from [1x08]

"How are your ears?"

In retrospect, it probably wasn't the best idea he'd had that day. But before he could properly consider it his voice was booming back at her

"What?"

The reaction was instantaneous. Her jaw tightened and she involuntarily stepped into the cradle of his knees. He barely had time to register her proximity before his buzzing senses were assaulted. The overriding smell from the dark grass stains on her shirt, marks running up and across her sides. The circles under her eyes suddenly standing out stark against the white of her skin. The muted smell of bland, unscented soap, probably whatever cheap own-brand her security detail had picked out for her. He blinked and blinked again, trying to focus his eyes and block out the dull ringing in his head. Brows knitted in worry, she tilted her head, the muscles in her neck and shoulder pulling taut. They looked tight, and sore; the curve of her shoulder was beginning to purple slightly. She should get a quick look over when they got back, the tackle had been a-

She was touching his face.

One hand was confident in stilling him, gently insistent in the framing of his cheek. Her other hand glanced off his jaw, fingertips brushing cautiously against his skin. His head was throbbing and her hand was warm, and he fought the urge to turn more of his face into her palm. A battle he had apparently already lost elsewhere as he registered his own hand now curled around her forearm. His inability to regulate any kind of tactile control with her was frustrating him to no end - he was meant to be a damn professional.

Her eyes expectantly flitted back to meet his, calculating and concerned. Her thumb was just dusting the stubble on his chin.

Hell, he had committed now he supposed.

"The paramedics said-"

Instantly he wanted to take it back. Her eyes widened and her fingers froze against his face as hers grew impossibly paler. Then for a second, there was a flicker in her eyes. It was barely more than a heartbeat, but he saw it. It was that same look she had when she was cuffed to the table in the interrogation room, on the day he met her. When she was sat at his dinner table, fighting the urge to flee. Propped up against a wall, reliving her childhood abduction.

He had seen her nervous before; pulling at her hands whilst watching him pace in the CDC. He had seen panic; gripping at shaking aeroplane armrests, desperately trying to ground herself. But what had just flashed in her eyes was the pure, unadulterated fear that she allowed to rear its head so rarely.

He would not be the cause of it.

"-that I'm fine."

He cracked a smile, tracing his thumb across a thick, inky line on her wrist. A wave of emotions passed across quickly over her face, the primary expression being so affronted that he thought she might smack him. He leaned back slightly, watching her. But the anger was quickly replaced with consternation, mixed with what looked like the slightest touch of amusement. Before he could be too grateful for that, she was releasing a long held breath and stepping away from him, rolling her eyes in palpable relief. He quirked a sheepish smile at her.

"Did you hear from the team?"

"Yeah," she started with narrowed eyes, clearly still exasperated with his comic timing. "Patterson hacked Johnson's burner phone. Looks like that's how he and Costello communicated. There were texts that corresponded with the times of the victims deaths."

Good, there was the final confirmation they needed. "They were coordinating the shootings?"

"Mhmm." Her focus drifted off him as the coroners techs carried Johnson's body past her, stretcher clacking loudly. He looked down at the floor.

Today had been close, even by his standards. But there was no point in dwelling. He was still here. She was still here. Mrs Shultz was fine.

He pushed himself off the table, turning for his jacket, but fingers at his elbow halted him. She had stepped back towards him, face turned up towards his. The briefest flash of fear he had spied before was now rolling off her in waves, eyes shining with it.

"You scared the hell out of me." The strength in her voice was gone, distress now bleeding through. "When that door closed and I heard those shots," she continued, fingers digging almost painfully into the crook of his elbow. "I thought they-"

"Jane." He had wanted to sound reassuring, confident. But her name left his lips on a whisper. "It didn't, okay." He watched her take a deep breath through her nose, her eyes never leaving his. "I'm fine."

She exhaled brokenly, and shook her head, dropping her hand from his arm. This dependency, this reliance on each other. It was so dangerous. He knew it, even if she didn't. It didn't matter that he was fighting himself tooth and nail every goddamn second to act like it wasn't happening, or that he had a degree of control over their spiralling bond. Pretending that the idea of her getting hurt, or of him losing her again, didn't make him want to plant her in a safehouse somewhere in the middle of nowhere and park himself on the porch with a shotgun. Ignoring the fact that the possibility of him being gone gave her that look of utter terror that he never, ever wanted to see in her eyes again.

She was watching him again, features now steeled into a more controlled expression. "Then you should talk to Mayfair."

Of course. There we go. He'd been wondering when that was going to make a re-appearance. She was like a dog with a bone.

"You never stop. Do you?" He should definitely not have been finding her bullish obstinacy so amusing, or encouraging it. What with her increasing tendency to disobey him in risky situations.

She bit her lip with a smirk. "I guess I don't."

He shook his head again, unable to suppress a brief chuckle. There was no guessing about it, she definitely didn't. And he really did need to stop finding it so appealing.

I felt like so much went unspoken in this scene, and I ended up writing it down. Hopefully I'll add to this as the series progresses. I might go back and cover some of their earlier moments too, this is just my favourite so far.

On Tumblr: post/133290924267/starting-points