It annoys you, the way the mere sound of his voice can get under your skin.
Maybe it has something to do with his cocky grin, the way he so arrogantly smirks at you is if he knows. Knows that he's infuriating you with his posturing and his smart-ass remarks, and doing it despite the fact. Or perhaps because of it. Maybe it's the way he sarcastically calls you sweetheart, and follows it up with that smirk, making you want to hit him or strangle him or make him leave the room.
Maybe it's because he keeps threatening to leave, although it's always after this case or once we catch this guy. It's all been bluster so far, but maybe you're worried he actually will.
Maybe he's just annoying.
You wonder what you've done to deserve this fate, the FBI agent that has to associate with an ex-con.
You miss him, on the days that you don't have a case or an excuse to go to the lab. The way his face lights up when he sees you and the way he smiles- not that cocky smirk that he seems to be so fond of using, but a real genuine smile. And the way your name rolls so easily off of his tongue, the "O" almost but not quite omitted. How he brushes almost casually up against your arm when you're looking at a case file together, and you try not to admit to yourself that you enjoy it.
What a change from those first few months, when all he was capable of was infuriating you, and you wonder when this changed, when you went from wanting to strangle him to responding to his smart-ass remarks in kind, when you went from wishing he'd leave to craving his company. And you wonder what it means.
It's ironic, you think, that the FBI agent enjoys the company of the ex-con.
You love the way he whispers your name when he's making love to you, each syllable drawn out and enunciated oh so carefully. How he buries his face in your neck and breaths you in, as if he can't get enough of you. And you understand that, because you can't get enough of him, either. Of his smile, of the way he follows you with his eyes when he thinks you aren't looking, and the penetrating gaze he fixes you with when he knows you are.
You love the feel of his hair between your fingers, the way his stubble scratches across your skin, how his arms wrap around you as if he'll never let go. But it's the little things, too- the way he'll reach his arm over and rest his hand on your leg while you're driving, how he always manages to refill your coffee cup without you noticing, and how he always makes sure he opens the door for you.
Nothing else has ever felt so right, so perfect. He feels like he is part of you, and you don't know how you ever lived without him.
It must be the universe's sense of humor, you think, that the FBI agent fell in love with the ex-con.