*

He watches me out of the corner of his eye. Does he think I'm blind to it? Does he think I can't physically feel his stare? Because it's painfully obvious, as I lean over the open drawer, that he wants me not to notice.

I have two options. I can ignore him. Just find a damned spoon, take my coffee to my desk, and get back to work. Pretend this isn't happening; pretend my partner isn't inspecting my soul from the inside. He'll stop. He'll get back to work, too. He'll leave me alone.

For five minutes. Then he'll be looking at me again, maybe when I sharpen a pencil, or check something with Elliot, or just stare into space for a minute. The eyes will be back, then. And we'll do it all over again.

Or I can call him on it. He'll get pissed, and defensive, and deny that he's been looking at me at all. And we'll have this argument in the middle of the squad room. By now, the squad is more than used to us brawling in the open, but I have a feeling that this argument will be different from any that they've encountered before.

I grin. That, right there, is enough to decide me. I nudge the drawer shut with my hip and stir my coffee slowly, deliberately. He's still watching. Without turning, I take a drink of my coffee and say conversationally, "You're staring again, Fin."

Bingo. His chair scrapes across the floor as he hurtles out of it. "I'm not."

Smile - well, he'd probably say smirk - firmly in place, I turn to face him. "You are, and you have been all day. I'm not sure what your problem is, but it's distracting me."

There's this look in Fin's eyes like a wild animal cornered unexpectedly. He stalks toward me, and the primal fight-or-flight response kicks up. Maybe baiting him wasn't a good idea. "You think I'm staring, John?" Fin's eyes glitter, his hands balled into fists at his side. Shit. He's going to punch me. I hadn't counted on that.

But I can't back down now. What little pride I have left is at stake. "Yeah. I think you've been staring at me all morning, when you think I'm not paying attention." I stare Fin down as best I can, but it's like he's not really seeing me. "But I'm paying attention." My fingers tighten reflexively around the handle of my coffee mug and I add, too quietly for him to hear, "I'm always paying attention."

Fin draws up short, less than a foot away from me, but it's too late. Restless, caged energy radiates off him at least twice that far. It's like being bombarded with static electricity. My whole body thrums with it. But three people have walked past us, and none of them seem to notice anything out of the ordinary.

Shit. Maybe this is ordinary for us.

"Fin--" Like it's attached to someone else's arm, my hand rises toward him. He draws a sharp breath and takes a fast step backward.

We stand there, next to the damned coffee pot, staring at each other, breathing too fast, every touch of wind across our skin like another electrical jolt. He feels it, too. I can see it in the rapid rise and fall of his chest. I very much want to feel that rise and fall under my hand.

He licks his lips. "John," he says, but that can't be Fin's voice. Fin's voice is strong, cocky, assured of everything it says. This is a whisper from a million years away.

We can't do this here. We have to get out of this room. But it's hard to do that when the whole world has vanished out from under you, and you can't see the damned walls anymore.

"Detective Tutuola?"

It's like being slashed across the face with a whip, this unwelcome reminder that there's a rest of the world out there. Fin reels backward, almost knocking Alex Cabot down. He stares at her for a good five seconds before his eyes register who she is and what she's doing there. "Ms. Cabot," he says formally.

"I'd like to talk to you about your testimony for tomorrow." Alex's eyes dart back and forth between us. "If this is a bad time, I could come back after lunch."

Yes. Yes, it is. It's an extremely bad time.

Fin smiles winningly at her. "It's a fine time." He gestures toward the hallway to the conference rooms.

Throwing another suspicious glance at me, Alex heads out of the room. Finn moves to follow, and my hand shoots out, grasping his wrist.

Everything freezes. One time, when I was four, I stuck a hairpin into an electrical socket, just to see what would happen. That was nothing compared to this. I think I've just plugged myself into Fin's current. Carefully, as though he expects my hand to detonate on contact, he reaches out and disengages my fingers. "I gotta take care of this," he says softly, once the danger's passed. I nod, because that's what I can manage. "But don't go no place. We aren't done with this."

I feel a faint smile curl my lips as I nod again. Satisfied - for now - Fin nods back, turns, and leaves the room. I pick up my coffee and return to my desk. You're absolutely right, I tell him silently. We've just started this.