on his face. She slowly moves her hand down to his shoulder and then further to his chest. She presses both hands against his pecs now and grips his shirt. When Karadec dips his head closer to hers, she’s certain he’s about to kiss her and she’s terrified that she doesn’t feel terrified by that.
But instead, he presses his forehead gently to hers and now Morgan is aware that he’s also breathing hard. The air between them — the air they’re breathing in and out from each other — is charged with something new. Their noses are touching and she can smell his cologne, all warmth and spices.
“I’ve got you,” she whispers.
The thing that confuses Morgan most of all is that none of this feels surprising. It’s not what she planned to happen when she came over but it feels sort of inevitable that they would end up like this. Karadec has been so protective over her and so careful that it wrecks her to know that he feels like he failed her in any way. He’s been her safest place: the one person she knows will try to make things better, will try to understand her. She trusts him with her whole self — her heart, her body, her very life.
It startles her a little bit that she’s thinking about this so freely. Usually it takes a few glasses of wine before her brain will let her slip into thinking about the times Karadec has touched her. Then, taking the last sips of a cabernet, she’ll let her mind wander and daydream about how large his hands felt before on her back and what it might feel like to have them elsewhere on her body — teasing her, stroking her, satisfying her. It’s been a long time since she’s been kissed or touched by someone who makes her feel as safe and known as Karadec does. She wonders, idly, if that’s why something as simple as a brief touch from him can affect her like this.
Morgan doesn’t know what happens if she allows all these thoughts to grow roots in her brain or admit that she wants to be the person who holds him like this. But right now she shifts her nose experimentally, tilting her head a little bit, her lips drifting a breath closer to his. She closes her eyes and lets him make the next decision for them.
After a minute or ten or thirty, Morgan can’t tell, Karadec shifts his position, tipping his face upward, and presses a lingering kiss to her forehead that causes her heart to thrum in her chest. She closes her eyes and holds tightly onto this feeling, committing it to memory. It will be the moment that anchors her the next time she’s panicked. It will be the thing that eases her out of a nightmare and back into a calm sleep. It will be the scene she plays and replays and when she worries she is too much for someone to handle or care about.
Instead of saying anything, she hums contentedly — and a little loudly — and that earns a low chuckle from Karadec whose lips are still pressed against her forehead. Seemingly reluctantly, he pulls back but Morgan grips his shirt tightly in her fists. So he moves a hand to cup the side of her face and wipes away tears that Morgan didn’t even realize she’d shed.
“You okay?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. She makes the mistake of looking him in the eyes, the sincerity and gentleness cracking open her chest in a way that makes her either want to cry more or do something reckless like close the gap between them and discover just how gentle he’d be with her mouth.
“Yeah,” she says, unconvincingly. “Are you okay?” she asks breathlessly.
A thoughtful hum that she feels all the way to her toes reverberates in the air. “Yeah. Thank you,” he whispers, still looking at the spot on her cheek where the tears were. Her body is buzzing and she doesn’t know what unlocked the door to these feelings she’s having, exactly, but she can’t shut it now.
Her breathing hitches again and she closes her eyes, willing the thoughts away for just a moment, half-convinced Karadec can read her mind. If he can, he doesn’t say or do anything but gently places his hands atop hers (has she still been gripping his shirt this forcefully?), lifting them off his chest, and settling them down by her side.
She takes a wobbly step backward while looking everywhere but his eyes and for once, she’s at a loss for words. Morgan doesn’t know how to play this, doesn’t know if Karadec will immediately retreat back into his uncomfortable, emotionally detached self with her after they just did… well, whatever it was they just did.
“You said my name,” he notes quietly, almost under his breath but loud enough that Morgan catches it.
The woman’s lips twitch into a gentle smile. “I did?” When Karadec nods, she tilts her head in thought and affirms: “I guess I did.”
“It’s happened before,” he muses, hands now shoved into his pant pockets. He glances down at the kitchen floor, almost shyly.
