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Upon hearing her, Vinnie slowly lowers the bag of potato chips he's been chowing down on and locks his back molars together. She's pointed out his penchant for noisy chewing on several other occasions. Now it appears she's reached a terminus.

"Sowwy," he offers, between mouthfuls.

"What?" Momentarily pausing her endless search through Netflix, she turns and looks at Vinnie, confused for a moment as to why he's apologizing. It hits her a moment later and she laughs, shaking her head. "No. No. Not you. Just in general. Daddy hasn't had a case in weeks. It's like the whole world has fallen into a summer slump, even serial killers."

"Besides." She smirks. "If I was going to kill you, I wouldn't announce it."

He swallows. "That's comforting." Tossing the bag aside, Vinnie wipes his fingers on the knees of his jeans and spills himself over the back of the couch to join her. They're indulging a rare moment when the both of them aren't occupied to the gills by other things: Vinnie with preparations to finish his final year at the Academy, and Iz with whatever it was she was working on that involved bodies, ritual murders, or killers lurking in subterranean hideouts.

"Only you would call that a 'summer slump,' Iz," he says, playfully teasing. "You know, my dad and I would call it 'beating the odds.' There's enough craziness going in in this city on a regular basis without the crazy museum monsters on the prowl. As far as I'm concerned, this slump can last 'til September."

Edited 2015-07-15 02:00 (UTC)

"Not to mention logical. I've never seen the point of announcing you were going to kill someone. It hardly seems productive."

As he joins her on the couch, she moves closer -- readjusting her position so that she was leaning on him. As much as she complained about the lack of cases, she had to admit that this was nice. Just the two of them, spending a night together, nothing potentially life threatening happening.

"True. New York is known for its eccentricities." Most of which hardly impacted their daily lives. Unless, of course, you counted the fact that the Pendergasts themselves accounted for several of those eccentricities. "But it doesn't mean I wouldn't welcome some sort of mystery. Even a small one."

"I know a mystery," as he scoops the remote control off of her knee, "the mystery of 'what season of Friends are we on?'" He drapes his arm across her shoulders and sinks a little lower on the couch, settling in.

There's a soft smile that follows that statement; the kind of smile that only Vinnie could elicit from her. It was the same kind of smile that her mother could get out of her father.

"Uh...the one where Ross and Rachel were 'on a break' or arguing about being 'on a break' or something like that?" So, you know, any one.

This earns a shrug of noncommittal from Vinnie. He's more of the Friends fanatic than Isabella; in fact, if you compare their Netflix queues, anyone who didn't know Isabella would be convinced she was using all fourteen seasons of Forensic Files to plan a murder. (Not that Vinnie didn't enjoy the dramatic reenactments.) He has a feeling that his girlfriend indulges his penchant for crappy scripted TV more than she lets on, though, and for that he's grateful.

His fingers lightly stroke her shoulder through the fabric of her top. Physical touch is important to the two of them; it's a grounding force when everything else is tilting wildly off its axis. Often, the simplest gesture, such as a gentle press of fingers, is enough to get one or both of them back to their senses.

He cues up an episode and drops the remote between them. After a few minutes --

"You're right, though. Summer seems kind of boring without a case."

She's not opposed to 'crappy scripted TV' as he puts it; she just doesn't get the appeal of Friends. Just like she doesn't get the appeal of Seinfeld. Or Teen Mom. But then, she's always been more into things like Game of Thrones or Penny Dreadful. Actually, the latter being her latest obsession. Though now that she and Vinnie had watched both seasons, twice, she was once again having the television ennui.

Actually, she was having a lot of the ennui. Which was bad in that it made her restless. And dangerous in that in a slump like this, it was easy for her to decide to go off her meds. It was why Vinnie was so important. His presence, his influence, the subtle little touches between them.

He was her rock. She didn't tell him that enough.

"Told you. Maybe we should just go out and commit some heinous crime ourselves. Become a modern day Bonnie and Clyde. Fairly certain our fathers would never suspect us. And we'd have something to do." She was kidding. Mostly.

Vinnie laughs, mostly at the mental image of tiny Isabella Pendergast crouched behind the wheels of a Model-T, returning fire from the police with her tommy gun.

"No way," he says, "I'm too conspicuous. You'd be able to make it, though. We'd probably have a tearful goodbye in the lobby of some bank -- 'I won't leave you!' 'You got to, doll; there ain't enough room in this world for two crazy dreamers like us; you take the money and get to Reno.'" He fakes a dramatic, rattling cough and lets his chin fall forward onto his chest, tongue protruding.

'Looks up. Grins.

His little performance elicits even more laughter as she shoves him playfully. "Clearly you missed your calling, Sweetheart. Time to quit the Academy and get yourself to some auditions."

