A/N: Sorry this is kind of late. My phone decided to have some sort of technological seizure and deleted the next few chapters of the Fringe fic I'm working on that I'd saved on it. Because teachers totally appreciate when you're writing fanfics on your phone in class, right? Rewriting that before all the words escaped my head was prioritized above finishing up this chapter, unfortunately, but it's here now! :)
Disclaimer: Really?
They agreed to be professional. Two hours before, in the precinct's break room, they promised - each other, themselves, their victim - to keep their past in the past. It's not like their history is littered with betrayal and heartbreak and resentment, because that's not the case, not in the least. They broke up on amiable terms. Respectful terms. Savannah wanted more out of their relationship, which Kate couldn't give her, not then. Tears were shed, and maybe Savvy did get a little angry, but mostly she was upset. Sad. As most people are when experiencing loss.
She mourned quite deeply. She slept with strangers, both men and women, and had other girlfriends. Serious girlfriends; relationships that did end with lies and savage pain and shouting. A bang rather than a whimper.
Both Savvy and Kate agree: no distractions.
But Kate Beckett is distracting. Every beautiful bit of her; her eyes, an autumnal greenish brown color, her long fingers, her collarbones peeking out from the neckline of her short-sleeved shirt. A million and one old memories resurface, bubble up to the forefront of her mind, and she can hardly resist the urge that rises up beneath her ribs. It's like her heart's inflating with the intensity of it, which is annoying, and inconvenient, and - oh, man, she's a goner. How the hell is she gonna survive this?
The detective, on the other hand, seems unperturbed. Her mind is trained solely on the case, on the information she scrawls onto the twelfth's whiteboard, the photographs she pins to it. She muses, almost idly, about the victim and the killer. Why her? Why decapitation?
"Our murderer might have committed smaller crimes in the past. You know, the weird teenager that probably killed the neighbor's cat," she might think aloud, and Savvy will just nod absently in response.
When their victim is identified as twenty-five-year-old Daisy Elizabeth Anderson from downtown Manhattan, Kate and Agent Taylor - a stocky guy with a voice like gravel, Savannah's loyal partner of four years - disappear to pick up Hunter Anderson, Daisy's husband and next-of-kin.
Even then, the feelings don't fade, like an itch that stubbornly refuses to be soothed.
"Get it together," Savvy mutters to herself. She feels twenty again; she can't stop staring at her beautiful and mysterious classmate throughout Professor Jacobson's terribly boring lectures. She never paid attention, spent most of the class doodling Katherine Beckett in the margins of her notebook.
(One particularly frigid Tuesday morning, Kate - out of boredom - leaned over to see what Savannah was drawing and spotted a cartoon of herself.
"Is that me?" She said softly, underneath the drone of their professor.
"Yeah, yeah, it is," Savvy mumbled, embarrassed, cheeks flushing bright red.
Kate's normally solemnly impassive expression blossomed into a beautiful smile. "It's adorable. Your name's Savannah, right?"
"Call me Savvy."
"Alright, Savvy. What else do you draw, besides your classmates?")
But you're not,she reminds herself, somewhat harshly. She's not a dumb, lovesick kid. She's an adult, thirty-two years old, an FBI agent. She's better than this, better than (metaphorically) drooling over an ex-girlfriend. She's moved on. She has.
She takes a deep breath, shaking herself mentally, and forces herself to focus on the whiteboard. Why Daisy Elizabeth Anderson? Why decapitate her? What's the connection between her and the other victims? Is there a connection, or is the killer picking people at random?
The questions fill up her mind, pushing Kate to the background. She focuses, determined, on the case in front of her. The bits of information - Daisy was unemployed, but her husband's well-paying job kept them afloat; on the night of her death, she planned to have a movie night at a friend's house, but never arrived - and the gruesome photographs, both from the crime scene and the morgue, consume her and she tries her damnedest to make sense of them. To somehow find some well-hidden answers.
(She knows that she can't maintain this forever, though, especially once the detective returns. A piece of her heart - small, forcibly forgotten when the metaphorical section of the organ was sealed off like a wound closing - still cares for Kate. Maybe it's love, maybe it was, maybe it's not and never has been, but it's something. Something kind of beautiful.)
'Focused Savannah' lasts for about fifteen minutes, until Kate walks up to her, saying, "Agent Taylor's with Mr. Anderson in the lounge."
Savannah, still half in 'the zone,' turns to her face and blinks as if coming out of a trance.
"Earth to Savvy," Kate says, her tone light, the faintest trace of a smile on her face. "You in there?"
For a brief second, Savvy's even more taken aback. That is - was; past tense, past tense, Agent Grant - their 'thing.' Sometimes, when Savvy was studying, Kate'd pull the textbook or notes away and sidle into her girlfriend's lap. She would grin playfully as she said, "Earth to Savvy. You in there, babe?"
Thankfully, Savvy regains herself quickly, and grins at the other woman. "Old habits die hard, huh?"
She expects a witty response or Kate's trademark eye roll, but instead the dark-haired woman shrugs, offering a small (and unfairly alluring) smile. She expertly switches the subject in a flash, turning to the 'murder board,' as the twelfth's homicide detectives call it.
"Any ideas?"
Right. Eyes on the prize, Sav.
It's not that simple.
Of course, it's not that simple.
Hours and hours and hours pass and Savvy's productivity appears only in short bursts. Mostly, she just watches Detective Beckett at work, watches her brain work behind her eyes, and as nighttime overtakes the city, her watching becomes more unabashed. She's tired. Everyone's tired. This case has them all running ragged.
"I've missed this," Savvy says sleepily. "Solving things with you."
Kate allows herself a short laugh. "Murders are a bit different than equations, don't you think?"
"Nah, not really. Add stuff together, figure out what 'x' means, and voila, the entire thing fits together perfectly like a puzzle of death and destruction."
"Is the death and destruction part referring to our case or equations?"
"Math in general," Savvy grumbles.
The women are drunk off exhaustion, and can't help the smiles that split their faces like equators. Kate's at her desk, Savvy sitting in the chair she keeps nearby it from some reason. She doesn't ask her about it, though - doesn't want to give up having somewhere to sit.
All the sudden, Kate turns her head to look at the FBI agent, and hesitates almost imperceptibly before saying, "You know what you need?"
"Enlighten me, O wise Detective Beckett," Savvy replies cheekily.
"Hush," Kate says. "You need a break. We both do. Let's call it a night and go get a drink."
"Together? How scandalous."
Oh, man, she is exhausted. But there's no way she's passing this offer up. She knows it won't make the whole 'staying professional' thing so easy, but Savannah's heart has always ruled over her head. Unlike Kate, though it doesn't seem like it now.
Which Savvy has no problem with.
Kate stands and grabs her coat. "You joining me or are you gonna sass the murder board until it reveals the name of our killer?"
"Alright, alright," Savvy concedes, standing as well. "That comment was very hurtful, you know that?"
"Oh, please," Kate scoffs as both of them pull on their jackets. "I'm sure you'll survive."
It continues like that; they banter easily, smiling their equator smiles and laughing wholeheartedly. It's beautiful. It's uncomplicated. Even more so than when they were dating. The elevator ride allows near-intimate physical proximity, and through the entire night, they hardly stray from that closeness.