Chenford: One Shot to the Heart

Paper Planes

A/N: Inspired by my love of folding paper planes

Tim had a habit. She had no idea it was even a thing until one evening in the precinct when the floor was practically empty. From her desk, she had a clear vantage point of him in his office. A slight distortion, a flicker, a motion caught her attention. She glanced up. Tim was still fixated on whatever was in front of him. She passed it off as a residual of the fatigue she had felt creeping up on her. 

But then it happened again.

And again.

And again. 

It infuriated her so much that she began scowling at Tim through the glass.  It was then that she realized he was intently focused. On folding paper airplanes. And throwing them across the room. He seemed...infatuated by the process. He was fixated and precise. But wasn't that true of anything he undertook?

That was the first time she witnessed it.

And not the last. 

Any evening similar to the first, paper planes would go soaring for a few second journey across the room. 

She brought it up with Angela.

"Huh. You just found out about that? Tim's been folding and flying paper planes for as long as I can remember. Why he does it beats me. I'm guessing though that it's a soothing, coping-style activity."

She was intrigued, to say the least. Of course, she wanted to know more. She wanted to know why so she could dissect his mental process and decipher the psychological implications and all that jazz. 

She almost asked him at least half a dozen times.

But something stopped her.

It was the untarnished childish innocence that consumed his features when she watched him. This was something sacred. Something untouchable. 

So she just watched.

It became her habit. 

A flicker on a dull evening and she would know that he was back at it again. She would watch as he oh-so-precisely folded each sheet of paper and sent it sailing. 

Over and over.