Intimate Relations, Rebecca Forster [best ereader for manga .txt] 📗

and lovesick —were on the edge of a relationship. Cori wasn't sure if she wanted to leap into the abyss or retreat, so spending the night at his place seemed unfair. The fact that she and Finn were on call settled the matter.

The sleep-over had been a success. Cori and Finn worked a little, followed up the Chinese with ice cream Cori found smashed in the back of Finn's freezer, managed the bathroom without a fuss, and went off to bed at a reasonable hour.  Cori was sleeping like a baby when Finn yanked her awake with a shake and a shout out that there was 'business to be done'. Now here they were, headed out to a dust up.

"Are you going to sit there wasting your best scowl or will you talk to me, woman?" Finn cast her an amused glance as they sped through the dark on deserted streets.

"Contrary to the great male wisdom, O'Brien, almost nobody likes to be thrown out of a warm bed with a 'get up, woman'. No wonder you're single if that's the best you got."

She slid her eyes his way and almost smiled. The man looked the same no matter what time of day. Granted that wasn't much of a challenge when you shaved your head, your T-shirt and jeans were a uniform, and your square jawed face was pretty damn perfect.

"Sure, didn't I say it nicely, Cori? Woke you like a princess, all soft spoken and everything."  He exaggerated the Irish in him as he tried to make her smile, but Cori didn't give in easy.

"Yeah, you were sweet as honey," she said. "But you're one noisy guy in the morning when you're rushing around."

"'Tis is the dead of night in my book. I'm quieter when it's not work I'm dressing for," Finn said.

Now Cori did smile.  Her partner had settled  into the man she knew well.  Finn O'Brien was a hybrid of the seventeen year-old Irish immigrant he had been, and the red-white-and blue American he had become. It was such a pleasing mash-up that she settled down too. It wasn't his fault the call came, nor that they were on unfamiliar footing.

"I never liked a call like this," Cori said. "It's a neither-here-nor-there time. Wake up after two in the morning you never get back to sleep. You toss and turn and work yourself up into a lather, so you're a witch all day. That's what I hated when Amber was a baby. I would get up, feed her, she sleeps, and I'm left staring at the test pattern on the TV."

"Television hasn't had test patterns since 1963," Finn said.

"Have you watched TV in the last ten years? It's all as good as a test pattern," Cori said. "No matter. I hate this time, and I'm none too fond of this part of town either."

"Anything else?" Finn asked. Cori chuckled, and it was a sad little sound.

"Sorry. I'm just worn slap out, O'Brien. Amber's taking classes, and it's a scramble between us to see to Tucker. And if you don't think a two year old can be like a bat out of hell, you don't know much. Now I've got problems with the house." She waved her fingers, tapping the backs of her nails against the window. "Pretty soon I'll be gnawing on the beams with the termites 'cause I won't be able to afford food."

"Pity, they don't pay us by the call," Finn said.

"We'd be in high cotton if they did." Cori rested her elbow on the window's edge, then put her brow against her open palm. "I never knew how much I liked Wilshire Division before they lent us out. I know this assignment isn't a forever thing, but this part of town is friggin' depressing."

"It does feel like people never leave once they land," Finn said.

"Don't say that. I mean what if they reassign us permanently? You don't think they could make us stay, do you?"

Cori dropped her hand, ran it under her long hair, and tossed it back. Finn smiled. Cori should be strutting a runway with a beauty queen sash on her shoulder instead of a holster.  Even yanked out of a sound sleep she managed to tease her hair Texas-high, and shade her eyes with her favored blue eyeshadow.

"It's possible we might have to stay here," Finn said.

"You don't think Captain Fowler is punishing us for something, do you? I thought things were going pretty good for us at Wilshire," she said. "Why didn't he send Sanders and Lopez over here? Or Black. Steve Black could have come. Why not send him? He's between partners."

When Cori paused long enough to let him know she wanted him to speak, Finn said:

"Captain Fowler gave us the nod, and here we are. East L.A. for at least a month. Truly it's as simple as that, Cori," Finn said. "And if it weren't that simple, there's nothing we could do about it right this minute."

"Well, it sucks," Cori said.

"That it does."

Finn blew through a red light at North Main and Caesar Chavez, staying tight on Main. They had passed Olivera Street a mile and half back. The birthplace of Los Angeles was quiet now, but by noon every restaurant and souvenir store would be packed with tourists. San Antonio Winery was a darkened blur. Later in the day lawyers and judges, clerks and bailiff's would find their way to the place for lunch.  In the near distance was the UPS fulfillment center sprawling over a good half a mile of land. Their destination, The Brewery, was a mile and a half beyond that.

"I hope we can wrap this up PDQ. I've got to check in with the ME on that old guy later today. The one the insurance company wanted autopsied? You're supposed to follow up with the Martinez family, too. I swear, this captain's been dumping more than our share on us."

"The captains have their work, we have ours," Finn answered. "Truly I wouldn't want theirs, so