Or not. Don't. Don't quit your day job, Vinnie. Don't ever quit your day job.

"One thing that hasn't slowed down this summer is somebody's sarcasm." He slips his hand down to her rib cage and tickles her in retaliation.

"Vinnie..." She begins to move away from him and the threat of being tickled. "Vinnie, no..."

He's got the perfect vantage point of her neck to which, of course, he swoops in and delivers a purposely loud and obnoxious kiss. "Surrender!" he demands, "say I'm just like Tom Cruise, only without all that weird religious stuff!"

Her struggling stops when the kiss comes; she will never ever pull away from a kiss -- purposely obnoxious of not.

"Tom Cruise? Yeah. No. Tom Hanks, maybe."

"Tom Hanks?" he asks, with as much false indignation as he can throw on the name, "Tom Hanks is, like, sixty. Sure, he's got those two Oscars under his belt, but I think I can do a little better than Tom Hanks." He delivers a softer, gentler kiss to her clavicle. "Who's the 'Canadian Tom Cruise?' Ryan Reynolds?" Pause. "Martin Short."

Her head tilts, just enough to allow him better access as she contemplates the question at hand. "Definitely Ryan Reynolds."

He draws the tip of his nose along the line of her jaw; subtle floral scents here, a perfume he can't identify by name but that he'd know anywhere. He's memorized that perfume, right down to the molecular level.

"I'll take it," he murmurs. His smile is a presence against her skin. He lifts his free hand and pushes a long blond plait over her shoulder, brushing her cheek with his thumb. "I told you already today that I love you, right?"

Over on the chair, there's a soft sound of laughter from the occupant. Helen lowered her book, looking over at her daughter. "You know, my darling, there are some that would be rather taken aback by a statement like that."

And yet, she could swear she had heard her usually patient husband uttering those same words once.

"We could venture out and do something."

"You did. More than once. But I never mind hearing it again?" Did that make her one of the lovestruck girls? Those girls who needed a man in their life to validate them? It almost certainly made her sound like one. But she didn't care. She would never tire of hearing Vinnie say he loved her. Just as she would never tire of saying it in return.

Honestly, that wouldn't surprise Isabella in the least. Her father did about as well with idleness as she did, which meant it was probably one of the many traits she learned from him.

Though an afternoon with her mother did have promise -- and would most definitely break up the monotony of the day. While she had been trying to spend as much time with Helen as possible, she was afraid that more often than not she had let Vinnie drag her away.

So yes. Today would be about her and her mother. Nothing else.

"Perfect. Did you have something particular in mind?"

"Well good," he says. "Because I don't mind saying it." He drops his arm behind her shoulder blades and scoops her toward him, lifting her legs across his knees. "And don't worry; a case'll come along soon. They always do. Let's enjoy ourselves before we're both standing knee-deep in god-knows-what, indulging one of your dad's crazy -- but eerily prescient -- theories."

"All right." Conceding, she allowed herself to be positioned thusly. "But that means you have to let me take you to dinner tonight. Since, you know, we so rarely get a date night that doesn't end with us running off."

Vinnie is amenable to that. Vinnie is always amenable to food. And Isabella has incredible taste in all things food-related; between her restaurant recommendations and her suggestions for Proctor's ever-changing dinner menu, Vinnie's been running the gustatory gamut since the very early days of their relationship. He's had to add a pick-up basketball game to his weekly exercise regimen to keep the effects off his waistline.

"Yeah," he says, "that happens more than it probably should."Like, quite more often.

Helen's therapist (a man well trusted by Pendergast for his discretion) had recommended spending a few hours a day out with the public. With her daughter (and Procter keeping a safe distance behind), there was nothing for her to worry about. Shopping, of course, would be the perfect activity for the two of them.

It had been a long time since Helen did proper shopping. And with the credit card her husband had given her...Well, it would be a treat.

"I was thinking about Macy's. The clothes your father picked for me are lovely, but I think it's time I've done some shopping for myself."

The Pendergast family was well versed with doctors known for their discretion. Isabella's own psychologist was one of them; as had been the doctors that dealt with Cornelia when she was alive.

Shopping. It wasn't exactly the activity Isabella would have chosen (at least not at someplace like Macy's), but she wasn't opposed to it. And she could understand her mother's wanting to pick out clothes for herself.

"Sure. As long as you don't mind a stop on the way home. I have some items waiting at Obscura."

There is a reason Isabella runs every morning. Thankfully, the placement of Riverside Drive allows her to run right alone the Hudson. It helped make the whole thing seem less tedious.

"So is our lot in life. But tonight I promise. No running off."

