He's not sure how it started. At the beginning she was just another stepping stone, a piece on the playing board that would further his political agenda. But slowly, case by case, she become personal. She moved from Detective, to Olivia, to Liv. He let her track him down in bars, push him to try cases he knew he'd never win, get to know the man behind the mouth.
He didn't really notice. Their coffee meetings became more frequent, and soon enough it was just coffee for the sake of coffee. Their phone calls strayed from topic. He leant her books and she taught him how to shoot. Until one day he woke up and realised he was looking forward to seeing her.
It was a strange weight he carried in the pit of his stomach. An acknowledged truth that it was irrelevant if his mouth instinctively curled when she walked into his office, that it was of no consequence how his fingers itched to text her throughout the day, or the cold dread that washed over him when news spread about the shooting.
Because suddenly the idea of his morning caffeine buzz without brown eyes watching him was too much to bear; and it didn't matter if there was coffee spilled on his coat, or that his hair was wrecked from his hands going through it. She mattered to him, and it was a terrifying realisation that somehow snuck up when he was too busy to notice.
His breath was coming out in shallow puffs as he burst through the precinct doors, taking a moment to pull his shoulders tight and suck in a deep breath. The image in his head – blood smeared floors, shattered windows – was a far cry from the normalcy of the bullpen around him.
"Liv?" There was a straightness in his spine and a tinge of shrill in his voice as he chugged open her door. Her eyes pulled up in surprise from the documents on her desk, mouth moving to form a greeting. "I heard there was a shooting." The shake in his voice is not lost on either of them.
"Oh. A perp attacked one of the uni's, caused an accidental discharge in the squabble. Thankfully the only damage done was to the wall." He's nodding, trying to swallow the bubble of fear that had worked its way up his larynx, head bobbing and eyes unfocussed.
"Good. That's… That's good."
As she walks past him he puts a hesitant hand on her elbow, pulling her towards him briefly as he whispers a private "I'm glad no one was hurt" into her ear before depositing a soft kiss against her cheek.
He holds his breath and thinks the whole world pauses for one moment when she looks at him, and that strange weight in his stomach twists, the silent acknowledgement that this matters to him.