A/N: Is this hiatus killing you as much as it's killing me? Blink once for "Yes," and twice for "HECK YES!"
Disclaimer: Other people own this show.
"Frozen"
Tap.
Tap.
Ping.
Splish.
There were now four tiny spots on his head that were either cold, or wet, or both. Sometimes, it was hard to tell. If the brooding clouds above were any indication, there would soon be no question on the matter. When one more raindrop slipped between his skin and the collar of his shirt, it chilled him to the spine. But he stood there, motionless, even when he wanted nothing more than to use his collar as a barricade between his neck and the freezing wind. With a little concentration, he was even able to stop shivering.
Splish.
The drops were getting bigger. How long could he hold out like this? Standing still wasn't exactly something that he was made to do. But, if they spotted him, it would be over. Hours of detective work, looking over the same videos over and over for the slightest clue, and then tracking them down—all of it would be wasted if his cover was blown, if his sudden movement caught the corner of an eye and caused a head to turn his way. He had to keep watching them without being seen, despite the cold.
He told himself to focus and think of warm things. Think of tea and scarves. Imagine that there's alcohol in the belly, and that the heat is spreading to the extremities. Imagine the family trip to Disney World, back when there still was a family, back when the hot Florida sun was streaming out its rays in magnanimity. Pretend that the long coat was enough, that it didn't need to be readjusted, that it wouldn't be any better if its soft fabric was over a larger area of skin. Lie as long as you had to, while they were where they were supposed to be, until you could get the information that you needed.
Sometimes, lying to yourself was the only way to get things done.
The only truth that mattered was sitting at a table set for two, and it was uncertainty and embarrassment and social smiles. It was a biting of the lip and a shaking of the head. And then, the truth was two blushing cheeks rising to greet a wrinkling at the corners of two clear, blue eyes. The other truth, the truth that his lips were probably pale, and that soon all of the imagining in the world wouldn't stop him from shaking—that could be put off for now. It could be pushed in a special bin that existed only in his head, where it would be sorted, filed, and compartmentalized. There would be enough room in that bin to hold the sinking feeling in his stomach, the aching of his heart, and the hunger on his tongue. What would be left over would be nothing more than an observer, a watcher. A learner. He tried to stuff his hopes of disgust and disinterest in that bin, but it overflowed, leaving his hope of failure to dance around in the back of his brain as he watched and waited.
It seemed an eternity before the check was paid and the two figures got up to leave. The man stopped to leave a tip on the table, but would she turn back to look at him while she got her wrap? Would the blue in her eyes start to shine like cobalt fire when he helped her put it on? Or would she walk away a little faster than she had to? When he came back into her line of sight, would she hold her breath? When he touched her, would she lower her head and think of another?
It took only a fraction of a second for him to picture it all. Perhaps she would let that breath out in annoyance at his offer for a nightcap, and then she would reach into her purse and shift her attention to her phone so she wouldn't have to look at him. Maybe a single white lie would slip out from her soft lips as she rolled her eyes at the tedious manner in which he tried to be subtle. She would press the button for speed dial and nod politely, if not mechanically, as he droned on and on. Then, as she heard the beep, beep, beep, a matching sequence of sounds would ring out in the pocket that was just a few yards away, in the coat that was not keeping the cold out as well as it could. Maybe she would turn and whisper into the phone and give the kind of code that only the trained observer would be able to decipher, a code that would translate to a call for help that was closer than she would anticipate.
But no call came. The pocket of the underachieving coat was silent and cool as ice, while instead her cheeks flushed, her eyes brightened, and her head tilted. Instead, the figures walked out of the door hand-in-hand, both enjoying the warmth of skin contact while she buried herself into his side, and he let go of her hand so he could envelop her with his whole arm.
They walked right past the watcher as he barely moved, successful at remaining undetected. He was now feeling a coldness that spread from the inside out. When they were out of his sight, and he was safe to shiver to his heart's content, he found that his strength had been sapped, and that the blood that had once flowed freely throughout his veins was now draining from his face. In a frozen stupor, he was unable to reach that bin in the corner of his mind and pull out its contents. Even the doubts that had danced through his head were now strangely silent, having been dealt a fatal blow. So he stood there, unable to even shiver some warmth into his body.
Perhaps he would be there forever.
Unless . . .
The thought that seared into his brain was enough to startle him, to force him to make the tiniest of lunges out of his frozen state and back into the land of the living. His skull was tingling with sensation.
Tomorrow, when he sulked into the office and slid behind his desk, she would be there. She always was. She would be sitting only a few yards away, separated only by a wall or two. At some point, she would open his door and poke her head in, and without looking up, he'd see if she was wearing pink, or purple, or navy blue. She would come towards him with that spring in her step and that smile on her lips, and he could pretend to be completely oblivious. Then, from the corner of his eye, he would see the special smirk that she reserved only for him. She would stand only a desk apart from him, silent for a few golden moments before clearing her throat and calling his name.
"Cal?" she'd say.
He would choose this moment to openly notice her. He would have the well-earned privilege of taking in every curve until his eyes would meet with hers, and he would be able to see the corners of her mouth lift in a way that was almost too beautiful to be human. There were six and a half billion people on the planet, all who had the same arrangement of muscles, and yet none of them would be able to smile the way that she could. He'd pretend not to be amazed.
"Yes?" he'd say.
"I have something I want to talk to you about," she would say, and it would be the first time he would see that she had a file folder in her hand. He'd choose that moment to lock his gaze with hers, and to let his mouth stretch out and up, watching for the tilt of her head as she sensed he was up to something.
"Actually, I have something I want to talk to you about," he would say. Or maybe he would think of a better way to put it. Either way, he would watch as she became amused, and then, when he had built up the tension as much as he could, he would tell her.
He would tell her that he had two tickets to a movie, and that he was in the mood for some wine later in the evening. He would tell her that he made reservations at that restaurant she wanted to go to, the one that had been booked up for months. When this intrigued her, he would ask her to join him. And this time, he'd let her see everything. This time, she would hear the nervousness in his voice and see the the hope in his eyes. For once, he would be honest with himself and with her at the same time. And if he was very, very lucky, she would smile that smile again, and this time, it would make her eyes turn into cobalt fire. Maybe she would let a laugh slip out with the red-hot three-letter word that would speed their glacier.
Standing on the sidewalk, he shivered one more time before burying his face into the collar of his coat and hurrying to get a cab. If he could play it just right, and if he could tell the truth when it mattered most, it was possible that in a short twenty-four hours, a certain woman with cobalt eyes would be leaving another restaurant, but this time with his arm around her, this time with a smile and a smirk that was just for him. And when she laughed and turned her eyes towards him, the blue heat would pierce through his very soul.
As he ducked into the cab, he realized that he wasn't frozen anymore.
THE END