Thinking	  Thinking

 by 71RivLover

  

 

 Disclaimer: I don't own them and you don't either. :( Don't it make you
want to cry?

 Author's Notes: Not Beta'd. This is my first DS story that I've posted
anywhere, but not the first I've written. I might write a sequel to it
later, I'm not sure though. Please send me feedback!

 Story Notes: What's that you say? Season 3? Kowalski? Burning Down the
House? Armondo Langostini? "Do you think I'm attractive?” "Buddy
Breathing?!” I have no idea what you're talking about. :) Actually, yes I
do but you won't find any reference to any of those in this story. Sorry.

 

 

 I find myself thinking more and more of him everyday. 

 I find myself...wanting. 

 Right now I sit beside him, in his car. I watch his hands, beautiful
hands, as they steer through the heavy Chicago rush hour traffic. I watch
them every morning as he drives me to work, watches as he waves them in
the air when he's talking to some one, usually me, and getting
exasperated. Watching the long slender fingers curl around the wheel,
wondering what they would feel like curling around... 

 I push that thought away. Now is not the time for such images. Perhaps
later, in the middle of the night, when I am alone in my cot, when I can
let this need, this want, loose and act upon it. Even if the act does not
involve the man beside me. Even if I end up crying myself to sleep because
of that. 

 He is talking to me now. That beautiful voice, asking me what's on my
mind. I know I have already used that word to describe his hands but it
describes him, all of him, wonderfully. 

 He is beautiful. 

 I wonder what he would say if I told him that? Would he blush and object?
I know he does not have much self-confidence because of his father. His
father was not the kindest man, I know this from the abuse he has hinted
to when we have talked about our fathers. Or maybe he would just walk away
from the comment, and perhaps I would never see him again. Considering
what I know, or what I assume I know about his opinion of homosexuals, I
think he would become very angry. Even violent. I feel ashamed for think
that though. He is my friend, I know he cares about me, more then he's
willing to admit I bet. He is my best friend, and he has never become
violent with me before. Even if I do ruin his suits and risk his life,
time after time. 

 I lie and say I am fine. 

 He does not believe me and states so. 

 He knows me better then anyone. He can read me like an open book so I am
surprised he hasn't found out how much I want him. He has become so close
to me over these few years. So close I cannot imagine life with out him.
In fact I recently turned down a transfer back to Canada just to be with
him. What would he think if I told him that? 

 He is the only person with importance in my life. I have no family
anymore, except for him. And his family, which he took me to meet my first
week in Chicago. I cannot help but to think of them as my family as well.
He has done his best to make me comfortable in a large, unfamiliar city.
He has eased my loneliness with his mere presence in my life. 

 We are out of the car now, walking up the stairs to my apartment. He is
beside, as always. I know the routine. We have done it for years. I'll fix
him coffee, some tea for myself, he will order pizza or Chinese and we
will eat together chatting about today's cases. Diefenbaker will beg
shamelessly for food and he will always share his meal with him. He will
leave then, after insisting of helping me with the few dishes we have
dirtied. He will leave and return to his family when I want him to stay.
With me, in my cot, all night long. My thoughts wander again to what it
would be like waking up beside him. I shake my head, I'll think about that
later. I feel his hand on my shoulder trying to get my attention and he
complains of my lack of attention span today. I cannot help but smile a
little. 

 I enter my sparse apartment and go about the daily routine when I am
stopped by his voice asking what is wrong again. I turn to him. He is
leaning against the closed door, Diefenbaker at his feet looking at me as
well. His arms are folded across his chest, his green eyes starring at me.


 Ah. I know this. It is one of his interrogation techniques. He is not
moving until he gets a straight answer. I almost laugh at that. The answer
to his question is anything but. 

 He is trying to guess what is wrong now. Asking if I am in some kind of
trouble, if I am homesick. He sighs and stops guessing. I look in to his
eyes and see pain and concern. Concern for me. Pain because he thinks I
cannot, do not trust him enough to tell him what's wrong. 

 He is wrong. I trust him entirely too much. And it scares me. 

 His green eyes are pleading with me now. I melt. I cannot stop the words
that escape my lips. 

 "Ray. You are beautiful." 

 I lower my gaze to the floor and await for his response. 

End Thinking by 71RivLover: RivLover@hotmail.com

Author and story notes above.