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ROSALIE rubbed her eyes as she followed Derek out, holding one of the two models built of the explosive devices, and setting them in the floor of the back seat of the SUV they were heading to the hotel in. She was careful to set her bag in the trunk, next to Derek's before she made her way around and climbed into the passenger seat.
"Why does New York takeout taste different from regular takeout?" She asked tiredly as she put her seatbelt on, and leaned her head against the window.
"Maybe because it's New York," Derek teased a little as she playfully swatted his arm and then rubbed her eyes.
"That's beside the point here."
"Is it? Or is sleepy Rosie talking right now?"
"Oh, bite me," she teased as he laughed, starting the truck.
He pulled out the parking garage and turned left, stopping at a light. He tapped his fingers along the wheel, to some 80s song Rosalie remembered hearing as a throwback at her junior prom. She tried her best not to snicker, but she did softly, as Derek raised an eyebrow at her, and then as Oochie Wally by Nas came on, Derek hurried and changed the radio, causing Rosalie to burst out laughing until she snorted, which made Derek laugh loudly as he parked.
"Not the best musical selection," He commented as he turned the car off and she shook her head.
"No, not at all."
. . .
Three hours later, Rosalie sat on Derek's bed, in a white ribbed tank top which was tucked into a pair of navy and white cotton shorts, her hair pulled into a ponytail with a navy blue scrunchie as she looked through the files, a highlighter in her hand. Her nose was scrunched up slightly, as she leaned over and grabbed a picture from an old file they had pulled from the archives in the FBI office earlier in the day. Her bed was being used as a secondary desk - the small circular table in the room covered by their go-bags, and her right leg hung off the bed as she worked, her necklace loose and the cross leaning towards her cleavage. The cross was feminine, the lines like swirls and devoid of the typical body of Jesus on it, but in the middle was a ruby, and the charm moved with the slightest adjustment of her shoulder.
She glanced up when she saw Derek open the door, holding a towel clenched in his hand at his waist, missing his shirt. "Do you mind grabbing my shirt?" He asked, and she nodded, crawling across the left side of the bed and grabbing his shirt from the top of his bag. He looked at the lion tattoo on his arm to distract himself, having forgotten how long-limbed she seemed to be, standing at 5'7". That and it was hard for him to see any woman crawl across a bed without it turning him on in the slightest, but he was trying to be professional.
She turned around and pursed her lips, bringing him his shirt. You would think after spending three and a half months living with him that sight wouldn't bother her in the slightest, but seeing that man in a towel, water still clinging to his figure made her throat tighten, and she passed his shirt over before retreating back to the bed. "Thanks," he told her as she gave him a soft mmhm.
