"Good morning, Myka!" Myka looked around, trying to locate Claudia. The entrance way was filled with uniforms queuing up for the precinct coffee (which was really awful Myka was mystified by their apparent obsession with it).She grinned as she caught sight of Claudia jumping up in the elevator and accidentally shoving the morgue attendant her as she waved at Myka before the doors closed. Myka chuckled and waved back between the closing doors.
"Hey Claudia!" She called, slightly embarrassed.
"Been gone long?" One of the rookies hanging around the lobby with his coffee cups and donuts asked Myka snarkily. She glared at the young man, her eyes narrowing as she breezed by him.
"Long enough," she snapped back, jabbing the elevator button, impatient to get away from him.
"Maternity leave?" The guy asked, smirking. His companion guaffed. Myka turned on her heel, very slowly, to fix him with a painful glare.
"Mr.," she pointedly looked at his badge, "Stanton," she smiled sweetly, "it was so nice to meet you." His companion chuckled nervously next to him. Neither men were very attractive: Mr. Stanton, although tall and robust, had a square jaw and small eyes: his companion was worse for the wear, with a completely shaved head revealing two scars on his forehead that were oddly shaped like a cross. "You two, Mr. Lee."
"That's Officer Stanton to you, lady," the office puffed. Myka smiled sweetly.
"And Detective Bering to you, good sirs." They paled. "Yes, I am quite famous in the homicide division, I'm glad you noticed. And I have enough of a reputation to ensure that you two good fellows will be writing up traffic violations for quite a while."
Fucking idiots.
Myka decided to take the stairs instead. The small twinge of pain was worth the dramatic exit.
"Myka!" Pete, who'd been filling up his water bottle at the fountain, jogged over and fell into an easy step next to her as Myka walked out of the stairwell, breathing heavier than she would care to admit and still annoyed about the sexist idiots at the elevator. "Have you figured anything out yet?" Myka narrowed her eyes at Pete.
"Figure out what?" She asked in mock innocence.
"About the shooter?" Pete hinted. Myka bit her lip and wondered whether or not Pete knew about HG's assistance. That was sure to land her in trouble with Artie…
"How did you know?" She demanded. Pete shrugged.
"It's you," he said by way of explanation, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchenette was he watched Myka prepare herself some coffee. Myka smiled indulgently at Pete.
"Fair," she admitted. "Want some coffee?"
"No, I'm fine." Pete held up his water bottle. "Now, what do you have?"
"His sister was in town last night." Pete titled his head.
"What does that mean?" He asked carefully. Myka grinned, adding a small splash of milk to the coffee.
"It means we're getting answers."
"Answers?" Pete watched Myka stir her coffee intently.
"Sisters are veritable founts of information, Pete," Myka explained, licking the spoon and dropping it in the sink.
"But we already questioned a family member!" Pete exclaimed, surprised.
"We questioned a mother," Myka explained. "That is something very different."
"How so?" Myka fixed with a look expressing her sentiment of "isn't it obvious".
"Siblings tell each other more." Pete blinked in surprise.
"Really?" Myka nodded over the rim of her cup of coffee. Pete pouted. "You're making me feel guilty! I never tell my sister anything!" Myka shrugged.
"Yes, but that's the age difference," she pointed out, walking out the kitchenette slowly. Pete followed.
"Do you tell Tracy everything?" he demanded. Myka glanced over her shoulder and shrugged again.
"Not everything, but if I get murdered, Tracy will be able to hand you a list of suspects." Pete fell into step beside her.
"More so than your mother?" He asked, incredulous. Myka made a face.
"I only tell my mother the nice things about my life," she admitted.
"Really?" Pete was completely non-plussed.
"Yeah! Otherwise she'd worry!" And berate me for my mistakes, Myka added internally. Pete frowned.
"God, my sister must be weird. That's the only explanation!" Myka laughed.
"Or you're weird?" She suggested. Pete made a face at Myka.
"Why do you always take her side?" He demanded. She chuckled, shaking her head and sitting down at her desk in the middle of the bullpen elegantly.
"Older sisters have to stick together, Pete," she explained, re-arranging the papers on her desk neatly. Pete leaned against her desk and crossed his arms.
"Clearly." He shook his head in disapproval. "Does friendship mean nothing to you!?"
"Sometimes it means free dinner?" Pete rolled his eyes. Myka's gaze flicked to Artie's office the time for the third time in their conversation. Pete glanced behind him and tilted his head at Artie's office: the door was closed: a strange occasion. Pete narrowed his eyes.
"What are you waiting for?" He asked, suspiciously following her gaze. "Are you stalling?" Myka stared at Pete for a second, surprise making her stutter.
"Em, No! I mean, no!" Pete titled his head, smirking.
"Then why aren't you interviewing the sister yet?" He asked, grinning.
