Obvious
"Patrol Sheriff Ligittt. Dawg, who'd have thought?" The voice of Cornelius Fillmore rang out across the nearly abandoned Safety Patrol Head Quarters of Macluhan Middle School. HQ's sole occupant, newly-minted Sheriff Liggit, looked up and gave his friend a rueful smile.
"I know," he said, fingering the medal Lucile had gifted him with. "Vallejo's never going to believe this." He added.
Fillmore chuckled and moved further into the room, away from the doorway he had been standing in. "I don't know, man" he said, "Vallejo always did have you pegged for the next Junior Commissioner."
Wayne laughed, choosing a desk at random and settling his weight against it. "He'll have set his sights on you now." he told the other boy, smirking.
Fillmore grimaced at the idea of being bound to a desk and decided to change the subject. Eying his friend, Fillmore's lips curved into a wicked smile. Catching the look, Wayne raised his eyebrows. "What?" he asked, confused.
Cornelius grinned. "So," he commented offhandedly, "you and Lucille huh?" Wayne's face turned an interesting shade of scarlet and he suddenly found the floor highly interesting.
"Is it that obvious?" he asked eventually, voice muffled as he spoke to his shoes. Even so, Fillmore could clearly hear the mix of pleasure and embarrassment in his old partner's tone.
"Dude, she practically threw herself on you when we found out that the pralines had been stolen and you spent hours baking bad tasting baklava for her – O'Farrell could have figured it out."
Wayne shook his head at Fillmore's observation, "She was just a little emotional," he muttered, "she didn't mean anything by it." The only response he received was Fillmore's snort of derision. Wayne looked up, "You really think she liked me? He asked incredulously.
The African-American patroller resisted the urge to mock his friend's unnecessary insecurity and gave a serious reply. "Yeah man, I think she likes you." Wayne beamed and Fillmore shook his head.
"Great," the young Sheriff said, "I'll ask her to the dance happening next week." He paused, "Now, about you and this Ingrid girl."
Fillmore's head shot up and he shot Wayne a look of alarm, "What about me and Third?" he demanded. Looking at his old partner, he decided that he definitely did not like the calculating gleam in his friend's eye.
"Fillmore," he said calmly, "you write, on average, about six pages per letter you send me. So far, that's approximately 42 pages of text. Of those 42 pages," he continued, "I'd say only 14 lines were devoted to topics not involving Ingrid Third – and that's including your hellos and goodbyes."
Fillmore shook his head vehemently. "Third and I, we're just partners man – just partners."
Wayne shook his head in cynical amusement. Looking at Fillmore, he kicked out a chair and indicated for his old friend to sit down. Fillmore did so. "Alright Fillmore, the two of you are just partners. Describe her for me."
Fillmore looked relieved at Wayne's acquiescence. Sitting up, he reached into his back pocket and fished out his wallet. Flipping it open, he plucked a slightly worn photograph from its depth and handed it to Wayne.
"Here," he said, "This is what she looks like."
Wayne took the picture wordlessly, noting with interest the Mona Lisa smile gracing the girl's lips. Eventually, he looked up from the photograph and said, "You never kept a picture of me in your wallet."
Wayne took a moment to enjoy the startled expression on his ex-partner's face before placing the picture deliberately down on the desk, rather than returning it to his friend. He could tell Cornelius wanted to reach for the photograph, but stubbornly refused to do so.
"Just admit it Fillmore," he told his friend, "You've fallen for her."
Fillmore sighed and reached for the photograph, lifting it gently in his hand. "Yeah," he said.
Wayne frowned, "You needn't sound so happy about it," he said dryly.
Fillmore sighed again and fixed his friend with a woeful look. "Vallejo's gonna kill me." He said resignedly.
"Protective is he?" Wayne asked.
"You have no idea."
The young sheriff laughed at his friend's despondent tone, and clapped him good-heartedly on the shoulder.
"Don't worry about it Fillmore," he said, "I'm sure once he sees how much you care about her, Vallejo won't sick Anza on you. He'll just yell at you a bit."
Fillmore chuckled dryly. "Thanks man."
Wayne smiled. "Anytime."
A/N: I know this is a bit poor, please don't blame me - it was written on the plane back from Japan when I was really tired. As always reviews and constructive criticism is appreciate. Thankyou for reading.