Morgan recalls how she said it during her panic attack, then used it to get him to focus on her during his own moment of crisis. She wonders to herself, standing there in his apartment, why she used his first name, just as he asks: “Why?”
“Why do I use your God and government-given name?” Morgan asks lightly. When Karadec just nods, she thinks genuinely about the answer. Instead of meeting his eyes, she looks down at her hands and shrugs. “I guess… when I was scared, I didn’t want a police robot — term of endearment, by the way. I wanted you. Just… Adam. And when you were going through it with Lucia, I wanted to try and help ground you like you’d grounded me.” Morgan furrows her brows after a beat and says something aloud she hadn’t even processed internally. “I think that when I say it, I want it to mean something.”
“And what about just now? What did it mean?” he asks.
The woman smiles sadly. “It meant that I wanted you to know that you haven’t ever failed me. And that I will always trust you to take care of me. And that I’m scared of losing you too.”
He furrows his brows a little at the last sentence. “You are?”
Morgan returns his frown. “Of course I am. You almost got yourself blown up this year, remember? I was worried.”
“Uh, I remember you coming into my hospital room and yelling at me.”
Morgan rolls her eyes good-naturedly and waves her hand. “Sometimes that is how I show affection,” she explains. Softening her eyes and stance, she admits: “But I was seriously worried, Adam. You can't just play the chivalrous partner and try to save me if it means you get hurt. Or worse. I refuse to lose you at all but I definitely refuse to lose you that way.”
Karadec stares at the floor for a second, then rocks back and forth on his heels slightly, shoving his hands back into his pockets and exhaling loudly. His gaze when he looks up pins Morgan to the spot. It’s so vulnerable and intense and Morgan is absolutely certain he’s never looked at her this way before. She wants to avert her eyes but something tells her she shouldn’t. It’s uncomfortable to be so seen and known like this. But something warm and tingly also washes over her whole body.
“You’re staring at me,” she notes.
He licks his lips and nods. “I know.”
“Can I ask why?”
“Yes.”
“Will you tell me why?”
“No.”
Morgan smirks a little at the response. “You seem cagey, detective,” she drawls.
At this he actually breaks whatever haze has settled over him and rolls his eyes. After a beat, he explains: “I’m just… processing.”
The woman hums and asks, “Do you want to be alone while you process? Or should I stay and maybe microwave our pad thai? Pretty sure all the noodles have officially congealed by now.”
Karadec huffs a laugh and nods, so Morgan ends up warming up their food and staying for another hour. Karadec turns on the sports channel for background noise. They sit at the kitchen table in relative silence until they find a neutral topic: Chloe’s new derision for bananas. Karadec tells Morgan that he actually hates banana-flavored things because of how evidently artificial the flavor is, and the conversation unspools from there.
They chat and they laugh and for a little while, Morgan forgets about the way her brain so easily gave itself over to her emotions. And how much that scares her. Or, rather, she almost forgets about it until she prepares to leave the apartment. When she turns around at the front door, she readies herself for a simple goodbye. Maybe an awkward wave.
It’s been a weird day so Morgan chalks up what happens next to just that — weirdness in the universe. Because even though she doesn’t plan for it, her body moves on its own accord. She stretches upward on her toes, gripping Karadec’s shoulders lightly as leverage and does something unprecedented for their relationship: she kisses him on the cheek. (What are you doing? her brain yells. Whatever we damn well want! her lips respond smugly).
The problem is that she’s worn heels and boots consistently for so long that she’s not used to the instability of her sneakers. So she tips just slightly off balance on her right toe as she’s lowering herself back to the ground. And that’s when, for barely a millisecond, her lips accidentally ghost the edge of Karadec’s mouth.
Now back on the ground, Morgan looks up at him with wide eyes and he mimics her shock. She’s slid her hands down to his forearms but neither of them have moved. It wasn’t even a kiss, really, Morgan tells herself. It was a barely-there ghost of a kiss. A phantom kiss!
But also, it clearly wasn’t nothing because they’re still staring at each other in a way that suggests either they’re going to have to discuss what happened or bury it so far into their subconsciouses that it never sees the light of day.
