Speaking of almost exclusively homicide

Baggett marched down the aisle, also cloaked and shaking off wintry residue, exuding general pique. He stopped next to his desk and moved to pull his chair out, then stopped, surveying the lame chair irritably. “Bersk, where is my chair?”

“Bag, the fact that you’re asking me specifically makes me think you have reason for concluding I alone have some grievance requiring satisfaction.”

He eyed me. “That’s circumstantial. Obviously I just figured since you were here all afternoon you must have seen whoever switched it out.”

“Also circumstantial. I’ve been busy taking a victim statement. So it’s not like I was keeping watch over your chair.”

Baggett grumbled something unintelligible and moved to join Curry by the radiator.

As soon as his back was turned Quint glanced up at me and smiled conspiratorially, which made me laugh, quietly so Baggett wouldn’t notice right away. He looked back down to the page, but I could see him still smiling. “I’m just about done,” he said as I came back to my desk, then began to sign the places I’d indicated. “And here are those names.” He tore the paper with the names off the top of his notepad and handed it to me.

I reassembled the file for Erskine and closed it up. “I’ll walk you out,” I said, and he rose from the chair.

“Thanks for doing this,” he said, smiling, “and not making me come back tomorrow in all this mucky weather.”

“Happy to.” I motioned for him to precede me, then followed after.

Halfway across the main office, suddenly noticing his chair now unoccupied, Baggett made an indignant sound of faux outrage. “I knew it was you, Bersk!” I ignored him, keeping a straight face, until Quint and I were out of sight.

“I promise,” I said, reflecting his silly grin despite myself, “I’m at least nominally more professional than this makes it seem.”

He laughed. “It’s not your fault. This isn’t even your case.”

“Sure, tell yourself that.” We exchanged another smile. “Well, this will take you back to the front lobby,” I said. “I hope Erskine finds your stuff for you.”

“Thanks.” He turned to leave, and I turned to go back to the main office, but after a second I heard him call after me. “Oh, uh, Detective Bersk? Er. I wonder.”

I turned around, eyebrow raised, but not entirely surprised. “You wonder?” I prompted.

“If I wanted to, say, run into you again? And if you were receptive to something like that. How would that work?”

I laughed. “If you’re thinking, what other crimes might you run afoul of hoping to cross paths with me? I don’t recommend that route. I work almost exclusively homicide. You can just ask what you want to ask.”

“Hah—” Quint laughed sheepishly as an endearing hint of pink crept into his cheeks. “I guess what I was trying to get at was, whether you were unattached and interested to get a pint with me sometime. I was surprised when you made giving a burglary statement more fun than I expected. Er, if it’s not against any watch guard rules, I mean.”

I shrugged, stifling my smile. “Not my case. No official rules apply. My main personal rule apart from that is, I don’t recommend looking me up unless you’re fine with the fact that my unattached state is permanent and I don’t make exceptions. But if that doesn’t bother you, I'm at Marwick’s in Forest Street a few nights a week with other guards if you want to say hi sometime.”

It was a little gratifying to see his face light up at that. He was rather cute under that fussy looking veneer, I decided. “I will, then. See you sometime.” He offered me his hand.

I shook it, returning his grin. “All right. Till then.”

When I got back to the main office Baggett took one look at me and announced, “Bersk got asked out! Chair guy just charmed her socks off or something! He thought he was so fucking cute smirking at her over their little chair larceny intrigue!”

“Fuck off,” I returned cheerfully. “And he was cute, which you observed same as I did.”

“What happened to this offer of a hot drink?” Curry wanted to know.

“Gods, you impatient bastard. I had to come back for your cup, didn’t I?” I told him.

“Why does Curry get offered a hot drink and I don't?” Baggett demanded.

“Because he’s my oldest, truest friend, and you’re an angry prankster.” I pretended to consider, cocking my head for emphasis. “But you’re also my very good friend.” I blew Baggett a kiss, then grabbed both their cups on my way out.

When I came back with strong teas fixed up the way each of them liked it, both Baggett and Curry were something closer to thawed. I set the teas down and pulled up a chair to join them.

“We’re deconstructing your love life,” Baggett informed me.

“Baggett is doing that,” Curry corrected him as he took the cup from me. “I just happen to be the unfortunate listener standing at the same heat source where it’s happening.”

I set Baggett’s cup down for him. “I’m starving. You want to skip the snowy walk and stay at mine tonight?” I asked Curry.

“You don’t have plans with Perfect Hair Guy?” Baggett asked before Curry could answer.

“Gods, not after the week we had. Plus the weather. When he asked if he could see me again I told him to try Marwick’s sometime.”

“Do you have anything decent to eat?” Curry asked, considering the offer. “Or is it your usual penniless vagrant fare?”

“Perfect Hair Guy strikes me different than the other stragglers trudging in Bersk's long wake of tragic broken hearts,” Baggett remarked, blowing on his tea.

“Possibly because most of the others she didn’t meet during their victim interview?” Curry suggested dryly.

“Good point. Most of her former paramours didn’t need the victim interview till after she was through with them,” Baggett said, grinning.

Curry did laugh, at that.

I rolled my eyes, but neither of them seemed to notice. “I picked up half a dozen curry potato buns from the place on the corner last night,” I said, addressing Curry. “And he’s not related to any of my cases,” I said to them both. “So I don’t see what makes it so worth commenting on.”

“Curry buns,” Curry said. “You should have led with that.”

“Right,” I said sourly, “well be sure to let me know if you actually want me along or if I should stay here another hour or two so you can have some quality time with the fucking curry buns.”

Baggett opened his mouth, but seemed to reconsider what he wanted to say next. I gave him the finger and stalked irritably away from them both.

“Hey, come on—Fuzzy—don’t—” Curry began, but wisely left off when I didn’t turn around.

I cut through the back administrative offices up to the front lobby and ducked into the file room I used when I needed to simmer down my stupid temper and didn’t want anybody following me trying to explain whatever they did to piss me off. Curry and Baggett might check the locker room or a handful of other places, but it wouldn’t occur to either of them that I’d voluntarily venture anywhere I might accidentally encounter members of the public.

Someone had left a chair in here for a change, which was nice, so I pulled a file from a box so I’d have something I could pretend to be reviewing if anybody busted in on me, then sat there reviewing our stupid conversation and trying to work out why I’d gotten so pissed off, so quickly. Except this led to me dwelling on what a childish laughing stock they both seemed to think I was, which only served to piss me off past my initial point. I regretted now that I hadn’t taken my cloak on the way out. It was far too cold and sloppy outside to go anywhere without it, and I was too irritated to risk going back for it and either facing more stupid slagging, or worse, getting prompted for a real conversation about it.

I stayed a while longer, then realized that the continued stewing and confinement to this tiny room were only pissing me off even more. I shoved the file back in the box, accidentally bending a corner in my annoyance, and left the file room. Only Greeley and Erskine were in the main office when I got back, so I pulled my cloak off the hook and felt in the pocket for my keys. “I have a thing,” I said to Erskine, then threw my cloak on and left before she could respond.