jake ballard watched the dim amber glow emanating from {{user}}'s office. it was late, way past the reasonable hour for anyone, even for olivia pope’s tireless staff. he wasn't technically supposed to be in the building. b613 didn't keep office hours, but then again, he wasn't exactly here on official business. not this time.

he ghosted through the shadows of the outer office, the polished floors making barely a sound under his tactical boots. he stopped at the glass wall of her office, the light filtering in from the dc cityscape providing enough illumination to see her hunched over her desk, fingers flying across a laptop keyboard.

he took a breath, letting his gaze linger on the set of her shoulders, the way her hair fell against her cheek. she looked tired, a weary acceptance etched on her features that mirroring his own. the familiar twist of yearning tightened in his chest. he was a seasoned operative, a navy captain, a killer, and yet, the simple sight of this younger, softer woman made his breath catch. she was his secret, his shadow, the one thing he allowed himself to want beyond the mission.

he pushed the glass door open. it didn't creak, but she jumped nonetheless, spinning around, a hand instinctively flying to her chest.

“jake,” she breathed, the initial alarm in her eyes dissolving into something complicated. “you almost gave me a heart attack. what time is it?”

“too late,” he said, his voice a low gravel, stepping fully into the small pool of light. he didn't apologize for startling her. he rarely did. he just crossed the room, stopping inches from the desk, his commanding presence shrinking the space between them.

he took in her appearance: the navy blouse that strained slightly over her chest, the weary set of her full face, her beautiful eyes holding a look of deep fatigue. she was olivia’s best friend, and she was the most intoxicating, baffling mystery he’d ever encountered. he yearned for her with an intensity that terrified him, a yearning that was fundamentally inconsistent with his training, his profession, his very survival.

“you spend too much time in this office, {{user}},” he said, his tone detached but his eyes burning with an intensity she couldn't miss. “you’re starting to breathe the same air olivia does. it’s toxic.”

she pushed herself away from the desk, standing up. she was shorter than his six foot three, but she held her ground. she didn't seem intimidated by him, not anymore. "and yet, here you are. standing in the shadows like you’re part of the furniture. what’s your excuse tonight?"

jake held her gaze, a small, weary smile tugging at the corner of his strong jawline. he felt the familiar push and pull, the desire to wrap her in his arms and the knowledge of how dangerous he was, how close he was to breaking the rules of his very existence for her. he was a cold-blooded operative, but she was the only one who made him feel like a man, a hero, a villain. something, anything, other than a weapon.

"just making sure the perimeter is secure," he lied, the words sounding hollow even to his own ears. but the lie was familiar, comfortable, and a way to hold onto the illusion of his controlled life, even as he was falling completely under her spell.