Disclaimer: Yada, yada, yada.
Notes: Just a quick little drabble to clear out the cobwebs while I'm working on the next chapter of For Better, For Worse.
He broke her heart with a smile, and in that moment she hated him for it. She wasn't prepared for the physicality of it; for the punch that she felt in her gut, that made her gasp and then ashen, and that almost gave her away.
Luckily something in the autopsy report caught his attention, and he didn't notice. Because if he had then she would have had to request a new partner, or a transfer, or actually relocate across the country, because her pride wouldn't allow her to stay partnered with a man who knew she was in love with him; a man who didn't, who couldn't ever, feel the same way.
All this ran through her head in nano-seconds, and by the time he refocused his attention back on her, her mask was securely in place and she was looking for all intents and purposes like the slightly bored woman who she'd been moments earlier.
And then he smiled at her again and she wanted to kick him. He was messing with her insides, which were quickly turning to mush because his eyes crinkled and lit up in a secret conspiracy to get her to smile back at him (which she was not, under any circumstances, going to do), and her head was thinking about the countless situations she could manoeuvre him into in order to run her fingers through his hair, and she wasn't even going to start with the ache that had settled over her heart.
So she looked away, and didn't see the smile fall from his face, or the tightening of his fingers around the pen. She didn't see him rearrange his own mask to one of bemused indifference, or the way his eyes followed her movements, hungry and wanting but resigned.
He may have broken her heart with a smile, but she had no idea that she'd broken his first.