MonoPrompt #1: in which Blake Belladonna, homicide detective, and Weiss Schnee, corporate queen, try to balance marriage and keep up with life in the fast lane of expectations and results.
(Suggested by capricornzodiacfoe)
The light was on in the office – she could see the glow streaming across the hallway carpet, through the crack under the door.
Blake Belladonna yawned, and continued through the corridor. She descended the staircase down into the foyer, and walked into the kitchen. She turned on the light and tossed the plastic container of takeout leftovers into the microwave. She stared at the rotating food as the machine nuked it warm.
It was the fourth night in a row that Weiss Schnee, her wife of eight years, had sequestered herself within the confines of her offices – be it at the company or at home. But by no means was it unfamiliar for them; ever since all those early years of courtships and commitments, they both knew that they were likely destined to end up as one of the power couples in what was popularly known as the Worldwide Community of Lesbians.
As C.E.O., Weiss worked a lot, providing appropriate direction and whatnot for whatever new secret project or important proposal the company was focusing on at a given point in time. Of course, there was much more to it than just that, but Blake chose not to concern herself with the finer points of her wife's job; she essentially ran the place, and that was all she needed to know. Weiss likewise had said that she chooses not to be burdened with the finer points of Blake's job as a homicide detective; as far as her wife needed to know, Blake hunted dirtbags with an ace reputation preceding her.
She was not watching the microwave when it beeped; it startled her.
She heard noises upstairs as she ate her noodles – doors opening and closing, the running of water – but she ignored them. If Weiss wanted to come down and disturb her, then she had every right to, given that it was 5.00 in the morning. But that was her prerogative, and Blake knew she would not exercise it; at 5.00 in the morning, the fourth consecutive day of an intense work stretch, her wife would be going to bed soon.
She eventually heard the door on the far side of the house close – the bedroom door. She smiled as her cell phone rung. Not unfamiliar at all.
"Yeah, Belladonna," she answered.
"Awake, Detective?" said the captain of Vale P.D.'s 12th Precinct.
"What do you think, sir?"
"Wake up Long. You two just caught something."
The call lasted not even a minute longer before she had the information she needed.
It looked like she was going to work early. Not that she was complaining; she was up. maybe she would be able to catch her wife awake for a few more minutes before calling her partner
Emergency Services had received a distress call from the inner city at 3.46 a.m. First responders arrived to find a high-profile couple, murdered close to the C.B.D. Immediately, it had been thrown to the Homicide Division of the 12th Precinct, and a pair of aces assigned to it.
Detective Blake Belladonna arrived at the scene at exactly 5.53 a.m. The entire street had been cordoned off, emergency vehicles clustered within.
She met her partner, Detective Yang Xiao Long, at the cordon. They flashed their credentials at the cop guarding; he nodded and let them under the tape.
"And a good morning to you too," Long said, apropos of nothing.
Belladonna glanced at her. "You seem cheery," she said.
"And you look like shit, as usual. Late nights still?"
Belladonna didn't answer.
"How's the wife?"
"Busy."
The officer-on-duty noticed them, and walked over to meet them. Again, Belladonna and Long gave their credentials.
"What have we got?" Long said.
"Two D.B.s," the officer said. He pointed at a haggard man at the edge of the throng. "Guy says he witnessed a drive-by."
"You get action like this around here?"
"Other parts of the city, sure. But this close to the hub? No, ma'am."
"Show me," Belladonna said.
The eggs had been cooked many hours ago, left on a covered plate on the counter. They had been cooked for breakfast, though it was now past 11.00 in the morning. Weiss Schnee did not care, and she ate her wife's cooking quickly and without issue; she needed to get to work.
She lamented that there was so little time, never enough.
It was to be the fifth day of her continuing work – a fifth day of hardly seeing Blake at all. She had been on the verge of sleep earlier, when Blake came into their bedroom to tell her goodbye, that she had been called to a new investigation, and that she wouldn't be home until much later.