Morgan is genuinely unsure which she’d prefer right now.
“Um,” she manages, wobbling a step backward, forgetting that the front door is directly behind her. She knocks herself into it slightly. “Obviously that was an accident. Let’s just…”
“... forget it happened?” Karadec offers, voice a bit gravelly.
Morgan nods. “Mhmm. Yeah. Yup, that is… preferable.”
The pause that follows is so pregnant that it might just give birth to quintuplets at any moment. There’s some shuffling from beyond Karadec’s front door that Morgan can hear and voices — neighbors, Morgan assumes. She notices the faint ding of an elevator. It’s so quiet in the apartment now that she can also acutely hear her own breathing which she has been desperately trying to regulate. It’s very much not working.
Karadec breaks the silence, voice low. “Or…”
Morgan’s heart rate gallops and her bright blue eyes flit up and lock onto him as she repeats: “Or…?” but as a question.
She is still holding onto his arms, she realizes, when he reaches out a tentative hand to cup her jaw. The pad of his thumb gently traces her lower lip and his eyes are now fixated there. “I’ll do whatever you want to do, Morgan,” he whispers, eyes lifting from her lips to meet her gaze. “What do you want?”
Morgan doesn’t think about awkwardness or what-ifs. She will overthink this tonight, she knows. She will wonder if this decision unlocks the floodgates to a lot of bad, irreparable decisions that could ruin the solid relationship they have spent the last few years building. But right now, at this moment, she will not think through anything more than what she wants. And she wants him.
As Karadec’s thumb moves from her lip to press gently into her chin, Morgan admits what she’s tried to shove into a corner of her brain and forget: “I want you to kiss me.” She feels a little shy (an emotion she honestly rarely feels moving through the world) and slightly desperate when she adds: “Please?”
Karadec’s lips quirk into a smile at her request. But then he stares at her in a way that is so intense and emotional that it turns her inside out. He looks at her like he is trying his best to catalogue every inch of her and commit it to memory forever. Karadec finally cups her face with both hands, his warm fingers cradling the back of her head. He tips his head down and Morgan gets deja vu again to earlier when their foreheads pressed together.
This time, though, Morgan sucks in a quick breath as he nudges her nose with his and presses his lips tentatively to hers. Morgan could cry because of how sweet and careful he is, letting her silently know that she can back out of this if she wants to at any moment. She feels like he’s telling her — with the sweetest, simplest kiss — that she is in control, that he will follow her lead. And Morgan knows that he will be gentle with her in the way men haven’t always been.
That last realization does cause hot tears to press in the back of her eyes and she squeezes them shut to prevent the tears from slipping onto her cheek, fearful Karadec would be startled, worried he has done something wrong. But how could she explain that the way he looks at her when he doesn’t think she’s paying attention (he should know she is always paying attention) is so pure and earnest that it makes her emotional?
Now, Morgan reaches instinctively for Karadec’s middle, hands splaying across his ribs, gripping his shirt to pull him closer. Karadec’s fingers lightly tangle in Morgan’s hair and his lips work hers. And Morgan decides that if this is it for them — if this is all that ever happens and in a minute they agree to never do anything remotely close to it again — she’s going to savor it all. She’s going to put this brain of hers to good use by filing away every sound and sensation and refusing to forget any of it.
There’s still too much space between them for Morgan’s liking. So she slides her hands from Karadec’s ribs up between his shoulder blades, pressing him even closer to her body. Morgan needs more of this. She needs more of him, and she wants him to know how badly she wants this. (Not-so-secretly she wants to know exactly how affected by this he is too.) So she tilts her head and encourages him to deepen the kiss. And after a second, oh, he does. He begins kissing her like she’s something to savor but also devour.
For one blissful moment, Morgan’s runaway brain goes still and she can finally focus on her physical sensations — the rough way his beard scratches her face (she will definitely have evidence of this makeout session later), the tender press of his fingers massaging her scalp. Every nerve and neuron is sparking and it elicits a little moan of satisfaction from her that causes him to press his body closer to hers, all heat and arousal and yet also comfort.
