Maybe this is the most damning thing-- how easy it is to fall alongside him in this domestic errand-running rhythm. They eat dinner together on cases or when one of them is recovering from some injury or, occasionally, without an excuse at all; they put on basketball games she doesn't care about or movies to laugh at while they go over notes on a case, but they don't do this. Not really. They don't run errands and plan meals and puzzle about laundry.

But here they are, and it feels so oddly normal. Like they've done it a hundred times-- which she suspects might be because he has.

"Thanks-- I'll get a load started." Better to wash before wearing-- which means at least two loads-- and if she fills them out with whatever stuff of his happens to be close at hand, so what? It's eco-friendly. Easier to just do it and not mention it, as she suspects he'd bristle a little if she offered first.

She can see herself in a life like this. But she can't figure out why she'd leave.