#eamesxfem!blake

She had the surliest expression on her face, despite the coffee thermos in her hand and the fact that she always had a window seat. Granted, she was a cop in Gotham City, but still, not everyone could be so lucky every morning.

  Eames peeked over his newspaper again. The young woman, Officer Blake going by her nametag, was glaring out the window as if the whole world had insulted her.

  Normally he was smart enough to stay away from cops. He was wanted in thirty-eight of the fifty states after all, but something about seeing the same angry woman every day for the past month of hiding in Gotham had clearly messed with his brain.

  He folded his newspaper in half and carelessly left it on his seat when he stood. Moving carefully with the movement of the bus, he approached Officer Blake.

  “Excuse me.”

  Her response was an instantaneous glower.

  Not the most encouraging response he’d ever received, but also not the worse. He smiled and sat in the empty seat in front of her. “I couldn’t help but notice you looking at something. If you like, we can chase it down and I’ll play lookout while you beat it up.”

  Officer Blake snorted and looked down as a smile threatened to overtake her face. “Well, that was definitely better than telling me to smile.”

  Eames clicked his tongue at whatever amateurs had tried that line on her. “Smile at something evil? Never.”

  “Nothing evil, just me not being a morning person.” The faint creases in her brow suggested premature wrinkles from too much scowling, but other than that her face opened up into something quite beautiful. “Although, we are almost at my stop. So you were kind of right; evil asshole coworkers.”

  “Oh, I see.” Eames laced his fingers and rested his chin on them. “Then I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow Ms. Blake.”

  She frowned, but then glanced quickly down at her nametag. “Ah, no, it’s John.”

  “John,” Eames nodded, not even trying to hide his reaction. “Of course, that was my grandmother’s name.”

  “Shut up.” John glanced back at the road before she started patting her pockets. “And you are?”

  “Eames.”

  She paused and looked at him disbelievingly. “That was my grandmother’s name.”

  “Cheeky brat.” Eames stood with her as the bus slowed to a stop. “Until tomorrow, Ms. John?”