A/N: Well hey there. Considering that this is my first non-Mass Effect fanfiction, I'm not sure if this is going to turn out horrible. Let's hope not. Anyway, do take note that this takes place in a sort of fictional Boston, with regards to the weather, which is kind of the same thing as the developers did with Philadelphia, which Heavy Rain takes place in.

October 10 2013, Thursday. 3.45 pm.

Boston Police Department.

I threw my file on my desk in frustration. It was the third body found in a single month already, yet the case was still at a dead end. I sighed and buried my face in my hands. My eyes opened again to find a mug of coffee sitting right in front of me. I looked up, not surprised to find my partner, Detective Charles Benson, lips slightly curled up in a sympathetic smile. His blonde hair was a mess, as usual, but his brown eyes were somewhat twinkling with amusement.

"Bad day huh?" he asked, walking back towards his desk, which was just opposite of mine.

"If this continues, I'll be having more white hair than an eighty-year-old man." I said, lifting up the mug. I took a deep breath, inhaling the aroma of the dark liquid. I slowly took a sip, taking in the warmth of the coffee, which was heavenly, as compared to the cold, biting wind I had endured the whole morning before returning to the office.

"Don't be ridiculous Clayton," he said. "You're only thirty-four."

I set down the mug, and flipped open the file again. "Charles Edwards," I read out. "Born in 2003, reported missing four days ago. Found dead this morning nearby Riverside Railway Station. Orchid in one hand, an origami figure in the other, face covered in mud. Cause of death is drowning. Based on the extent of rigor mortis, the kid was dead for less than seven hours at time of discovery."

"It's exactly the same as the other two," Charles said.

"Thanks you, Captain Obvious," I replied sarcastically. "I've got to catch this sick bastard, Charles. But I just don't know how."

"Maybe I can help," another voice said. It was female, and foreign, too. I turned my head, finding a red-haired woman in a rather expensive-looking suit staring right at me. I found her smile a little too friendly. I arched an eyebrow at her.

"I'm sorry, where are my manners? My name is Kimberly Williams, with the FBI. I've been dispatched by Headquarters to assist you with the drowning cases," she introduced herself. She didn't look like someone capable of combat, judging by her size. She was about five-feet-six, slim built, her long curly hair a fiery red, and eyes a stormy grey. But of course, looks could be deceiving. They most probably were, in her case.

I stretched out a hand. "Lieutenant Clayton Grant, nice to meet you." We shook hands. Then I pointed to Charles. "This is my partner, Detective Charles Benson."

We exchanged another minute of niceties before getting down to business.

"So what's the progress on the case so far?" Williams asked.

"Zero," I said.

"Excuse me? "

"You heard me, zero. The killer's as clean as a whistle. The footprints at the crime scene don't match any of our list of known possible suspects. No DNA traces, no fingerprints, no nothing. Even if he did leave any, the rain would've washed everything away."

There was an awkward silence. I'd figured she was probably thinking how lousy of a cop I was.

"Can you take me to the crime scene?" Williams said. "I'd like to take a look."

I actually kind of liked her - kind of - until we reached the car.

"I'll drive," she said simply.

"What? " I exclaimed, not sure of what I had just heard.

"Give me the keys, " she said again. Her tone was neutral, friendly even, but it still couldn't mask the fact that she was giving me an order.

"No!" I objected. "Why do you want to drive anyway? You don't know your way around here, and it's my car by the way."

She stepped towards me until we were face-to-face. I was taller than her at five-feet-ten, but she somehow felt more intimidating than my nasty English teacher Mrs. Greene in fifth grade. And then, I realised, it was her eyes. Her face showed no signs of malice or whatever, but her eyes were intense. I officially upgraded 'stormy' to 'hurricane-like'.

"You're tired," she said. "A tired driver is a dangerous driver. Today's my first day in Boston, and I'd really hate to have to go back to Washington tomorrow in a body bag."

"I'm not that bad a driver, you'll be perfectly fine," I insisted, but it wasn't very convincing, considering the poorly-suppressed yawn that followed. She smiled smugly at me, arm raised and hand opened. "Fine," I relented, placing the keys on her palm.

I walked over to the other side of the car. The FBI agent was still smiling when I climbed into the shotgun seat. "What's so funny?"

"You're not used to taking orders, are you?" she teased as she started the engine. I glared at her, but it was a half-hearted one because I was yawning again. "Or are you just uncomfortable with losing an argument, especially to somebody you just met?"

I chose to not reply, instead keying in the coordinates of our destination on the GPS.

"The directions are on the screen. Just follow them and you'll be fine. Wake me when we reach." I said simply, the lull of sleep too tempting, and my eyelids too heavy to resist.

As I slowly drifted off, I could hear her softly smirk. "Aye aye, sir."