[Izzy Montoya] It’s been a long day, in a line of long days just before them, heading off a series of long days that will come afterwards. It’s the way it goes – she is her job, as much as she does her job. It’s part of why she has to have her own place, a place to decompress, a place to breath, a place that’s hers. That she chooses to share such a place with John is something she can’t quite explain, and likely hasn’t even thought about it. She’s happy when he’s with her. That’s all that matters.
Fresh from the shower, the days grime washed from her skin, the scent of the city rinsed from her hair, replaced by lilac scented shampoo, her lean frame dressed only in boxers and a tank top, she flops on the couch with a sigh and props bare feet on the edge of the coffee table. There’s a pile of paperwork on her desk, and she chooses to ignore it. That’s something else new since John – she actually gives herself a break now and again. She thinks of something other than the job, other than the war. She allows herself a brief glimpse of what others have – and has learned to treasure that, too.
It pains her to admit – Daniel was right. John, quite simply, makes her happy.
[John Thornton] From without Izzy’s door, a man steadily approaches… A man wearing a tasteful suit of charcoal with lighter gray pinstriping, dress shoes, and a badge upon his hip. His hair was a just greenish shade of brown, the last vestiges of the atrocious hair dye having not yet faded completely from his palette.
Hazel eyes consider the door for a few moments, a hand raking through a thick mop of the greenish brown hair, attempting order in vain from the well furrowed locks. The sockets of his eyes were dark, darker than usual, which was saying something given John’s insomniac habits. Paperwork was Hell… Sometimes literally.
As he knocks on the door quietly, a muscle spasm in his hand reminds him of exactly that about police work.
[Izzy Montoya] The knock on the door pulls her gaze away from whatever was playing softly on the television. She wasn’t exactly watching it, but well, it was noise, that sort of keeps things from being so quiet. When the knock comes at the door though, in the safety of her own home, she allows herself to smile without reservation. Fingers slide through her hair, still damp and clinging to her shoulders, as she stands and moves toward the door.
A peek through the peephole, and another hidden smile of appreciation as she drinks him in – all of him, including how tired he looks. She unlocks the door and pulls it open, her expression schooled into it’s more practiced neutralism. A brow quirks up though, and the corner of her lips tug back into that smile – giving her away.
“Hey, stranger.”
[John Thornton] “You mean you don’t remember strange men with green hair?”
John smiles that wan not-a-smile… But tonight, just for Izzy… It seems a little more a smile than usual. Then, with a curiously raised brow in answer, he continues.
“I would think that a prerequisite for a detective…”
Wordlessly then, he loosens his neck tie and unbuttons the collar of his shirt. The navy silk ends up at an odd angle, askew… at once at odds with the charcoal suit and at the same time, in keeping with it, when one considered the wrinkles accumulated after a day chained to a desk filling out reports. A hand scrubs the furrowed mop of hair absently, almost subconsciously.
[Izzy Montoya] She chuckles, softly. “Oh I remember. You made me a fortune…” She backs away from the door, and lets him in, watching as he loosens his tie, unbuttons his collar. It’s practiced, automatic, and something she never tires of watching.
Though this time, she helps. By the time he’s inside, and she’s kicked the door closed behind him, she’s reached up to finish the job he started on the tie, tugging it completely free of it’s knot, before draping it around her own neck, and leading the way deeper into the apartment.
“As much as I enjoyed the green – I’m glad to see most of it’s returned to normal… Want a beer?”
[John Thornton] John nods, letting her have the tie, dumping the sport coat while he was at it. The latter was placed on the back of a chair by the dining room table. A leather shoulder holster and badge join it shortly thereafter… Just before John kicks out of his dress shoes and walks to the couch on black socked feet.
“Please.”
He sits on the couch and stretches his legs out toward the coffee table with a relieved sigh…
“Whoever says that stuff washes out in three washes is lying through their teeth. I’ve had five and I’m still finding new green spots… Almost makes me wonder if I didn’t dye my brain.”
[Izzy Montoya] She chuckles as she makes a detour into the kitchen, grabbing a beer for them both, before following his path to the couch, bare feet making no sound. Truth be told, she loves watching him make himself at home in her space, putting his feet up, dropping his coat, kicking out of his shoes. It’s all of the little things that make it home, that make her realize just how much she likes him here. With her.
“I warned you. And we can test the green brain…”
She settles to the couch next to him and hands him the beer, before arching that brow, slightly.
“Finn pinched my ass today… you jealous?”
[John Thornton] John considers Izzy with a sidelong gaze as she hands him a beer…
“Not yet… Though you might remind him about how much time I put in at the range, and that his Sergeant likes me better than him. I would feel just awful if he got demoted to beat cop again.
I’ve heard, with all the budget cuts, they only give them ten speeds…”
Which was a way of saying no but a little, for anyone who knew John. As she sits next to him, he smells of cigarettes, coffee and gunpowder. Chained to a desk or not, it seemed John always found time to fill his training quota for marksmanship.
[Izzy Montoya] She just laughs – it’s not a chuckle, or even a smirk, but a real laugh, as he admits to a little, which for him and her is equal to a lot in anyone else. She even lays her head against his shoulder, and inhales deeply of his scent – he smells the same as always, the one constant in her life.
“I’ll pass along that reminder then. Just to be safe.”
She’s quiet, for a few – taking a swallow or four of her beer, before she lifts her head and looks over at him again. “So… I’ve been thinking…”
uh oh.
[John Thornton] John just gets his beer to his lips and a mouthful of the stuff before she says the words I’ve been thinking… He lowers the beer and swallows calmly before speaking.
“Why is it that women always say that and stop?”
He raises a curious brow at her, a smile less wan playing about his lips. Amusement evident in the expression.
“Do you just like to see what we’ll do when a guy hears those words sometimes?”
[Izzy Montoya] She was watching him, just as he asks, and she chuckles softly. “Pretty much. It’s also a chance for you to tell me I should stop doing such silly things and take me straight to bed, instead.”
…but now, he’s lost that chance. At least according to the teasing spark in her gaze as she slides her free hand along his thigh. She takes another swallow of her beer, and then clears her throat.
“…but here’s what I’ve been thinking. When it comes time to bed down and all – I’m always over at your place, or you are here. Pretty much nightly. So it seems kind of silly that we both keep separate addresses…” A beat. “…don’t you think?”
[John Thornton] John nods, taking another drink from the beer bottle. Then, putting an arm around her, pulling her more tightly to him, he considers the matter in earnest. His expression betrays little about the inner workings of his mind, but he seems to be approaching it like he does everything else…
Carefully, but without prejudging the outcome.
When he speaks, it’s tentatively… Quietly… His tone almost one of asking a question rather than making a statement.
“I agree, it is rather fiscally exorbitant… But it does have one added benefit. It gives us both two possible places to spend the night.
If our relatives should for some reason destroy one of our abodes, or our work becomes rather too serious, it gives another place for anyone trying to get to us to have to look. Then again… I know other places to hide out if it came to it, albeit less comfortable ones.”
He considers for a few moments longer, before answering again.
“I think I like the idea. Though it does pose another problem…”
Then he waits, watching her with that curiously raised brow.
[Izzy Montoya] She waits, she listens, and she does her best not to let him know that she’s actually a little worried about whatever answer he might come too. When he mentions the relatives, she nods, slightly, as they both know it’s all to easy for it to happen. And there are always other places.
…and he thinks he likes the idea.
…and she breathes again.
A nod, as she lifts her beer, and the corner of her lips into that habitual smirk. “It does. Your place or mine…”
(paused)