#DCP Chitrole

[indelibleme]

Fanfic, CID: A Reason To Love

...

Daya was asked this quite a few times in the course of his life.

What attracted you to each other?

What sparked your relationship?

Didn't work dynamics pose a barrier? A problem?

She's a simple junior. A good officer, but not brilliant. Not a genius in any account, not a genius like him. Why did she catch his attention?

What about the age gap?

Does he truly love her?

Why does he love her?

That had been frequent in the earlier stages of their relationship – from colleagues to casual friends, from some particularly nosy reporters to equally prying neighbours, from jealous admirers to long-lost relatives who suddenly had nothing better to do than poke their large nose into his business (Ahem), from… Well, you get the drift.

It had begun like every other relationship did; friendship. A close and good-natured working relation between two officers. But then, slowly and steadily, Daya had been inexplicably drawn to her passion and compassion; passion for her work and compassion towards her friends, family and even everyday strangers.

It was not love at first sight.

It was a slow, drawn out game of cat and mouse – and he still doesn't know who won, but perhaps they both did – and gradual conversion of attraction to affection, then fondness and finally love.

It was a roller-coaster of confusion and uncertainty, a jumble of emotional conflicts, evenings full of introspection, mornings filled with her gentle presence, sleepless nights over her youthful face and kind smiles… But, Daya was sure it was love.

Abhijeet – that smug bastard – had snickered in mirth when Daya had first told him about his…er, 'crush' on her. And, damn, even now, he had to admit he had behaved like a preteen with his first experience at having a crush and oh god, just how embarrassing that was! And when that simple attraction devolved into something more…it had become inescapable.

There was certainly no going back now – he was trapped by this sinful emotion, this passionate desire, this irrevocable change of perspective. He was in love. Definitely.

Well, damn.

Abhijeet had tried to console him through his (ardent, futile, possible, but hopefully not) unrequited love. When, in his holiness – calling Abhijeet any derogatory words would not be conducive to his continued health, so perhaps he'll just stick to sarcasm, yeah? – so, in his holiness' undeniable and blessed opinion, Abhijeet had told Daya that there was a chance she liked him back…well, he had been unable to keep himself from hoping.

Abhijeet had encouraged him through the initial stages, had his back through the difficult times, stayed adamant through Daya's own hesitancies, faithful even when Daya had misunderstood the situation – and Daya was grateful for it. Oh so grateful – so yeah, Abhijeet probably wasn't that bad of a best friend. Not that bad. No need to inflate his ego anymore.

So, now. Now – ten years down the lane, where they were happily married, settled and had a little bundle of joy to keep Abhijeet's little terror some company – Daya had expected the questions to stop.

They didn't really.

They had a sixteen year age gap between them.

Couples couldn't be posted at the same headquarters – she had had to shift.

Her parents were really hesitant to marry their little girl off to another officer of the law – what would happen to the kids if both of them got hurt?

He could do so much better than her – that was mostly from jealous bints (er, pardon the language), so that didn't really count.

He constantly got into dangerous situations; he'd leave her a widower.

He was a genius in the field, no officer alike him (except Abhijeet, of course). She was not of his class – if anything, Daya was sure it was the other way round. How could he have ever gotten such a wonderful woman as his wife?

And really, Daya never cared much for those comments. ACP sir had been accepting of this relationship and had also given them their blessing – and the man was like a father to him, what more did he need? Abhijeet had always been supportive, constant and unwavering at all times. Tarika had been all smiles and cheer, a bubbling fountain of joy, and had also given him a vaguely threating promise about dissecting and pickling his body parts if he hurt her friend – And geez, couldn't Abhijeet have a better taste in girlfriends?

So, yes, with their support, nothing ever mattered. The comments behind his back, the looks, the disapproving demeanour of DCP Chitrole, her parents' distaste…

But, when faced with such questions, he did stop to think.

Why did he love her?

And that query would probably never get a full response to it.

He loved her for her gentle behaviour with her friends and her fierce protectiveness of victims of crime. He loved her for her youthful naivety and her constant hope in humanity. He loved her for her jaded soul that hadn't escaped the world's cruel truth. He loved her for her perseverance, for her unwavering loyalty, for her positivity.

