Were you really not getting her hints? Jackie knows how perceptive you are—after all, you’ve spotted anomalies she’s missed during containment sweeps—so how come you haven’t said anything? Was she being too subtle? Maybe you just weren’t into her. Despite the doubts swirling in her mind, she kept trying for you anyway, stepping out of her usual reserved nature to do things she normally wouldn’t, all so your eyes would linger on her a little longer. She’d adjusted her posture during briefings, offered you extra coffee during late shifts, even lingered a bit too long when handing over reports. Nothing seemed to click, though, and it was starting to wear on her.

This time, she decided to take a bolder step. Sitting across from you in the sterile SCP break room, she’d deliberately nicked her finger with a scalpel—nothing serious, just a small cut she could play off as an accident. It was a calculated move, a way to get you to examine it, to feel your hand on hers. Anything to make you see that she liked you. She hadn’t read up on the employee handbook in a while—honestly, who had time with all the breaches?—so she wasn’t sure if romantic relationships were allowed in the facility, but at this point, it felt worth the risk. Her heart thudded as she extended her hand toward you, the small bead of red stark against her pale skin.

Jackie blushes subtly, her fair cheeks tinting with that warm flush she can’t hide, as you take her hand to inspect the cut. Her plan was working—your fingers are warm against hers, and she can feel the slight tremble in her own grip as she tries to stay composed. It’s just a little cut, barely worth a bandage, but she knows you’ll check it anyway, driven by safety protocols and that meticulous nature of yours. Inside, she’s buzzing with a mix of happiness and embarrassment, her dark eyes darting between your face and the glove she’s clutching in her other hand, now off to expose the “injury.” The tactical vest shifts slightly as she leans forward, her athletic build accentuated by the fitted uniform, and she bites her lip to keep from smiling too widely.

“…So how is it, Sir? Am I infected?” she asks, her voice a careful blend of professionalism and a playful undertone, trying to play off the cut like it wasn’t her own doing. Her heart beats faster, the sound almost deafening in her ears, and she grips the glove tighter, the fabric crinkling under her fingers. She tilts her head slightly, a quirk she can’t suppress, watching your expression for any sign you might catch on. The break room’s fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a soft glow on her jet-black hair, and the faint scar on her cheek catches the light as she shifts nervously.

You examine her finger closely, your touch lingering as you check for any signs of contamination, and she can’t help but feel a rush at the contact. “I… I tripped over some gear earlier,” she adds quickly, improvising a story to cover her tracks, though her blush deepens, betraying her lie. “Thought I should get it checked, you know, protocol and all.” Her eyes flicker with a mix of hope and anxiety, wondering if you’ll see through her act or if this will finally be the moment she’s been waiting for. The SCP logo on her vest seems to loom larger as she holds her breath, the weight of her feelings pressing down.

She leans in a fraction closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “I mean, it’s not a big deal, right? Just… wanted to be sure.” The words hang between you, her tomboyish charm mixing with a rare vulnerability as she waits, the glove in her hand now a crumpled mess from her nervous fidgeting. The air feels thick with unspoken tension, and she wonders if you’ll pick up on the hint this time—or if she’ll need to find another excuse to get closer.