A/N: I was trying to re-ignite my muse, who is being stubbornly unflammable and fire-resistant (I don't know if that made any sense). So here this is, a collection of 6 drabbles, each 100 words long. From my point of view this is firmly planted in A/O territory - but as always feel free imagine your own view. Thanks. Comments are always appreciated!
Disclaimer: The following is a piece of fanfiction. No money is made off this. There is no copyright infringement intended; all characters, episodes and backgrounds belongs to Dick Wolf and NBC.
Series
It's odd, this feeling I have, this wave of giddy apprehension whenever I hear her voice, honey-smooth and confident. It's the feeling of breathlessness, of a sudden deep trembling realization, when I watch her walking towards me and the sun is shining down just right and I can see her eyes flash and the glint of her soft hair, that I can never imagine waiting for anyone else. It's embarrassing when she finally takes my hand, and I'm thinking that my hands are clammy, but she doesn't let go and her smile is almost shy, when she looks at me.
......
It's at that stage where everything is so new and awkward, because I have no idea what kind of food she likes to eat or what kind of wine she prefers, or maybe she's more of a beer kind of girl. It's so wonderful because we haven't had each other long enough to realize how devastatingly unattractive we each can be, leaving the clothes to mould in the washer or smacking our lips when we have soup, or maybe I've always known them, those little annoyances, and I didn't mind them at all, really.
Is this – what they call – ?
......
"I love it when you do that," she says, quite unexpectedly.
"Hmm?"
She studies my face and elaborates, "When you do things like leaving me your umbrella even though I already had one."
We're not exactly effusive about us, our affection. My ears flush pink. A pleasant feeling of contentment settles in. I shrug, nonchalant.
"Idiot," she says, and she laughs. The sound is so infectious I begin to smile, brilliantly, and we pull each other close despite my dripping wet clothes, and closer still, until I can feel her warmth, feel the smile at the corner of her eyes.
......
One day she leaves me her scarf, long, striking red and cashmere, a winding bundle of vivid colour left folded on top of my cluttered desk. Beside the scarf was a post-it note, carefully taped again to my coffee mug for good measure. And in her sprawling handwriting:
It's cold tonight.
I smile, touched. Then –
I'll see you tomorrow.
And it's three in the morning, and I'm freezing in the stakeout car, and I feel the scarf around my shoulders keeping me warm and I imagine her at home, asleep, hair tousled and gently breathing, and that's better than coffee.
......
I think the best and strangest part of this whole adventure is having someone to fuss over you, and having someone to look after in turn. It's become so normal, sometimes, that I can't believe I'd ever gotten through a day without her, the little things she does that make me feel better, better than a hot shower after a long day.
It's the human contact, the bit of me that craves the gentle caress, the soft lips against my cheek, the soothing easy familiarity of someone to give me everything I need, no questions asked, just for me, unconditionally.
......
I'll never remember exactly what we did, the first time we went out with this idea of us, together so young and tremulous, only that I spilled soup all over my jeans, and cleaning off tomato bisque in a dingy washroom wasn't at all romantic.
And later we're wandering outside, and the clouds are pouring and the night is miserable, but we're laughing about the soup. So we keep walking, walking onto the brink of it, feeling the whispers of something mighty and universal, and I can feel her hand clasped in mine and mine in hers, and it's beautiful.
......