It was likely that they would not see each other again today, but that was an okay thing, Weiss thought. They were both driven, motivated to achieve and climb in life, and brought up that way from a young age. When they met, it was obvious; Blake was already out of the Academy and making waves, and Weiss herself was jockeying for influence on the board at the company. By the time they were married, Blake had already a number of years' and cases' experience working homicide under her belt.
They had convinced each other and themselves it was the right way for them. All that she knew now was that Blake was busy. Just like she was.
She left the dishes in the sink and hurried upstairs. It was time to get back to it.
"I know these two," Long said.
Belladonna stared at the bodies splayed on the sidewalk as Long investigated their pockets and physical features. The couple had been pronounced dead on the scene, splayed on the sidewalk before an alley. Each victim appeared to have received multiple gunshot wounds all over their bodies, which, given the alleged drive-by nature of the shooting, suggested a semi-automatic weapon, fired with carnage in mind rather than accuracy; gunshot damage to the brick walls around the bodies backed that suggestion. But Blake knew better than to simply assume anything in a homicide investigation.
"Friends of yours?" she said.
"Not what I mean. They're on that big reality T.V. show, about the housewives of something or other. I don't watch it, but they're the type of people you can't miss."
"I don't own a T.V." Belladonna held out her hand for the I.D.s. She read them and frowned. "I don't recognize them."
"Of course you don't." Long sighed. "This is going to cause a media firestorm …"
"So?"
"So, as lead investigator, you're going to have to give multiple press conferences, front the reporters. And I don't know if that's such a good idea. For them, that is."
"Oh yeah, and why do you think that, Yang?"
Long chuckled. "Because I've been your partner long enough to know that a reporter would have better luck getting an answer out of a boiled potato."
Belladonna ignored the jab and handed the I.D.s back to Long. "Stay on the scene; I'll take the statement of the eyewitness. Best to work smart and fast here, while we still have the jump on the media."
According to the officer who had taken the statement, the eyewitness had been coming home from a long night out when the shooting had taken place; his credibility was dubious, no matter the initial suggestions of the scene. He had also failed to read a plate on this supposed vehicle, and could only make vague statements as to the exact color, make, and model. Belladonna looked at the tired sap; she was certain that she would be able to pry a little more information of use out of him.
It was just the beginning of what was going to be a long day.
Weiss came home at 10.30 p.m. to the sounds of silence, the colors of darkness, and an empty house.
She checked her cell phone for the first time that day: aside from the usual correspondence, there was a missed call and a text message, both from Blake. Caught something big, it read, don't wait up. xx. It had been sent and received more than two hours earlier.
She went through her routine of showering and tidying the house before taking her work to her office.
The investigation is ongoing … no further comment at this time … thank you.
Blake had felt the dryness in her throat the tenth time she had to repeat the statement. The investigation was less than 24 hours old, but already it was all that anybody could seem to talk about.
The bodies had been delivered to the Medical Examiner and the personal effects to the lab. After some pressing she had gotten a little more out of the eyewitness than he had told the officer; he remembered the first two characters of a license plate. He had still not been able to remember anything else about the car, other than that it was a dark sports-utility-vehicle with dark windows.
It wasn't a lot to go on, but it was enough for the detective to hunt a lead with; she had broken cases with a lot less in the past.
It had been three weeks since Blake was assigned to lead the investigation into the deaths of the tabloid couple; two whole weeks of late nights at the precinct and not coming home until the early hours of the morning.
Weiss had finished her priority tasks shortly after the case was opened, and running the company had resumed a state of normalcy. Now she came home after the regular end of office hours. Many more hours would pass until the door opened again, when Blake dragged herself into the house. Weiss saw the time between those two points as something of a space; something in which she could breathe in her solitude and her reflections. But she needed to be cautious of getting lost in the space. There was every possibility that the space could strangle her, that it could suffocate her with loneliness and a new silence.
She decided to go a little earlier to bed for the night; pull out a book, maybe have a glass of wine.
She was missing her wife. She had told her so, as recently as three days ago. But Blake had been far too tired to hold the conversation for much longer, and it had been left as something said, something possibly heard, something unanswered.
