Rating: CSI-1
Summary: An observation of beauty…
Disclaimer: CSI’s characters and premise do not belong to me.
Dedication: To Alza, a fic for July and to put a shippy spin on the word you currently dread :-)
Date: July 06

You watch her fingers trail over photographs as she searches for the one she needs and you imagine how it would feel for those fingers to trail over your skin.

You study the furrow of her brow as she concentrates and long to be able to kiss her cares away.

Your eyes slide down slightly to hers, and you can’t wait to look into them again, sparkling and deep.

You are hypnotised by her tongue running slowly over her lips as she works, and it stirs once more your desire for your lips to caress hers.

You are captivated by the slender length of her neck, as she rolls her head to one side and then the other, clearly tiring from the hours she has been standing at that table. And you consider that perhaps you should actually go into the room to help her.

That had been your intention after all, before the sight of her stopped you in your tracks and you were distracted by your observation of her beauty. You shake your head quickly before your mind wanders down those paths again, and, looking back to the window, realise that part of your dreaming has come true – you are staring into her eyes.

And they sit beneath raised eyebrows, and they’re sparkling with intrigue.

You smile sheepishly and move into the doorway. “I just thought I’d come and see how you were doing with the Waterford case,” you offer by way of an explanation.

One eyebrow creeps even higher. “That’s much easier to do if you actually come into the room and ask me.”

The sparkle has shifted from intrigue to smug knowledge and you’re sure she’s hiding a smirk behind her pursed lips.

You simply offer a small smile of your own, and say: “Well I’m here now.”

From the corner of your eye you catch her smiling as you walk past her and stop beside the table. Seconds later she is standing beside you.

“Took you long enough,” she states.

You glance towards her hoping for a clue as to whether that was intended to hold the hidden meaning you read into it, and when she meets your gaze and a smile sweeps across her lips, your question is answered.

“You knew I was there,” you state, suddenly nervous to approach the subject you’ve been fantasising about.

“I’m trained to be observant,” she responds, lips parted in a grin; a slender finger tapping her temple, beside her eye; her head tilted to one side, exposing her neck; her eyes sparkling with life. And reminded of every thought you had as you stood outside the room, you manage to summon a little courage.

“So am I,” you say, inwardly cursing the fact that your voice comes out softly, “But I’m only now beginning to see what’s been in front of me for years.”

There. It’s out in the open.

“Well,” she says, taking a step towards you, “at least you’ve opened your eyes now.”

And, for all that you’re pleased by the meaning of that observation, you’re quite happy to close your eyes again as you fulfil one fantasy, and you kiss her.