[ WP ] `` Are you okay ? '' `` Yeah . '' `` No . Are you OKAY ? '' `` ... No . ''

I'm sitting in his chair behind his desk, sipping scotch from one of his glasses, waiting for him to come through the door. 
 
 Which, if I'm not mistaken, should n't take too long. 
 
 I'm not mistaken. 
 
 The door to the study swings wide. A silhouette takes a tender step inside and reaches out with one hand to grope the wall for a light switch. This goes on for a few moments, and he swears to himself each time he misses, but soon enough the lights explode into life. 
 
 He looks up. See's me. There's a pause of about ten seconds, and then: 
 
 *'' Detective. `` * 
 
 He greets me in the same tone of voice usually reserved for family members you do n't particularly like, but have to at least appear cordial towards. Does n't ask me what I'm doing in his house, or how I managed to get in. Just says *detective*, as if this were as casual as a Saturday afternoon tennis match. 
 
 `` Sit down.'' I say. And then, when he hesitates, with a little more horse. `` *Sit. Down. `` * 
 
 He looks back at the open door, then to his feet, then to the chair in opposite me across his own desk. Weighing up his options. Thinking things through. If he runs, how far will he get before I gun him down? If he stays, what'll happen to him? After all, it is n't every night you come home to an officer of the Chicago Police Department sitting in your study. 
 
 He's worried as to what I'm going to say. And so he should be. 
 
 I meet his eyes, raise my brows. I'm daring him run. I'd like nothing more than to squeeze off a few shots, bring him downtown in a body-bag instead of in'cuffs. 
 
 He does n't, though. He looks back at the floor, smirking like a child who knows he's just done something wrong and gotten off with it, then moves toward the chair. 
 
 `` Scotch?'' He asks once he's in the seat. `` It is mine, after all.'' 
 
 I regard him coolly for a moment, then set the glass I've been sipping from down on the mahogany desk and slide it across to him. 
 
 `` Drink up.'' I say. `` Best enjoy it while you can.'' 
 
 `` Oh come on, Sam.'' He says, with a half-smile worn on his face. `` Does it have to be this way?'' 
 
 `` You can call me Detective Linzi, or you can leave here with a broken nose as well as a ruined reputation.'' I reply, setting another glass down in front of me and filling it three fingers deep worth of his good scotch. 
 
 `` Let's not be -'' He begins to say, but I cut him off. 
 
 `` It was n't a bad plan, you know. A little complex, a little too many moving pieces, but altogether not bad. The product of an intelligent mind.'' I tell him, before taking a long drink. It burns on the way down. It's a burn I'm thankful to feel, because at least I'm feeling *something*. 
 
 `` I'm quite sure I do n't know what you're on about.'' He brushes a stray strand of chestnut hair back into place and looks at me with something close to amusement in his eyes. There's a smile on his lips that I just do n't like, and the way he's resting easy in his chair as if everything is hunky-dory is turning my stomach over. 
 
 `` Please.'' I hold up a hand. `` I could explain it all to you. Explain how I figured it out. But in the end, only you'd get something out of it. A nice little ego boost, am I right?'' 
 
 `` How long have we worked together, Linzi? Eight - no, nine - years now?'' He's trying to change the subject, or he's trying to drag up some of the affection I felt for him before tonight. Neither trick'll work. 
 
 `` Eight an half, Scott. You picked me up straight from the Academy.'' I say the words as if I'm reading off a shopping list. 
 
 `` That's right!'' He slaps his knee. The sudden movement makes me jump, makes me reach for my gun. `` You showed so much promise.'' 
 
 `` Please. You'll make me blush.'' I shoot back, an edge creeping in to my tone. `` What's your point?'' 
 
 `` That's it, is it? Straight to business? Jesus, Linzi. You used to be such fun.'' He gives a little snort of laughter. `` But now...'' 
 
 `` On with it, Scott. Before I decide to shut you up for good.'' My hand tightens around the grip of the gun at my side. 
 
