Work Text:
++ Catherine ++
Really, what the hell are the odds? At least if something so utterly improbable is happening to me, couldn't it have been the lottery?
Oh no.
Somewhat morbidly appropriately… I have a dead body across the hood of my car.
Really, what are the odds?
Hours later and endless explanations to both my coworkers and Dace (really, I can't blame her for laughing) I've actually been given the police standard line to 'stay in town in case we need to talk to you.' Really? Is that necessary? At least Vega had the decency to look a little embarrassed at having to say it.
My car has been impounded as evidence, I'm tired and pissed off and really, really damn hungry. No one I work with regularly can get anywhere near me as I'm technically a suspect in the mysterious death, despite having been in the damn labs all day! Dammit! I had really been looking forward to dinner with Dace. Those reservations had been tough to get, despite the considerable clout of the House of Hearts.
Now, I'm stuck with a crinkly bag of Doritos and a serious case of the blues.
"Come on, Murphy," cheers a blessedly familiar voice and I look up to see a grinning Boxer. "Despite me knowing you and all that bullshit, the brass is letting you out into my 'custody'." I can't help the smile at the scathing sarcasm on that last word. She has my bag and light jacket and we beat a retreat with me doing my damnest to ignore the stares. "This is going to turn out to be a case of someone dicking with you, mark my words," Boxer continues in that calm, jovial voice that eases my lingering worry. "I'll bet both kneecaps and a few internal organs that some idiot wants us to figure out what happened, or is doing a piss poor job of trying to cover his tracks, but leaving your carjacked ride right where we could find it. Buck up, Wildcat."
My seldom used nick from the leather players is a little jarring coming from the lanky detective, but it succeeds in getting me to stop being so emotional about this. Nothing she just said is anything that hasn't run through my head throughout all of this, but it's grounding to hear it spoken so plainly by someone else.
"There's someone here to see you," Boxer chuckles as we step out into the faintly chilly night and I'm unutterably grateful to see my tawny mate astride her favorite Harley at the curb. Her smile is sweet and sympathetic, her presence instantly soothing away the hellish night.
Boxer is surprised when I grab the sleeve of the ubiquitous leather jacket that is so much a part of her and plant a kiss on her cheek. "Thanks Lindsey," I murmur and absorb her pleased smile for a moment before trotting to Dace and throwing myself onto the back of the bike. With the helmet snug around my skull and the machine rumbling throatily beneath and my beloved warm and solid against me, I can move on.