Her eyes are closed, she’s breathing hard through her nose, and she’s trying to memorize it all. Will she be able to remember the feeling of his lips moving feverishly over hers? The taste of beer on his tongue? The little hum he makes whenever he moves his head, the way he accidentally tugs a little on her hair and the way she really likes that? A voice in Morgan’s brain affirms: I think it would be impossible for you to forget this, even without a photographic memory. I think if you ever have another kiss in your life, it will pale in comparison to this one right here.
She can’t form words for how good this feels so she lets Karadec know with a little whimper that causes him to press his body even closer. Morgan’s hips roll against him involuntarily ever-so-slightly, but the friction is enough for Karadec to groan and respond in kind.
Morgan trails her hand up to the base of Karadec’s neck; her fingernails lightly scratch the hair at the nape and then tug. His response is a sound she’ll definitely memorize and save for when she is alone. He breaks from her lips to trail his mouth along her neck. That’s what ultimately leads to her hitching her leg over his hip, aching for more friction. They stay like that for 60 seconds or ninety minutes, Morgan doesn’t know or care — just Karadec kissing her neck hungrily and then her chin slowly, her cheek softly, and finally the tip of her nose sweetly.
Still too soon, he shifts backward. Morgan dazedly blinks her eyes open, chest heaving and legs wobbly like she’s just run a marathon. She is grateful that the door behind her is there to support her weight. Karadec loosens his hands from her hair and smooths the flyaways down. The consolation Morgan has in this moment is that Karadec’s breathing hard, pupils blown, looking clearly as affected by what just happened as she must be. Morgan swallows, her heart hiccuping as Karadec’s hand trails down her arm to find her hand. He laces their fingers together and squeezes once.
“Hi,” he says. His rough, low voice thrums through every nerve of her body.
She licks her lips and watches Karadec’s gaze flit to them briefly. “Hi,” she echoes with what she hopes is bravado. (It’s not; she can hear herself. Her voice sounds threaded and breathy.)
Karadec’s eyes glint a little and he brings their entwined hands up to his mouth, kissing her knuckles. It sends little pins-and-needles tingles down Morgan’s spine and she swears if she isn’t careful, she’s going to say something too vulnerable, too real. I want you. I need you. Do you need me too?
When he untangles their hands, he gently circles her wrist with his fingers. His eyes lock with hers, and he presses an open-mouthed kiss to her palm without breaking eye contact. How is this so insanely hot? Morgan wonders. Her emotions suddenly mingle together in a burst: heavy lust and longing and fear.
It’s the last one that her brain latches onto. We’re feeling too much for him right now. This is dangerous. Morgan knows if she doesn’t break herself out of the spell, she will drag his mouth back to hers and pull him into his bedroom. Her body is now desperate to know all the ways he could make her come undone. (And whether or not she was wrong when she teased him about his orgasm face. She has the distinct sense she was very wrong.) But her brain seems to know better. For once, at least.
So Morgan gently pries her palm out of his hand and clears her throat pointedly. Karadec looks at her with furrowed brows for a fraction of a second before his expression clears and he takes a few steps back, awkwardly shoving his hands into his pockets. He looks down at the floor.
Morgan exhales heavy breaths for a few seconds, steadying herself. Karadec is still looking at the entryway floor, his sock-clad feet tracking an invisible scuff. She knows he’s worried that he crossed a line, knows that all the rational voices in his head are probably cranked up at a louder volume than normal, especially because of how quickly she pulled away.
She tentatively begins with a quiet: “Adam?” That gets his attention immediately, his eyes snapping up to meet hers. She smiles at him, genuinely, and his shoulders relax, posture settling into one of ease. “I don’t regret what we just did at all. I get the sense that’s what you’re worried about,” she says. Morgan bites her lip and decides to be a little flirtatious in her honesty. “I just know that I wanted for us to continue this somewhere else …” Here, she trails off and pointedly looks behind him toward his bedroom.
