Disclaimer: Don't own the characters or the show or stock or a business. I
own my shoes though.
Spoilers: Last season to current date I guess.
Summary: The world through their eyes. J/S
Rating: G
A/N: This whole format is a bit different for me, so if it doesn't work just say so. Also, this goes out to my home away from home, Maple St. for being the most awesome supporters of one of the most immoral acts around. Rock on!
His hair falls slightly in his eyes and he brushes it away carelessly. The lines in his face betray weeks of fatigue and constant struggle, a never- ending, uphill battle. He sighs in frustration and looks around in a futile hope for a reason to leave his paperwork. I look down so he doesn't catch me staring, but I am a millisecond too late. I want to look back up again, but force myself to look at the pages in front of me. It's so instinctive though, to look up and know his eyes will be right there, waiting for mine. I will myself to keep them down, fighting back an embarrassed smile as I realize I've begun to blush. A shadow falls across my page. I look up to see Martin, hovering over me with a playful smirk. I return it with a thin- lipped smile and stand up, following him down the hall.
I watch out of the corner of my eye as they walk together, almost too close, the way we used to walk. When we didn't care and no one noticed that we constantly violated each other's personal space. Our steps are even and wide. I look over at her standing beside me as we wait at the door for Mrs. Roberts. Sometimes the sight of her takes my breath away. Some call her a blonde with a gun, others call her beautiful, but I call her effortlessly striking. I always enjoy watching her walk. Specifically the walk she has when she isn't aware that anyone is watching. Her confident step, the grace with which she carries herself, the way her hair sways with each subtle movement. Her walk makes heads turn and conversations stop, sends hearts aflutter and pupils to dilate. That is when I love to watch her, because she doesn't pay attention to what others are thinking, only her point of destination and what it holds in store for her. Her gaze roams the house in a critical fashion. An agent at heart, she is always alert, always aware of her surroundings. She feels my eyes on her and she looks down, a smile breaking the professional façade that normally hides her face. She is thinking of what we spoke about in the car. I smile too, eager to reenact the previous night once the shift is over. Our arms are touching lightly. We shouldn't be this close on a front porch of this size. We wait a minute more, yet no one comes to the door, so we turn around and walk towards the car. We are still too close for regular standards, and instead of moving away, I move closer. It's almost unnatural to maintain six inches between us.
Six inches is as close as I get to him. I see his hand playing across the table, slowly making its way towards mine. My hand suddenly occupies itself with my empty wine glass. I look everywhere but at his face, with its innocent features and boyish charm. His suit is ill fitting and the tan color does nothing but make him seem blander than he already is. I try to pay attention to our superficial conversation, but my impatience steals my ability to focus. The waiter delivers our second round of drinks - our last. I sip slowly at a rich blend of coffee, while he nurses a beer. A subtle vibration lightly stirs the water in the vase of crimson roses. I realize it is my bouncing foot on the leg of the table. He frowns at me with a pained look in his eyes. My comment wasn't rude, just straightforward. His overwhelming interest in me overcomes his bruised ego. He holds the door open for me as I step out into the darkness of night. His light buzz makes him much looser, a bit more audacious. He steps closer than six inches, into my personal space, and tells me that I look beautiful. I smile shyly and step backwards, changing the subject quickly. My feet take me towards my apartment, his take him after me. His face contorts into fleeting frustration as I resist his futile advances. After I close my door, I walk to the window and watch his forlorn form walking slowly in the direction from whence he came.
Her door beckons to me as I walk down the meekly lit hallway. Her eyes meet mine in silent glee as she lets me into her apartment. One look at her tells me she is five seconds from collapsing on her bed. My apologetic look receives a warm smile from her exhausted face. Our fingers entwine as we sit together on the couch, sharing the events of the day. Her face lights up at the mention of an old friend, and then gradually falls into pained sorrow as I tell her of the outcome of a trial that I returned from. Her chest moves upward in a deep sigh as she settles closer to me, leaning her head against my shoulder. Her long hair that sways when she walks is pulled up into a loose bun, some of the strands fall away and tickle my neck. I lean over, turn off the light, and pull a blanket over us as our words give way to silence and dreams.
