Title: The Games Boys Play
Category: Reyes UST
Rating: G
Summary: Why the hell is he looking at me like that? Is something hanging
from my nose?
Why does he do that? Look at me so intently, I mean. Like I'm the prime suspect in a murder inquiry that he's hoping to catch out in a lie. Like he can hear everything I'm thinking. Like he sees right through me. It's very unnerving, being caught in that methodical blue stare of his. I'm his partner; he shouldn't be projecting that look my way. He should be saving it for the felons and offenders of the world. And maybe the odd computer technician or two. Okay, so maybe I should be typing up a report instead of playing solitaire. It's not like it's the crime of the century. It's not even like he hasn't been guilty of the same thing. He could just tell me that I could be making better use of Bureau time. He doesn't have to sit across the room in silent judgement with his eyes boring into me. Quit it. Quit it, quit it, quit it, quit it, quit it!
Am I supposed to just sit here and ignore the fact that he's been staring at me for the better part of an hour? What the hell is he looking at anyway? Have I got something stuck between my teeth? No, so that's not it. Is something hanging from my nose? Nope, all clear. What the hell is it then? He is driving me insane. In-sane! Okay - enough already. I can't take it anymore. I'll type up the damn report. See, I'm closing the game. Look, I'm typing away like a good little FBI agent. You can stop looking at me now.
He's still staring - Oh great - he's frowning at me now? Are my fingers not flying over they keyboard fast enough for him? What the hell has he got to frown over anyway? I'm the one who's under a microscope here. For no good reason, I might add. I'm just trying to mind my own business, and go about my work. Arrgh! Enough is enough. I'm going to glare at him. Really glare. Take that John Doggett. Two can play at that game.
Shit. That wasn't a glare. That was a smile. You smiled at him. Stupid, Monica. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You were *supposed* to glare. You were *supposed* to send the message that he's pissing you off and he'd better quit it. Does a smile send that message? Not exactly. But at least he's not frowning now. Now he's - he's rolling up his shirtsleeves. Come to think of it, it *is* a little warm in here today. Heating must be playing up. What the hell is he doing now? He's squeezing his hand into a fist. Oh my god, he's flexing his muscles. Making them dance. What possible reason could he have for doing that?
He's messing with me. Has to be. He knows that I know that he's watching me, and he's playing with my head. Well, I'm not playing this stupid game anymore. Maybe if I told him to finish this damned report he wouldn't have so much time on his hands and could actually do something productive. Unlike me. I've been typing for an hour and a half and none of it makes any sense. I have to start again. Great. Delete, delete, delete.
I can just hear the AD now. "Are you ready to file your report Agent Reyes?" "No sir." "Why not?" "My partner was looking at me and I couldn't concentrate."
Yeah, that'll fly.
So what have I accomplished today? A big fat nothing, that's what. I give up.
I've had enough of John and his games. I'm going home.
End.
Why does he do that? Look at me so intently, I mean. Like I'm the prime suspect in a murder inquiry that he's hoping to catch out in a lie. Like he can hear everything I'm thinking. Like he sees right through me. It's very unnerving, being caught in that methodical blue stare of his. I'm his partner; he shouldn't be projecting that look my way. He should be saving it for the felons and offenders of the world. And maybe the odd computer technician or two. Okay, so maybe I should be typing up a report instead of playing solitaire. It's not like it's the crime of the century. It's not even like he hasn't been guilty of the same thing. He could just tell me that I could be making better use of Bureau time. He doesn't have to sit across the room in silent judgement with his eyes boring into me. Quit it. Quit it, quit it, quit it, quit it, quit it!
Am I supposed to just sit here and ignore the fact that he's been staring at me for the better part of an hour? What the hell is he looking at anyway? Have I got something stuck between my teeth? No, so that's not it. Is something hanging from my nose? Nope, all clear. What the hell is it then? He is driving me insane. In-sane! Okay - enough already. I can't take it anymore. I'll type up the damn report. See, I'm closing the game. Look, I'm typing away like a good little FBI agent. You can stop looking at me now.
He's still staring - Oh great - he's frowning at me now? Are my fingers not flying over they keyboard fast enough for him? What the hell has he got to frown over anyway? I'm the one who's under a microscope here. For no good reason, I might add. I'm just trying to mind my own business, and go about my work. Arrgh! Enough is enough. I'm going to glare at him. Really glare. Take that John Doggett. Two can play at that game.
Shit. That wasn't a glare. That was a smile. You smiled at him. Stupid, Monica. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You were *supposed* to glare. You were *supposed* to send the message that he's pissing you off and he'd better quit it. Does a smile send that message? Not exactly. But at least he's not frowning now. Now he's - he's rolling up his shirtsleeves. Come to think of it, it *is* a little warm in here today. Heating must be playing up. What the hell is he doing now? He's squeezing his hand into a fist. Oh my god, he's flexing his muscles. Making them dance. What possible reason could he have for doing that?
He's messing with me. Has to be. He knows that I know that he's watching me, and he's playing with my head. Well, I'm not playing this stupid game anymore. Maybe if I told him to finish this damned report he wouldn't have so much time on his hands and could actually do something productive. Unlike me. I've been typing for an hour and a half and none of it makes any sense. I have to start again. Great. Delete, delete, delete.
I can just hear the AD now. "Are you ready to file your report Agent Reyes?" "No sir." "Why not?" "My partner was looking at me and I couldn't concentrate."
Yeah, that'll fly.
So what have I accomplished today? A big fat nothing, that's what. I give up.
I've had enough of John and his games. I'm going home.
End.