 `` Okay! Easy, easy!'' He holds up his hands in mock surrender, then lays one flat on the table. The other disappears from my view. It makes me a little nervous, but I'm more anxious to hear him out. `` What I'm trying to say is: we've worked together a long time. Hell, I'm your boss. Maybe, just *maybe*, you let me slip away. Pack a bag. Go somewhere far away. You'll never hear from me again.'' 
 
 His words hang in the air between us for a long time, like a foul smell. The seconds turn into minutes. He's staring me in the eye, his expression still one of intense amusement. Like he's struggling to hold back laughter. 
 
 I slide a brown file across the desk. 
 
 `` What's this?'' He asks, hopeful. 
 
 `` Just open it.'' 
 
 I watch him do it. Watch his reaction. I've been studying that file for years, the photos and reports within practically seared into my memory. I do n't think I'll ever get rid of the horrific images I have in my head. Do n't think I'll ever forget the mutilated corpses of the women that fell victim to the Blinder. 
 
 The'Blinder' is the unofficial name we use in the office to refer to the serial killer who's been plaguing Chicago for a decade now. The assignment's been passed around the stations so many times and never solved that no one expects it to be. 
 
 I drain my scotch. Scott flicks through the pictures. 
 
 `` I remember that one.'' It's all he says. His attitude since he entered the room is the kerosene, and those four words are the lit match. 
 
 I stand up so sharply that my high-backed chair almost tips backwards. Almost. I slam my open palms down on the desk so hard that it quavers. 
 
 `` Scott Martin, I'm arresting you for the murders of Sarah Lynch, Martine Rafferty, Laura Manning and thirteen others. Will you come without a fuss?'' 
 
 His answer is to pull the trigger, and I feel a wet impact in my lower torso. I go down hard, and the next thing I know I'm slumped against the wall behind me, trying to keep pressure on the wound. 
 
 My vision's fading quickly. A few black dots soon turn a hundred, then a thousand, then too many to count. 
 
 The last thing I see, before I slip under, is his smile. 
 
 -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - 
 
 You don ’ t know irritation until you ’ re as intimate with the staccato beeping of hospital machinery as you are with a romantic partner. I've spent so much time in the hospital over the years that I welcome it as I would an old friend that I do n't particularly get on with anymore. 
 
 `` Sam?! Samantha?!'' Someone's calling my name. It sounds like I'm underwater, the words almost drowned out by the current. I'm coming too. Slowly, but it's happening. My head's pounding, and I feel groggy, but I'm not in agonising pain. It's a small consolation. 
 
 In what feels like a few minutes - but could be anywhere from ten minutes to an hour - I'm able to turn my head. 
 
 My partner is sitting in the chair nearby, two coffees in resting on his lip. Steam's rising from them like smoke from a chimney, and suddenly I'm craving. 
 
 `` Hey,'' He says softly, seeing me awaken. He rises from the seat. `` How're you doing?'' 
 
 `` Feel like crap.'' I reply, voice hoarse. 
 
 `` That's funny.'' Carlos grins. 
 
 `` Why's that?'' 
 
 ``'Cause you look like shit.'' 
 
 `` Charming.'' I say, but I crack a small smile. 
 
 `` You deserve a little grilling. I got your note, by the way. Pinned to my door, telling me where you'd be.'' He replies, a little more serious. `` Seriously, a note? And going in without me, Sam. With him? *Estúpido. *'' 
 
 `` I know, I know. No lectures right now, okay?'' I hold up my hand. ``... speaking of him. Is he... You know... Do we?'' 
 
 `` Have him?'' Carlos' face falls. `` I'm sorry, Sam. He was long gone by the time we got there.'' 
 
 I do n't really know what to say, so I say nothing at all. Suddenly, I do n't really feel like talking at all. 
 
 `` You okay?'' 
 
 `` Yeah.'' 
 
 `` You sure?'' He looks concerned. Touches a hand to my shoulder. 
 
 `` Yeah.'' I say, forcing a smile. `` Fine.'' 
 
 *No*
