#also apparently all I can draw in winter is glowy night time pieces

[mooreaux]

Love like a moonlight sonata.... been too long since Faye and Nate

[yespolkadotkitty]

Tinderbox, pt 6

Part V here

Fuck. He’d left his jumper behind.

“Sweater, Dad,” Faye would remind him. Thank Christ she wasn’t here to see him leaving a relative stranger’s apartment at seven-thirty a.m after some steaming hot sex. He hadn’t been inside Rosie and yet, last night and this morning had blown his mind.

One of the hardest things he’d ever done was leave her standing there, skin still half-damp and warm from their shower, hair waving around her face, looking infinitely kissable.

It was cold outside, Winter hanging onto New York by its teeth, not quite done eating. Marshall walked briskly to his precinct, ignoring the subway. He needed the exercise, needed to get the sexy brunette out of his system before the team update in an hour’s time.

He still couldn’t believe how well he’d slept beside her on that lumpy futon. At some point he’d woken in the wee hours to her curled up next to him, the curve of her ass snuggled into him, trustingly. He’d breathed in the scent of her hair and drifted back into sleep, content. That was mostly unknown to him - he rarely fell back asleep if he woke from a restless dream.

No dreams when he’d slept beside Rosie.

His chirping phone had been a message from the precinct. They had a sketch of the infamous “Whiskers” - so dubbed because he’d left a crayon drawing of a simplistic cat’s face with whiskers at each crime scene.

Marshall huffed angrily as he thought it over. The media could be his best tool and worst enemy - often multiple times in a single day. But when they got a hold of something, they gnawed it like a dog with a favourite bone, and Whiskers was the current media favourite.

For a change, he - or she - wasn’t the usual flavour of criminal the media favoured. Whiskers had only burgled houses and apartments so far. Not that burglary could be ignored, but Marshall far preferred it to having the evidence techs scrape the remains of someone off the cold, bloody pavement.

Apparently one of the beat officers had gotten lucky, meeting someone who claimed to have seen a white man, mid-thirties, leaving the building where later, missing items and a cat doodle had been reported.

Marshall quickened his pace, wanting to find out more, and feeling the cold due to having left his jumper behind.

He wished he’d swallowed his pride and asked Rosie for her number. Both to get the garment back and to see her again.

Unbidden, an image of her naked save for his jumper, which would swallow her, pushed itself to the front of his mind. It’d smell of her, bergamot and sugar; addictive and heady.

And deep down he’d been afraid that if he’d allowed himself one more taste, he might have tumbled back into bed with her and prayed never to surface.

He swung angrily into the precinct, hoping he didn’t look like hell or smell too much like women’s shower gel. His colleagues would have a field day.

****

Rosie left for work earlier than usual and stopped by Police Plaza, Marshall’s cosy, moss green sweater in a bag. Had she considered keeping it, sleeping in it, stuffing her pillow inside it and cuddling it all day so she smelled like him?

Yeah. Multiple times.

She’d dithered over what to do for a whole half hour, before getting sick of herself. Grow up, Rosie, she’d chastised herself. She’d scrabbled around in a draw, finally finding a napkin from her deli. She’d scribbled you forgot this, R x on the napkin and stuffed it inside the garment, refusing to think about it further.

She scooped her hair into a bun, fussed over Salami and fed him half a can of tuna, his favourite treat, then caught the subway. The air knived into her lungs, icy cold. The ride was crowded, people in suits jostling with the rhythm of the carriage. She was hot and bothered by the time the train stopped where she needed to go. Checking her watch, she climbed the steps and pushed through the doors.

The Plaza was the only place she could think of to return the sweater. She didn’t know which precinct Marshall worked at, and she didn’t know if asking for that information over the phone was allowed.

And she also didn’t want to turn up at his precinct like a stalker, or a weirdo who didn’t understand that him leaving without her number probably meant that he didn’t want to see her again. It splintered her heart, thinking that, but it was what it was. I am a big girl, she told herself. I’ve survived much worse than this.

The officer on duty at the reception desk smiled as Rosie approached with the bag.

“Morning ma’am, how can I help you?”

Rosie smiled back, trying to fight the instinct to hold on to a piece of the man who’d rocked her world last night, and again this morning.

“I, ah, have this sweater that belongs to Detective Walter Marshall. I’m… not sure which precinct he works out of, so I thought I’d, er, drop it here.”

The officer worked to keep her face bland, but Rosie caught the tamped down amusement in her voice when she replied, “Sure, ma’am, I’ll make sure he gets it.” She held her hands out for the bag.

Rosie hesitated for a split second. Should she take out the napkin? He’d know it was from her.

But she couldn’t bring herself to remove it. He’d see it and think of her, and after what they’d shared, was it wrong for her to want him to remember her, now and then, perhaps during a quiet moment at the end of a long day?

She let the bag go, thanked the officer, and walked out of Police Plaza and out of Detective Walter Marshall’s life.

*****

Work passed slowly. Had he collected the sweater? Would they even deliver it today?

Rosie blew out a breath as she delivered sandwiches to customers in the deli, half missing Marshall terribly, and half wishing she’d never invited him in.

It was a relief when Rachael walked in. An FBI profiler who often worked with the NYPD, Rachael had become a regular in the two months Rosie had worked at the deli. She always ordered two sandwiches; one chopped cheese and one roast beef on rye, extra tomatoes. Over the weeks, she’d stay, have a coffee while the sandwiches were made. If her visits coincided with Rosie’s break, they’d occasionally chat.

Having a female friend was nice. Rosie missed her sister, but Dahlia would never leave their small home town. She was a home bird through and through, but phone calls only did so much. She’d missed the company of her sister and Midwestern friends when she’d upped sticks and left Dylan.

Without knowing it, Rachael was one of the high points of her day, so she was glad of a little lull when the gorgeous brunette came in, wearing a sharp suit and smelling floral.

“Hey, Rosie.”

“Rachael!”

Rosie moved out from behind the counter to greet the other woman. Rachael always looked so put together, razor sharp in her well cut blazer and high ponytail. “How’re things?”

Rachael shrugged. “A million miles a minute, as usual. But, can’t complain. Profiling keeps things interesting, you know? Get to work different cases.”

“I bet it is interesting,” Rosie replied, genuinely wanting to know more.

Rachael tilted her head to one side. Rosie knew that look. Rachael had been an NYPD therapist in a past life and it showed. “Something’s different about you.”

Panic scrambled up Rosie’s spine. “Really?”

“For sure. You look sort of… glowy. You feeling all right?”

Rosie smoothed a hand down her apron. “Had an eventful evening,” she managed, hoping the vagueness wasn’t indicative of the fact she’d had the best orgasms of her life to date.

“Wanna talk about it?”

God, did she ever. “Um…. maybe later?”

“Sure.” Concern creased Rachael’s face. Fortunately, at that moment a few men pushed through the doors, and Rosie went back to business.

“Your usual?”

Rachael smiled, recognising that she wasn’t going to get anything out of Rosie right now. “Sure, thanks. And a coffee while you make it? No hurry.” She tugged a smooth, square-edge business card from her pocket and pressed it into Rosie’s hand. “If you want to talk. About anything.”

Thanks to my beta, lovely @ly–canthrope​ 

Tagging: @brokenthelovely​ @mary-ann84​ @pinkzsugar​ @boiled-onionrings​ @dr-kayleigh-dh​ @leapingoveroblivion​