"Good." He leans in to kiss her gently on the mouth. "Because I think there are definite benefits to staying right..." another kiss "...here."

The kisses are well received. And much appreciated. Not to mention that Vinnie does have a point. There are great advantages to spending the night in together.

But that does bring up an issue. One Isabella has given great thought to and thinks, perhaps, now it might be time to bridge. Now, after everything they've gone through.

"Speaking of staying...what would think if I suggested moving in together?"

"What do I think about you suggesting it? Or what do I think about it?" He's mostly buying himself time to continue nibbling the line of her jaw. However, sensing that this is the preamble to A Very Important Coversation, Vinnie relents and draws back.

"I think...I think we're ready for it," he says. "I mean, I've definitely thought about it before. A lot." In his opinion, they spent far too much time together already not to co-habitate. Going back to his apartment almost felt like a formality now. "What do you think?"

"I think...I think it's a step. One we're more than ready to make." Because he was right. Those nights Vinnie went back to his apartment? They felt forced. Like they were doing it because it was expected, not because it was something either of them actually wanted.

And while they had yet to be a formal proposal, or a ring on Isabella's finger, they both knew it was coming. They just...needed the time to be right.

"But I also realize there's discussions that come with it." Where being the biggest one? While Isabella was hardly expecting Vinnie to move in with them, his apartment would hardly accommodate her stuff. They'd need a new one and location would be a large part of that discussion.

They'd also have to tell their parents.

"Discussions," Vinnie says, giving further emphasis to the word by drawing air quotes around it. He knows what she means. She means they're going to have to tell their parents about their plans. And, as much as Vinnie respects Pendergast -- and likes to think he's got Pendergast's respect in return -- the fact of the matter is that Isabella's dad has an impressive gun collection. He's not sure how well a talk about taking the guy's only daughter away from him -- out of marriage -- and into a studio apartment would go over.

Though maybe he's wrong. Maybe Pendergast will surprise him and be totally fine with the arrangement. Damn the guy for being so inscrutable.

"So let's say that we get all of the discussions figured out and everything's okay," he says. "Are we ready to do this? Move in together?" His own answer to that question is clearly visible in his eyes.

"Provided everyone is okay -- both your parents and mine? Then yes. I absolutely feel we're ready to do this. And, to be honest, I think it's something we both need to do. I love Daddy. And I love Riverside Drive. But I think...I think it might be time for me to leave the nest."

Vinnie cracks a small, genuine smile. "Okay," he says. "Okay." At this moment, a large swell of love for this woman threatens to overwhelm his rib cage. He takes her hand and gives it a squeeze. "I love you."

"I love you too." More than she had ever thought possible. "Now all we have to do is tell our parents."

At that, Vinnie makes a theatrically panicked face.

"We have to tell your dad." He gives the word dramatic emphasis.

"Daddy loves you and you know it."

"I just know I'd settle for having a conversation with him that lasts longer than five minutes."

"Don't be so dramatic, Vinnie. I am certain you've had at least one that's lasted fifteen."

He had. It had involved a rather frank discussion about a headless corpse, but it had happened. It actually turned out to be one of their better conversations.

"You're right," he says. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

"It will. My Daddy adores you, your Dad adores me...most days...everything is going to be just fine. Knowing your father, he'll even manage to work in a comment or two about how this puts him one step closer to grandchildren."

Vinnie loops his arm around her trim shoulder and gives it a squeeze. "Let's just tell him we're still trying to work out the chore wheel first."

"Oh that's simple. We poach Proctor and Mrs. Trask."

At the thought, Vinnie's stomach rumbles. Proctor's eggs benedict is a miracle on a plate. "Yeah, as amazing as that would be, Proctor tends to...you know, lurk. And I can always feel him silently criticizing me with his eyes when I eat a bowl of Cheerios in front of him."

"Proctor, like my father, is not a fan of ANYTHING that comes out of the box. You should have seen their faces when I discovered Count Chocula."

"Oh man, Count Chocula is the best. We have to buy, like, ten boxes of Count Chocola for our new place. And plenty of BooBerry, too."

"Agreed." Bella wasn't sure what it was about the 'Monster Cereals'; but she found them to be much more palatable than...say...Lucky Charms. Didn't mean her father and Proctor thought so, but she did.

"And those little bagel things...with the pizza..."

"Yes. Definitely." Vinnie was so proud: he'd managed to turn Isabella on to (some!) convenience foods. That didn't mean she was eager to give up her three Michelin Star-palate quite yet, though. She still had a thing or two (or twelve) to teach him about eating well.

Definitely not. Occasional junk food indulgences aside, Isabella would always be a Pendergast. Which meant grocery shopping would always be something of an adventure.