She had never seen her wife so mired in casework. It was the longest case she had ever been assigned, and if brooding silences and late nights were an indicator of anything, it was that the case was not going well. She understood that it was uncharted territory; contrary to what Blake believed, Weiss made it a point to know as much as a civilian could about her wife's career. She understood exactly how competent Blake was with her cases, and this one was seemingly becoming a thorn in her side.
If the news programs were true, then the world was becoming a much darker place, running at a more furious pace than previous generations had ever experienced. Weiss did not doubt it. There was more pressure, and it built up like dust in all the empty corners of life. It only made its presence known when things were no longer "keeping up" with the pace – money, usually. Other times it was love – simple incompatibility. "Life happened", as some chose to excuse it, fully aware of their own jeopardizing insecurities underneath the mask, underneath the often-acted-upon impulse to blame everybody but themselves.
There was a vibrating sound coming from the bedside table: Blake sending a text message. I'm coming home now, it read.
Weiss read it again, mouthing the words. She looked at the time in the corner; it was only 10.00 p.m., almost. She decided to call – she wasn't having any luck focusing on her book.
"Weiss?" It sounded as if Blake was driving.
"You're coming home?"
"I just left the precinct."
"That's early for you," Weiss said, surprised. "I mean, I'm just saying, given the last few weeks …"
"I'm handing the case off."
Weiss sat up in bed. "Really? How come?"
"Gang division's taking over. Found a connection to two unsolved drive-by shootings – we're handing it off to the lead on those cases."
"Just like that?"
Her wife sighed, and it sounded raspy over the speakerphone. "I'll be home soon, okay? Wait up for me if you want to." The line went dead.
Weiss frowned. She had heard in Blake's voice something she had not for a long time. It sounded an awful lot like disappointment.
The lights were out when Blake approached the house. There was no visible sign, from the exterior or even the foyer of the house, to suggest that her wife had stayed up for her. She flicked on the living-room lights and discarded her coat and equipment on the couch before collapsing upon it in a heap.
She knew what she was feeling. It was not difficult to identify, but it was difficult for her to process. It was unfamiliar to her, and rarely had she ceded to giving it life, to giving it room to breathe – it was hard enough to breathe in the air around her, and she did not have time to acknowledge things like petty disappointment and failure, ideas which would take her focus away from where it was needed: Weiss, moving on with her job, and living her life.
This case was going to serve as a mark against her name; she had spent three weeks examining and re-examining evidence, following up leads, dodging media, dealing with the deteriorating credibility of the material witness, and all to end up with an unsatisfactory pile of "maybes" and very few probabilities. It was supposed to have been relatively straightforward, despite the increased external focus; not an "open-and-shut" case – she believed that there was no such thing – but every stone she uncovered had failed to connect her potential P.O.I.s and suspects to the shooting.
The investigation had caught the attention of the gang division after two weeks – related M.O., it appeared, could provide a link to open cases of their own. Blake did not put it past the captain to have drawn the division's scrutiny himself, and it had not come as a surprise when he had herself and Detective Long sit down in his office and recommend that they take a few more days with the shooting before handing it to the gang division. They would be better suited with the "extra attention it required". Whatever the hell that means, she thought.
But, their few days had come and gone, and now they were conceding control of the investigation. Life would go on, and she would go on catching with Yang; there would always be more killers out there, more homicides to solve. But it just didn't sit right.
The padding of feet down the stairs and in the foyer snapped her to attention. Then her wife appeared, looking tired, as if she were just waking up from a nap. She was wearing fuzzy slippers, the kind that Blake hated.
"You fell asleep," Blake said.
"I know," Weiss said. "Was the traffic that bad?"
"There was an accident on the freeway; they shut down two lanes."
Weiss folded her arms. "Blake, I've been with you long enough to tell when you aren't happy, or when you're brooding. Do you want to come up and talk about what happened? With the case?"
Blake sighed, but didn't answer.
