Rating: Teen
Notes: Written for Older Not Dead promptathon 12! Fuzzy timeline is fuzzy.
Prompt: ?. ?/?. Slushy streets
Disclaimer: This is a work of fictional parody in no way intended to infringe upon the rights of any individual or corporate entity. Any and all characters or celebrity personae belong to their rightful owners. Absolutely no money has or will be gained from this work. Please do not publicly link, repost or redistribute without letting me know first.
Written: 2/2013
Wetness crept slowly over his favorite pair of shoes – into his socks and up his pants until even the bottom of his long coat was wet with the gray slush of the delightful Manhattan alley system. Detective Munch could feel the wet cold seeping into his bones and making his joints ache in the increasingly familiar fashion that made him think about arthritis and the anti-inflammatories he kept at home for bad days.
If the stench coming off his partner as he climbed out of their third dumpster in as many hours was any indication, it was a bad day.
"Isn't this what we pay uniforms for?" John groused, tucking his hands into his pockets as he kicked another plop of dripping snow off his shoe.
Fin stripped off his latex gloves and dug another pair out of the box to get ready for the last big blue bin. "You wanna get the murder weapon in a couple hours or a couple days?" He rolled his eyes, stepping a little closer. "The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can get some real sleep in a real bed."
The crib wasn't so bad, really, but with the ADA breathing down their necks for evidence they just didn't have they'd been lucky to catch an hour nap before heading back out canvas the neighborhood again after an anonymous tip that a guy fitting the perp's description was seen dumping a shoebox in one of the dumpsters less than an hour after the attack. Munch curled his gloved hands tighter in his pockets and walked side by side with his partner toward the end of the narrow alley. He wasn't sure if it was better or worse that the wind was whipping up behind them and numbing his calves as it lessened the small of wet garbage the night before pickup. "You're not going anywhere near the apartment until you've been hosed off."
"Cold bastard."
"Freezing." Munch sighed, shuffling through the slush. "I'm gonna end up with pneumonia."
"Keep complainin'." Fin replied, unceremoniously hoisting himself up and in; "You're welcome to join me and make this go a little bit faster."
"As romantic as the thought of spending our anniversary together in a dumpster is, I think I'll pass."
"Shit," Fin muttered, tossing out the first bag. He'd forgotten, between being on a case and not being so great at remembering anniversaries anyway it'd slipped his mind. "You're the only one that remembers that kind of thing."
"The greeting card industry begs to differ." He shrugged, opening the bag – kitchen waste, nothing exciting. "Don't worry; I canceled our reservations when the case came in."
Fin still had lots of reservations, just not the kind that require a dinner jacket. Two years of sleeping together and one splitting the rent on a decent place hadn't really made them go away. Not that anything would ever change that. "Got you a present," he said, moving another bag to uncover a box for a pair of size 9 Adidas.
His lips curled into a smile when he carefully slid his way across the icy alley to take the box; "That shoe looks familiar." Munch opened the top, finding a bloody switchblade nestled between a wadded piece of tissue paper and a forgotten credit card receipt; "Ohh, evidence… you always know exactly what to get me. This'll go great with our court case."
Fin chuckled, poking his head up and out of the bin. "What can I say, I'm a hopeless romantic."
"Hopeless? Sounds about right."
"Get your bony ass over here and help me out this thing."
Maybe it was the fact that they were walking out of an alley at two in the morning with evidence to slam dunk their case, maybe the combination of stinking to high heaven and being frozen to the core was getting to him, but Munch barely flinched when Fin wrapped an arm around his waist to steady him as he skidded on numb feet in the road slurry three blocks to their car.
"Tell you what," Munch conceded, letting Fin take the driver's seat as he tried to shove his feet up even closer to the heating vent; "you get this to the ADA while I thaw and I'll let you break the sacred 'no dumpster smell' rule long enough to take a bath when we get home."
Fin considered it a moment, looking more for something amusing to respond with but coming up exhausted and empty handed. He responded; "Happy anniversary, man."
An unexpected smile tugged at the corners of Munch's mouth and he turned to say; "Here's to many more."