#hickman

I was deep in thought, typing on my keyboard, when I heard a sigh from my right hand, from the table next to mine. My fingers descended to the keys, I smiled. Taking off my glasses, I peeked out from behind my monitor, in the direction of the sound.

"You okay? Still holding up?" I asked, laughing. 

"I'm starting to regret our idea" I heard Carl's grumpy voice. 

"Just think how good it'll be tomorrow afternoon!" I tried to encourage him, but I didn't think my positive words would have much effect.

It was late at night, and only Hickman and I were in the office. We closed our case in the afternoon and agreed to finish the report that day so we wouldn't have a problem with it later. The rest of the team didn't even think of anything like this crazy idea, so it had been just the two of us sitting in the quiet of the office for hours. We had a cup of coffee, occasionally spoke to each other, and otherwise concentrated on work. 

Despite the stillness and the silence, my heart was pounding. I took advantage of and enjoyed every moment and every task that the two of us were working on together with the agent. During these times, he was always a little more communicative, always smiled a little more, and always had a little longer stare. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach at such times, like I was a teenager again. 

I was jolted out of my reverie and the mindless working by a big bang, also coming from Carl. I was about to exclaim what had happened when I looked out from behind the screen and saw Carl frantically trying to open his drawer. The fright, even though I knew exactly what was happening, what kind of wave had hit him, pinned me to the chair. Hickman clutched his right hand in his lap, no longer even trying to hide his state. The man was in such pain that he got up from the chair, but he wanted to nurse his aching hand and stretch the closed drawer at the same time, so every movement took him long seconds to do. My limbs tingled with fright and desperation. I knew this seizure was much stronger than any I'd ever seen; I'd never seen him react like this to the pain of his scarred hand, even though I'd known him for years. When he was finally able to turn the small key in the drawer lock, he fished out the medicine box, but was stuck at the movement to remove a patch. He pressed his right hand to his stomach, leaning against the shiny tabletop. By this time, he was no longer trying to suffer quietly; his pained grunts rose and fell.

All this took less than two minutes; I managed to decide quickly. Even though he did not ask for my help with a word, I stood in front of him and took a pouch from the metal box, containing a morphine patch and the relief he needed. As I opened it, I caught a glimpse of his face; or rather, I would have. By then he was already frowning at the table and hardly taking in anything that was going on around him. When I unfolded the patch, I reached gently under Carl's arm, trying to get him to turn around and sit on the edge of the table. 

"Come on, Carl, it'll get better, I promise," I whispered, but I wasn't sure if my encouragement was worth anything. When he was sitting (hunched) in front of me, his head bowed low, I pulled the neck of his shirt to the side and pressed the small patch firmly against his chest. My left hand, which remained free, crept carefully to the back of his head and I gently rested his head on my collarbone.

"All right" I sighed as I began to feel his breathing slow, his shaking subsiding. I pulled my right hand out from under his shirt.

We stayed like that for minutes, I didn't know what was good for him, and I didn't want to rush him. For my part - I would have happily cuddled him all night.

"Thank you," he mumbled hoarsely when he finally straightened up. I searched his face, his sky-blue eyes, anxiously.

"You look pale," I sighed. "It was particularly strong this time, wasn't it?"

"Sometimes it's worse," he bowed his head. It saddened me to see him so vulnerable, so broken.

"You don't have to be ashamed of it," I said encouragingly. He snorted, indicating his disagreement.

"What if it takes me in the field next time? Or the time I must catch an unsub? It never gets better. I'm an addict, Y/N," he shook his head. "Not a cop. Not anymore." While he was talking, his left hand found mine and he began to crumble my fingers mindlessly. At the mention of my name, he looked at me, bitterness gleaming in his eyes. My heart was racing.

"You know it's not like that. You're a cop, Carl, you always will be. And Luis knows that, otherwise he wouldn't have picked you for the team," I said, gently taking hold of his fingers. I felt myself blushing.

"Luis is an idiot" he rolled his eyes. "Because he did so," he added.

"It wasn't just your right hand that made you a policeman" I said quietly. My gaze fell on his paralysed hand. As Hickman sat on the table, the height difference between us disappeared; out of the corner of my eye I could see him watching my face with interest, even expectation. As gently as I could, I stroked his healed skin with my free hand. "You are much, much more than that. The way you think... your awesome logic. Your reasoning." My lips quivered into an involuntary smile, and I was suddenly certain that this awesome logic would figure out what I was feeling. "The way you look at the world and keep watching. Your physicality." I cleared my throat. "So, the point is, it's not just how accurately you can aim a gun and pull the trigger that makes you a cop," I concluded, smiling in embarrassment.

When I raised my head and looked at his face again, Hickman was staring at me with wide blue eyes. I had no idea what was going on in his mind until he slowly lifted his left hand and reached under my chin, pulling me close to him, his lips pressed to mine. To my surprise, I leaned on his shoulder with two palms; I was afraid the ground would slip from under my feet in my happiness. Our kiss was slow but lasted for long seconds. I had time to recover from my surprise and brush my hand over his cheek, holding him even closer to me.

When he slowly pulled away, he was only a few millimetres away when I felt him smile.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. He lifted his head away so he could look me in the eye, and I was surprised but happy to feel that his left hand had meanwhile moved to my waist and was holding me tightly in front of him. "I couldn't think of anything else."

"So you weren't listening to what I was saying" I raised my eyebrows with playful resentment.

"For the first part, I did!" he said defensively, but he laughed too. I couldn't answer him; my fingers were slowly digging into his sand-blond curls. Hundreds more butterflies fluttered in my belly. 

"If you don't want to accept it and don't believe it for yourself, at least believe it for us. For Luis. For me," I added half-heartedly. "Okay?"

"Actually, I think I've figured out what might help," he said with sparkles in his eyes. His sudden enthusiasm was suspicious, but I looked at him expectantly. "Couldn't you do again what you just did? I... You know when your lips... and mine..."

I laughed, but at that moment I cupped his face between my hands and pulled him in for another kiss. There was no question that I loved him, from head to toe, and that I wanted to be by his side through good things and bad.