"Because Ms. Farrell has already been interviewed –" Artie's door opened and Myka sat up, quickly finishing her sentence as HG's triumphant grin followed a grumpy Artie into the bullpen. Serene and confident as always, Commander Frederick brought up the rear. "on behalf of the police department."
Artie slammed a file down on Myka's desk and Pete jumped up in shock. "Hello Artie," he mumbled, cowed.
"Lieutenant Nielson," he corrected icily, glaring at Myka. "Where are Steve and Claudia?"
"Claudia's downstairs," Steve answered, appearing at Artie's elbow. Artie glared at Steve, as if the Medical Examiner's absence was his responsibility.
"Catch her up on this then." Artie snapped.
"On what?" Pete asked, confused.
"Thanks to the request made by Detective Bering," Artie spat out the words like venom, "Ex - police officer Wells will be joining your team for a limited time to help in a highly diminished capacity on the case."
Myka couldn't help the smile spreading on her face, mirroring HG's triumphant smirk. Pete just looked puzzled. "But Artie –" he began. Artie cut him off with a wave of his hand and an awkward shuffle.
"I won't hear any more of this. Go, do your jobs." He stalked off, though his height and roundness made this a more awkward affair than the older man would have liked. Commander Frederick looked at the members of the team mildly, fixing them all with intense eye-contact.
"You're going to solve this matter quickly: it's already gaining too much media attention for my taste." Pete nodded ardently.
"Yes, yes we will, ma'am, I mean Commander Frederick." She smiled and nodded.
"Good." She disappeared.
As all superiors stepped out of ear shot, Pete turned on Myka, brow furrowed in confusion.
"Care to catch me up?" He asked. Steve cast a glance between both of them and then looking back at HG. Myka bit her lip and smiled.
"Basically, HG interviewed our suspect's sister last night, which is why we don't need to go."
"Can we use her interview in court?" Steve asked, addressing HG directly.
"It's sound evidence and everything she told me was on the record, so yes, it is admissible evidence." Pete glanced at HG as she spoke, but looked away again, as if uncomfortable, as he nodded sagely.
"Right, so what do we do know?" Pete asked.
"Our victim's sister told us one very important fact we had previously not known," HG explained, glancing at Myka. Myka smiled.
"What?" Pete asked, glancing between the two women. They began walking towards the elevator, pushing Pete in that direction too. Steve trotted along behind them.
"The victim was involved in drugs before," HG explained. Pete sighed noisily.
"We knew that!" Pete interrupted.
"Drug gangs, Pete." Myka correct. Pete's brow furrowed.
"Wait what? The guy was a lawyer!"
"Yes but before he started practicing law, he was busy breaking the law." HG grinned. Pete rolled his eyes.
"Did he have any clear cut enemies? Anything like that?" Steve asked.
"No, but he did have an old friend," HG replied with a smirk.
"Oh yes, old friends are usually my archnemesises." Pete muttered sarcastically.
"Is that even a word?" Steve asked, tilting his head.
"No, it's not. The plural of nemesis, Mr Lattimer, is nemeses," HG corrected, pressing the button to call the elevator.
"Whatever," Pete sighed. "So why are we going downstairs?!" He asked in surprise, as if only noticing now that his was where their path was leading them.
"Have you been listening?!" Myka demanded in animated frustration. Pete just stared at her in confusion.
"You haven't said anything about downstairs!" He protested. HG sighed in annoyance and explained quickly.
"Old friend was part of the victim's gang culture, but after an unfortunate incident the sister had no information about, he was put in witness protection. Why was someone in witness protection contacting someone outside of witness protection?"
"There are only two good reasons for that," Myka answered HG's question by holding up her fingers at ticking each item off. "Either he was in danger, or he was putting our victim in danger."
"But why are we going to the morgue?! Claudia won't be able to help us with this!" Pete demanded, frustrated.
'What else is downstairs?" Myka snapped.
"The parking garage?" He offered, glancing at Steve for help. Steve shrugged too.
"The fucking records room Pete. We're going to find the case which put Mr. Farrell's old friend into the witness protection program."
"Oh." Pete paused. "Oh wow, that's a really good idea." He paused again. "A really good idea." Myka rolled her eyes.
"Thanks," she snapped, rolling her eyes and glancing over at HG, who seemed to be wearing a very self-indulgent smile as she watched Myka. Myka looked away, fighting the blush creeping up her neck.
The one flaw in HG's plan was that, without a post-witness protection program name or any frame of reference of the crime (it had happened before 2007, so before the archives had be digitalised and could be searched with a simple key word or name), it was slow work. All drug related crimes committed between 2003 and 2005 were collected in along six different shelves. HG and Myka took the first set, Pete and Steve the second.
It was slow work.
And painful work, for Myka. Every time she had to retrieve one of the boxes from any of the top shelf, it pulled at her stitches. She bared her teeth and continued reaching, trying to ignore the pain as it increased through the morning. At exactly noon, Pete's head appeared around the corner.
