Title: Callous
Rating: PG-13 for some bad language. (It wasn’t raised right, is the thing.)
Characters: Kate and two of her fellow officers.
Setting: A week or so after Sense and Sensitivity.
Disclaimer: None of the characters herein are mine. They belong to Joss Whedon et al. (Why yes, I am a lazy sod, why do you ask?)
Alleged coffee is scorching and acrid on her tongue, liquid ash still touched with fire. She should have stopped at Starbuck’s but her alarm had failed her. The first time she’s needed it in years and it malfunctions.
Figures.
At least it’s caffeine, she reminds herself, and disgust is almost as effective a stimulant. Now she just needs to stop all these words from blurring together.
“Not lookin’ too hot there, Lockley.”
“You planning on giving me beauty tips?” Derisive banter, automatic and half-hearted as she tilts her head up, away from crucial information that refuse to make sense.
Bad idea. Her head throbs with the movement, jarring vision already dulled through eyes tinted with red.
“I hear sleep works great.” Thin line between mockery and concern and Heath walks it expertly.
“On?”
“Those dark circles under your eyes, for starters.” Harlan. He hasn’t spoken to her to her directly for two weeks, not unless he had to.
Not since that whole mess with Tony Papazian and spiked drinks.
He walks a few paces closer to stand beside Heath, a cup of actual coffee steaming in his hand, a familiar mix of concern and resentment in his eyes. What, did they rehearse this?
“Had a bad night.” Short but honest. She just hopes they won’t notice how hoarse her voice is. Knows they will. It makes her headache worse.
“Shouldn’t you be resting?” Shut up, Harlan, and stop looking like a goddamned puppy who doesn’t know whether to whimper or bite.
“Shouldn’t you be doing your job?” Harsh, but not as much as she wants to be, and that will have to be enough. The caffeine is finally starting to work and everything’s clearer, including the dull pain in her chest.
The two men exchange glances, and she can see the resignation but she’s not letting them off that easily.
“You should talk, Heath, the beating you took last week.” His soft, plump face is marred with stale bruises, he’s favouring his left side, and the bandaging on his ribs is thick enough to be noticeable.
He’ll be on desk duty for a while, for more than recovery.
She glances pointedly at Harlan, but he’s already looking away, lips pressed thin and tight. She can see Heath scowling at the floor out of the corner of her eye.
Well, what did they expect?
“You’re a bitch, Kate.” He’s finally looking at her. Her eyes widen in mock surprise, and she’s about to retort but his expression stills her tongue.
No one is supposed to look that sincere when they’re bickering.
“You should have figured that out ages ago,” she says softly, and it’s the closest thing to an apology he’s ever going to get.
Then she looks back to her desk, focusing on something far more important than one woman’s health or interoffice relations.
“Now get back to work so we can get this guy off the streets.”
She hears them walking away, Harlan to his new desk and
Heath to the one he’s had for the past ten years. They'll probably bitch about her over drinks later.
Kate knocks back the rest of her poison of choice and puts them out of her mind.
The pain is easier to ignore, but she’s always been good at multitasking.
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