S2 E2 - The LOOK
He smugly states, "Dwayne, she married Christ. You could never compete. Not with the miracles and the father-in-law."
"Ah… but does he have my killer smile?"
Richard is already turning away to the whiteboard but the shocking sight of Dwayne's megawatt smile and knowing look yanks him back with alarm… That look! I've SEEN that look! But where? Good god, it's overpowering! And… oh, dear god, should it make me FEEL like this?
He is caught off guard and momentarily exposed. He sees the flick of awareness in Dwayne's eyes, sees the man's total sureness of manner, sees the world of difference between them. Fortunately, it is a world involving women and there is absolutely no problem with conceding THAT particular battleground to Dwayne. He does so gladly… but the nagging thought remains as he finally turns away.
HAS he seen that look before? Has anyone ever looked at HIM like that? And… if so… had he liked it? Well, obviously not when Dwayne did it… that was just a testosterone jousting contest so it didn't count.
But who else? It was recently. Not Lily. Never her. Not Megan. She wouldn't have known how. Crazy murder fan? She never stops talking long enough to give anyone a long hard stare. Someone… someone… it was someone…
No, whoever it was, it hadn't been obvious. It had been covert. A challenge. A threat. A promise. A sneak attack. A shot fired below his radar and across his bow. Who could get close enough to wound yet escape detection?
Oh, this is going to bother me all day! And it DOES bother him all that day and the next but it doesn't prevent him from solving the case.
As he lay in bed on that third night, watching Harry hunt in the rafters above his head, he idly rubs at his hand which is responding nicely to the ointment that Sister Marguerite had given him for his psoriasis. He smirks, remembering how he'd gotten Camille's goat over the holy water. Oh, it had been priceless! He'd paddled his hand in the basin of water there by the shrine while she'd gone down to kneel at the riverbank to bathe in the clear running waters… and… and…
… and she'd thrown him a look over her shoulder…
… just the briefest of glances…
… her eyes sliding up and down his body…
His eyes ease shut. He remembers now. He remembers where he's seen that look.
And, yes, someone HAS looked at him like that.
And he HAD liked it... a LOT!
His body begins to hum. It is with supreme effort that he calms the waters and regains his composure. That was close… all I did was recall how she'd looked at me… and the hum returns. It takes a lot longer to call himself to heel a second time.
He sits up, frustrated and worried… maybe another shower? But… naked… and under the gentle spray? Not such a good idea. Perhaps a walk on the beach? Fighting my way against the sand should tire me out sufficiently and no more thinking about Camille… oh, lord, there it goes again!
Third times the charm! He is up and out the door with alacrity. No moon. Good. No one can see him striding up and down his stretch of beach. The waves are soothing. The gentle night zephyr is soothing. His thoughts… are NOT soothing.
Camille! That look! How had I missed it? Am I really that clueless? Yes, I think I am because… come to think on it… I'm pretty sure I've seen variations of that look for quite a while now. In the truck. At the station. Right here at home. Not often. Never blatantly.
His pacing slows. He stands quietly looking up at the sky recalling the many MANY times that he's ignored or shrugged off or found a flimsy excuse… for her looks… for her lovely lingering tender looks.
His body is rising with his memories as he conjures up her face, her voice, her willowy form. He comes to suddenly and turns back to his home. No! No more wasting a moment. He has to… what? Call her? And tell her… what? Get over here? Right now? There's something I need to… I need… Oh, bollocks! No way! No WAY is he calling her!
He scoffs as he climbs the steps onto his veranda... yep, that's the way to tell her I've finally come to my senses! It's SURE to woo her to my side. No, I'll have to distract myself until I fall asleep but… tomorrow! I'll start tomorrow!
Yes, tomorrow! Tomorrow is the start of the wooing of Camille. Shouldn't be too scary, judging by his evening so far. Perhaps he will ask her to join him for drinks here after work? No, too bold. Things might get out of hand, judging by his evening so far. But… perhaps that's JUST what he needs to do! Be bold… bold and daring and not-Richard.
Yes. Tomorrow. Do you hear that, body? Tomorrow! Now settle down and let me sleep! He gingerly lies down. Closes his eyes. Waits. All is quiet on the southern front. OK. Truce accepted.
Just before he slips away, he feels a quiet stab below the waist. Right, he thinks muzzily, gotcha... tomorrow… or else! The stab lets up... right... tomorrow... or else.
He drifts off with a smile on his face for the first time in ages.
END