I always had a soft spot for this fic, so I'm picking it up again. I hope I can finish it! XD

The two previous tries were LAME. So, here we go again. Feedback would really be appreciated. (Keeps me going, blah blah) As I am not a cop, this series is going to be difficult for me as far as details go, as I don't like relying on TV shows for my facts and stuff. Why? Because it's TV and they like to exaggerate, duh.

Thanks to Suzy (and the others I forgot, sorry) for letting me know that people were still interested in this story. I probably would have dropped it for good. No lie.

Disclaimer: Don't own the original chars. Not repeating myself.

Chapter One

Detective Tsume Declerone waited inside his captain's office, hands deep inside his pockets. Many would find it hard to pick him as a cop at a first glance. He was wearing dark pants with a well-cut shirt; but it was the hair, a silvery-gray pulled back to create an intriguing style and the earrings that provided the best camouflage. That was until you looked at his eyes, a warm hazel that was most often shrewd and cold. Cop eyes. He almost always wore sunglasses when he was on the streets.

His captain's office was a simple stark room, functional and organized. It was roomy, too, Tsume noted. Being of rank certainly had its perks. He shifted uncomfortably, turning from the desk to glance at the door and then back again. He had known this wasn't a routine conference from the look on the messenger boy's face. The door opened, and Tsume looked over his shoulder again. This time he saw Captain Hubb Lebowski, wearing his hat and coat, step into his office with a newspaper clenched in his hand. "Oh, Tsume, I wanted to talk to you." he said offhandedly. He crossed the room quickly and threw the paper on his desk.

"Harry told me." Tsume responded.

Lebowski pulled of his hat and coat and then took a seat behind the desk. At seven in the morning his hair was already disheveled. "Take a seat," he said, while opening a draw and pulling out a file. Tsume sat, eyes scanning over the little business-like plaque displaying his superior's name and rank.

"Declerone, I had to surrender the Miller case to the FBI," Lebowski began, his expression no longer harried, but serious. "You weren't producing results, and the FBI claims it falls under their jurisdiction."

"I understand." He cursed inwardly, but meant what he said. Still, he couldn't fight off the irritation.

"Well, now that that's settled..." Lebowski trailed off as he opened the file. "We need to talk about your ex-partner, Detective."

What had been a subtle weight in stomach now writhed violently. Shit, shit, shit...; it was like a mantra.

"He filed for a precinct transfer a while ago. His property was cleared out last night. Reason stated reads: 'trouble adjusting to work environment.'" Lebowski looked up at Tsume. "I find it hard to believe it was the 'work environment' he had trouble adjusting to. This is your second partner in three months. This new trend of yours is starting to become a serious departmental problem. If you don't stop this behavior immediately it's going to cost you your badge."

Tsume bit back his retort. He earned his badge and he damn-well wasn't going to lose it fighting about some loser cop who ran off with his tail between his legs.

"Now," Lebowski continued at Tsume's unusual silence, "You're going to be riding your desk until further notice. You need some time to get your priorities in order," he added before Tsume could protest. "Your new partner will be arriving shortly. I'm warning you, Tsume," -the detective blinked, Lebowski never called anyone by their first name- "if this one transfers on you I won't be able to cover for you again. Don't screw this up."

"Yes, sir."

Tsume closed the door quietly behind him before stalking back to his desk. A few rookies, as well as seasoned officers, shrank away and took different routes when they noticed his scowl and heated eyes. When he reached his station, he stopped, then tried really hard not to throttle the first person he saw.

It was like a war zone. He imagined this is what it would look like if a paper factory exploded. Like one giant blob of stuffed folders, and then -BAM!- a giant deflated mess all over his desk. Anarchy, he decided. That's what it looked like. He sat, scowled some more, and began stacking. There was a backlog on paperwork that had to be scanned into the system, files needed updating...the list went on. As much as it pained him, he was starting to hope his new partner would arrive sooner than later.

"Good morning, Tsume!" The all too cheery greeting disrupted Tsume's concentration, as well as his psyche.

He looked up from the papers he was organizing into piles and glared at the unwelcome intruder. "What do you want, McNaulty?"

"Just stopping by to see if the rumors were true," he stated conversationally, giving the paperwork on his desk the once over. Hige McNaulty was a Homicide Detective who, Tsume thought, usually seemed more interested in tail chasing than his job.

Tsume continued to work and said, "You mean the rumors about my plans to choke you to death by force feeding you these?" He brandished a folder threateningly.

"No, the ones about your clerical efficiency and jolly disposition, of course."

"How's Harper getting along?" Tsume asked, in a lame attempt to change the subject. Harper, Toboe was Hige's new aid. He was still pretty green, but he had the heart and drive.

"Yea, he's doing good. I give him all my paperwork, keeps him busy. Ya' know, maybe you should ask him for some advice. He's more adept at this than you."

