Numb3rs fic: You've Got What Gets Me (Colby/OFC, R)
Title: You've Got What Gets Me
Pairing: Colby/OFC
Rating: R
Summary: After a couple of months he decided that it wasn't unreasonable to assume that she just happened to have the same shopping schedule as he did, nothing nefarious about it.
Word Count: 1455
Spoilers: 3x24 "The Janus List" and 4x01 "Trust Metric"
Notes/Warnings: To me this fic feels a little over the top, but I also kind of love it. Somewhat schmoopy. :-) Title from You've Got What Gets Me by Ella Fitzgerald. Many thanks to mercilynn, elysium1996 and neur0vanity for reading through it for me. Written for the numb3rs_het challenge.
Prompt: Curious things, habits. People themselves never knew they had them. - Agatha Christie
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters you recognize, nor do I profit from their use here. This is only for fun.
Curious things, habits. People themselves never knew they had them. - Agatha Christie
He wasn't being creepy or anything. It wasn't like he was trying to single her out and keep tabs on her. But he'd become cautious over the last few years, overly aware of his surroundings at all times, and he had to be sure that it was just coincidence, the way she showed up every time he went grocery shopping.
She looked innocent enough. Mid to late twenties, medium build, around 5'6", with an affinity for cheap flip-flops and knee-length skirts. Sometimes she wore plastic-framed glasses, and once she was dressed up in a professional looking pantsuit, her dark hair pinned back, so that he didn't recognize her at first.
After a couple of months he decided that it wasn't unreasonable to assume that she just happened to have the same shopping schedule as he did, nothing nefarious about it. He even tested her once, sweet talking his way out of work early to go to the store on Friday instead of Saturday, and she wasn't there, so either she was really good or she just wasn't following him. The latter seemed more likely.
By that point they'd started exchanging nods of recognition when they saw each other. Sometimes they met in the cereal aisle, where he grabbed his Cinnamon Toast Crunch while she picked up a box of Kashi GoLean, or sometimes in the freezer section, where she would choose a pint of sorbet while he browsed the Häagen Dazs flavors.
The week before Thanksgiving he stopped seeing her. It was startling, that first time, and he checked his watch more than once, dawdling by the pickles with one eye on the door, but there was only so long he could pretend to be deciding between bread and butter cut or whole and eventually he left, feeling vaguely concerned as well as a little foolish over the whole thing. It wasn't as if he hadn't missed a few Saturdays himself, but... She never had.
He tried not to think about it the next few weeks, tried not to keep an eye out for her swishing skirts, or an ear open for the slap of her flip-flops against the linoleum floor. It had been five weeks when he finally saw her again, wearing a baggy sweatshirt and looking exhausted as she picked over a bin of Granny Smith apples. He stared too long, cataloguing the changes since November--her hair had gotten a little longer, brushing down past her shoulders, and her skin looked paler--and she caught him, glancing up and meeting his eyes because he'd wandered too close. She smiled at him and nodded a hello, and he smiled back quickly. Before he knew what he was doing, he'd spoken to her.
"Long time no see," he offered. Inwardly he cringed, but if she thought he was lame for saying it, she hid it well.
"Oh, yeah," she said. "I've been wicked busy with finals."
It turned out she was a grad student writing a dissertation on something he'd never heard of involving the Ancient Romans. She was originally from Massachusetts and was a little weirded out, she said, by the prospect of a Christmas with no snow, but was determined to make her mom's traditional apple pie anyway.
"You're not going home for Christmas?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Didn't work out this year. It's okay."
He sympathized with her over the snow thing, telling her about being from Idaho, and didn't do anything stupid like invite her to spend Christmas with him. When they parted ways, she grinned at him and said, "See you next week." It made him feel self-conscious, having her acknowledge it like that, but he nodded in agreement and forced himself not to watch her as she picked a check-out line and unloaded her cart.
After that things were different. She stopped to chat with him when she saw him the next time, asking how his holiday was and letting him know that her pie had been a success. A few weeks into January, on a particularly chilly evening, he complimented her on her scarf and she said she'd made it. It was small talk, nothing intimate or overly friendly, but it made him feel comfortable in its anonymity. When she asked he mentioned he worked in law enforcement, but wasn't specific about his job. She didn't know he'd been a spy.
They never left at the same time, but one night he found her still in the parking lot when he came out, hovering near the door talking on her cellphone. She was frowning. He slowed down, keeping an eye on her, and when she hung up he called out, "You okay?"
She started in surprise, then relaxed when she recognized him. "Yeah," she said. "I'm fine. I just need to call a cab because my starter's dead."
He reached up, scratching the back of his neck. Thinking. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable, but... "Can I give you a ride somewhere?" he offered.
"Oh! Um. Only... just if it's already on your way. I really don't mind taking a cab if it's not convenient."
When she gave him her address he stared at her for a second, shocked. It was too ridiculous. Too unlikely. He'd have to call Charlie later and ask him the odds of this.
