Disclaimer: Just playing
Impossible
He knows it's impossible, but he loves her anyway.
He likes the way her hair falls in her eyes when she's bent over a file. He's watched her play softball and calls himself an idiot because he likes the way she holds a bat. He likes the way her muscles play along her back through her tank top. He likes the way her porcelain skin pinks up when she stays out in the sun too long.
He wants to ask her out to dinner, or take her to a movie, but he doesn't know how. He's not sure she'd say yes anyway. He's old and she's young. She's beautiful and he has to offer her is a washed up, sarcastic man. He doesn't think he could make her happy but he wants to try.
He sees her practically every day. It doesn't make his desire any less. She walks into the squad room with such confidence and grace, that she leaves him breathless. Then she perches on the edge of his desk and her perfume, while subtle, smells absolutely delicious, and his world stops to focus on her. It's like tunnel vision.
He likes to watch her in court as well. He loves her passion. Her fire is what attracted him in the first place. He loves her humor too. It's a little sarcastic, a little biting. She's not entirely unlike him. Thankfully that's the only characteristic that they share. He would never wish his world weary view on anyone.
He loves her power suits and her bright colored sweaters. He loves how she refuses to wear skirts in court, especially since that judge made her wear one or be in contempt. But she'll dress to the nines in a cocktail dress for a date or a function. He loves how she rides her bicycle to work every day.
He really loves everything about her. He wishes he could tell her, that he had the courage to tell her.
"Hey." Her voice has a slight rasp to it that caresses his skin wonderfully. "What are you still doing here?"
"Paperwork." He answers. She makes him lose his concentration like no other.
"Hungry?" she asks, trying to get a conversation going.
"Sure. Want to go anywhere in particular?"
"I know this great café down the block."
"Sounds good." He's suddenly unsure of himself. He doesn't know how to talk to a woman anymore, especially when it doesn't involve work. Granted with her, they really only have work in common.
He follows her out of the precinct. She walks beside him slowly, as if she's not in a big hurry to get to their destination. It's almost like she wants to spend time with him, and his confidence gets a small boost.
"What made you stop by?" He asks as they walk.
"I was thinking about you. And I know you're always the last one to leave."
"Why were you thinking about me?" He's dying to know the answer. It could make or break him.
"I like you." She answers as if that's the perfect answer to every question he could ask her.
"Oh, ok." He chastises himself for getting his hopes up.
"What's that about?" She pauses on the sidewalk. They're only a few store fronts from the restaurant she's leading them to. He doesn't mind standing outside. It's cool enough to help him keep his wits about him, but warm enough to be comfortable for the most part.
"What?" He feigns misunderstanding.
"'Oh, ok'. Is something going on that I don't know about?"
"No, it's nothing. I'm just tired."
"It's not nothing. Tell me." He looks at, really looks at her, trying to gauge if he should really tell her what's been on his mind. He opens his mouth to say something, but he can't bring himself to voice the words that would tell her exactly how he feels. It's rare that he's truly speechless. He really can't remember the last time he was. She watches him expectantly. Finally he shakes his head and looks away.
"Does that mean you won't tell me, or you can't tell me?" He just shrugs. It's out of character for him to be this inarticulate. "You know I can't fix it, if I don't know what the problem is?" He nods in acceptance of that. She pauses and cocks her head to the side, really studying him. He watches her eyes as they trace his features. Her gaze goes unfocused and he can almost see the wheels turning in her head over this. Suddenly her eyes widen, and he knows that she's figured it out.
"I'm sorry." It falls from his lips before she can say a word, and then her fingers are pressing against his lips, silencing him from saying anything further.
"You don't need to apologize. I'm flattered, really." She removes her fingers from his lips. And before he can really react enough to extricate himself from the situation, her lips are pressing against his in a warm kiss. He can feel its heat all the way down to his toes. And suddenly he thinks maybe things aren't as impossible as they seem.