"I'm giving you five seconds to run before I put my plans into action. One, two, three-"

And off he scampered to his section of the bullpen.

Hige went back to his desk, noticing on the way that the runt wasn't in yet. It wasn't like him to be late. Hige snagged his coffee mug and meandered over to the communal coffee pots. He was considering stealing his coworker's neglected bagel, poppy seed with cream cheese, when he stopped short.

There she was. The most beautiful woman in the entire city, stirring coffee and making small talk with fellow officers. Her name was Lily Dubois. One brave and foolish soul had once called her "hot smoking mama" and offered to engage in lewd activities with her. She broke his nose. Ask anyone else and he fell, but everyone in this cop shop knew the real story. Everyone also called her Blue. It was most likely due to her devoted sense of justice and dedication to the job, but Hige privately believed it was because of her beautiful eyes. They were dark and bright, like sapphires under the full moon. "Hey, you alright?"

"What?" Hige snapped out of his sappy poeticisms, noting with horror that the other cops had left. "Oh. Yea," he attempted-to-cover, "I'm okay. I just went by Declerone, so I'm currently undergoing PTSD." Phew. Nice save.

She smiled. "He certainly does something for the atmosphere around here.

"What about you?" At her puzzled glance, he continued. "You don't look like your usual self."

"It shows, huh? It's nothing I can't handle. Someone decided to slash my tires."

"I'm sorry. Man, that's really rough. Do you know who did it?"

She leaned back against the counter, stirring her coffee. "Evidence points to Zari's gang. Probably some sad attempt at revenge for nabbing him a few weeks ago," she shrugged and took a sip.

"Yea, I heard about that," he finished. Lamely.

"Anyway, I have to go speak to Lebowski about it. See you around..." She waited expectantly, and he picked up.

"McNaulty. Ah, Hige. Hige McNaulty." Jesus Christ what was wrong with him?!

She smiled, laughed. "See you around, Hige." She started to walk away, heading towards Lebowski's office when Kiba Murray intercepted her. Kiba was a dedicated detective. Like Tsume, he was intimidating, but was more approachable. He was rangy, comfortable in his worn jeans and casual shirts. His shoes had seen better days, but he didn't seem to care. He probably hadn't noticed. His hair was an unruly brown and his eyes a chilly blue. That man never looked ruffled.

"Hey, Blue. I was looking for you." And he was also partners with Blue. Hige had affectionately nicknamed him the Lucky Bastard.

"What is it?" He looked a little winded.

"We caught a case," he said, grabbing his beaten jacket off the back of his chair and pulling it on. "I just got the call from Dispatch." Blue deserted her coffee and pulled on her trendy peat coat.

"I'll see you later, Hige," she called back at him.

"Yea" was his response.

Kiba filled her in while they made they're way to the garage.

Hige puffed out his cheeks and let out a breath. Well, that went well. He filled up his mug when he remembered that had been his goal in the first place, and returned to his desk. After deciding passing it off to Tsume would be hazardous to his health, he hunkered down and did some serious paper-pushing. Until he got a call from Toboe.

Kiba leaned over the body, unflinching, talking into his recorder. "Victim was found by female staff member in dumpster behind Louisa's Baked Goods around eight fifteen this morning. Body was relocated after photographs were taken and standard procedures had taken place. Unidentified victim is a Caucasian male, age being somewhere between early to mid forties. Five foot seven to nine, maybe 190 to 220 pounds. Black hair. Victim was found nude, clothes were not found on scene. Further identification and specifics will require testing."

He leaned back as Blue snapped more photographs. She had a knack for setting a mood. It helped in the courtroom, stirred emotions with the jury.

"There's no blood here," she said thoughtfully, her camera lowered. "Not in the dumpster, anyway. Just on the body."

"Yea," Kiba stood now. "He was killed elsewhere, dumped here. Thrown into a dumpster. Discarded trash." He lifted the recorder again. "Estimated cause of death by choking. Tape is still over mouth. Amount of blood indicates some sort of trauma in the mouth. ME will clarify. Multiple bruises and lacerations indicate pre-mortem assault." He knelt again, lifted the arm that wasn't broken. "Skin under the fingernails, lacerations on the arms consistent with defensive wounds." He lowered the arm again and noticed something else. "Burn marks on the chest."

"They don't look like cigarette burns," Blue noted, passing the camera off to a CSI for detail shots of wounds. She knelt down next to Kiba. They worked well together and had been partners for the last few years. They had also seen a lot together, been through a lot. Blue knew that no matter how callous he seemed, Kiba felt for the dead. She saw the pity and the compassion behind his flat eyes that others missed.

"No, they don't. The ME will know. Can we turn him over?" Kiba directed the question at the CSI.

"Yea, I've got all the photos I need."

With gloved hands, Kiba and Blue gently rolled the victim over. The CSI snapped more photographs. It was the same thing. "Wounds on the back consistent with that of a severe beating," Kiba recorded.

