Inspiration came from my recent viewing of all 18 episodes of the show on DVD and from ObsidianJade's brilliant "Snapshots" found on this very site. Really, you've got to read her word #47 which is the most amazing metaphor and a spot on description of Jacob Hood's character.
I did not stick religiously to a single sentence format. Make of it what you will.
Sometime during their fourth month working together, Rachel realized she'd become comfortable knowing that she'd never understand everything he said.
For once, she was the one awake against the tide of the night and he was the one snoring softly.
He'd been rambling on for exactly 7 minutes and 19 seconds about how potatoes had served scientists when he suddenly stopped and turned to look at her and she realized they would be leaving. Now.
"You're not going to disassemble my cell phone, are you?"
As the chemical stink hit him and pain radiated through his head, he realized what he wanted most was to feel her cool hands on his forehead.
He hadn't told the tale behind the tattoo of the Japanese character for rain on his lower back but when asked about it, he'd grinned such a mischievous grin that she vowed to herself to get the story.
Neither of them was sure how they managed to not laugh out loud as Felix exited the dimly lit hotel room and fell over a housekeeping cart in the dark hallway.
She'd looked at him levelly and said, "It might not be rational but since when do angry people rely exclusively on reason?"
Despite the soft black of unconsciousness pulling at him insistently, he felt the feather light touch of her lips as she whispered against his temple.
"Caring about the consequences of our actions is the definition of conscience."
"Then we're looking for someone who thinks conscience is a weakness and that makes them dangerous, Hood."
Rachel absently let the chocolate melt on her tongue as she stared at the whiteboard and Jacob realized he'd never wanted to be a Hershey's confection so much in his entire life.
If he'd arrived at the graveside promptly, he'd have stood next to her instead of across the grave from her and he would not have seen her face full on and realized she shed silent tears as the casket was lowered into the grave.
She drove like Hell itself was on their heels and he found himself simultaneously grinning and calculating the centrifugal force exerted as she rocketed around yet another corner.
He breathed in the clean smell that the wind lifted off the crops and turned to find her sneezing spectacularly.
The freedom of her first day off in four weeks dissolved like rice paper in rain when caller ID showed Jacob's number.
"Life is worth everything, Rachel," he'd said and she knew he wasn't referring to their debate about sentencing limits.
When Jacob took her hand and made happy small talk with the caretaker about their recent engagement, she knew that the elderly man was dangerous and they needed to be very careful to reveal nothing.
The hysterical 6-year old cried and clung to her and he watched the emotions crossing her face vacillate between a desire to calm the child and a desperate desire for someone – anyone – to get the kid away from her.
After removing their chemical-soaked clothing, there were only surgical scrubs available to wear. As they emerged from their respective locker rooms in the borrowed clothing, he realized the ill-fitting outfit made him look like a knock-off Muppet with bad hair.
She almost laughed out loud when she realized the song he'd been humming quietly as he concentrated on viewing the samples under the microscope was "White Wedding" by Billy Idol.
How anyone could sleep on such a noisy plane was beyond her but his head on her shoulder and his rhythmic, deep breathing left no question that he could.
The plume of explosive fire erupted and he heard himself chanting to himself as he ran to find her, "She's not dead, she's not dead, Rachel's not dead".
She'd reached a point where no place was home any more, not even her apartment in DC or her dad's house in Florida. Home was at his side, no matter where they were.
She watched him scrawl madly on the white board for a moment before she said, "You're confusing me" and Felix echoed his agreement.
He worried about new, bizarre, specific, scientific evils loosed on an unprepared world where she feared the simplest attacks that she could not possibly detect in time.
Despite the fact that the downpour had soaked them to the skin long minutes ago, he stood in the open field counting the seconds between the thunder and lightning, a look of peaceful wonder on his face, no matter how many times she yelled for him to get his butt back in the car.
What exactly had he gotten himself into with a female handler? Did the Bureau really expect the topic of sexual attraction to stay politely avoided?
It was better than a smile, that slow, eloquent raise of an eyebrow she executed when the subject being questioned drew the noose around their own neck.
He handled the urn reverently and she wondered how many times he had taken Maggie's ashes in his hands.
He pointed out one of the innumerable odd shapes on the slide and declared it foreign matter. How could he differentiate one of the many odd shapes as not belonging?
The sun set over the desert and for once, he didn't tell her about the scientific principles of color spectrums or atmospheric pressure systems or density of air molecules. He simply sat by the fire pit and watched the sky go dark.
She was crowded next to him in the packed elevator and he closed his eyes when the faintest wisp of her fragrance swirled around him. She smelled of sea salt and warm beach sand.
He started when he realized he'd gotten so bored in the briefing that he'd doodled a flowchart to decide what it would mean if he kissed her.
Happiness, she reflected, crept into the strangest, most unexpected moments, like the one where he'd remembered to stay behind her and not in front of the car barreling down the alley at them.
"You named your dog Pinkie Muffin Toodles?" he asked incredulously, as if such a thing violated a base scientific law of the universe.
"I was four, Hood. It made sense to me."
His head tilted a bit to the side as he tried to figure out exactly where she wore her sidearm in the very tight dress. Never mind the sidearm, he wondered how she could breathe.
"I am familiar with the concept of eternity, Hood. I once did a protection detail for a family with five teenagers and two bathrooms."
"The taste of mint is used to alleviate morning sickness as well as cure bad breath."
"Super. If I am pregnant, a minty taste in my mouth will be the least of my problems."
He was devoted to the idea that people were kind and decent and would do the right thing. She wondered for the nth time how he could continue to believe that after all they'd seen.
The thought that flashed across his mind made him feel guilty – he was relieved she was only wounded and not sick.
He knew she'd survived unharmed but somehow, he couldn't think for a minute when he saw the blood splattered across her midsection.
Rachel clearly was at ease with this man, this very fit, confident, attractive, alpha male agent. Jacob felt a pang of jealousy as the two of them shared a laugh.
"Chemical bonds come in a multitude of shapes, Rachel."
"Just like human ones."
She poked expectantly at the button and nothing happened. She poked again, harder. Before he could assess the misbehaving technology, she shattered the tiny screen on the edge of the desk and dropped it in the trash.
The look of surprise that crossed her face when he handed her the small box disappeared quickly along with the box and he realized she'd become used to no one giving her gifts on her birthday.
"You have to keep an eye on him at all times, Agent Brooks. He's brilliant but a bit innocent about putting himself in danger and distractible sometimes. It's the scientist thing."
The clouds opened and for a moment, they were exiled to a place where nothing else existed as the rain running down the car windows obscured sight of every other structure, vehicle and living thing.
"For you," she raised her eyebrows speculatively, "I would imagine Heaven is a place where there is an answer to Zeno's Paradox and an explanation of how light can act like a wave and a particle at the same time."
He laughed when she asked about the limit of the universe and told her that the very idea of a boundary on the universe, on any universe, was a load of peanut butter.
Halfway through their search of the archive, he realized that she had no idea of the complex mathematical formula she was using to make the work efficient. Score one for the Bureau in training their agents without activating math phobia.
If there was a word for the concept, he doubtlessly knew it which just left her to inquire what one called a thing that suspends itself with no obvious help.