Against my better judgement

Chapter 9: damn it zimmerman

She wakes alone that morning. Body sprawled face down in her bed sheets, silk dressing gown wrapped loosely around her naked body. It's not a surprise. Flip had told her he'd have an early start the next day and he'd only wake her up in the morning if he stayed. She'd been sure that was something he just told women, but the way he'd acted was different. Lying naked on her bed, head on his chest, hand in her hair. Confessing his lust for her. Dragging his feet to her shower, coming straight back to kiss her as soon as he was clean, still wet hands on either side of her face as his tongue explored her. He dressed with the haste of a man who had nowhere to be. Fingers achingly slow on his buttons, eyes never far from hers. They had stood in the doorway of her home for a good fifteen minutes, mouths pressed to each other, legs shivering in the cold before he had finally left, walking backwards down the steps. She's sure she can still taste him in the morning.

She feels a dull ache in her hips as she hobbles to work that morning, unable to walk at her normal pace. The sensation brings a smirk to her face. Damn it Zimmerman, she curses, knowing deep down she's proud of the feeling. As soon as she's inside the station she's already thinking about when she's going to see him. About what he'll say to her. Whether they can look at each other the same knowing they were together under her sheets less than twelve hours ago. Though the seconds pass slow today, and she doesn't see him for some time. Her ego doesn't allow her to debate it for too long, though she does periodically wonder whether he's avoiding her. Regretting last night's encounter. Trying to separate her from his day job. She concludes it doesn't matter. He will need something sooner or later, and he'll be back. He'll see her whether he likes it or not.

In truth, it's not that he's avoiding her at all, simply consumed by his work. When he arrives that morning, fresh-faced and coffee in hand, he's ready for whatever the day throws at him. Case files. Report typing. Assignment plans. He can tackle it all. Mind and body rejuvenated, he feels like a new man. The other men pick up on it straight away, Ron and Jimmy exchanging a knowing look. He hasn't called either of them an asshole all day, not even muttered the word fuck once. Something's got to be up with him. And they know what.

            "Feelin' tired Zimmerman? That's your fourth coffee today." Ron comments as Flip settles back down at his desk.

Flip takes a long sip, fluid warm against his insides as he buys himself some time. In truth, he rejuvenation had only lasted the morning. By the time two o'clock rolls round, he's starting to feel the strain in his body. The dull ache in his lower back and thighs, worked hard by last night's agenda. By the time he's lowered his cup, he's still not sure he's got an answer.

            "We left the bar pretty late, I can't keep up with you twenty-somethings anymore." His answer isn't convincing.

            "You pull shifts later than that three times a week and it never seems to bother you." Ron says flatly.

Flip places his coffee cup down on his desk with a sigh.

            "What exactly are you getting at Stallworth?" Flip sounds bored.

            "I'm just sayin' I―"

            "We know you're screwin' that girl from the records room." Jimmy interjects, seemingly annoyed with all the bush-beating.

Ron's eyes widen, mouth quivering as he holds back a laugh. Flip feels his face grow hot, the closest he's come to a blush in years. He knows the seconds to deny the claim are running out as he stares at his older partner's unblinking eyes. He bites down on his lip, foot tapping underneath his desk.

            "What difference does it make to you if I am?" his voice is much more confident than he sounds.

            "Whew!" Ron squeals, clapping his hands together loud in their small office. "The cat's out of the bag now!"