Author Note: Dedicated to paws-bells for inspiring me to get off my lazy butt. Not my best work, but I like it nonetheless. The title is blatantly stolen from Elizabeth Barrett Browning's poem "How Do I Love Thee?"
It's the efficiency of her work ethic, he reasons, or maybe it's the crisp, decisive salute she throws up whenever he enters the room.
Perhaps it's the stance she takes when she stares down an infuriatingly annoying superior officer. (Not him, of course. If she were ever annoyed at him, she'd never hide behind her cool, violet eyes and steady words.)
Maybe it's the way she can soften the air of a late night working session with the both of them and Dearka cramped in his office.
On the other hand, the thoughtfulness that she shows when she forces him to eat an early dinner after forgoing lunch is a good candidate. Or her insistence that his office chair is not a decent place to sleep. At this point, he still has no idea.
She throws him a concerned look. He shrugs it off.
That night, as she slips into his bathroom to prepare for bed, he thinks it must be the fall of her soft hair down her back. Or the understated grace of her walk as she saunters over to the bed, rubbing lotion onto her petite hands. Or the arch of her brow as she gives him another curious glance, or the swing of her hips as she crawls over him, looking down the curve of her nose when she's right above him.
"Why have you been looking at me all day?" she asks.
It's the beautiful slope of her lips. It has to be.
He swallows. "I'm just," he says, eyeing her carefully, "trying to understand how I fell in love with you."