She was watching him expectantly. "Uh, no, that's not... out of my way at all. I..." He shook his head in disbelief. "I live in that same building, actually."
Now she stared. "You do not."
He raised his right hand, laughing. "Swear to God."
She shook her head and finally smiled. "Well in that case, I'll accept a ride. Thank you."
She lived two floors down from him, it turned out. He rode the elevator up with her, carrying her groceries even though she insisted she could do it herself. When she accused him of being a macho man, he grinned and flexed his arm.
She didn't invite him in, but the next night she came over with a plate of cookies. He couldn't convince her to come inside so he leaned in the doorway munching and sympathizing while she thanked him again for the ride and complained about the hassle and cost of fixing her used car.
A week later he asked her out. They were in the personal care aisle and she was looking at toothpaste, trying to decide between the dozens of brands and flavors and whitening capabilities.
"I'm thinking spearmint," she mused, brushing her fingers along one of the brightly-colored boxes.
"D'you want to get dinner sometime?" he asked.
He took her to an Italian place David had recommended a while back. Over pasta and wine he told her more about his job, about his past, and she watched him with wide eyes. It was different, talking about himself with someone new, someone who hadn't been there, and if he found himself bullshitting some of his Army stories to hear her gasp at his bravery, well. It was only a little bit. She told him funny stories from her childhood and about her younger brother and he watched her wine-stained mouth as she laughed.
She kissed him goodnight outside her door. It sent a thrill of energy buzzing along his skin and he jogged up the two flights of stairs to his apartment to work it off.
Her full schedule kept her almost as busy as him, but they managed to catch a late movie the next week, and the week after that she cooked him dinner at her place. Her roommate was at a conference, she said, and she'd finally had a chance to clean, which he laughingly told her wasn't necessary though she assured him it was.
Her bedroom was equal parts girly and practical, with lilac-scented sheets and shelves upon shelves of books. He only gave himself a second to take it in before crowding her back against the bed, tasting the chocolate from dessert on her lips while she laughed at his enthusiasm. He slithered down her body to eat her out, enjoying the way he made her squirm and moan under him. She was tight and perfect when he fucked her, the first time for him in... too long. She kissed him sweetly and held him when he came, arching and clenching around him.
Afterwards, as they lay next to each other, he felt her watching him. He turned to look at her, curious, and she shook her head, giving him a sly, infectious smile.
"What?" he asked.
"You know for a while I thought you were stalking me?" she told him, and he closed his eyes and laughed.
Sequel: (Every Time)
Pairing: Colby/OFC
Rating: R
Summary: After a couple of months he decided that it wasn't unreasonable to assume that she just happened to have the same shopping schedule as he did, nothing nefarious about it.
Word Count: 1455
Spoilers: 3x24 "The Janus List" and 4x01 "Trust Metric"
Notes/Warnings: To me this fic feels a little over the top, but I also kind of love it. Somewhat schmoopy. :-) Title from You've Got What Gets Me by Ella Fitzgerald. Many thanks to mercilynn, elysium1996 and neur0vanity for reading through it for me. Written for the numb3rs_het challenge.
Prompt: Curious things, habits. People themselves never knew they had them. - Agatha Christie
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters you recognize, nor do I profit from their use here. This is only for fun.
Curious things, habits. People themselves never knew they had them. - Agatha Christie
He wasn't being creepy or anything. It wasn't like he was trying to single her out and keep tabs on her. But he'd become cautious over the last few years, overly aware of his surroundings at all times, and he had to be sure that it was just coincidence, the way she showed up every time he went grocery shopping.
She looked innocent enough. Mid to late twenties, medium build, around 5'6", with an affinity for cheap flip-flops and knee-length skirts. Sometimes she wore plastic-framed glasses, and once she was dressed up in a professional looking pantsuit, her dark hair pinned back, so that he didn't recognize her at first.
After a couple of months he decided that it wasn't unreasonable to assume that she just happened to have the same shopping schedule as he did, nothing nefarious about it. He even tested her once, sweet talking his way out of work early to go to the store on Friday instead of Saturday, and she wasn't there, so either she was really good or she just wasn't following him. The latter seemed more likely.
By that point they'd started exchanging nods of recognition when they saw each other. Sometimes they met in the cereal aisle, where he grabbed his Cinnamon Toast Crunch while she picked up a box of Kashi GoLean, or sometimes in the freezer section, where she would choose a pint of sorbet while he browsed the Häagen Dazs flavors.
The week before Thanksgiving he stopped seeing her. It was startling, that first time, and he checked his watch more than once, dawdling by the pickles with one eye on the door, but there was only so long he could pretend to be deciding between bread and butter cut or whole and eventually he left, feeling vaguely concerned as well as a little foolish over the whole thing. It wasn't as if he hadn't missed a few Saturdays himself, but... She never had.
