Jo stood idly by in the living room as Tim double-checked all the windows and doors. She thought it entirely unnecessary but kept silent because it offered him some degree of peace of mind.

Once he was satisfied the house was secure, he strode back to her, taking her chin between his forefinger and thumb. Carefully turning her head to the side, he inspected the light bruising which had formed across her cheek. The dusting of pale yellow across her porcelain skin had his frown deepening.

"How'd this happen?" Obviously, he knew how it happened; he was really asking why it had happened.

She sighed, pulling her face from his grasp. He wasn't going to like the truth. "I spit in his face."

As expected, her answer conjured a sharp exhale from Tim's nose. He wasn't impressed with her antics. "Why?"

At least he hadn't immediately gone off the rails or automatically assumed she'd been senseless in her actions. "So he wouldn't frisk me and find my thigh holster," she clarified.

The justification must have been sound enough to quell his irritation because he wandered off in the direction of the kitchen without any further interrogation.

Jo watched with curiosity as he collected a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses, placing them with significance in the center of the dining room table.

It'd been a while since they'd played this particular game. It meant he wanted to discuss something serious, and they both functioned better with the added social lubrication.

She joined him, claiming the seat opposite his own. Observed his strong and steady hands pouring the amber liquid into each minuscule glass before sliding one across the table where she caught it readily.

Her brown eyes slanted up to reach his blue ones, and she waited. He took the shot before asking the question, her pupils following its trail down his throat, where he swallowed thickly. "Do you love me?"

Her impassive expression cracked and settled into a guilty grimace. If he had to ask, then she'd done a real shitty job of convincing him. "I told you I did," she affirmed, but the skeptical look remained.

When he pressed no further, Jo took the shot and allowed him to refill both once more before continuing. "You haven't said it since," he elucidated, downing the new drink just as quickly as it had been replenished.

Fuck, was this what relationships were, the constant need for reaffirmation? Or, was it just a problem because of how Jo was. The thought had her feeling sick with herself. "I'm trying, and that's got nothin' to do with you. That's on me," she beseeched him to see reason.

This rationale wasn't sufficient though, she could see it in the crossing of his arms and the way in which he leaned further back into the chair, away from her. "It's not good enough. You could've died today. Does that not bother you?"

Jo took the awaiting shot to distract from the urge to comment that he could die any day on the job, but you didn't see her making a big stink about it. They led dangerous lives; shit was bound to go sideways eventually.

Again though, Tim was asking one thing and meaning another. The question wasn't whether or not this recent brush with mortality had bothered her. But rather, if the possibility of her perishing without making the sentiment clear, gave her pause. "Not really, but it obviously bothers you. So what're we gonna do about it?"

Tim's chair scraped loudly against the linoleum as he pressed away from the table and stood. Now she was in for it. Flippant definitely wasn't the attitude he craved from her, but it came as second nature.

He yanked her up and out of the chair, setting Jo onto the table where they were eye level.

That wrinkle between his eyebrows had deepened into a pronounced crevice. "You're gonna say it."

It wasn't a request. It was a demand.

She briefly considered denying him, the impulse towards contradiction being one that drew her like a moth to flame. However, she squashed the inclination. The phrase 'I'm done having you jerk me around like a dog on a chain,' flashed a neon sign at the forefront of her mind.

She drew her bottom lip between her teeth to fight the smirk threatening to consume her face. Tim's eyes dipped down to follow the action, his irises darkening.

"I love you," she conceded, though the words were coated in levity.

A growl resonated from within his throat, its sound drawing forth the simper she'd been attempting to bite back. "Say it again. This time with less attitude," he commanded.

She licked her lips, and again his pupils diligently traced the movement. "I love you, Tim Gutterson," she finally admitted in earnest.

Gradually, his brow relaxed, countenance falling into one of prideful triumph. He'd broken her down, a feat that would have seemed nearly impossible months prior.

"Good girl," he lauded her ardent attempt.

It was the second time Jo had heard the phrase that day; however, the words sounded much sweeter trickling from Tim's lips. Her cheeks grew warm from the implication they held.

"That's it? You're not going to say it back," she teased, drawing her legs around his waist to pull him closer.

His hands came to rest upon the wooden surface beneath her, effectively caging Jo with his arms. "Nah, I think we're good," he mocked, eyes twinkling mischievously.

God, he was gorgeous, all pouty-lipped, and self-satisfied. Her thighs squeezed tighter around his hips instinctively. "If you don't-" Jo started to threaten, but he silenced her warning with a bruising kiss.

Tim's hands fell to her waist and pulled them impossibly closer while her hands wove into his blonde hair, tugging lightly at the short strands.

She was afforded only a moment to relish in the ecstasy before he was pulling back, leaving nothing more than a breath between them. "I love you too. Let's move in together."

His assumption had her eyes bugging out of their sockets and her neck careening back to appraise his candor. Was he serious? His unwavering stare illustrated he was, but she had to be certain. "You sure about that?"

Tim's thumbs drawing delicate patterns on the skin beneath her shirt were making an impressive attempt to distract her from the seriousness of his suggestion, but Jo wasn't allowing herself to become sidetracked by the sensation.

She witnessed him grappling for the right sentiment to sell her on the notion, could see the thoughts bouncing around in his head like a pinball. He ultimately settled on, "I want to fall asleep beside you each night and wake up next to you each morning."

Fuck. It was a good reason; she had to grant him that.

Uncertainty flooded his features as he awaited her reaction. He had valid enough reason to be wary, the last time he'd tried to spurn their relationship forward, she had flipped on him so fast he'd gotten whiplash.

This time though, this time she didn't tell him to leave. "But my place, right? It's roomier," she mused, eyes perusing their meager surroundings.

A rare, genuine smile broke out across his visage, one where his lips pulled back to display his white teeth, imperfectly crooked but bewitching. The image was in direct conflict with the shaking of his head. The paradox had Jo's head tilting in perplexion.

"None of this my place or your place bullshit. We're getting our own place," Tim asserted because he knew her all too well. If he moved into her place, there wouldn't be an argument between them where it wouldn't be lorded over his head. He wasn't interested in just fitting into her existing life; they needed to build a new one together.

Jo caved for the second time that day; it was becoming increasingly concerning how easily he could make her do so. "Alright, we'll start looking tomorrow. In the meantime..." Her voice teetered off as her nimble fingers began to undo his belt buckle.