#morck fluff

there was only one thing carl hated more than moira's constant jabbering.

your smile.

especially when it was directed to anybody but him.

"hi, james!" you greeted as you literally skipped into department q. for someone who worked in an actual bathroom, you were cheery as shit. "i'm trying a new brownie recipe, if you wanna try it?"

he hated it. hated how you stood there and smiled at hardy, of all people, when you could be smiling at him. then he shook himself. what was wrong with him?

"oh, thanks," hardy said, reaching into the box you'd offered and plucking one out.

carl watched and pretended not to watch as you made your way around the room, offering a brownie to akram, and to rose, and then finally stopped in front of his desk. he hated the way his heart suddenly picked up, the way he felt his cheeks beginning to warm, the way you offered him the exact same smile you gave to the other members of your little department.

it took him a moment too long to realize you'd been waiting for a response. your smile was still in place, your patience uncannily long to be working with a guy like him.

"uh.. yeah, sure," he said, and you offered the box of brownies to him.

"promise i didn't lace them," you teased, and he felt his heart skip again. fucking hell.

he reached into the box and pulled out a piece, raising it to his lips. for some odd reason, you stayed at his desk, still smiling down at him where he sat. did you want his reaction?

he bit into the brownie, and- shit, he didn't particularly like sweets, but maybe he had a new favorite. as long as it was only you who was making it.

"it's- it's good," he managed around a mouthful of brownie, and your lips lifted into a grin. how could one person smile so much?

"good!" you chirped, and you popped the lid back onto your box before you walked back to your desk. he hated it. why couldn't you stay next to him? no, he was being stupid.

the rest of the day was spent in general annoyance, on carl's end. he'd made zero progress on their case - some missing journalist from fifteen years ago - instead swapping between staring blankly at his laptop screen and at you.

you looked stressed, he realized. maybe it was just the horrible lighting of the shower quarters, but there was a furrow in your brows he didn't often see. small shadows smudged the space beneath your eyes, like you hadn't been sleeping.

"oi, carl!" had him snapping his head back towards hardy, who'd somehow managed to creep up to the side of his desk without him hearing his lousy arm crutches. he really was out of it. "c'mon, you joining me at the pub, or what?"

belatedly, he remembered he'd promised they'd go out together and watch some football tonight. but, frankly, he much preferred the idea of staying late with you - as he was prone to - if only he could stare a little more.

"'s alright, carl," you said from your desk, looking up from your laptop and offering him a small smile. "i'll lock up after."

he couldn't care less about locking up. he cared more about making sure you got home safe. making sure you’d drank some water and not just four cups of coffee.

“carl?” hardy said again, and he snapped out of it.

“huh?” the flustered detective asked, his gaze snapping from you to his friend. hardy was doing nothing to conceal his grin, which had mørck glaring at him.

“you coming?” his friend teased, hobbling to the ramp. “i won’t wait forever.”

his options bounced around his head for a few seconds. it was surprisingly easy to come to a decision.

“can i take a rain check?” he asked, turning in his spinny chair to face hardy. “i, uh, think i’ve got something. maybe.”

he didn’t need to see hardy’s face to know the amused skepticism he made no effort to conceal. “right,” his friend said, pausing on his crutches. “well, enjoy your night, you two.”

carl shot another glare at him, waiting until hardy returned to hobbling away before he turned back to his computer, unaware of the warm smile stretching your lips as you watched them interact.

soon enough, you were both working quietly again - carl taking the opportunity to stare at you as often as he could - in your little basement department. moira kept promising to allocate their funds to renovating the old shower area into a proper office, but she also had a habit of procrastinating on anything pertaining to department q.

“shall we?”

your soft voice broke carl out of his thoughts, and his gaze snapped up to meet your tired one. even with the shadows smudging your undereyes, you still smiled down at him.

“uh- sure,” he stammered, bolting up from his desk and stumbling against the rickety metal. he righted himself as you reached out to stabilize him, his heart soaring as your warm hand made contact with the skin of his arm.

“you alright?” you asked, tilting your head at him, your hand still on his arm.

he opened his mouth to respond, but his throat was dry, his heart skipping at a mile a minute.

“carl?” you asked him in that warm voice, a small crease forming between your brows.

somehow, he snapped out of it. “yeah- yeah. we can lock up. i’ll- uh- y-you got the keys?”

even with him stumbling over his words like a helpless fool in love, he stayed statue still, willing you to stay touching him as long as possible.

unfortunately, all good things must come to an end, and your hand slipped from the warm skin of his arm soon enough as you moved to lock up. he followed you to the door, shrugging on his signature jacket as he walked.

somehow, he managed to talk you into letting him drive you home - in his mind, a small miracle, since you were always stubbornly insistent on making your own way.

having you with him, in his crappy ford that stephen burns was in the process of replacing, was intoxicating, your perfume or cologne or whatever filling the otherwise stale air of the car. his radio played softly, and a peek at you brought an involuntary smile to his face.

you were bobbing your head up and down to the music, lips curving into the shapes of the words soundlessly. your gaze slid from the road to the window and to the radio, and he glanced often enough at you that, if you’d noticed, you would’ve teased him for not paying enough attention to the road.

