It wasn't that she didn't have other things to do, because she did. It wasn't even that she didn't enjoy doing them, because she found a perverse kind of satisfaction in filing reports and watching the pile of papers on her desk slowly but surely shrink. It was just that something had suddenly demanded her absolute and undivided attention, and as much as she wanted to explore this diversion further, she couldn't think of a valid reason to dump the paperwork and take the matter in hand.
"It's not working," she said, aiming for casual but sounding more aggravated than anything. Damnit.
"What's not working?" Dempsey asked with an air of innocence that she knew was complete and utter bollocks.
Do not engage, do not engage, do not engage. She made a pretence of rummaging around for something in her desk drawer so that she didn't have to look at him and what he was doing. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction, smug bastard. She pulled out a calculator and chanced a glance from beneath her eyes.
"Whatcha need that for, Harry?"
He knew she didn't need a calculator. He was deliberately and purposefully trying to goad her into reacting to his little display. But she was wise to him, oh yes she was. She was not going to fall for any of his posturing, no matter how much he baited her. She was a strong and professional woman, and he would not wear her down.
So she gritted her teeth and tried to put as much authority into her tone as she could. "Stop it."
"I'm not doing anything."
She glared at him with suspicion. James Dempsey, the very bane of her existence, obviously bored and trying to wind her up seemed to have a death wish. Her eye twitched as she tried unsuccessfully to refocus on the report in front of her. She was going to kill him. She was going to take out her gun and shoot him point blank, because this sort of – shenanigan, there was no other word for it – was unacceptable in the work place.
It was when he plopped his feet on her desk and leaned back in his chair that she gave up all pretence of paperwork.
"Something bugging you, Sergeant?"
She stood up abruptly. "You. With me. Now."
He followed her into the hallway, and just managed to keep his feet as she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him into the locker room.
"If I find out you did that on purpose," she said, pushing him until his back hit the wall, "you'll be sleeping on the couch for a month."
The corner of his mouth twitched and he started to defend himself.
"Don't even," she warned, and licked the offending smudge of ice-cream from the bottom of his lip; strawberry, her favourite flavour.
End