Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or this world. I just like to be a part of it sometimes
Author's Notes: This is all A/U, so nothing from season 5 really happened.
Also, this went through only a light beta, so any mistakes are totally mine.
Summary: Five times he watched her. One time she watched him.
The Sentinel
He loved watching her. And as creepy, and as stalker-like as that may sound, it was true.
Currently, she was sitting on his sofa with her nose deep in a book. She was so carefree and relaxed when she was at his house. True, it had taken her awhile to get like this – often if he had to work late, she would either stay with him and eventually fall asleep on the sofa in their office, or give up and go back to her place – but eventually, she started coming to his place and waiting for him there.
So here she was, curled up on his sofa, hair tied back in a ponytail with short pieces falling around her face, black, square-framed glasses perched on her nose that only he ever got to see (and they drove him wild with desire), and her legs tucked up underneath her, as she leaned against one arm of the sofa. She was so engrossed in whatever she was reading (probably some cheesy romance novel again) that she didn't even hear him come in. Which allowed him his few moments to just study her.
And so he watched.
He watched as her eyes started to move more rapidly when she got to what must have been a good part, when she grinned at a happy part, and when tears formed in her eyes at a sad part. She had to see so much pain in Haven, he was happy she could still find her escape in her books. She told him all the time that he was her escape, but he knew better. He knew she could lose herself in him, and he in her, but only in the world of her books could she truly be free.
It was getting late, and her eyes must have been getting tired, because she reached for her bookmark, and laid her book on the table before stretching her whole body.
He watched as her shirt rode up her stomach, leaving a bare patch of skin. He licked his lips at the thought of how it felt to touch that skin, and then realized he was staring, and she had caught him. A lazy grin spread across her face, and he moved towards her, watching her as she watched him. It was a heady feeling, and one he couldn't wait to get lost in.
She scowled whenever she was concentrating. It was another small aspect of the woman in front of him of which he took notice. Lines would form between her eyes, and her mouth would draw into a slight frown. And she apparently was aware of it, because he could sometimes see her forcibly pull her expression back, making the lines between her eyes smooth out. But then, she eventually would lapse back into that same concentrated scowl. Whenever that happened, he always wanted to reach out and rub that soft patch of skin, and make her tension flow away.
And besides, he knew in the back of her mind she was worried she was setting herself up for wrinkles.
Sometimes he would get to rub those lines away – usually when they were relaxing on the sofa together, and she had a case file in her lap, trying to get a jump on the following day. He liked smoothing out those lines. It calmed him down too. Such a simple act, but with long lasting effects for both of them.
She always told him his touch was one of the only things that could melt away her stress. Sometimes, he believed her when she said that, because he could feel how pliable her body would become. But little did she know how much her skin soothed him. She knew it had an effect on him – how could it not when it was the only thing he could feel – but she could never understand the depth of that effect. He had at one time been able to feel, and nothing – nothing – was able to soothe him as much as she could.
So, as much as she hated her scowling, he loved it. And made sure to keep a watch on her, to help her out whenever she needed it.
He found her passed out on the bench in his backyard. Beside her laid her glasses, a book, and an empty wine glass. It was an unseasonably warm evening - it was almost 10pm and still in the 80s, so he knew immediately she had taken advantage of the end of her day, and the wine had gotten to her before he had.
She was wearing a short summer dress - obviously because the weather called for it, but in her alcoholic daze, she had allowed the front to slip down and show off the frilly bra she was wearing underneath.
He sat beside her on the bench, closing his eyes so that he could hear the faint melody of a jazz piano tune someone was playing. As he took a deep pull on his bottle of beer, he could easily see how she been able to relax so completely. It was good to see. Work was always so intense, but here...here, she was relaxed. And it made his heart swell knowing she could relax like this at his house. He hoped one day soon this would be her house as well. Knowing her however, she would hold onto the apartment above the Gull, but this, this would be her home. With him.
As he sat with his eyes closed, taking in the tranquility of the moment, he sighed. All was right with the world in this very moment. The woman of his dreams was beside him, and alcohol was buzzing through his veins, making him feel like nothing could touch them. The melodic tones of the jazz music wafted over him, and all he could feel was peace. This was what he wanted in life, and somehow, he had been granted his wish.
As he finished his beer, he looked over at her sleeping form. She was so beautiful. She just made all his worries go away. All he wanted was to make sure she was ok. That was his solitary goal in life now - to make sure she was safe. And here, at his house, with him, she was safe. So, he got up and carried in her book, empty wine glass, and glasses. And then he came back out and slowly picked her up in his arms. He didn't want to wake her, but the slight jostling had her nuzzling into his neck. Even in sleep she sought him.
And so he carried her. Carried her to the one place only he would ever see her - in his bed. Once he deposited her, she reached out in her sleep to him, and he reached out to her. It was magical. And as he drifted into sleep, he could still faintly hear the melodic tunes of the jazz piano through the open windows, and all he could think, was how amazing his life had somehow turned out.
