Rhapsody

14. we need to talk about emery

Lieutenant Darcy is not happy to be called out of his home in the middle of the night. That much is clear as soon as Maverick and Emery return to the precinct.

The only ones left at the station are the officers of the night shift, along with Cassie and Mandy. Cassie is finishing up the report from the bar fight, and Mandy is here for as long as that takes. The last Maverick saw of her, she was sitting at his desk.

Meanwhile, Lieutenant Darcy, Maverick, and Emery have congregated in the cold and impersonal interrogation room. There's a misshaped metal table in the center of the space, and only one chair. None of them have the gall to take it.

"I hate to say it, fellas," Lieutenant Darcy says, pinching the bridge of his nose, "but there's a chance the toxicology report isn't going to show anything."

God, Maverick is so tired. He can barely stand. But he steels himself, and places his fists on the metal table.

"It's the metabolism, right?" Clearing his throat, he continues, "Poison is like alcohol. Werewolves just burn right through it."

"Unfortunately, yes," Lieutenant Darcy says. "It's unlikely there'd be any traces of it left in the victim's system."

"Fuck."

It's all Maverick can say. And, all things considered, it's a good word for how things are going right now. His head pounds, he's almost too tired to stand, and this whole night is turning into a big grand shit show. Things are... fuck.

Maverick turns his attention to Emery. The wolf has been quiet and pensive since their return to the station. He's leaning against the wall beside the one-way glass, rubbing the pads of his thumb and forefinger in rhythmic circles.

Lieutenant Darcy clears his throat.

"You didn't pick up anything?" he asks the wolf. "Not even a scent?"

Emery snaps from his reverie. "If the poison had been easily detectable by a lycanthrope," he says, eyes settling on the lieutenant, "then it's highly unlikely the victim would have allowed it into her system."

Darcy recoils. "Attitude, Faustine."

"Hey," Maverick snaps. "Take it easy on him, Darcy."

Probably not the best thing to say, considering Maverick's only just reclaimed his gun and badge. He realizes his mistake as soon as Darcy whips around to face him.

"Don't put a target on your back either," the lieutenant says, glaring. "You're on thin ice already. You're lucky no one's pressing charges against you for the stunt you pulled."

Maverick bristles. "What stunt?" 

"You know what."

"What does that have to do with the homicide?"

"Forget the homicide," Darcy says. "Let's talk about the bar fight. Don't you realize the whole department could go under for that?"

Maverick huffs in disbelief. "That fucker put someone in the hospital. 'To serve and protect.' That's what we tell ourselves, right?"

"Gentlemen," Emery warns. "Perhaps we should table this conversation for a later date. Preferably when we've all had a full night's rest."

"I didn't say I was done," Lieutenant Darcy retorts. He whirls, pointing a finger at Emery. "Would you like to tell me why you were at the bar?"

A snarl rips from Emery's throat, but Lieutenant Darcy doesn't flinch. Maverick can't tell if he's extremely brave, or extremely stupid. He's leaning towards the former, trusting that Emery wouldn't actually dare threaten their superior officer.