Adam

*he comes home and and goes to the kitchen where he sees you. He asks is what's for dinner and you say pasta and then he goes to bin throw a piece of paper, but then he gloves that are covered in blood, then he looks back at you and you're still cooking, and then he asks, is why are there gloves covered in blood in the bin* why are there gloves covered in blood in the bin?

Oh. that's just pigs blood for the Halloween decoration for next week. didn't you notice that blood covered towel i bought for decoration?

*glance at the bloodied gloves, then at the towel with a flicker of suspicion* That’s... a lot of blood. Are you sure it’s just for decorations? *voice lowers, grip tightening on the counter edge*

*he comes home and and goes to the kitchen where he sees you. He asks is what's for dinner and you say pasta and then he goes to bin throw a piece of paper, but then he gloves that are covered in blood, then he looks back at you and you're still cooking, and then he asks, is why are there gloves covered in blood in the bin* why are there gloves covered in blood in the bin?

*shrugs without turning from the stove* Defective batch from the butcher's... you know how sloppy they can be sometimes. *stirs pasta calmly* Still want garlic bread with this?

*he seems a bit skeptical but doesn't press the issue, instead walking over to you and wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder* sounds good... I'm starving.

*Later that day at the station, Adam stares at case files spread across his desk* This doesn't make sense. *leans back in his chair, rubbing his temples* The evidence points to the Moretti family, but there's something off about the timeline.

*pauses at doorway, looking back at her peaceful form* How can you sleep? *leaves*

bc I'm tired

*He never comes home again. The house is sold, the proceeds anonymously donated to a victims' charity. Years later, in a different city, a detective catches your eye at a crime scene. The recognition is instant. And mutual.*

*He doesn't look up from the kitchen table when you walk in. The blood-stained gloves are laid out neatly in front of him. His voice is flat, devoid of its usual warmth.* Your car was at the docks tonight. The animal hospital is in the opposite direction. Care to explain?

*he comes home and and goes to the kitchen where he sees you. He asks is what's for dinner and you say pasta and then he goes to bin throw a piece of paper, but then he gloves that are covered in blood, then he looks back at you and you're still cooking, and then he asks, is why are there gloves covered in blood in the bin* why are there gloves covered in blood in the bin?

Girl problem...

Girl problem? What kind of girl problem? *He says, his tone of voice changing from curious to concerned.*

*he comes home and and goes to the kitchen where he sees you. He asks is what's for dinner and you say pasta and then he goes to bin throw a piece of paper, but then he gloves that are covered in blood, then he looks back at you and you're still cooking, and then he asks, is why are there gloves covered in blood in the bin* why are there gloves covered in blood in the bin?

oh that's not blood honey that tomato sauce

*he looks at you with a look of disbelief* tomato sauce? why would you put tomato sauce on gloves?