By Aouda Fogg


Rating: PG

Warnings: don't squish the pot-holder so your fingers are exposed to the oven rack. Ouch. Summary: A set of three interconnected drabbles.

Many thanks to Debra who looked at this very quickly and pointed out the barbeque *wg* Someday I'm going to write a fic without food just to prove to her I can do it *wg*


It had veered into addiction pretty quickly. I had watching him down to a science long before I realized I'd shifted away from something purely scientific. I could admit, if only to myself, how much I enjoyed it; I hadn't been tempted to vocalize it, though. Too big a risk. I felt guilty for a long time, but not anymore. Now I know he's watching me back. Now we watch each other. Now we touch. I love the feel of him under my hands.


I'd denied it for a long time, but isn't denial a huge part of addiction? I told myself it was because he was my friend, my partner; I was looking out for him. I repeated those words so many times I lulled myself into believing them. Then came the day I realized I was watching his hands and wishing that instead of dancing in mid-air to emphasize his point, that they were dancing across my skin. Shame colored my watching then, but I didn't stop, despite fearing his disgust. When he did finally catch me, it was because he'd been watching me back. The most vivid memory I have of that night is discovering the feel of his hands was even better than I imagined.


It quickly became an addiction. My mum would've said it was female intuition, but really, it was more relentless curiosity to see if I was right. So I watched. I watched for months, through stake outs, lunches, and poker games, quiet conversations in the bullpen, and a couple blazing rows. I'd started to think I'd imagined things when I came around the corner unexpectedly at a barbeque and caught them alone, Blair talking intensely, his hands flying. Jim grabbed one of his hands, kissed the palm and let it go. They grinned at each other. I grinned, too, and slipped back around the corner.


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