newpest | 受信箱

He lets himself melt into the shape of her, eyes closing. He's awake, alert, but he doesn't bother showing it. He wants something of this moment, something close to comfort.

"All the opened cases on your desk?" He knows that's not what she means, but he wants to hear her say it. "That'll be a lot."

"You think he'd do that for me?" It's not a small pile, however quickly she bulldozes through some of them. But - lazily told jokes aside - they both know that's not what she means. So she says it for him, a litany of loss breathed into a quiet room. "Bancroft. Mary Lou Henchy. My arm. And - Elias."

The last one comes after a silent hitch, only long enough to be noticeable.

"If they're connected, there has to be a meth involved." It's too widespread. No one else could do it. "We could get to the bottom of it, but that doesn't mean we'll get justice. That's what the admiral's giving me: a meth's head on a plate."

He doesn't like talking about Elias, especially now. He doesn't like talking about meths when he's safe and warm besides her. He barely tolerates talking.

He doesn't like the idea that getting this deal will be the end of him.

"You want your old arm back?"

"Fuck no." It's an answer that comes swiftly and decisively. If it weren't a stupid, absurdly expensive idea, she'd consider lopping off the other one, too. "But I wouldn't mind beating the Ghostwalker with my old one."

Maybe to death. That fucker killed Samir, and no one will do anything to avenge him if Kristin doesn't.

Edited (changed my mind, sorry) 2021-10-06 03:15 (UTC)

He huffs subdued laughter. "Maybe add that to your wishlist. You'll be here for a while."

"You think so?" She's been trying not to think about that, but it's hard not to when he brings it up, her fingers tracing over the curve of his ear. "Ten years in Purgatory."