He loved her profound insight into matters that he'd never given much thought. He loved her for her kind gestures, her genuine concern, her helpful demeanour. He loved her for her humour, her sensitivity, her courage.

He loved the way she would concentrate during a case, the way she would bristle with righteous indignation at a wrong-doing, her unhesitant firing of her gun when needed and her analytical mind. He admired her skill with a pocketknife and hair pins (Despite what Abhijeet said about being the one to teach her and thus demanded half credit) at picking locks.

He loved her special way of brewing tea and just the right amount of sugar she put in his coffee. He loved how she looked in green shirts and denim jeans. (And black dresses too. And black lingerie…but that's another matter…). He loved her simple aloe-scented shampoo and her naturally pink-ish, peach-ish nails. He loved how beautiful she looked without make up (Kissing was so much messy when you put on lipstick…er, right, back to the point). He also loved how adorable she looked the first thing in the morning as she sleepily smacked away the alarm clock before realising that no, she had work to go to and five more minutes was not applicable.

He hated how her omelettes would always have bit too many tomatoes (Is it egg you're feeding me or tomatoes?!). He hated how she'd always put off the ironing till the last minute, leading himself to do his own if he wanted a presentable shirt for the morning. He hated how her home slippers would always be in the way, just waiting for him to trip up on it (Are you trying to give me a concussion, darling?).

He hated how she'd insist on applying oil in his hair on every Sunday, at the very least (My hair was fine without oil for the past twenty years, woman!). He hated how she'd push an apple into his hand early in the morning when he was already late for work and did she want him to be even more so? He hated how she'd decided that two days of the week would be his turn to water the plants (Those are your stupid plants in the first place! Why am I supposed to water them?).

But he adored her. He adored how she cared enough to make sure he ate well, he dressed well, he took care of himself. He adored how she insisted they share household duties, because it was their house and therefore their duties. He adored her absent-minded ways in which it made her more human – because had she truly been that perfect, Daya was sure he'd have not deserved to be married to such a goddess.

So, why did he love her?

Well, he wasn't sure.

It was all the above, yet so much more. To put a label to love, to define it… would be truly undermining it. Love was so much more than that and words would be inadequate to express it fully.

Besides, love was illogical anyway. And he may have been a slight bit crazy to marry her – they were oh so different. And opposites in a way that they might have never really attracted, never really fit together in the messy, disjoint, seamless way they had…

And with all the struggles they'd faced to just be together, sometimes they'd wondered if they should just give it up. To let go, because that was just so much more easier!

But, they'd held on, because the end result was worth it. So, yes, he might have been a little mad to tie the knot with her – but well, we're all a bit mad in love.

…Aren't we?

"Daya! We're running out of bread! Go down the street and buy a loaf, would you?"

"Eh?" Daya blinked out of his stupor, looking away from the cricket match playing on the television screen, "Bread? Why do you need it now? It's nearly nine o' clock!"

Shreya peeked her head out of the kitchen, sighing exasperatedly, "Your best friend's son is coming over tomorrow. And your son wants to make bread rolls for snacks. So, go and get the bread, won't you, dear?"

"I'll get it tomorrow," Daya dismissed, returning to his match. Ah, that was a six, definitely!

"Oh, no, you're not!" she huffed, marching towards him and thrusting out his wallet, "You and Abhijeet are going to sequester yourselves in your study the whole day, leaving me to watch over the kids! Really, perfect waste of a good weekend! So, better go and get the bread now."

Daya gave a look at the wallet, considering it. She wiggled the money case a bit. Daya relented with a sigh – she was right, Abhijeet and he would be in the study all day, going over case files…he could probably get a head start now and get out of bread-shopping...

Shreya gave him a look, as if she knew what he was thinking. Evil woman. He so hated her.

"Okay," Daya agreed with a long suffering sigh.

Shreya beamed, pressing a swift kiss to his cheek as she disappeared into the kitchen again.

Well, now. Perhaps he loved her, after all.

"And do get a bottle of tomato ketchup while you're at it, too, okay?" Shreya gave him a last call from her kitchen.

Statement revised: he did hate her. She was going to make him miss the match.

"Yeah, alright," Daya agreed as he slipped on his shoes.

"Love you!"

Daya grinned, resigned, "Love you too."