He tried not to think about it the next few weeks, tried not to keep an eye out for her swishing skirts, or an ear open for the slap of her flip-flops against the linoleum floor. It had been five weeks when he finally saw her again, wearing a baggy sweatshirt and looking exhausted as she picked over a bin of Granny Smith apples. He stared too long, cataloguing the changes since November--her hair had gotten a little longer, brushing down past her shoulders, and her skin looked paler--and she caught him, glancing up and meeting his eyes because he'd wandered too close. She smiled at him and nodded a hello, and he smiled back quickly. Before he knew what he was doing, he'd spoken to her.
"Long time no see," he offered. Inwardly he cringed, but if she thought he was lame for saying it, she hid it well.
"Oh, yeah," she said. "I've been wicked busy with finals."
It turned out she was a grad student writing a dissertation on something he'd never heard of involving the Ancient Romans. She was originally from Massachusetts and was a little weirded out, she said, by the prospect of a Christmas with no snow, but was determined to make her mom's traditional apple pie anyway.
"You're not going home for Christmas?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Didn't work out this year. It's okay."
He sympathized with her over the snow thing, telling her about being from Idaho, and didn't do anything stupid like invite her to spend Christmas with him. When they parted ways, she grinned at him and said, "See you next week." It made him feel self-conscious, having her acknowledge it like that, but he nodded in agreement and forced himself not to watch her as she picked a check-out line and unloaded her cart.
After that things were different. She stopped to chat with him when she saw him the next time, asking how his holiday was and letting him know that her pie had been a success. A few weeks into January, on a particularly chilly evening, he complimented her on her scarf and she said she'd made it. It was small talk, nothing intimate or overly friendly, but it made him feel comfortable in its anonymity. When she asked he mentioned he worked in law enforcement, but wasn't specific about his job. She didn't know he'd been a spy.
They never left at the same time, but one night he found her still in the parking lot when he came out, hovering near the door talking on her cellphone. She was frowning. He slowed down, keeping an eye on her, and when she hung up he called out, "You okay?"
She started in surprise, then relaxed when she recognized him. "Yeah," she said. "I'm fine. I just need to call a cab because my starter's dead."
He reached up, scratching the back of his neck. Thinking. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable, but... "Can I give you a ride somewhere?" he offered.
"Oh! Um. Only... just if it's already on your way. I really don't mind taking a cab if it's not convenient."
When she gave him her address he stared at her for a second, shocked. It was too ridiculous. Too unlikely. He'd have to call Charlie later and ask him the odds of this.
She was watching him expectantly. "Uh, no, that's not... out of my way at all. I..." He shook his head in disbelief. "I live in that same building, actually."
Now she stared. "You do not."
He raised his right hand, laughing. "Swear to God."
She shook her head and finally smiled. "Well in that case, I'll accept a ride. Thank you."
She lived two floors down from him, it turned out. He rode the elevator up with her, carrying her groceries even though she insisted she could do it herself. When she accused him of being a macho man, he grinned and flexed his arm.
She didn't invite him in, but the next night she came over with a plate of cookies. He couldn't convince her to come inside so he leaned in the doorway munching and sympathizing while she thanked him again for the ride and complained about the hassle and cost of fixing her used car.
A week later he asked her out. They were in the personal care aisle and she was looking at toothpaste, trying to decide between the dozens of brands and flavors and whitening capabilities.
"I'm thinking spearmint," she mused, brushing her fingers along one of the brightly-colored boxes.
"D'you want to get dinner sometime?" he asked.
He took her to an Italian place David had recommended a while back. Over pasta and wine he told her more about his job, about his past, and she watched him with wide eyes. It was different, talking about himself with someone new, someone who hadn't been there, and if he found himself bullshitting some of his Army stories to hear her gasp at his bravery, well. It was only a little bit. She told him funny stories from her childhood and about her younger brother and he watched her wine-stained mouth as she laughed.
She kissed him goodnight outside her door. It sent a thrill of energy buzzing along his skin and he jogged up the two flights of stairs to his apartment to work it off.
Her full schedule kept her almost as busy as him, but they managed to catch a late movie the next week, and the week after that she cooked him dinner at her place. Her roommate was at a conference, she said, and she'd finally had a chance to clean, which he laughingly told her wasn't necessary though she assured him it was.
Her bedroom was equal parts girly and practical, with lilac-scented sheets and shelves upon shelves of books. He only gave himself a second to take it in before crowding her back against the bed, tasting the chocolate from dessert on her lips while she laughed at his enthusiasm. He slithered down her body to eat her out, enjoying the way he made her squirm and moan under him. She was tight and perfect when he fucked her, the first time for him in... too long. She kissed him sweetly and held him when he came, arching and clenching around him.
Afterwards, as they lay next to each other, he felt her watching him. He turned to look at her, curious, and she shook her head, giving him a sly, infectious smile.
"What?" he asked.
"You know for a while I thought you were stalking me?" she told him, and he closed his eyes and laughed.
Sequel: (Every Time)