Original fic: Boston
Jun. 19th, 2005 05:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bedlamsbardBasically, a typical morning in the Special Crimes Unit of the Boston Police Department tends to go like this:
When they got into work, Beau was having one of his, "I love the smell of napalm in the morning," days. The whole squad and the lab techs walked wary around him except for Halden, who looped her thick blonde hair into a ponytail while sitting on the corner of his desk and explaining some fascinating new fact she's learned about the newest strip joint down in Allston. Jimmy wasn't exactly sure why she thought Beau cared, but the sound of her voice seemed to calm Beau down and he eventually came out of his office with his eyes flickering warily from side to side and his hand near his gun. Beyond Beau (and his insanity was regular, and expected), everyone in the lab seemed to be normal today, adding another notch of credibility to Jimmy's private theory that it was written somewhere in the rules that only one member of the lab was allowed a psychotic episdoe per day.
Chris vanished into the lab as soon at they arrived, muttering something about tox reports from the Marracuchi case. Jimmy let him go, having suspects to terrorize in the interrogation room. He found Noah standing outside the oneway mirror with his arms crossed, staring at Luke Anaya.
"Hey," Jimmy said, stepping up beside him. "How's the shoulder?"
Noah worked his shoudler experimentally, only wincing a little. "Been better," he said. He stared at Anaya some more. "I want this guy, Jimmy. I want him bad."
Jimmy touched his good shouder lightly. "Mind if I ask what's makin' it so personal?"
"Nothing in particular," Noah said, shaking his head. As usual, his Southern twang seemed and out of place alongside Jimmy's Boston accent, the soft drawl clashing with the harsh, nasal syllables. How did you end up here? Jimmy found himself wondering, not for the first time. He pushed the thought aside. Not important. Concentrate on the case.
"A lot of stuff," Noah was saying. "Too much of this shit, y'know? You can only take so many girls getting murdered in their homes before it finally gets to you." He stared at the glass with haunted blue eyes. "Too much of htis shit," he repeated.
Jimmy touched him reassuringly. "We'll nail the bastard," he said. For your sake as well as Lexi Harding's, he added silently.
When they got into work, Beau was having one of his, "I love the smell of napalm in the morning," days. The whole squad and the lab techs walked wary around him except for Halden, who looped her thick blonde hair into a ponytail while sitting on the corner of his desk and explaining some fascinating new fact she's learned about the newest strip joint down in Allston. Jimmy wasn't exactly sure why she thought Beau cared, but the sound of her voice seemed to calm Beau down and he eventually came out of his office with his eyes flickering warily from side to side and his hand near his gun. Beyond Beau (and his insanity was regular, and expected), everyone in the lab seemed to be normal today, adding another notch of credibility to Jimmy's private theory that it was written somewhere in the rules that only one member of the lab was allowed a psychotic episdoe per day.
Chris vanished into the lab as soon at they arrived, muttering something about tox reports from the Marracuchi case. Jimmy let him go, having suspects to terrorize in the interrogation room. He found Noah standing outside the oneway mirror with his arms crossed, staring at Luke Anaya.
"Hey," Jimmy said, stepping up beside him. "How's the shoulder?"
Noah worked his shoudler experimentally, only wincing a little. "Been better," he said. He stared at Anaya some more. "I want this guy, Jimmy. I want him bad."
Jimmy touched his good shouder lightly. "Mind if I ask what's makin' it so personal?"
"Nothing in particular," Noah said, shaking his head. As usual, his Southern twang seemed and out of place alongside Jimmy's Boston accent, the soft drawl clashing with the harsh, nasal syllables. How did you end up here? Jimmy found himself wondering, not for the first time. He pushed the thought aside. Not important. Concentrate on the case.
"A lot of stuff," Noah was saying. "Too much of this shit, y'know? You can only take so many girls getting murdered in their homes before it finally gets to you." He stared at the glass with haunted blue eyes. "Too much of htis shit," he repeated.
Jimmy touched him reassuringly. "We'll nail the bastard," he said. For your sake as well as Lexi Harding's, he added silently.