AN: I just rewatched episode 1. This is just a drabble about that moment at the top of the Statue of Liberty.
It's been so long since he's held someone- really held them close- that she feels alien against him. He's had Allie, other women whose faces blend in to one, and the heated nights that his body occasionally calls for. But they never needed him for comfort. And he never needed them for anything more than the brief night of pleasure, the reminder of what his body is capable of feeling. This, this is something different, something that speaks to a need to care for someone that he'd forgotten he ever had. That instinct that made him trusted to take care of others before the trust in himself was stolen. Now, his instincts always lead him to find answers, to not stop until the mission is complete, to not be satisfied until the restraints are on and the bars locked tight. Still, even as his gun is trained on Chao he is drawn to her.
I remembered something.
She doesn't elaborate and he doesn't push her- mindful as he is of the would-be terrorist feet away from them- but his instinct is to wrap his arm around her. He knows his grip is firm, knows that she will feel it as a deliberate act of comfort, of protection, but he is suddenly less concerned with professionalism. Less concerned with ma'am and formalities. Hours before he had flinched out of professional courtesy, out of embarrassment at the one way glass and the cameras, when she reached up to touch his face. Now he curls around her to cup her neck, feels her pulse quicken against his palm. He'd be pained by his own recklessness if it weren't for the way she twists her fingers into the soft fabric of his shirt, the feel of her breath against the hollow of his throat.
Perhaps he is drawn to her because she is both simplicity and complexity combined; a slow burning enigma. She is both fragile and strong; in need of him and yet wholly resilient. An oxymoron in its purest form. Soon, he knows already, she won't need him to hold her up. She'll walk back into the bureau determined and tenacious. Later, he feels in his bones, she will want his arms around her again- fragile and birdlike- and he will have no choice but to oblige. No choice but to fall deeper into the puzzle that is Jane Doe. He is dimly aware that out of context- without the chilly wind that whips against the Statue and the low groan of the injured Chao- that this stirring would be a precursor to him tipping her chin and kissing her.
Already drawn too deep. Already aware that he is not deep enough.