His eyes widen a little and Morgan smirks at the flush of color in his cheeks. “Yeah,” she affirms, “which probably wouldn’t be a good idea.” She clarifies, “Right now.”
Karadec nods and agrees, “Yeah, definitely not. Right now,” he echoes the last part and Morgan’s stomach somersaults at the implication.
They return to a slightly awkward silence. But when Morgan looks up, she notices Karadec watching her with the kind of fondness that makes her lose her breath. He smiles and closes the gap between them, bending down to place a kiss to the top of Morgan’s head, his arms circling her shoulder blades in a loose hug.
Morgan leans into the kiss for a moment. “I should probably go,” she says quietly. “You know, relieve Ludo from his parental duties for the night.” Karadec hums into Morgan’s hair in affirmation and before she can overthink it, she adds: “You could come by, if you want. Hang out with me and the kids?”
Karadec looks down at her and Morgan’s heart almost bursts at the hopefulness in his eyes. “Really?”
The woman smiles and stretches a hand up to cup Karadec’s face, rubbing her thumb back and forth over his beard. “You will definitely get teased and maybe lightly interrogated by Ava. It’ll be loud and overwhelming and the second we put a movie on tonight, Elliot will find plot holes and Ava will get annoyed and start throwing popcorn at his head.”
“Sounds pretty typical,” he affirms. Then he frowns. “Wait, why would I get teased and interrogated?”
Morgan moves her hand from his face to his chest, drawing aimless patterns over his shirt. “Oh, because I have no intention of leaving any personal space between you and me on my couch,” she says matter-of-factly.
When she looks up at Karadec, he’s already leaning down to press a chaste kiss to her lips. Morgan hums appreciatively. When he breaks away, Karadec says, “I’d love to spend tonight with you and your family.”
Something squeezes in Morgan’s chest and she knows without any doubt that he actually means this — that he’ll let Chloe smear food on his shirt or listen to Elliot’s latest hyperfixation or get made fun of by Ava.
Karadec was willing to do whatever Morgan wanted, and she knew that when she opened this new door of intimacy, there was no way to close it again. They can’t pretend this never happened or write it off as a mistake. It was a deliberate choice.
This, she knows, is probably the beginning of something. And even though the idea absolutely terrifies her, there’s a comfort in the reality of it — in the way that Karadec’s hands and voice soothe her, the way that she feels so safe and known, the way her chest aches right now with a feeling so raw and beautiful that she doesn’t know the word for it. (Okay, maybe she does but she’s not ready to let her brain latch onto it quite yet.)
And when Karadec comes over that night, he does get interrogated by Ava the moment that his hands intertwine with Morgan’s. (She demands to know his “intentions” which makes him flush and stumble over his words and Morgan doesn’t miss the smirk on Ava’s face — nor does she miss the genuine smile when Morgan’s head settles on Karadec’s shoulders a few minutes into the movie.)
There’s a lot of laughter and popcorn strewn all over the floor and Elliot falls asleep halfway through the movie. When the credits roll, Ava and Elliot meander to their rooms, and Morgan follows them to say goodnight before shutting their doors softly. She returns to the living room to find Karadec on his hands and knees, scouring the floor for loose popcorn to clean up. The sight is so wholesome that Morgan has to take a second to pause, her hand reflexively pressing over her heart.
She walks into the living room and wordlessly moves the used bowls and cups into a stack next to the kitchen sink. Before Karadec can turn on the tap to wash them (her chest blooms with warmth at the knowledge that he is doing chores for her), she steers him back toward the living room by his shoulders. He blinks a few times in confusion, but then she gently pushes him to sit on her couch.
Without a word, she straddles his lap and studies his face. His hands immediately find her waist and his thumbs rub circles on her ribs. For a moment they just stare at each other before Morgan leans in and kisses him eagerly, deepening the kiss fast. She scratches her nails through his hair and his hands find the place on her hips where her shirt has ridden up.
When Morgan breaks the kiss, she’s a little dizzy. A slow smile spreads across Karadec’s face. “What was that for?” he rasps out.