Her hair blew out behind her and he could see the joy in her eyes even as she raced past him. His heart leapt into his throat when her slowing sled ran into a tree at the bottom of the hill and tossed her off the side. Memories of his childhood flooded his mind, and he couldn't think of a single good outcome of this. He was running towards her before he knew it, praying upon prayer she would be ok. He could get them to a hospital fast, and he would take care of her. He would make sure she stayed in bed, and he would bring her breakfast, lunch, and dinner. They would sit on the sofa and watch bad movies while he rubbed her feet as she curled up next to him.
And as he was nearing her, the unthinkable happened. She rolled onto her back and started laughing. Laughing! It stopped him in his tracks, and he watched as her whole body shook with her laughs while she looked up at the sky, sticking her tongue out to catch some of the snowflakes that were falling. Then, she rolled over towards her sled, shook it a few times to dislodge it from the tree, and then braced her foot in the deep snow to push herself forward to run back up the hill.
Her eyes were sparkling, her cheeks were rosy, and her blonde curls trailed behind her as she ran up to him and kissed him gently on the lips. Then she was off again, climbing the hill to slide down again.
And then she stopped and turned towards him, beckoning him to follow her up the hill. He shook his head no, because he hadn't been on a sled since that terrible day. He could never find a reason good enough to convince himself he wouldn't be horribly injured again. But then she dropped her arms to her sides and started pouting. God, he could never say no to that face. Her face broke out into a grin when she could see he had changed his mind and she turned to run as best she could up the hill. His face was mirroring her grin, and he took off running, determined to catch her before she made it to the top. His long legs gave him the advantage, and he caught her right at the peak. He pulled her back towards his chest, and lifted her so he could twirl her around. Her laughter was infectious. When he settled her down, she grabbed his hand, and pulled him to the very top of the hill. Still holding on, she sat the sled down, and climbed on near the front. She patted the back and looked up at him with imploring eyes. He took a deep breath, and climbed on behind her, pulling her close.
She dug her heels into the snow in front of them, and pulled them back, pulling the sled over the edge.
He held her tight and watched as the world flew by them, but all he could see was her hair flying behind her.
She hadn't heard him come in the front door, so he stood in the hallway where he could see her in the kitchen, but not alert her to his presence.
He had been stuck in a meeting until way past quitting time, but was still a little surprised when she hadn't been in her office. She always waited for him when he was stuck late at work, as did he for her. Stan had seen him walking the hallways of the station – in his mind, she must have been in the breakroom, that's why she wasn't in her office – and told him she had left a message for him to not pick up dinner on the way home. After thanking Stan, he turned and walked right out the door, not even stopping to turn off the lights in their office. Someone else would do it.
Her request for him to not pick up dinner meant she had left early for a reason. Maybe she was craving something, and wanted to buy it herself, rather than wait for him to have to stop for it. Or, maybe…was she cooking something? That thought alone had him driving a little faster than usual, because she rarely cooked for him. But he loved it when she did.
And now he was home – their home – his home, which she had appropriated, and he was totally ok with – and watching her move around the kitchen. It was warm out today, so she was in short shorts and a tank top. When she turned to grab a bowl, he noticed she wasn't wearing a bra, and he smiled, knowing it was because she was so comfortable here. It also presented some potential delightful endings to this evening. She was dancing to the music she had blasting, and he knew she was singing along with the lyrics.
He could see now she was making pancakes and bacon. There would be lumps in the pancakes. For whatever reason, she always stirred the mix with a spoon instead of a whisk. He's pretty sure it's because she kept telling him she didn't have a whisk, so a spoon would have to do, but then he found a whisk buried in her drawer. But she kept using the spoon to stir, so it came down to her stubbornness at this point. She assured him it was all part of being with her, and he took it in stride. In fact, sometimes when they ate out, he missed the lumps. The lumps signified they were her pancakes. And her pancakes were the best.
When she woke and he wasn't next to her, she slightly panicked. She always did. But then she heard his low mumbles on the baby monitor which was sitting next to her bed. Pulling the blankets aside, she climbed out of bed, making sure to step into her slippers – the wood floors in the bedroom were always cold this time of year. When the cool air hit her skin, warm from the blankets, she reached over to grab her robe from the chair by the window.
As she walked down the hallway, she made sure to check the thermostat, and turned it up a few degrees. It was definitely getting colder, and soon, it would be miserable outside. She was already looking forward to spring, and fall had barely begun.
She neared their baby's door, and slowed her movement, so she could be as quiet as possible. Peeking in, she could see him, sitting in the rocking chair under the window, slowing rocking their baby girl. He was whispering to her, telling her how happy he was she was there. How much he loved her. How he couldn't wait to show her the world. And then his voice broke when he told her how happy he was he could feel her. He told her it was the greatest feeling in the world - even better than being able to feel mommy.
And just as it did every time she watched him and heard him say those words, her heart fluttered a little. The Troubles had been gone for a while, but he still never took for granted his sense of touch, and the one thing, other than her, he said he never wanted to lose the feeling of, was their baby girl.
Slowly, she backed away so he wouldn't know she had been watching. She wanted to keep it so he never knew she watched him.
He always did.