You Like The Way
Summary: She helped you forget those twenty four hours. You needed it.
You like the way her hair tickles the bottom of your nose as you steadily breathe in and out. You like the way her hand rests on your chest, on top of your heart, almost checking that you're still there. You feel like telling her there's no way you're moving, but you're not sure how to say the words.
It still feels new and exciting, yet at the same time old and familiar. You like the way that she bosses you around the house, practically revelling in the well-concealed controlling aspect of her character. You like the way she's comfortably taken to sitting on your couch, science journal in one hand and a coffee in the other, reading avidly whilst laying her feet on your lap.
You used to dislike her. Intensely. You thought she was brash and a risk taker. Someone who was cold and disconnected from their work, only seeing a body on the floor, not a person with relatives, friends, children. Until you realised that was the only way for her to be. She couldn't cope with seeing victims of brutal murders as people; her job was too invasive, too scientific.
She treated you as colleagues at the beginning, not friends. But you all eventually wore her down. Started peeling away the layers and finding out her idiosyncrasies, revealing that she was just as much a part of the team than any of you. You, along with your co-workers, smirked as you realised that she counted the factual errors on CSI, more concentrated on the methods than the storyline. You were all impressed with her habit of drinking anyone under the table, including yourself. And in turn, she realised, that in you, she had found a sparring partner, someone to bounce off and to battle with. You enjoyed it for years.
It all changed though. Things always do. You never guessed what that phonecall was about. Never known that they were ringing to tell you that one of your closest friends was dead, killed by a schizophrenic student. It didn't happen to your team, your friends. You walked into that lab, shellshocked by the news, your legs weakening and your mouth barely able to form words. And she knew. She looked at you and she just knew.
You saw the tears running down her face, the way she angrily wiped her eyes as though it was a weakness to show feeling. Neither of you could understand why or how it could happen. How you were sitting around the table one minute, discussing various theories and the next, she was dead. That was it. Last week you invited the pair of them to the pub, all three of you getting mightily drunk and losing your inhibitions. You wished you'd told her how much she meant to you, that she was one of the best friends you'd ever had.
And in a way, you did tell her. Through Frankie. You kissed her, and something felt right. Felt like some angel had turned a light on inside of your head, made you realise what you felt and when she responded tentatively, wondering if you were acting merely from grief, you kissed her again, more passionately, more unreservedly.
It was a stumble back to your flat, between kissing the hell out of each other and awkwardly wondering how the hell you were going to act around each other afterwards. In all honesty, if either of you had been that worried about it, you would've stopped. But you didn't. You woke up in the morning, her body moulded into your own, breathing in synchronicity, and you wondered how you ever thought this would be uncomfortable.
And it started with a toothbrush. Her toothbrush sitting in the glass, resting by the sink. You'd told her that she could borrow yours, but she then began to tell you the exact number of germs you'd be passing to her every day and night. You conceeded after that. Then it was the slow migration of various hair products, most of which promised "bouncy, healthy and volumous hair." You weren't sure why someone like Frankie, who never seemed overly concerned about whether her hair was perfect, had all those shampoos but you never questioned it. Mainly because you liked seeing them in your cabinet; it was always a little too empty for your liking.
Then her mobile phone charger miraculously appeared in your bedroom, on her side of the bed. In all honesty, the fact that she had a side of the bed should have been an indication to you how serious it was becoming, but it was when you saw the charger that you realised. Her mobile was crucial to her, either because she was needed by the team or another department needed forensics. You smiled inwardly when you saw it. It looked right, sitting on the floor, blinking occasionally. Mel would have told you were going soppy in your old age. In fact, you could practically hear her saying it.
You're not sure why it doesn't bother you that she's gradually moving in with you. By rights, like most men, you should be panicking like crazy and sending not so subtle hints that you're not ready. But you aren't. And you won't.
She asked you not to tell Boyd and Grace, mainly because it was like admitting to your parents that you were having sex. But you both know they've guessed. Mainly because you leave together on too many occasions for them not to take notice. Your excuse in sharing a cab is that you live in the same area, except they both know where you live. And it's practically on opposite sides of the city. Neither of you were good liars.
The new girl in your team, an intelligent but naive DC Emily Montefort, tried to come on to you after a few months. You could feel Frankie's eyes boring into your back as the new member flirted with you incessantly. You were less annoyed with the fact that Frankie wouldn't trust you, than satisfied to know that she had a jealous streak in her, especially concerning you.
Admittedly Emily would ask inane questions whilst Frankie relayed the results of her investigation but she didn't deserve the cold responses she received from your better half. Frankie promised to apologise as long as you told Emily that you were taken. You did, and she said sorry. Somewhat grudgingly. Now though, Emily's dating a PC from Customs and Frankie takes much glee in teasing Emily about her, now thankfully, long gone crush.
Some days it feels like everything was back the way it should be. Except you've found "The One" in Frankie, and you hope she feels the same about you. Some times you think you can hear Mel calling your name, but it's just the wind. You wonder what she would say about you and Frankie. Probably laugh her head off before telling you that she saw the sparks between you years ago. Always was a smartass.
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Wow, the first Waking The Dead story on ! Bow down at my greatness!