Morgan doesn’t really know how to answer, so she takes his face in both of her hands and says: “For everything. Also for being an amazing kisser.”
Karadec genuinely laughs at the last answer and then smirks. “Mmm, ‘amazing’?”
Morgan shivers as he slowly trails his hands up her spine to tangle in the hair at the nape of her neck. “Mind-blowing. Fantastic. Best I’ve ever had,” she replies with a teasing lilt in her voice and spark in her eyes.
The teasing dies in her throat as he pushes her hair aside and leans in to gently kiss her pulse point. Morgan is not the kind of person who typically enjoys gentleness or softness in romance — she prefers frantic, messy kissing against doors and walls and being in control for all of it.
But she is realizing that she is very much enjoying the way Karadec pauses ever-so-slightly after every romantic move to ensure Morgan is enjoying herself. The tenderness he shows. Like how he now trails slow, featherlight kisses up her neck that tickle her. Morgan angles her head to give him more access. She exhales a shudder when he makes it to her earlobe and presses a kiss there.
“Morgan,” he whispers, voice low in a way that ripples throughout her body. Her eyes are closed and her head is still tipped back. She mumbles an incoherent response. Karadec laughs quietly and trails his palms down Morgan’s body, settling on her thighs. He squeezes them once. “Morgan.”
The woman cracks one eye open which earns a beaming smile from Karadec. “There you are,” he says fondly. Slowly he shifts Morgan’s weight off of his lap so she’s sitting beside him on the couch.
She opens both eyes and sighs. “You’re leaving now, aren’t you?”
As his hand drapes across the back of the couch, he nods. “It’s late.” Morgan rests her head on the back of the couch, angled toward him, pulling her knees closer to her chest. A feeling she hates washes over her — need. It terrifies her to feel dependent on anyone, especially a man.
Like he can read her mind (and who knows, maybe he can), Karadec reaches out and squeezes her wrist gently. “Hey,” he begins, “I know there have been a lot of new developments today to handle. I can practically hear your brain working in overdrive. Want to talk to me about it?”
The woman maneuvers her hand out of his, just for a moment, so she can stretch forward and gently scratch her nails through Karadec’s hair. He leans into her touch eagerly. She smiles a little before swallowing hard: “What if this is headed toward disaster, fast? I don’t have a great track record with romantic relationships for a reason. I’m a lot. My brain is a lot.”
Karadec studies her affectionately before answering. “Morgan, you are not a lot.” When the woman narrows her eyes in disbelief, he repeats: “You’re not, okay? Don’t forget, I have seen so many sides of you — sides that I am willing to bet a lot of people don’t get to see. And I have liked every one of them because I like you.”
Morgan hums. “Mmm, okay. I don’t know that I believe that you like the side of me that distrusts authority, but we’ll have to agree to disagree.” After a pause, she quietly confesses, “If this… progresses into something, there are going to be times where I get so engrossed in a case that I forget to respond to your texts. And then you’ll call and I’ll forget to respond to that too.”
“Okay, well setting aside the fact that we work cases together anyway, if that happens I’ll just text Ludo or come over to make sure you’re okay.”
Morgan sighs wearily. “But that’ll get exhausting when it happens half a dozen times. And then I’ll forget something big — like an anniversary or your birthday or that I was supposed to meet your mom for dinner an hour ago. You’ll be pissed off, understandably so. And we’ll fight. The cracks will grow gradually until one day you resent me, realize that I’m not worth it, and you leave.”
Karadec moves his hand from Morgan’s wrist to her ankle. She ducks her head to avoid eye contact, hot tears springing into her eyes. “Hey, look at me,” he says so softly it makes Morgan’s eyes shine as she meets his. “We communicate well now, don’t we? You tell me when I’m irritating you, I try to reassure you when things get tough. We’re honest with each other. We trust each other. And I have faith in you, Morgan. Okay? And as long as we keep communicating, we can figure this out — whatever this is.” Morgan nods wordlessly, but Karadec adds: “And it kills me to know that anyone has ever made you feel like you aren’t worthy of being cherished. You are so worth it, sweeth —”
Morgan presses her lips together tightly as she watches the color drain from Karadec’s face faster than she thinks is actually biologically possible. She cups a hand over her ear and teases, “I’m sorry. What was the end to that word?"
