He likes to watch... so that is what he's doing.
After all, there is no urgency in the paperwork, not now the roller coaster of this prison case is over.
There's no headlong pursuit of intriguing details left, no thrill of making connections, no triumph in discovery. There's no fear of the guard's challenge, no excitement in matching his wits against theirs, no nuances of speech or body language to be analysed, no satisfaction in reading them correctly.
The adrenaline has dissipated, there is paperwork and he is bored.
His hand cups his large head and he feels the skin on his face slip and stubble scrape as he sinks a little lower. He looks out from under droopy lids and watches.
He watches her.
Sitting back straight, neat and proper, processing the paperwork with efficiency. She's on a mission, maybe a promise to keep to her nephew or a date. Probably just being realistic, after all it has to be done. She tucks her hair behind her ear and glances up at him, a small smile flickers across her lips as she recognises his procrastination. There's a sense of rightness, things being in order that he had missed when she was on leave.
He shivers, and exaggerates the motion to shake that disconcerting feeling from his shoulders. Shoulders, that had been tense from where that feeling had lain for weeks .Wrong footing him while she was away, and now returning occasionally to defend him against complacency.
He throws himself back in his chair, hears the creaks of protest and wonders when it will finally give way and dump him on his ass. Not today. Today he swivels, drapes his long legs across the corner of his desk, alters his view and watches.
He watches them.
A heated discussion is under way in the office, a discussion that the Captain seems to be winning. The A.D.A. is not yielding, he rises from the chair, straightens his cuffs and lowers the volume of his rich baritone. In answer to the challenge, the Captain is now on his feet, his tone harsher, blunt. A face- off: pragmatist versus peacock.
From his supine position, Bobby chuckles at that thought, years drop from his face and his playfulness peaks out. He takes a moment to contemplate Carver's latest sartorial statement, the three slanted pockets on the right and the red embroidered buttonhole on the left and nods in appreciation of the fine tailoring.
Power dressing does not win arguments, however, and Carver snatches up his briefcase and strides out of the office, leaving the Captain red faced and still spoiling for a fight. Bobby hastily straightens himself, grabs a pen and opens the manila file in front of him, reluctant to draw unwanted attention and spoil the mellow mood his observations have encouraged.
A snicker... he glances up to see hazel eyes twinkling and she mouths the word "coward" at him. Ducking his head sheepishly, he tries to focus on the report but a there is some tension now, an almost itch between his shoulder blades and he resists the urge to swing round.
He is being watched.