She Thinks of Him

Disclaimer: using characters owned by CBS/CSI:NY. Once again I went with Keith Urban lyrics. These are from his song "Tonight I Wanna Cry".

A/N: Due to popular demand, I finally got this done! It's a partner story to "He Thinks of Her." I don't like it as much as the first one; for some reason it was more difficult. But at last, here it is!

She thinks of him.

When she least expects it, the thought of him creeps into her head like a spider, intent on weaving a web too strong to be brushed away. She can be in a taxi, at the market, or at the gym, but she will think of him. She is the helpless victim of her own subconscious.

She thinks she is falling in love with him. Falling hard and deep, with a most maddening kind of fervor.

When she thinks of him, she can hear his voice, and it gives her a buzz. Like champagne, it tingles and spreads warmth to every centimeter of her body. Too much makes her flushed and dizzy. That buzz is addictive, effervescent, and it creates an endless cycle. She craves that fix. Needs it.

She thinks of him in her quiet, solitary moments. She has thoughts that make her blush. Lying in bed at night, staring at the ceiling, she wonders what his lips on her neck would feel like. She thinks of it with such concentration that she can almost feel the heat from him, his prickly stubble. Then she shakes it off, mortified and shocked at herself.

When she is at a crime scene, and sees him approaching, she can't deny that it thrills her. Suddenly, murder weapons and fingerprints and motives have less meaning. Working alongside him means subtle glances, soft "accidental" brushes of skin, and secret hopes that hijack her brain.

She thinks of him, and wonders about him. A lot. She wonders what his favorite color is, what he does on a rainy Sunday, if he's ever been in a hot air balloon… and if he ever thinks of her. Thinks of her like that.

When she thinks of him, she smiles. It's an automatic reflex, like a knee-jerk reaction, when her brain conjures up his image. He makes her smile so much that her face hurts, but it's a good kind of hurt. The sweetest pain.

She thinks he has nice hands. Even with rubber gloves on. And though she admires his arms, his shoulders, his lips, and places lower, his hands are her favorite feature. She thinks of what it would be like to have her own delicate hand swallowed up in his, and how safe it would make her feel.

When they are together, she thinks of the change she has seen in him. He's no longer the childish brat who teased her mercilessly. He opens doors for her, he's respectful to her. She thinks he has a big heart. The more she sees of him, the more she sees that compassion. And she wants to see even more – of him.

She thinks there should be a rehab for addicts like her. A place of detox, twelve steps to learn, anything to rid her mind of this fixation. She would check herself in, and not walk out until every ion of Danny had been cleansed from her.

When she thinks of him before bed, it often turns into a dream. In her deepest sleep, she can see him and feel him, hear him, smell him and taste him, as if he were right there. And the next day at work, she feels awkward and avoids him. Because surely he can read it on her face: the guilt, the embarrassment… the hunger.

She thinks he stares at her sometimes. She can feel his gaze across the room; it makes her sweat and shiver at the same time. But damn, she loves that feeling.

When she looks in the mirror, she wonders if he finds her attractive. After all, she considers herself rather plain. A guy like him could have any gorgeous woman he wants. So then, she thinks, why does he look at her so longingly sometimes?

She thinks of what it must be like to really know him, and feel connected to him. But she also wonders if anyone out there really does know him. In that respect, he reminds her of herself – a beat-up heart hidden by an enormous wall.

When she scrolls through the programmed numbers on her cell phone, she thinks of hitting 'Send' when she stops at his name. What would she say, after all? Regardless, she thinks of what it would be like to call him for no reason, other than to hear his voice.

She thinks of him all the time. Constantly, incessantly, without fading, never losing the intensity.

When she thinks of him, she gets frustrated. Because she shouldn't be having these feelings for a coworker. Not for a guy like him. But the harder she tries not think to think of him, the more she does. She still thinks of him.

Even though she shouldn't,

and might not want to...

She thinks of him.