"More than one person did this." Blue said, her eyes as flat as her tone.

"Yea. Let's let Crime Scene do their thing." He rose, clicked off the recorder. "We'll do ours."

The two of them left the alleyway, pulling off the rubber gloves and disposing of them. "I'll order the vic's fingerprints to be taken," Kiba volunteered.

Blue nodded. "I'll be over there." He gestured to where two cops waited by a black and white. One of them, the younger one, still looked pale. Kiba nodded and headed off.

"How're you holding up?" Blue asked as she approached them.

"I'm fine, ma'am," he responded quietly, head low. Still embarrassed.

"Why don't you go help keep the civilians from getting too close," the other officer suggested.

"Yes, sir." When he was gone, the older officer turned to her.

"He's still fresh. Not used to this kind of stuff yet."

"There's no need to apologize for him, Officer...Burkes," she said, reading his name off his uniform. The younger officer had been smart enough not to toss his breakfast in the alley, unlike the woman who found him, but on the sidewalk. "He didn't contaminate the crime scene."

"Thanks," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "You need my statement, right?" At her nod, he began. They were on patrol, had stopped to snag breakfast at a local bakery. They responded when they heard someone scream from the adjacent alleyway. When they approached the scene, they saw a young woman, alone, vomiting across from the dumpster. She told them there was someone in the dumpster. They investigated and found the body. The rookie got the woman's name and took her to the manager's office. Burkes called it in and secured the scene. Blue thanked him and went to find Kiba. She found him inside the bakery, questioning a cashier.

"So then we heard her scream, a'ight? and those two bounced outta here like someone was on fire," the cashier finished. The bakery was empty now that everyone had run outside to see what had happened, who had died.

"When does your manager get back?" Kiba asked.

"Not 'til Friday."

"Thanks." Kiba turned when he saw Blue.

"Their report was pretty straight forward." While Blue told Kiba the officer's report, they moved past the bakery counter, through the quietly busy kitchen, and into the manager's office. Maria Tolan's eyes were still red and blotchy, but she wasn't crying. She sat in one of the guest chairs before the desk, twisting a tissue in her busy hands.

"Ms. Tolan?" She looked up.

"Yes, that's me."

"I'm Detective Dubois. This is my partner, Detective Murray. We need to ask you a few questions."

"Sure." She absently twisted the tissue again. Blue asked questions while Kiba took a look around the office and through the window into the kitchen.

"What time did you come in?" Blue asked, her tone gentle.

"Um, after five. Probably around five fifteen. I'm the assistant manager, so I help open up."

"Was anyone else here?"

"Yea. Chris and Eva were in the kitchen, got here around the same time I did. They were putting some of the frozen goods into the oven, putting together a few doughs for later. We talked, made jokes." Her hands stilled now; she was calming down

"Then what happened."

"The usual. I spruced up the front, started arranging everything. Around eight I went back into the kitchen. One of our chefs, Mike Donnelly, got sick so I figured I'd help out a little since the front was running smooth enough. I went back, saw the garbage was full. I took it out to the dumpster." She twisted the tissue again, stared at the desk. "I smelt it first. I figured something had gone bad back there. I opened it up. I didn't expect to see..." she shuddered. "A body. When I did, I think I screamed. Must have. I was throwing up. The cops came out of nowhere. One of them took me back here, gave me water."

"Did you recognize him?" At her blank look, Blue clarified. "The man you found."

"No. I would have, wouldn't I? I, I just saw him, and...shit." Paling, she bent over, took a few shaky breaths.

"It's okay," Blue said when Maria rose again, tucking her dark hair behind her ear. "We'll contact you if we need more information."

"Okay," she said and took the business card Blue handed her with unsteady fingers.

"What do you think?" Kiba asked Blue when they got into the car. He started the engine, which let out a raucous cough in protest, as Blue replied.

"I think it's unlikely that they, the staff, killed him. For one, it was a good bakery. They wouldn't risk beating and killing someone like that in the kitchen, for risk of contaminating the food. The store front is all windows, someone would see and it would have been obvious if something went down there. There was a lot of blood splatter, maybe someone would have taken a hit since it looked like our vic fought back. It would have been incredibly difficult to do it and clean up before anyone got there. Same goes for the alley."

"Yea, I agree." Kiba dealt with traffic before coming to a stop at a light. Pedestrians flooded into the streets. "I think they cut out his tongue."

Blue raised her eyebrows at her partner. "You really think so?"

"Yea. It sends a message, and it jibes with the beating, rough and bloody. Maybe our guy talked too much."

"Pissed off the wrong people," Blue said, settling back into her seat contemplatively. She twisted her mouth wryly, "Dead men tell no tales."

Kiba turned in the direction of the lab. "They do. They just don't use their tongues."

Music for thought: Taxi Driver - Gym Class Heroes