I dream of the way things used to be, when we could fall asleep on my couch and not think of its implications. Sometimes, when I catch him staring out the window, I wonder if he dreams too. Our ride is silent, no more filled with casual banter and underlying sexual innuendo. Brief glances and concise sentences replaced the level of comfort we once had. It was never safe, but the appearance of safety was there, and that was all we asked for. I feel his eyes upon me in a questioning look and realize that I didn't respond to his question. I cover my faux pas with a correct answer and receive an unspoken admission of satisfaction from the nod of his head and a quick smile. Gray hairs creep along his temple, the temple that I once kissed when no words would suffice. My eyes follow his arms down to the steering wheel held tightly in his grasp. His focus is on the traffic in front of him, while mine is solely devoted to him. I notice that instead of his black tie, a crimson one hangs in its place. I remember that it is Back to School Night at his daughters' school, and check the clock to see that time is quickly approaching. I offer to drop him off at the school so he won't be late, but he refuses, saying he couldn't risk being seen with me. He cuts himself short before finishing, aware that he should not have said that. I smile weakly, reassuring him that I understand - things are different now and will never be the same. I turn to look outside, directing my focus on a less painful target.
They work together at the large table, talking quietly. They sit in their normal positions, him at the head, and her to his right. The light filters through the darkness that envelopes the room, casting an eerie glow about them. In such an open office, the scene is strangely private. She passes him files full of paperwork and documents that require his signature. He checks his watch and speaks to her softly as she stifles a yawn. She nods slowly as she rises carefully from the table, placing her weight on her right leg. He assures her that he will be going home to his family shortly, while she pushes in her chair and places her work on her desk. They offer each other soft goodbyes as she turns and walks away, thinking that no one is watching.
No one is watching except him. Slightly breathless, he will always watch the sway of her hair and the confidence of her step because they can't be taken from him and never will be.
A/N Well? It's a bit different for me, I know. If it was confusing, well, sorry, hopefully the next one will be easier.
Spoilers: Last season to current date I guess.
Summary: The world through their eyes. J/S
Rating: G
A/N: This whole format is a bit different for me, so if it doesn't work just say so. Also, this goes out to my home away from home, Maple St. for being the most awesome supporters of one of the most immoral acts around. Rock on!
His hair falls slightly in his eyes and he brushes it away carelessly. The lines in his face betray weeks of fatigue and constant struggle, a never- ending, uphill battle. He sighs in frustration and looks around in a futile hope for a reason to leave his paperwork. I look down so he doesn't catch me staring, but I am a millisecond too late. I want to look back up again, but force myself to look at the pages in front of me. It's so instinctive though, to look up and know his eyes will be right there, waiting for mine. I will myself to keep them down, fighting back an embarrassed smile as I realize I've begun to blush. A shadow falls across my page. I look up to see Martin, hovering over me with a playful smirk. I return it with a thin- lipped smile and stand up, following him down the hall.
I watch out of the corner of my eye as they walk together, almost too close, the way we used to walk. When we didn't care and no one noticed that we constantly violated each other's personal space. Our steps are even and wide. I look over at her standing beside me as we wait at the door for Mrs. Roberts. Sometimes the sight of her takes my breath away. Some call her a blonde with a gun, others call her beautiful, but I call her effortlessly striking. I always enjoy watching her walk. Specifically the walk she has when she isn't aware that anyone is watching. Her confident step, the grace with which she carries herself, the way her hair sways with each subtle movement. Her walk makes heads turn and conversations stop, sends hearts aflutter and pupils to dilate. That is when I love to watch her, because she doesn't pay attention to what others are thinking, only her point of destination and what it holds in store for her. Her gaze roams the house in a critical fashion. An agent at heart, she is always alert, always aware of her surroundings. She feels my eyes on her and she looks down, a smile breaking the professional façade that normally hides her face. She is thinking of what we spoke about in the car. I smile too, eager to reenact the previous night once the shift is over. Our arms are touching lightly. We shouldn't be this close on a front porch of this size. We wait a minute more, yet no one comes to the door, so we turn around and walk towards the car. We are still too close for regular standards, and instead of moving away, I move closer. It's almost unnatural to maintain six inches between us.
