Disclaimer: Perry Van Shrike, Harry Lockhart, and Harmony Faith Lane belong to people who make more money in a year than I'm likely to make in my life.
Warnings: the F-word (hey, it's KKBB), violent death (later chapters will include violence and other unpleasantries and sexual content... and slash)
Preliminary Notes: Written for a prompt at the KKBB kink meme.
The title comes from the Jackson Browne song "Lives in the Balance" and it'll make more sense in later chapters. I know where I'm going with this story, but I don't know how many chapters it will end up being, nor how fast I'll be able to update. I'm also not sure how bad I'm going to make it in the middle, but my general policy is to only use graphic content if it forwards the story or is otherwise necessary.
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"Could you repeat that? I don't believe I heard you right." Perry's hand tightened around his cell phone.

The police detective – a contact of Perry's – gave an uncharacteristic nervous cough. "I said, we need you to come in to identify the body of your partner, Harry Lockhart. I'm terribly sorry."

Sorry. What did that ever mean? Perry, dry throated, rasped," I understand." He didn't, really. "I'll be there in half an hour."

He pressed the END button on his phone and slowly lowered it. It nearly fell from his nerveless fingers. He gripped it tightly again when he felt it slip. His brain slowly processed the words. And the only logical solution of "Harry" plus "body" that his mind could find was "mistake."

Perry raised his phone and speed-dialed Harry. He would shout as many combinations of idiot and four letter words he could imagine - as soon as Harry answered the phone.

An obnoxious tone and a recorded message were all that greeted him, however. Still, that could mean any number of things. More likely a dead battery than a dead partner. The only thing he could do now was go to the county morgue and prove to himself and the police that this was all one huge un-fucking-funny mistake.

His police contact was waiting in front of the doors for him when he got to the Department of Coroner. Perry was glad of that. It saved him having to utter impossible words that might somehow gain a semblance of truth if voiced. "Lieutenant Morales," he greeted the cop.

"Perry, I'm sorry you had to come down here for this." There was that word again.

Perry had had 30 minutes in his car to recover himself and get back into character. He gave the cop one of his signature you have 30 seconds to thrill me looks. "Brief me," was all he said.

Morales led the way down to the morgue, explaining as they walked down the ghostly fluorescent lit corridor. "Campus police at Long Beach State got a call at 6:10 this morning. Early morning jogger found what they thought was a body under the bleachers by the track." Perry's stomach clenched at the words. "To make a long story short, it was a badly burned body." Morales pulled open the door to the morgue. They entered and a silent Department of Coroner employee joined them. "What remained – that was identifiable – can unfortunately only be linked to your partner."

Perry heard the words with a sense of unreality. Even the room around him seemed to have misted edges, as if at any moment it would dissolve away like a dream. "Show me." Once he saw that the corpse was a faceless idiot and not his own idiot, he could vociferously abuse the police force and get back to the real world. And his job. And vociferously abusing his own work force.

"It's not pretty," Morales warned as the coroner grasped the edge of the sheet on the nearest table.

Perry's usual wit failed him, so he settled for a sharp reiteration of his previous command. Morales nodded to the coroner and the still silent man pulled back the sheet.

It was anything but pretty. Perry fought against his gag reflex at the sight and smell that assaulted him. He looked away quickly, raising a hand to his nose. Burned humanity was not something a person should have to encounter. Perry nearly lost control when he recalled that the police were claiming that this blackened mass was Harry.

The coroner coughed nervously. "Mr. Van Shrike, I'm going to need you to work with me here." He coughed again as Perry gave him a sharper than intended look. "Lieutenant Morales, if you'd be so good..."

"Perry, we really need you to look closely. We were unable to get any dental matches and the partial prints we got came up as viable matches to Harry Lockhart. There was also part of New York driver's license." Morales held up a small evidence bag. Still feeling sick and a bit light headed, Perry looked at it. "The part of the number that remains could be a match for your partner." The card was blackened and melted around the edges. The photo and signature were obliterated, but the "York" or New York, part of the ID number and an "H," an "a" and what could be an "r" or an "n" were distinguishable.

Perry had never understood before what people meant by "a sinking feeling." Now, though, it felt as if gravity were wrenching his stomach downward. And perhaps his diaphragm as well – his ribs did not seem to be expanding enough for full breathing. He clenched his fists, manicured nails digging into palms, and twitched his head to the side before looking Morales in the face again.

"Perry, does Harry Lockhart have any distinguishing physical characteristics?"

"Half his left ring finger is gone," Perry replied. He swallowed audibly and shifted his gaze to the body. His eyes moved quickly to the left hand which the coroner had carefully raised. He tried not to absorb too much of the view on the way.

The digit in question was missing its terminal phalange. Perry's stomach sank further as his heart rate picked up and a slight buzzing seemed to build in his ears.

"Anything else? ... Can you recall what he was wearing the last time you saw him?"

"Gray sweatshirt." Perry's eyes slid to the remains of a zipper that clung to the torso of the corpse. "Blue jeans." There were tattered black remnants. "Digital wristwatch." Slightly melted band and cracked crystal on the left wrist. And there was the side button - the one for the light - worn to base metal from all the times Harry pressed it, childishly enjoying the illuminated display. "Oh, fuck."

Perry turned and stumbled toward the sink that was on one side of the room. His vision darkened and he found himself instead on his knees, retching into a floor drain.

"Perry!?" Morales called out to him in concern. The policeman crouched down by him and put a hand on Perry's back as he heaved.

"-e bastard..." The words were hemmed by a pant and a heave.

"Perry?"

Perry's left hand moved up to clutch Morales' collar. His eyes shifted to pierce those of the police detective. "You find the bastard, Morales." He tasted bile with the words. "You fucking find the fucking bastard that did this."

Morales heard the unspoken threat. "Find him before I do and rip his fucking heart out."

~to be continued~

Additional Notes: I actually did minimal research to figure out where the corpse would be taken.
The prompt was for angst, so future chapters will feature it.
The prompt was from the kink meme, so eventually there will be sex. Fear not!
Go Beach! I decided to use my alma mater as a somewhat key setting because it's the place I know best in LA. Later chapters will probably include Perry abusing the Pyramid (CSULB's blue geometric gymnasium).
Perry's voice is hard to do in angsty situations...

Feel free to review. I'd greatly appreciate it and it might help me update faster.