Rhapsody

16: for him

The sun continues to beat down on the city, but it offers no warmth. The air is brisk and chilly, and a slight wind has picked up, rustling the few leaves that remain on the trees lining the street. Maverick shifts in the passenger seat of the cruiser. He and Emery are on their way to Annie Asterio's apartment a few blocks south in search of the missing ring. Memories of the bloody crime scene are still fresh in Maverick's mind, causing anticipation to settle in his gut like stones.

It's not likely that the apartment will be empty. The sheer amount of blood will require several days to clean. That leaves a wide window of time for things to be moved, jostled, rearranged, perhaps even thrown away. Fuck. Maverick runs an agitated hand through his hair. Why weren't they more thorough last night? How could he be so stupid? The ring could be anywhere. Behind a dresser, in a medical waste bin, or the more chilling alternative—in the pocket of their murderer.

Maverick sits up, fixating his gaze outside the window to calm his nerves. He's always loved the Upper West Side. The place is soft and leafy, a stark contrast to the sharp lines of midtown. It's the kind of neighborhood he could raise a family, he thinks, if he could ever have one. But he's been ground meat in New York's gizzard for far too long, searching for a home that doesn't exist. This city is bound to spit up his rotten skeleton soon, he just knows it.

Beside him, Emery clears his throat.

"Detective, I don't mean to press when it's obvious you're unwilling," he begins, "but I also can sense when something's wrong, and I don't wish there to be any animosity between us."

Maverick works his jaw. "Quite a leap from the attitude of last night, ain't it?"

Emery sighs. "I understand I haven't been entirely transparent with you, and for that I apologize."

The apology sounds sincere, Maverick will admit, but he can't bring himself to meet Emery's eyes.

Tense silence sits between them for the rest of the car ride. When Emery pulls up to the curb, they soundlessly exit the vehicle and approach the front steps of the building.

Before Emery can slip inside, though, Maverick stops him. He is gonna regret this. He just knows it. But he has to say something.

"If we're gonna continue this partnership thing," Maverick grinds out, jaw clenching, "we're gonna set some ground rules."

Emery raises a brow at him. "Ground rules."

"Ground rules."

"Are you sure you're alright, detective?"

"For the last time, I'm fine. Just work with me here." Maverick sucks air between his teeth. "Whatever rules you want. But we only get one non-negotiable and one veto each. You go first."

Emery doesn't hesitate. "Non-negotiable: no more dog jokes."

"Veto."

"Already?"

"For the dog jokes?" Maverick huffs. Emery may be able to bench press a car but dammit, his entire existence is pun-rich and he isn't about to let that go to waste. "Of course."

Emery sighs. "Fine. One dog joke per week."

"One per day. With limitations."

"One per day, with none being around dead bodies or crying witnesses."

"Deal," Maverick says. "Anything else?"

"For my non-negotiable..." Emery trails off, shifting his gaze to the brick and stone of Annie's building. After a moment, he looks back at Maverick, and says coolly and evenly: "Trust me."