Rhapsody

13: annie are you okay?

chapter warning: description of a crime scene. if you're uncomfortable with copious blood, check the in-line comment for which parts to skip.

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Maverick's brain pounds against his skull.

A murder.

Finally.

Though his head throbs, adrenaline pricks beneath his skin, palpable as static electricity. He'll be fine. He can process a crime scene with a splitting headache no problem. Besides, he doesn't know whether the headache is from dehydration, sleep deprivation, alcohol, or the bar fight. Though he's leaning toward the latter, there's still no conclusive evidence, and therefore no way to determine the best remedy—so he might as well just ignore it.

Grimacing, he pulls out his phone and sends a text.

CASSIE

[21:23]
any news?

[21:24]
he's badly hurt but stable
[21:24]
they just admitted him into the hospital

[21:25]
thank god
[21:25]
keep me updated. please

[21:27]
of course

"Detective?"

Maverick scrambles to shove his phone in his pocket. He forces himself to breathe. Cassie has it handled. Jonah's going to be okay.

He closes his eyes and repeats that to himself, over and over again, until he begins to believe it.

"Alright. Coming, wolfy."

If the brawl wasn't enough to sober Maverick up, the weather surely is. It's one of those clear, cold nights that weighs heavy like a curse. The chill strips all warmth from his cheeks in moments, leaving nothing but the uncomfortable sensation of his bandage pulling at dry skin. Maverick, ever so graceful, slips on ice almost as soon as he steps foot outside the bar. Warm hands fly forward to steady him.

"It's fine, wolfy. I'm fine," Maverick huffs, waving Emery off.

The wolf's disbelieving breath is visible in the air. "Are you certain you're sober enough for this?"

"Of course." He's likely not, but Emery doesn't need to know that.

"I can take you back to your apartment."

"And let you have all the fun? No way."

"If you insist." Emery is silent for a moment. His eyes roam over Maverick's shivering frame, and his lips pull into another frown. Then, he says, "Take my coat."

Maverick hugs his leather jacket around his body in protest. This thing is all he has. It's been with him through the academy and to a million different crime scenes. It's as faithful as a piece of clothing can be.

"Don't be stubborn, detective," Emery says. "Your jacket is in no shape to keep you warm."

Emery is right. The beloved leather is crusty with bloodstains and beer, and the chill is slowly seeping through.

"You won't get cold?" Maverick asks, skeptical.

Emery frowns. "Not easily, no."

"You're lucky as shit," Maverick mumbles.