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      	  Eyes Do More Than See 
 by mergatrude	

 Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply.

 Author's Notes: Written for the Cliche Challenge at ds_flashfiction.

 

 Eyes Do More Than See

 These past two weeks I've had too much time to spend inside my own head,
too little distraction. Even now I'm sitting on the sofa in the near
silent apartment, with Dief's irritated huffing because I refuse to turn
on the television. The taps no longer drip, and I've taken the battery out
of the clock. I want to be able to listen for Ray.

 I miss him. It seems absurd really, but I miss his eyes. The way they
sparkle mischievously, or blaze in anger or indignation, when they're
darkened and heavy-lidded combined with that sensual pout. I miss his
smile, the small, quick grins he flashes at me, and when his whole face is
alive with laughter, much too infrequently.

 I miss watching him move, the way he uses his slender hands to articulate
his thoughts. I've sometimes wondered whether, if I held his hands still
he would be reduced to incoherence. Him dancing, and the way he almost
floats, like the "headkicking" boots are the only things keeping him
earthbound.

 At last I hear those boots echoing in the hall outside, accompanied by
the familiar smell of pizza. I can detect the sweet/sour tang of
pineapple. Dief's nails clatter on the wooden floor, no doubt planning an
ambush. The key turns in the lock and the door opens a crack.

 "Down, wolf. Back up or you won't get anything. Hey," he says in my
direction.

 "Hi Ray. Please don't give Dief any pizza. He's already had dinner." I
know my request is hopeless.

 There is a thump on the table, too heavy to be pizza alone, and then the
familiar sounds of Ray's homecoming, jacket tossed on the chair, boots
kicked underneath, gun, holster and cuffs in the desk.

 "Hear that, Dief? No snacking. He been out?"

 "Yes, Emilio took him for a walk after school."

 "Great. Emilio's still reading you Harry Potter? I'm gonna read to you
tonight, but it wont be as much fun."

 Ah, that thump must have been case files. I feel an embarrassing rush of
pleasure that he's brought work home to discuss with me. He wanders over
to the sofa and rests a hand on my shoulder. I turn my head towards it,
sniffing his fingers, trying to catalogue his day. Sugar, the powdered
kind found on donuts, which means his mouth will taste of coffee and
chocolate. An acrid smell underneath the harsh detergent used in the
washroom at the station. It takes me a moment to place it, while he
strokes my cheek. Toner. No blowback.

 Petting my hair now, "Sorry about the pizza, but today's been a bitch.
Tell me how come I'm more tired after a day doing paperwork than running
over the rooftops of Chicago?" He traces a finger round the bandage over
my eyes and sighs. "This comes off the day after tomorrow, right? Miss
your eyes. Miss you looking at me."

 His sentiment, so in concert with my own, makes my throat close over and
I slide my arms around his waist, pressing my face into his belly and
muttering, "Miss you."

 "Freak." His voice is as gentle as the fingers in my hair.  
  

End Eyes Do More Than See by mergatrude 

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