Xavier moves his belongings into my house a few hours later.
My apartment is small which means a guest bedroom does not exist. Instead, he's giving the luxury of sleeping on my couch.
At least I'd given up one of my drawers for his clothes. He could have just lived out of his duffel bag.
"What's for dinner, detective?"
I'm sitting in my room on my only day off, watching reruns of Law & Order. He saunters into my room like he's already made himself at home.
I scoff, pausing the episode.
"I'm not your mother," I jab. "You're the one that forced yourself to stay here."
He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the door frame.
"Something else?" I raise an eyebrow. "I'm in the middle of something."
He laughs, walking further into the room. He flops back onto my bed, stretching his arms back behind his head.
I glare at him but he's choosing to ignore me.
"What are we watching then?"
"I'm watching Law & Order. Not sure what you're watching, though."
I go to play the episode again when he doesn't move, but he grabs the remote turning the tv off.
"What theâ"
"Let's go," he says suddenly.
"Go? You go home? By yourself? Sounds like a great idea."
"Supermarket. We're making dinner."
I roll my eyes. "I've got plenty of food here."
"Nothing that's actually decent or going to fill me," he scoffs.
"Then go by yourself some McDonalds, Xavier. I'm not gonna be dragged around a supermarket with you."
Half an hour later, I'm being dragged around a supermarket with him.
I cringe at the three chocolate bars he adds to the trolley. It already includes five packets of varieties of candy, bags of chips, ice cream, artificial cereals and fruit drinks that don't even contain actual juice.
"Im still not sure why I had to be here for this," I say. "You haven't bothered to find a single thing we can actually eat for dinner."
He completely ignores me, eyeing the shelves for his next snack.
I observe him quietly for a moment, noting how weird it is to see him doing something so mundane. His tough guy act is barely visible and I wonder if he's even aware of it.
I'm suddenly reminded of Thomas and the ongoing case. Could Xavier really involved himself in something like this again?
"Hey, detective."
My attention snaps back towards him as he waves two types of biscuits in my face.
"Which flavour?"
I snatch both from his hands, putting them back on the shelf like he's a child that keeps pulling things off.
"I'm going to go and get some ingredients for dinner. You do what you want."
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An hour later, we finally arrive home.
"Never again," I state. "I'm never going shopping with you again."
Shopping with Xavier is a form of torture. You can't get anything done unless you take charge.
"Come on," he scoffs. "I wasn't thatâ"
"It was terrible," I point a finger at him, dumping the bags on the counter to unpack.
"You're being dramatic."
"It was like shopping with a five-year-old," I deadpan. "Do you know anyone who lets their five-year-old do the shopping? No. So, never again."
He huffs a laugh, beginning to take out the bags of crap that he bought.
"I can't believe you said two minute noodles is a nutritious meal," I shake my head.
"I never said that," he objects.
"You definitely did."
"Okay, so maybe I did," he shrugs.
I roll my eyes, grabbing the packets of pasta and bolognese sauce to start on the actual dinner.
"Why don't I cook?" he suggests.
I raise an eyebrow, turning towards him with a hand on my hip.
"Do you even know how?" I ask.
"I'm not completely useless. I have cooked before."
I eye him sceptically, but my features soften when I see that he's being genuine. He really wants to be the one to cook.
"Okay," I nod. "If you want to."
He takes the packets of pasta from my hand and moves me out of the way with a hand on my lower back.
"Sit on that stool."
"Yes, boss," I roll my eyes.
I watch him as he moves with serious precision, like this is the most important task he has.
"I was thinking about Casey today," he says suddenly. "I used to take him food shopping. He'd fill the cart with heaps of shit and I'd spend the next hour putting it all back."
I smile softly, staring at the counter unblinking.
"I know you aren't happy about this happening again, but don't forget about what we're fighting for here," he says, turning towards me.
"I just hate the violence," I respond. "I hate that it always seems to end in..."
Death.
It's always been a recurring factor in my life. Something that I'm so sick of experiencing.
"He won't get to you," Xavier says. "Charlie. He's not gonna touch you."
My eyes find his and I see the sincerity within them. How badly he wants to protect me for Brax.
"I know," I say. "I believe that you want that."
"Believe?"
"You can't predict what's gonna happen to me."
He drops the pot he'd been holding into the sink loudly and I jump.
"I made a promise to him. I'm gonna keep it."
He leans forward against the sink, back muscles rippling under his t-shirt.
"Is it worth continuing this endless cycle, though?" I ask. "Revenge never ends. Someone is always going to want to hurt someone."
"I would rather die than let Charlie Bryor get away with what he did."
I frown, standing up slowly. "Why can't you just turn him in? Find him and turn him in! Why does it have to be about killing him?"
"Because, Rhea, that man doesn't deserve to breathe. He deserves to rot in the ground."
I shake my head. "Death is easier," I snap. "It's an escape."
"Whatever you say," he responds, bored.
Clearly being dismissed, I sigh.
"Fine. If you don't want to hear what I have to say, call me when you've finished dinner."
I leave the room before he bothers to respond.