He waits for her at the crime scene; a Fed in the guise of a rookie, a spy
in the guise of a friend. Sometimes he thinks that maybe he needs a new
job. He hates lying to her. Undoubtedly she's going to take it
personally. And he knows that she will tear him a new one when she
eventually finds out. She is not a good woman to piss off. She is scary
even on the best of days, he thinks. He is only half-jesting.
He sees a lot of weird stuff working with her. He does not put most of it into his reports. A neurotic episode probably wouldn't look good on his resume. She has uncanny hunches about things. He would call it woman's intuition, but he doesn't know another woman anything like her. He doesn't know anyone else with her body count either. She kills more people in the line of duty than any officer he knows. Strangely this does not put her at the top of his list of suspect rogue cops. He wonders sometimes if he is making exceptions for her. He doesn't think so, but it still keeps him awake some nights.
She frowns over her shoulder, annoyed at the wind for all he can tell. She seems distracted and pensive and he is glad that he thought to bring her coffee. It is one of the few tips he managed to pick up from her old partner before he died. Maybe she will become civil once the caffeine kicks in. He won't hold his breath.
He watches her mutter to herself and gives a mental shrug. If it works, it works, he thinks. He busies himself with the investigation when she turns her sharp glare on him. It doesn't take long for his feigned interest to become genuine. It is easy to forget that this is not really the job he is here to do. Sometimes it is easier to hunt killers than spy on coworkers. There is so much he would tell her if he could. He would tell her the truth. About his assignment. About his remorse. About the people who deserve her trust even less than he does.
When her frown becomes a smile he is curious about its cause. He follows her line of sight and sees nothing. He is learning though that just because he can't see something doesn't mean it isn't there. He would bet good money that he knows what is in the shadows across the street and that knowledge frustrates him. He can't understand what she sees in the brooding thug. Can't understand why she protects him. An ancient, irrational anger surges through him. There is bad blood between them, and to his chagrin, most of it spilled seems to be his own. There must be something more to the sociopathic soldier-boy if she defends him so staunchly, but he doesn't know what it is. He doesn't want to know either.
He looks away from the unfathomable shadows and returns to the case at hand. It is a good thing he's not really a rookie, he thinks. His partner is a great cop, but not much of a teacher. Still he wishes for a little of her expertise, or even one of her wild intuitive leaps, as he stares down at the corpse. It takes him a moment to shift his perceptions. This is not a formerly vibrant young woman lying on the concrete. This is not a dead girl whose future is now nonexistent. This is just a body, a victim, a statistic. One more piece of evidence. The litany doesn't help. He begins to search for other, less tragic evidence. He finds it wedged between two nearby crates. Sometimes he doesn't like either of his jobs.
The caffeine doesn't seem to be working its usual magic. She is restless and moody all day. He has learned from experience to stay out of her way. She hasn't been like this in weeks, he thinks as he watches her pace their small office. He wonders idly if she had an argument with the dotcom kid. She doesn't seem to be that sort of upset though. A falling out with the thug would cheer him, but he doesn't think that's likely either. She looks at her watch for the seventeenth time since he began counting then glares at the case board. Eventually her lack of motion gets his attention. She's doing that fugue thing again, he thinks with a sigh. He hopes that her subconscious is working out a good theory on this case.
They work for many more hours. Although she looks at her watch enough times that he loses count, she doesn't seem to be in any hurry to go home. He asks if she needs a ride, or maybe dinner. She brushes him off with a not unexpected laugh and finally reaches for her coat. She leaves the department with a sense of determination. He wonders what she has made up her mind about and hopes she's in a better mood tomorrow.
Sometimes he manages to forget why he has come to this insomniac city. He thinks that maybe when this assignment is finished he'd like to stay. If he does, he's definitely getting a new job. He wonders if she'd still let him be her partner. He wonders how the cops' retirement program compares.
He sees a lot of weird stuff working with her. He does not put most of it into his reports. A neurotic episode probably wouldn't look good on his resume. She has uncanny hunches about things. He would call it woman's intuition, but he doesn't know another woman anything like her. He doesn't know anyone else with her body count either. She kills more people in the line of duty than any officer he knows. Strangely this does not put her at the top of his list of suspect rogue cops. He wonders sometimes if he is making exceptions for her. He doesn't think so, but it still keeps him awake some nights.
She frowns over her shoulder, annoyed at the wind for all he can tell. She seems distracted and pensive and he is glad that he thought to bring her coffee. It is one of the few tips he managed to pick up from her old partner before he died. Maybe she will become civil once the caffeine kicks in. He won't hold his breath.
He watches her mutter to herself and gives a mental shrug. If it works, it works, he thinks. He busies himself with the investigation when she turns her sharp glare on him. It doesn't take long for his feigned interest to become genuine. It is easy to forget that this is not really the job he is here to do. Sometimes it is easier to hunt killers than spy on coworkers. There is so much he would tell her if he could. He would tell her the truth. About his assignment. About his remorse. About the people who deserve her trust even less than he does.
When her frown becomes a smile he is curious about its cause. He follows her line of sight and sees nothing. He is learning though that just because he can't see something doesn't mean it isn't there. He would bet good money that he knows what is in the shadows across the street and that knowledge frustrates him. He can't understand what she sees in the brooding thug. Can't understand why she protects him. An ancient, irrational anger surges through him. There is bad blood between them, and to his chagrin, most of it spilled seems to be his own. There must be something more to the sociopathic soldier-boy if she defends him so staunchly, but he doesn't know what it is. He doesn't want to know either.
He looks away from the unfathomable shadows and returns to the case at hand. It is a good thing he's not really a rookie, he thinks. His partner is a great cop, but not much of a teacher. Still he wishes for a little of her expertise, or even one of her wild intuitive leaps, as he stares down at the corpse. It takes him a moment to shift his perceptions. This is not a formerly vibrant young woman lying on the concrete. This is not a dead girl whose future is now nonexistent. This is just a body, a victim, a statistic. One more piece of evidence. The litany doesn't help. He begins to search for other, less tragic evidence. He finds it wedged between two nearby crates. Sometimes he doesn't like either of his jobs.
The caffeine doesn't seem to be working its usual magic. She is restless and moody all day. He has learned from experience to stay out of her way. She hasn't been like this in weeks, he thinks as he watches her pace their small office. He wonders idly if she had an argument with the dotcom kid. She doesn't seem to be that sort of upset though. A falling out with the thug would cheer him, but he doesn't think that's likely either. She looks at her watch for the seventeenth time since he began counting then glares at the case board. Eventually her lack of motion gets his attention. She's doing that fugue thing again, he thinks with a sigh. He hopes that her subconscious is working out a good theory on this case.
They work for many more hours. Although she looks at her watch enough times that he loses count, she doesn't seem to be in any hurry to go home. He asks if she needs a ride, or maybe dinner. She brushes him off with a not unexpected laugh and finally reaches for her coat. She leaves the department with a sense of determination. He wonders what she has made up her mind about and hopes she's in a better mood tomorrow.
Sometimes he manages to forget why he has come to this insomniac city. He thinks that maybe when this assignment is finished he'd like to stay. If he does, he's definitely getting a new job. He wonders if she'd still let him be her partner. He wonders how the cops' retirement program compares.