Six inches is as close as I get to him. I see his hand playing across the table, slowly making its way towards mine. My hand suddenly occupies itself with my empty wine glass. I look everywhere but at his face, with its innocent features and boyish charm. His suit is ill fitting and the tan color does nothing but make him seem blander than he already is. I try to pay attention to our superficial conversation, but my impatience steals my ability to focus. The waiter delivers our second round of drinks - our last. I sip slowly at a rich blend of coffee, while he nurses a beer. A subtle vibration lightly stirs the water in the vase of crimson roses. I realize it is my bouncing foot on the leg of the table. He frowns at me with a pained look in his eyes. My comment wasn't rude, just straightforward. His overwhelming interest in me overcomes his bruised ego. He holds the door open for me as I step out into the darkness of night. His light buzz makes him much looser, a bit more audacious. He steps closer than six inches, into my personal space, and tells me that I look beautiful. I smile shyly and step backwards, changing the subject quickly. My feet take me towards my apartment, his take him after me. His face contorts into fleeting frustration as I resist his futile advances. After I close my door, I walk to the window and watch his forlorn form walking slowly in the direction from whence he came.
Her door beckons to me as I walk down the meekly lit hallway. Her eyes meet mine in silent glee as she lets me into her apartment. One look at her tells me she is five seconds from collapsing on her bed. My apologetic look receives a warm smile from her exhausted face. Our fingers entwine as we sit together on the couch, sharing the events of the day. Her face lights up at the mention of an old friend, and then gradually falls into pained sorrow as I tell her of the outcome of a trial that I returned from. Her chest moves upward in a deep sigh as she settles closer to me, leaning her head against my shoulder. Her long hair that sways when she walks is pulled up into a loose bun, some of the strands fall away and tickle my neck. I lean over, turn off the light, and pull a blanket over us as our words give way to silence and dreams.
I dream of the way things used to be, when we could fall asleep on my couch and not think of its implications. Sometimes, when I catch him staring out the window, I wonder if he dreams too. Our ride is silent, no more filled with casual banter and underlying sexual innuendo. Brief glances and concise sentences replaced the level of comfort we once had. It was never safe, but the appearance of safety was there, and that was all we asked for. I feel his eyes upon me in a questioning look and realize that I didn't respond to his question. I cover my faux pas with a correct answer and receive an unspoken admission of satisfaction from the nod of his head and a quick smile. Gray hairs creep along his temple, the temple that I once kissed when no words would suffice. My eyes follow his arms down to the steering wheel held tightly in his grasp. His focus is on the traffic in front of him, while mine is solely devoted to him. I notice that instead of his black tie, a crimson one hangs in its place. I remember that it is Back to School Night at his daughters' school, and check the clock to see that time is quickly approaching. I offer to drop him off at the school so he won't be late, but he refuses, saying he couldn't risk being seen with me. He cuts himself short before finishing, aware that he should not have said that. I smile weakly, reassuring him that I understand - things are different now and will never be the same. I turn to look outside, directing my focus on a less painful target.
They work together at the large table, talking quietly. They sit in their normal positions, him at the head, and her to his right. The light filters through the darkness that envelopes the room, casting an eerie glow about them. In such an open office, the scene is strangely private. She passes him files full of paperwork and documents that require his signature. He checks his watch and speaks to her softly as she stifles a yawn. She nods slowly as she rises carefully from the table, placing her weight on her right leg. He assures her that he will be going home to his family shortly, while she pushes in her chair and places her work on her desk. They offer each other soft goodbyes as she turns and walks away, thinking that no one is watching.
No one is watching except him. Slightly breathless, he will always watch the sway of her hair and the confidence of her step because they can't be taken from him and never will be.
A/N Well? It's a bit different for me, I know. If it was confusing, well, sorry, hopefully the next one will be easier.