A/N: Just a quick, tiny little oneshot that ninja-ed me on the commute to work this morning, because I've been neglecting Jim. And Jim the Cop is hot.
"Jesus Christ, Shannon!" Wash exclaimed, just managing to step out of the way of the man in question as he pushed the door to Taylor's office open without announcing himself.
Jim winced. "Sorry, Wash."
"I should think so." She scowled, running a hand over her hair. She looked a little more flustered than a door to the face should have made someone like her and Jim was instantly concerned.
He watched as she shot Taylor a look, before redirecting her gaze to his desk. Jim observed quietly as Taylor looked down, then back up at Wash, nodding in reply.
"Okay then." Jim said, clapping his hands. "Commander, do you have a minute? It's about the... uh, mole."
Wash looked unconcerned by his words, clearly more than up to date with the current situation. She smiled at him and Taylor before slipping out of the room and leaving them alone.
Jim moved over to stand opposite the older man, not quite able to shake the feeling that he was missing something pretty damn obvious.
Taylor turned away to fetch something from the side of the room and Jim picked up a datapad to review while he waited. He noticed something out of the corner of his eye and looked down at the glass to see a perfect handprint, fingers splayed wide.
Curious, he pushed another datapad out of the way to reveal a second, matching, print a couple of feet over. They were oriented with fingertips towards him, as if made from the other side of the desk, but they were much too small to be Taylor's - and besides, the man was wearing gloves, while these were full palm prints.
Then he noticed the tiny patch of condensation lingering between them.
His cop instincts kicked in, cataloging the evidence before him:
Wash's unusually flustered nature.
Her and Taylor's unspoken conversation.
The hand prints, too small and feminine and distinctly gloveless to be Taylor's, yet braced from his side of the desk.
The condensation perfectly spaced in between.
His mind raced, fitting the pieces together, working on a solution, building a mental image of what had just gone on in the room.
And then he got it. And oh what a mental image it was.
Jim felt a sly smile forming on his face and looked up to see Taylor watching him, one eyebrow raised in a silent question: Are we going to have a problem here Shannon?
Jim outright grinned. "Well sir, at least my timing's improving."