"We can talk about it upstairs – in bed – where it's warm, or we can stare each other down in this cold living room; your choice," Weiss added.
Blake finally nodded, and followed her wife back up the stairs.
"You're beating yourself up," Weiss said.
Blake rubbed her hands slowly. She didn't want to look up, because it meant putting the unwelcome feelings on display in the bedroom – around her wife.
"Is that a crime?" she said.
"In your case, maybe it should be. Stop it – you look miserable-"
"So what if I am?"
Blake let the question hang in the air. She could feel Weiss's eyes on her; it would be impossible not to, given that they were only a foot apart from each other. They were sitting across from each other on the bed, legs crossed. It was something they had not done since their earliest days of dating, Blake remembered. She certainly had not been the one to suggest it; Weiss was holding the cards, putting it all on her to make a move, to lay something out. Up until this point, Blake had followed.
"This has never happened before …" she whispered.
"So your ego is bruised; get over it."
"I needed more time."
"Well, how much time do you think you deserved? The biggest juncture your investigation reached was when the gang division started trying to tie it to their open cases. Other than that, you came up with nothing to aid yourself, or Yang, for that matter."
"I would have found something – I always do."
"Blake – if there weren't going to be any breaks in three weeks, then not even you would have been able to close it without help."
She reached out and touched Blake's knee. Blake sighed.
"I need somewhere to turn."
"You already have it: me. And you're already doing it. So let me tell you where else you're going to turn."
Blake allowed a wry smile; she secretly liked when her wife took charge.
"You're going to go in tomorrow morning, and you're going to take it easy. If you get stuck at your desk, then you'll stay at your desk. You said that you won't be catching anything new until next week, so fine. Just do it. This case was never going to be easy from the beginning, and now you don't have to give it any more attention than you already have."
"Do you even know what the day-to-day is for a homicide detective?"
"Shut up. I'm trying to make a firm and universal point. Okay? Just follow my advice and keep your head down until you get back on the horse."
"It's that simple to you?"
"When you break everything down, sure. How do you think I get through my work? It's like there's a new 'scandal' or libelist piece run against us every other week, and you know that. Entering damage control is like performing emergency surgery. I'm used to it by now, but of course the feeling is new to you. Nobody's perfect. You just tread carefully for a little while, okay?"
Blake smiled for the first time in days.
"We don't talk like this as much as we used to," she mused. "What happened?"
"Life happened."
In the end, she found two words by which she could live; a mantra that she repeated in her head as she walked into the station on Monday. It was ironic that she had said them many times already to reporters and correspondents.
There was nothing to be said as she sat at her desk. Detective Long nodded at her and went back to the reports on her desk.
For two days they finalized the paperwork for the abandoned case, sat depositions, and went through more paperwork. The Aces of Vale's 12th would then be given a robbery gone wrong as their next case.
They would later be jointly recognized for the Meritorious Service Award for the fifth year in a row. Blake was on vacation and not present to speak. Detective Long accepted her own award and Blake's in her place.
The landlines and cell phones were off. It was one of the promises they had made each other.
A week's vacation. Of course they had scheduled the breaks to be at the same time. Anything else would have been unthinkable.
They watched dumb movies and had horrible fast food delivered to the door. They spent hours on end without leaving the bedroom, pretending they were young women again. They lazed around the house in bathrobes and thin blankets, sleeping or talking inanely. They caught each other up on work. They gossiped and laughed harmlessly about their friends, something they hadn't done for years.
When the week was over they were ready to return to their respective posts. Blake prepared dinner and they ate in the living room.
Blake ignored the new medal in her bottom desk drawer.
She had arrived early on her first day back from vacation. She was waiting for Detective Long to get in so that they could discuss the resumption of her duties.
Yang strolled up five minutes later and rested a hand on her shoulder. She had a glint in her eyes.
"How was your week?" she said. "Did you get away? Did you stay in? Or did you … stay in?"
"Crass, much?"
Yang smirked. "Spill."
Blake smiled. "No comment."
Truly Yours, Kalico.