"Steve and I are going to get lunch," he said with a grin. "Shall I fetch you your usual?"
"If you could," Myka said, trying to keep the strained edge out of her smile.
"On it," Pete nodded. "What can I get you, Wells?"
"It's HG, and I don't know, I suppose I'll have what Myka's having. What are you having?" HG tilted her head at Myka.
"Salad," Myka muttered, bending down under the pretense of rearranging one of the files on the floor, but actually using the opportunity to double over as another wave of fresh pain washed over her. She had some pain killers in her desk drawer: she would make up some excuse in a second to get them.
"Right, two salads, two actual meals," Pete joked, disappearing down the hallway, Steve in tow, who was reminding Pete loudly to go check on Claudia. Myka concentrated on the linoleum floor and tried breathing carefully and slowly, pushing the pain out of her head as she counted backwards in French from 312.
There was a shift of fabric and Myka's eyes fluttered open. HG was crouching in front of her, four advil in her palm. "Take this," she advised, nudging a bottle of water towards Myka. Myka breathed out breathily.
"You're only meant to take two," she said, staring at HG's palm. HG smirked.
"And you're also meant to have several days off after a shooting. Take them, Myka. If you overdose, I'll save you."
"So valiant." Myka took the pills and swallowed them down dry. HG grinned.
"I try," she agreed, sitting down next to Myka and leaning against the shelf, offering her the water again. Myka shook her head.
HG looked up the shelf and sighed. Myka followed her gaze and frowned. They'd been working for at least three hours, and yet they had managed to comb through barely a tenth of the long shelf.
"I feel like there has to be a quicker way of doing this," Myka murmured. HG smiled sadly.
"Sadly, there isn't. I racked my brain for possibilities. Unless we can find a Vice Detective who knows his cases, we're doomed to doing this." Myka narrowed her eyes thoughtfully.
"I used to date a guy who worked in Vice, you know…" she bit her lip and considered. "His old CO owes me a favor: we could go ask him." HG grinned.
"It's worth a try," she agreed. Myka made as if to try and get up, but HG grabbed her hand, holding her down.
"What?" Myka demanded.
"Wait until after lunch," HG cautioned. Myka frowned, confused.
"Why?" she asked.
"Myka, you're hurt. You need to take everything a bit slower than usual." Myka sighed and sat down again heavily, crossing her arms.
"Seriously?!" She demanded, huffing. HG chuckled.
"Yes, Myka. Seriously." Myka tilted her head and smiled at HG: a light, playful smile that made HG's chest feel oddly constricted.
"Thank you, HG." Myka murmured quietly. As if anyone else would be in the records room around lunch time, listening to them.
"Helena," Helena corrected. "You can call me Helena." Myka smiled shyly.
"Helena." She tilted her head. "I way prefer that."
Myka had really beautiful eyes. Why hadn't Helena noticed that before? Her eyes were wonderful: equal parts moss green and a deeper, pine green with small gold flecks. Myka looked down, embarrassed by Helena's scrutiny, letting her hair fall forward to obscure her face. She fiddled with her fingers absently, twisting the edge of a blank piece of paper meticulously. Helena watched her.
The bing of the elevator startled them: Myka instinctively scrambled up, grabbing one of the files. Helena followed suit, surprised by the speed of Myka's ascent. Myka poked her head around the corner as the elevator doors slid open and huffed.
"Oh, I thought it was Pete, but it's actually a bunch of uniforms that were trying to get to the morgue," she said, laughing breathlessly. Helena chuckled. Myka sighed and leaned against the shelf, a relieved grin crossing across her face. "I don't want Pete to see me slacking."
"I don't know whether I would call that slacking," Helena admitted. "You were in pain."
"Or in pain," Myka added. "He doesn't deal with reminders of other people's fragility well." Helena laughed.
"You seem to worry about everyone except yourself, Myka," Helena chastised. Myka shrugged.
"It's easier that way," she admitted, crossing her arms and smiling sadly.
Helena didn't know what drove her to it: perhaps it was Myka's frank shrug; perhaps it was her little self-deprecating admission; perhaps it was just that right now, leaning against the shelves, hair halo-ing her face with her sad smile, Helena had never liked a person more. She stepped forward, carefully invading Myka's personal space. She laid a careful hand on Myka's hip, below her stitches, before cupping the other around Myka's neck. Helena watched Myka intently. Myka watched Helena, small, surprised smile tugging at her lips. She uncrossed her arms, and Helena, seeing that as an invitation, lightly kissed Myka.
Helena pulled back, pausing for a second, titling her head at Myka. Myka grinned and slipped a hand into Helena's hair, pulling her closer again so she could kiss her properly. Helena grinned against Myka's lip, stepping closer to Myka and letting her soft lips against Helena's obliterate everything else.
I KNOW THIS ENDS AT A WEIRD PLACE I'm really sorry. Comments are, as always, appreciated.