(Disclaimer: They're not mine. I get it. It sucks. But I'll live.)
I watch her get up from her chair, address slip in hand. Yet another crime scene. He grabs his own coat and hers. He doesn't go so far as to hold the coat open for her, but still. Something about that gets under my skin.
I can't stop him. Inform him that she's mine and it needs to stop. That I'm the one that should be taking care of her. She's not comfortable with the idea of the whole squad knowing about this.
And with the way some of them gossip, I can't blame her.
As they leave together, side-by-side, heading out to see what sick surprise has been left for them, I watch him reach to put his hand on her lower back. I don't know what it is. I'd like to believe it's just his Irish upbringing coming through. That it doesn't mean anything and he's just trying to be a gentleman. But I don't know. I usually don't believe the squad room gossip, but it must have started for a reason. Something started those rumors.
When he reaches to place his hand on her back, like he always does whenever they leave, she stops him. Breaks their pattern. He looks at her, confused and she simply shakes her head and keeps walking.
She stopped it. So that means she'll tell him. So I won't end up having a turf war with her slightly out-of-control partner. And that's probably a good thing.