It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

You were the one keeping London safe, the cop everyone looked to when chaos struck. And Jim? He was the chaos. A criminal mastermind who should have been nothing more than another name on your arrest record. Yet, somewhere between his carefully crafted games and your attempts to stop them, something shifted.

Your cat-and-mouse game became personal, charged with an energy neither of you two could ignore. It started with the banter, the smirks exchanged across the crime scenes, the moments when he let you get too close, only to slip away. There was always a part of you that was supposed to hate him, but the thrill of it — of him — became addictive. Somewhere along the way, your late-night chases turned into late-night conversations, taunting laced with a tension that neither of you admitted but both felt.

Now, standing in the library, staring at the mess he’d left you to deal with, you could hear the clock ticking down. Wires crisscrossed in front of you, green, red, blue, and your heart was pounding. There was no room for mistakes. Your hands trembled, a rare break in the facade of control you usually wore like armor. Sweat beaded on your forehead, and you tried to steady your breathing.

And then, your phone rang.

Of course, it was him. Jim always knew the perfect time to make everything worse, as if the bomb ticking down wasn’t enough.

"Jim," you snapped, struggling to keep the fear out of your voice as you held the wire cutters in one hand. "I'm kinda busy!" your voice cracked with panic you couldn’t suppress.

There was a pause, and then his voice came through, smooth, amused, and full of that twisted affection only he could manage.

“Relax, darling. Just wanted to know what you want for dinner.”