First girl meets boy.
They fall in love and live harmoniously for 10 years.
Then boy wants a divorce.
This is the story of Max and Tristan Fletcher and their life together leading up to their eventual marital separation.
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1 year ago
"Man, you really saved me back there. I was sure the chief was going to chew my ass out." Max pushed her arms through her leather jacket holes.
Isaac threw his head back and laughed. "It was nothing Maxine. I'm sure you'd do the same for me."
They walked out of the precinct together, talking about their day. They had been trailing some gang members for the past couple of weeks, trying to get to the root of this bad drug problem they had in the city.
"No, it's not nothing. Let me take you out for a drink. My treat," she said in a sing song voice, wiggling her eyebrows.
The tall Englishman shook his head and smiled. "Alright, just one drink. But we need sustenance as well… so pizza?
"YES!" She pumped her fists in the air happily. "Let's go to that bar you like with the great brick oven pizza?"
He agreed and walked alongside her. The bar was in walking distance from the precinct so if they were to slightly lose control of their libations, they could easily walk back to their cars.
"I dunno why you're so excited for drinks when you're a whole lightweight," Isaac jested, bumping his side into her shoulder. Their height difference making him tower over her.
She stopped her walk to gasp. "Thems sounds like fighting words, Stryker. Is that a challenge?"
"I'm not sure you can consider it a fair challenge when I already know that you cannot handle your liquor." He shoved his hands in his pockets with a shit eating grin on his face.
Smirking, Max nodded her head in thought. "Okay, okay... we'll see about that."
"This whole time I had this bloke chatting me up I was wondering how much trouble I would be in with the bureau if I snapped his neck. Sure he was the Russian ambassador but it couldn't have been too much trouble right?"
Max had tears in her eyes from laughing so hard at her partner's anecdote.
"I'm sure you make a lovely looking woman, Isaac," she snorted.
"Yes, I believe Vaughn thought that as well. But c'mon it should have been more than obvious. I'm 6 foot 1 with hair ...all over my body." Isaac shrugged his shoulders.
"I'm sure that's what they're used to so they didn't question it but I agree, it should've been obvious you were a man in drag." She took a huge gulp of her beer then took a bite of her flatbread pizza. "What was your undercover name?"
"Svetlana Ormansoff," he said in his fake high-pitched Russian accent. "I got the information I needed that's all that mattered… and thank God, I didn't have to sleep with anyone to get it."
Max smiled at the man. He seemed so cultured and well-mannered, she thoroughly enjoyed listening to him talk. With that accent, he could read the script of a terribly written movie to her and she wouldn't be bored.
They refilled their mugs and continued with their conversation.
"Sometimes I think that Tristan doesn't like me being a detective, because it's a dangerous job y'know?" She grinned sadly into her drink. "And I completely understand why he would think that. I mean, I did get shot last year so his thoughts aren't completely baseless."
Isaac stretched a hand out to rest over hers on the table. "Hey, he knew what he was getting into a decade ago. Don't stress. All this means is that he loves you. When you love someone you care about their safety."
"You're right. You're right. I only wish that it was easier for him to support my career. I worked hard to get where I am today. As a woman. As a black woman. After all this time you would think that it would get easier for him."
She traced the rim of her cup, then downed half of it. She felt a low buzz wash over her senses.
"Well I'm certain you being shot in the line of duty must have set him back a little on his way of accepting your job. You're what 34, and you've been in this line of work for twelve years, he'll get over it at some point," Isaac reassured, watching her inhale her beer. He visibly saw her eyes glaze over.
"Yes, thank you so much for not-so-subtly bringing up my age." Max pouted dramatically. "Y'know I found a gray hair last week when I was taking down my locs?! GRAY!"
His blue eyes widened and he slowly took the mug from his partner's grasp. Yeah she was definitely drunk now.
"Yes, love, you told me last week." He pat her hand sympathetically. "Perhaps we should get back the precinct and I'll drive you-"
"'ow long 'ave we been partners, Stryker?" She asked sloppily.
"About 7 and a half years, Fletcher." He stood up and threw some cash on the table and hauled her up. It was nearing midnight when they exited the establishment.
"Yanno, you caused me heckin grief on my wedding day. You didn't know it and it wasn't your fault but...hol' up." Her eyes widened, trying to count days.
"What?" He held upright as they walked through the parking garage.
"Fuck me!" She pat down her jacket in search for her keys.
Isaac chuckled uncomfortably. "I'm not sure your husband would condone that."
"No, you British nutsack! It's my anniversary and I completely forgot!" She rushed to her car, the gravity of her fuck up sobering her somewhat.
"Slow down, Maxine. You're not driving anywhere in your state." He stopped her pulling out her keys. "Let me drive you home. Tristan will understand."
Max wanted to protest but she knew how irresponsible it would be for her to drive while even slightly inebriated. She let him drag her to his mustang and drive in the direction of her home.
She tried to fight the heaviness of her eyelids but when she leaned her head on the window, her eyes finally closed. She drifted off into an angsty, drunken slumber.
Isaac hauled the wisp of a woman in his arms as if she weighed nothing. Her head lolled on his shoulder as he walked to the front door of her house.
He rang the doorbell and waited.
When Tristan opened the door, his eyes carried a mixture of shock and barely contained anger. At first he was confused as to why his wife would need to ring the doorbell… to their house… that which she had a key. Now he knew why.
"She got a little carried away at the pub tonight it would appear," Isaac vaguely explained as he traded his partner off to her significant other.
Tristan's lips were set in hard line as he glared at his wife's work partner.
"Sorry about that ma-"
"Look dude, the only thing I care less about than you, is your apology. Save it for someone who actually cares."
Then he kicked the door shut. He readjusted his wife in his arms and carried her to their bedroom. He stripped her out of her work clothes and pulled one of her nightgowns over her head then tucked her in.
Downtrodden, Tristan walked back to their dining room and put the food he made for his anniversary in saran wrapped containers. He put the dishes in the dishwasher. He poured out the entire bottle of her favorite wine, mostly out of spite.
When the kitchen was finally back in order, the last thing he did before going to sleep in their guest room was blow out their traditional anniversary candles.