The man mumbles. “Nothing.”
“Oh, really? Because it sounded very much like you were about to call me a pet name.”
“Absolutely not.”
Morgan smirks. “Well, you definitely started to. Go ahead, then. Finish your sentence.”
“You're not going to let this go, are you?” Karadec groans, looking up at the ceiling.
Despite the fact that pet names generally annoy Morgan, there is something a bit endearing about watching Karadec — her stoic, typically emotionally reserved guy — easily slip into affection for her. But Morgan decides she has embarrassed him enough for the evening so she concedes with a slight eye roll and sigh. “Fine, I will give you an out. But you owe me. So tell me this: what if we start something and find out we only function as work colleagues? Or whatever it was that we were?”
He admits: “That’s a risk. It is, Morgan. But if we’re being completely honest here… it’s been a while since I’ve seen you as just a work partner or friend. Even if you hadn’t felt the same, I would still have felt this way about you.”
Morgan’s eyes sparkle a little mischievously: “Is that so? And how exactly do you feel about me again, detective?”
Karadec playfully narrows his eyes, the smirk on Morgan’s face faltering as his hand slides from her ankle to her knee to her lower thigh. “Well if you don’t know the answer to that by now then I’ve been doing a pretty poor job showing you.”
“Might need some more evidence,” Morgan whispers, wiggling a little in an attempt to get Karadec to slide his hand higher, where she’s aching for him.
He laughs and, despite Morgan’s pout, slides his hand back to her knee. “In time, Morgan. I promise.” He pauses and his face grows serious before he adds: “And if this is all hurtling toward disaster, you should know that you’ll never lose me. If you’ll have me — whether that’s as a friend or work partner or something else — I’m here. And I’m not letting you go.”
The last phrase tickles a memory in Morgan’s mind. Tears spring to her eyes, clouding her vision, and they roll freely down her cheeks. She has to pull her hands away from Karadec to furiously wipe at them. “Shit,” she gasps out through a soft sob, “that was unexpectedly romantic.”
The brief concern on Karadec’s face melts into affection as he reaches out to draw Morgan into his chest for a hug. She drapes herself loosely over him and sighs contentedly. “You know, we should have at least added kissing to our dynamic ages ago,” she mumbles into his shirt. When Karadec laughs, she looks up at him, propping her chin on his chest: “I’m serious. Every time I annoyed or frustrated you, imagine how much quicker things could have been resolved by having some hot, secret precinct makeouts.”
“Mmm,” Karadec hums, rubbing his hand up and down Morgan’s arm. “I actually think that would have messed with our relationship.” When Morgan frowns in confusion, he jokes: “When you first started, how would I possibly ever have gotten work done? I would have been kissing you for like, eight hours a day straight.”
Morgan narrows her eyes playfully but barks out a laugh anyway. “It really was too easy to push your buttons,” she admits. The two are quiet for a moment and Morgan presses her cheek back to Karadec’s chest, avoiding looking at him. Her voice wavers slightly as she confesses: “I appreciate you. This. Being a soft place. Taking care of me, even though I’m capable of taking care of myself. I never thought…” Morgan takes a breath as Karadec’s hand stills. “I just didn’t know if I’d find a man who made me feel safe like this. So thank you, Adam.”
Karadec presses a lingering kiss — a promise and a thank-you rolled into one — to the top of Morgan’s hair and holds her closer. “You’re welcome, Morgan.” She snuggles into him, pulling his arms around her to hold her closer. Her breathing begins to slow, eyelashes fluttering closed. Karadec means to untangle himself, he really does. But the whole day has been an emotional rollercoaster and feeling Morgan breathing against his chest lulls him into a sleepy haze.
And Morgan swears that for being on the world’s most uncomfortable couch, that is the best sleep she’s ever had.