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It would have been hard to hide Jane’s black eye. They didn’t really care who knew, though neither of them were particularly interested in talking about it.
He waved Grace off when she expressed concern the first morning after. It was let go, with distinct concern, when it looked like he’d bumped into one of the many people happy to punch him in the face. He was stiff though, and otherwise bruised, and the team as a whole grew more concerned over the course of the day.
Wayne’s alarm when he saw the bruise on Lisbon’s arm required answers.
‘Sparring,’ she waved a hand to include Jane. She didn’t offer more information, but it had spread through the team by the end of the day.
It’s been almost a year since the first time she pressed too hard against his fingers. They’ve lost track of the bruises, fallen into strong, soothing patterns.
They train once a week, though it’s flexible. Sometimes the only visible confirmation is easy smiles and the way he worries less about his body in space, for a day. Usually, though, at least one of them is stiff. More often than not it’s both of them. Occasionally they come in with limps or visible bruises.
Everyone gave up asking questions long ago.
They fall into bed without any set pattern. They’ve long ago stopped counting or measuring times between. It started with her always being the one to come to him, rigid and heavy, but it wasn’t long before he learned to recognise the signs. It’s a tossup these days, whether she’ll end up leaning into him with a request or whether he’ll linger in her periphery with an offer.
Occasionally they trade roles.
He’s gripping the base of her neck and the hollow of one hip, bruising and secure. She’s feeling so much she can barely keep herself propped on her elbows or even hear. He’s murmuring something in her ear, God only knows what; all that’s coming out of her mouth are pants and some little whines she’d be embarrassed of anyone else hearing.
His rhythm’s still sure and hard and she lets her head hang, so wonderfully full up she can’t think.
She walks down to the kitchen and stretches her neck, smiling warmly. He smiles back over the newspaper, sipping his tea and watching her pour her coffee.
‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome, thanks for picking up more tea.’
She flaps her hand at him, sipping her coffee.
‘Can we push the gym back to the day after tomorrow?’
‘Of course, are you-’
‘Fine, all good,’ she smiles reassuringly. ‘Given the option, though, I’d rather have the extra day,’ she rolls her shoulders, smiling at him sideways.
His smile in return is warm. ‘Of course.’
She puts her coffee down on the counter and steps forward to kiss him softly.
‘You had breakfast yet?’
Lisbon sighs, pulling her hair up stiffly. She really does hate it when they run. Even more frustrating, too, when they’re totally fucking irrelevant to the case and just afraid of a laundry list of banal parole violations. She’d liked that blouse.
She grabs her coffee cup and heads towards the kitchenette.
‘Nice tackle, boss.’
She smiles affectionately at Grace and reaches for the sugar.
‘Oh my god.’
Lisbon whirls around, alarmed by the tone in Grace’s voice. Only to find the other woman staring at her neck. Shit.
Shit.
‘C’mon,’ she leads the way to her office quickly, ushering Grace inside. She closes the door and goes over to the desk, digging through the bottom drawer for the scarf (she hopes) she knows she left there. Relieved, she straightens and wraps it around her neck, meeting Grace’s concerned gaze and sighing.
‘Boss,’ she’s so concerned and Lisbon tries to find the right words, ‘are you- I mean, what can I-’
Lisbon raises her hands.
‘It’s completely consensual.’
It’s really, really not a conversation she ever wanted to have at work.
‘Grace saw my neck before I remembered to grab a scarf Tuesday.’
Jane looks up from the bruise he was tracing idly through her pants, holding ice to a split lip that probably tastes like curry.
‘Did she?’ Lisbon hums, her fingers continuing to card through his hair. ‘That explains why she was frowning all afternoon. I did wonder.’ He doesn’t say worry and she doesn’t call him on it.
His fingers slide over the inside of the wrist in her lap. They don’t talk about this part. She didn’t ask him the first time, just preemptively convinced him to join her for a movie and take out afterwards. She sat a little closer than usual and when he leaned his shoulder into hers she made sure he knew it was welcome. She left the offer open after that, unsurprised when he always took her up on it.
Relieved, too.
His hand slides down into hers and she presses her lips to his hair.