If your partner was a crayon, what colour would he / she be?
Eames squinted at the question and brought the paper closer to her face to make sure that she had read it right. The question continued:
Please answer the question, indicating which colour you chose, and a short description as to why you feel this way in the space provided below.
Eames glanced up at Goren, who had launched into an essay, trying to answer the same question Eames was faced with. She peered over her desk, trying to read what Goren had written. Goren realized and glanced over his paper, covering it slightly.
"These, uh, inter-personal evaluation forms are getting stranger every year, don't you think?" she stammered.
Slack jawed, they looked at each other for a moment, then down.
Ok, colour... colour... what colour is Bobby?
She resisted the first thought that popped into her head, blue, because blue didn't quite do it justice. Because he isn't just blue, he's a dark, dark... an almost black, deep, deep blue. A blue she couldn't quite give name to. The kind of blue that children tend to avoid colouring their pictures with. Too dark, too depressing, not right for most pictures. It had been her favourite colour as a child, simply because it was no one else's. She smiled at the memories.
Goren caught the smile. He looked down at his own question, to the answer that he had given.
Red, but not a flushed crimson, like the colour of her cheeks when she blushes, but not like a ripe summer cherry either. No, lighter than that... maybe a glowing, warm, inviting fire, but not a feverish, burning fire... A light rose, maybe? Like the colour of the flowers I'd like bring her...
He heard a gasp and his head snapped up to find Eames reading his answer.
"There's that flushed crimson," he muttered to his paper.
Eames returned her attention to her own crayon conundrum.
A kind of blue that had no name, because it was too hard to describe, but remembered forever once seen. The kind of blue that was lovely to wear but hard to match. The kind that you couldn't bare to leave behind in the store, because it's really a lovely shade if you give it a chance.
She sighed, throwing her pen down on her desk, rubbing her hands on her face, frustrated with herself and with the distinct lack of names that the variations of blue have.
"Problems, Detective?" Ross asked walking up behind her.
Goren looked up at her, then him, then back to her. Wine, maybe?
"No, Sir. No problems at all."
"Good." He walked off.
She looked at Goren, scrutinizing his paper yet again.
He smiled, shaking his head. He suddenly didn't care at all if she saw what he wrote.
"I know. I'm having problems with this too."
"It's just that, no matter what I put down, no matter what label I put you under, what category I tuck you neatly into, it's not going to be enough..."
"...And all the words in the world could never explain your full meaning?" he finished for her.
She smiled slightly and picked up her pen.
He nodded, doing the same.
"My partner, Robert Goren, is a blue coloured crayon..."
"My partner, Alexandra Eames, is a red coloured crayon..."
"And I don't think I can tell you why..."
"And I could never convey my feelings as to why..."
"But together, I know, that we paint the evening and morning skies."
"But together, I know, that we paint the morning and evening skies."
A/N : This was written for LJ's Law and Order Thursdays 100 Plus Colour Challenge.