Munch's POV-
They were rooted together like no other two people could ever be. It was almost frightening.
"What's up, Cap?" He asked, clearing his throat.
"Just lookin' for an update." When no one responded immediately, his eyebrows rose. "Okay," the captain dragged, "let's try this again, shall we? Where are we today, people? Anything important?"
"Nope, Nadda, Zip." She had told him. Her partner, my partner, who by the way reminds me of a burnout pimp, and myself, all snickered.
I was across the room, when they were first introduced. The invisible lines connecting them had begun to place, the first time they looked into each other's eyes. Before any introductions could have been made.
"Did I miss something?" Our captain asked.
"It's nothing, Cap." My hippie-like partner reassured.
Let's make sure it isn't." Our boss replied. "I'll assume that her answer pertains to all of you?" We all nodded. "Good, you two," he pointed to them, "I want you to hand off any pending cases to Alverston and Summers. And I want you two," he then pointed to my partner and I, "two with them." He pointed back to the bound pair.
With each case-related tragedy they went through, the lines became bolder. With each personal tragedy, they became almost inseparable. His over-protective posture had challenged her to override it. Making him smile and her stronger.
The threats were nothing new. She dealt with them nearly everyday, same as the rest of us. We were, are, cops, of course we were going to have people that hate us. Since they came directly from our prime suspect in an open case, we all took the threats a little more seriously. But, he took them with a little more tension. She hadn't wanted a detail, so he'd volunteered. Much to her admonishment.
The first week went by smoothly. But at the dawn of the next week, hectic chaos reigned the morning. When he had awoken, she was absent from her usual morning post, beside the coffee maker, in the kitchen. The frantic phone call I'd received left us all in a state of catatonic panic.
What they had…was better used for undercover operations. They passed the small tests, given by the targets, with exuberantly flying colors. Their ties were stronger than the world's best-built support beams. They held on, playing a huge game of tug-of-war while things became personal. Professionalism on the job couldn't help but become enter-twined with personal. But pleasure never entered the equation.
We searched, blindly. Never sleeping. A tip had come in about an hour earlier. But the witness hadn't been credible. So, we waited. For anything. Until the tipper came in, personally, wanting to know if we'd checked out his 'oh so reliable' sighting. To be sure, we showed his a photo array of random known offenders. Mixed in was the threatener. Much to our surprise, he actually picked a person. The suspect from out case, the case that we had dropped everything for and, in turn, had dropped when she had been taken.
Her partner cursed himself for not checking out every possible lead, no matter how much credit was merited to its giver. For not watching more closely, when he'd done everything short of taking a shower with her. For not saying what he should have said sooner.
Indefinable. Untouchable. Intangible. Nothing could ever begin to describe the ropes that bound them in so many places. A rope is comprised of different twisted strands. Banned together to form a whole. Just as they had been.
We arrived at the scene with a pack of other black and whites. Barring our tactical gear used in hostage situations. Only he wore the Kevlar and held his gun in stiffened arms. The rest of us wore full gear. A type pf red light seemed to be emanating through the dark room. The suspending tension could have been cut with a knife.
This thing can never be had by anyone else. With all of my luck that I've had with my ex-wives, I know we failed because we weren't them. These roots are binding them still.
