Magnus Martinsson spent the better part of a Wednesday night at Kurt Wallander's apartment on Mariagatan getting drunk and lamenting the state of his love-life; Martinsson usually enjoyed being away from anything and anyone that had to do with work, but that night he had allowed Wallander to invite him over for a drink… Which then turned into eight or nine drinks, by which point both men had gotten drunk.

Although Martinsson had his own friends, they were all asleep by the time he got off work, and so his colleague Wallander seemed to be the only person still up and able to be spoken with. Wallander had told Martinsson he couldn't offer any advice, but he could listen, and that was all Martinsson really needed; someone to bitch to about his ex-girlfriend who he was trying to win back after a nearly ten-year separation. She had just moved to Ystad after living in Japan from when he left for Police College, and she worked at a bookshop next to the station and lived four houses to the right of Wallander on Mariagatan.

Nidavelle Hægison, a twenty-nine year old interpreter and translator worked in the bookshop next to the Ystad police station. She was the owner's only daughter, and she had been the policeman Martinsson's girlfriend for six years before he left for Police College and broke up with her. The day he left for Police College, she packed up and went to live with her mother in Japan for the next ten years, working as an interpreter and translator for her mother's company. She hadn't spoken to him until she came back to Sweden and ran into him in the bookshop; she was rearranging some shelves when he came up to her and tried to act as if he hadn't ripped her heart out by leaving her.

Around 1:00am, Martinsson left Wallander's apartment to go back to the station, get his car, and drive home; Nidavelle was coming home from the bookshop and spotted him walking up Mariagatan, obviously wasted, and walked down the street toward him. He almost fell off a curb and twisted his ankle, letting out a loud curse as she reached him.

"You, in my house, now." She said, looking up at him; Martinsson was about five inches taller than her.

"Oh, hello, Nida." He snarled. "Come to taunt me?"

"No, but you're standing in front of my house, you've just sprained your ankle, and you're not driving home." She sighed. "Come on, Mag. Don't make an ass of yourself."

"Have I not already?" He asked, laughing. "Last I heard, you thought I was one." He said. "I'm such an ass!" His voice echoed up and down the quiet street.

"Magnus!" She said in a scolding tone, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him up the driveway to her house. She took her keys out and opened the door, shoving him inside.

"Don't touch me." He growled as fell onto the couch and leaned over to try and take his shoes off.

"You're drunk; why are you drunk?" She watched him toss his shoes lazily toward the shoe stash by the door. "You're a policeman, you shouldn't be getting drunk."

"I'm sorry, I wasn't aware that policemen weren't allowed to have a drink or two every now and then." Martinsson glared up at her.

"You've probably had like six or seven drinks, Magnus, and your job is to protect people! And there you were, trying to go back to the station to get your car and drive home, in which you would have endangered your life and possibly the lives of other people!" She said angrily. "Are you hungry?" She asked, suddenly calm.

"What?"

"I asked if you wanted any food, Mag."

"Are you going to poison it?" He asked, to which she responded by giving him an annoyed look. "I mean, you'd have a motive."

"I don't have a motive, but you're well on your way to giving me one." She snapped. "I'm going to make you a Panini, and you're going to eat it." She added, leaving for the kitchen.

"Is there a place I can take a shower?" He called after her.

"Not until after you eat!" She said back.

Martinsson lingered on the couch for a while, thinking over the last few minutes; one second he had been walking down Mariagatan to head to the station to get his car, the next he tripped over a curb and sprained his ankle, probably badly, and then he was sitting on his ex's couch while she made food for him. He sighed and reclined on the couch, turning on the TV and switching it to the news; there wasn't anything particularly interesting on that night apart from the story of a robbery they were investigating and a shooting in Stockholm.

While he was watching the news, Nida had finished making the panini and came back into the living room to give him the sandwich. Martinsson could smell the sandwich, and he looked over as she set it down on the coffee table. He suddenly felt like he was nineteen again, the scent of her signature sandwich bringing him back to when they were together and she'd always make lunch for him.

"If you don't eat it, it'll get cold. They don't taste nearly as amazing when they're cold." She said, smiling a little when she noticed the small smile that had appeared on his face. "Go on." She said, leaving the room.

Martinsson took a second to get over his nostalgia before digging into the delicious sandwich; it tasted even better than he had remembered. He didn't take very long to finish it, despite trying to savor its flavor. After he was done, he found the kitchen and began to wash the dish. Nida came into the kitchen and look surprised to see him drying the dish.

"You didn't have to wash it." She said, laughing. "You wanted to take a shower?"

"Yes, please." He replied, putting the dish in the dish drainer and looking over his shoulder at her.

Half an hour later, after he had taken a shower, Nida vacated her bedroom so he could sleep there for the night. She had wrapped his ankle to help with the sprain and given him some ibuprofen to keep the pain and swelling down a little, and then she went to the couch to sleep.

Martinsson had a hard time falling asleep despite being extremely tired; he wondered how, after having completely burned the bridge between them, she could be so kind to him and take care of him. The effects of the alcohol had begun to wear off, and he was beginning to think like a civilized person again. She had absolutely no reason to be kind to him, no reason to let her into the house that night and take care of him in his drunken state, and he wondered why she had. He had broken her heart a decade earlier and been an ass to her on the street and seconds after being let into her home; why did she do this for me?