Since a lot of you didn't seem to realize this was the original "Mac" version, I decided to post it again. This is a companion piece to A New Normal: Harm. 4 chapter total. Will complete the post over the next week. Enjoy.

She's not exactly sure how it came to be. Probably over some complicated case that demanded them to be on the same team; one that called for working dinners and late nights where she eventually told him to stay over and vice versa.

They've always seen more of each other than they'd ever openly admit to anyone; hardly even to each other. Sharing cramped quarters is basically second nature at this point.

The first two nights it barely registers that it should be at least a bit awkward to slide under the covers next to him. Then again, she's slept next to him in weirder places - a Russian gypsy wagon, the Afghan desert - so sleeping next to him in her own comfortable bed almost feels normal. By the third or fourth night, she's too happy to actually be getting some real sleep to question why that is.

By the fifth night, she decides she's tired of waiting for him to finish in the bathroom to brush her teeth, so she shows up next to him and they brush teeth side by side. He bumps his hip with hers and that is that. Her cleanser and moisturizer and his shaving kit constantly move places and during the next trip to the mall they both purchase duplicates because it makes life easier.

After four long weeks, the case wraps, but the dinners and sleepovers stay. His presence makes her feel a little calmer, a bit better about life in general. Seeing his sleepy eyes first thing in the morning as she leaves a cup of coffee on the night stand on her way to the bathroom, is about as reassuring as his shoes next to hers by the door and the fact he double checks the locks before coming to bed.

It's become a rhythm. Like the quiet drum of a heartbeat that has always been there, almost taken for granted, this is their new normal. Home has somehow ended up to be wherever they are together, be it his loft or her apartment. Mostly her apartment. Saturdays are spend doing chores and going grocery shopping, Sundays are for sleeping in, brunch and whatever they feel like doing. Bathrooms have adapted to two people and closets are a bit more cramped than they used to be. Moving in together has just… happened. Two separates have become 'we' and 'us' without the pomp and circumstance she had expected it to be. Knowing them, this is better. Otherwise they'll find things to say and things to do to screw it up.

It's a quiet, comfortable life. One that makes her happier than she's ever been before.

She glances at the files in front of her, trying to decide which ones demand her attention over the weekend, when her phone rings. "Mackenzie."

The tone of his voice betrays his exhaustion. As does his lack of formal greeting. "Do I need to stop by the grocery store on my way home?"

Her expression turns compassionate. "No, we're good. I did a quick trip yesterday."

"Great." He sounds relieved.

She closes her briefcase. What the hell. She'll put in a few extra hours next week if it means they'll have an uninterrupted weekend. "What's your ETA?"

"If traffic isn't as completely insane as it usually is, about twenty minutes."

"Let me handle dinner, you go get a shower and I'll be right behind you."

He doesn't even argue. "Okay. See you in a bit."

"Bye."

She tells Sturgis to enjoy his weekend on her way out. She can barely contain her excitement, but as nobody knows exactly what their new normal is, she screws a lid on it until she reaches her car. A gruesome investigation has taken him away for ten whole days, and she's been counting hours. Home is hardly home if he's not there to snuggle up to.

She hears the shower run when she enters the bedroom to change out of her uniform. It'll be so so good to sleep next to him again tonight. The lingering scent on his pillow is barely a substitute for the man himself.

He pads into the kitchen ten minutes later, his eyelids heavy, hair still damp. She looks at him over her shoulder, puts her knife down and opens her arms.

Quietly, he accepts her hug, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. Exhales. She squeezes a bit tighter. This is her favorite time of day. A ritual of sorts. The homecoming.

Usually, they throw their briefcases somewhere in a corner, followed by shoes left next to the door, then rush to the bedroom to change into anything but a uniform. Dinner will be prepared or ordered, and while they wait for it to be ready or delivered, softly talking or joking, standing next to each other at the counter or his island, they finally relax.

Nine out of ten times, she stands wrapped in an embrace of some sort, his hand trailing from her cheek down her shoulder and spine. She can literally feel him decompress. Funny how she only now understands he needs a little while to unwind after a day at the office.

"You okay?" she murmurs.

His head nods on top of hers. "Extremely happy to be home."

The words warm her through. "I'm very happy to have you home again, too."

"Yeah?"

"Uh huh. I've missed you. It's not the same anymore."

Strange how they have fought this for so long. For years they have circled around each other, unsure, stuck in a push and pull neither seemed willing to break. And now they've finally given in, and it is so much more than either of them could have hoped for.

"I know." He presses a kiss to her hair. "Did you get any sleep?"

She shrugs. "I'll catch up now that you're home again."

He softly chuckles. "That bad, huh?"

Another shrug. "It's better when you're here."

He is her anchor. Whatever storm passes, he is right there to ground her, keep her steady. She finds that they balance each other out in silly little ways, as well as the big, significant ones. She realized when she actually slept soundly through the night because she felt safe. He is the only one who has the ability to make her feel completely safe.

The timer goes off and he reluctantly lets go of her. They eat in relative silence, clear away the dishes and sit snuggled on the couch for about an hour, until she hears his not so silent yawn. Getting up, she takes his mug off the coffee table and points to the bedroom. "Off to bed with you, sailor."

Without much protest, he gives in. "You coming, too?"

Despite the fact it's only 2030, she nods. "Right behind you."

Bedtime rituals are smooth sailing now. Fifteen minutes later, she is sitting with her back against the headboard, his head in her lap, raking her fingers through his hair.

"I like this new normal," she whispers.

He throws half a Flyboy grin in her direction, his eyes closed. "Me too, sweetheart. Me, too."