“have you eaten yet?” he found himself asking, rubbing his thumb over the steering wheel subconsciously.

he felt your confusion in your silence, and he shrugged a shoulder helplessly.

“i just- i noticed you didn’t have a lunch today,” he muttered, glancing at you again, then back at the road. “you worked through the hour. my flat- my lodger can cook. alright. i-if you wanted, i mean, i just-”

in all the months you’d known carl, you’d never known him to stutter. he was sarcastic, brunt, and caring in his own stubborn way.

“carl,” you interrupted, a smile curving your lips as you looked at him. “i’d love to.”

the easy certainty of your words had him mirroring your expression, albeit more surprised. “.. really?” he asked, stopping at a red light and taking the moment to look at you in the dim light of the setting sun.

you met his dark green eyes, your smile still lighting up your face and causing your eyes to crinkle.

“yes, i’m sure,” you said, voice soft. “i’d love to.”

if his heart wasn’t already fit to burst, he might’ve outright gasped at the way you slipped your right hand into his left one. his grip on the wheel did slip, only slightly, but he curled his worn fingers around yours in a way that had your own heart skipping.

a sharp honk behind the two of you had him startling and you giggling. carl shot you a look, a soft glare that he reserved solely for you.

"yeah, yeah, laugh it up," he muttered, easing off the brake and tapping the gas as he changed route to his place instead. his thumb brushed over the warm skin of your hand, as if grounding himself in you.

and hey, if he held your hand beneath the table, that was solely between you. and if his gaze never left yours, even when he was eating, that was between you. and if he brushed his lips against your cheek soft enough it tickled when he dropped you off at your own place, that was also between the two of you.

since you'd started dating carl, saturday movie nights had quickly become your thing. between your hectic work schedules, jasper, and his biweekly therapy sessions (he'd recently graduated from once every week!), the one weekend night was your most guaranteed way of seeing each other.

it was on one such saturday that you and him - on opposite ends of the loveseat, snacks and takeout stacked between you - that you noticed him reaching forward to pull the coffee table closer.

you thought nothing of it - maybe he wanted to kick his feet up - until he started moving the food (your food, mind you) to the table. your gaze slid from the tv screen to him, observing quietly.

when he finished moving the takeout and the snacks, you were pleasantly surprised as he shifted closer, lifting a corner of your blanket to tuck himself into your side.

in all the time you'd been dating (two months, one week, and three days, if you asked him), he'd never initiated contact like this. in fact, this was the closest he'd gotten - before this, the furthest you'd both gone was a smell peck on the lips. but somehow, this was more intimate.

"... hi?"

he gave a noncommittal grunt. you stifled a small laugh and slipped your arm around his neck, resting your head against his.

"miss me?" you teased softly, smiling as he took your free hand in his and intertwined your fingers.

"shut up," he muttered, pulling a laugh from your throat. he merely sunk deeper into your side, his head against your shoulder.

cute, you thought, looking down at the normally broody detective as the tv screen illuminated his features.

you must've said it aloud, because he seemed to redden, and you felt his fingers tighten around yours. "stop staring," he grumbled, his dark eyes flicking up to meet yours. you merely smiled back.

"why should i?" you teased, running your hand through his hair. a soft groan escaped him, much to your amusement and to his dismay.

"don't. say. anything," he muttered immediately, leaning into your touch. "i don't want to hear it."

you smiled and hummed instead of teasing him, quieted to let him rest against you. "fine, fine, i won't. just 'cause i like you," you muttered back.

after a few minutes of you both adjusting to cuddling for the first time, carl's focus returned to the tv screen. yours, however, remained on the moody detective beside you; he could be a real sweetheart sometimes, even if he hated showing it.

you raked your nails against his scalp and all but grinned as carl went lax in your arms, much like a cat when you scratched beneath its chin.

"you like that?" you murmured, ducking your head to kiss his temple. he grunted again. "i'm not teasing," you clarified, pressing another kiss against his skin. "really. you like this?"

"do i have to say it?" he asked, almost pouty. the mental image of him pouting - you couldn't see his expression all too well in this position - had your smile stretching.

"yes. you do. i can't read minds," you reminded him. "i'm not telekinetic."

he stilled, then pulled back a little to give you an odd look. "what?"

you looked back at him. "what?" you asked. "what did i say?"

his brows narrowed. "you said telekinetic. telekinetics don't read minds."

you waved him off. "same thing, just come back and watch the movie with me."

he still stared at you, as though he was offended at your disregard for the proper word, then tentatively moved back to you, tucking himself back into your side.