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asphaltcowgrrlTitle: Amarillo by Morning
Fandom: Romani Detective Original Fiction
Pairing: Gen, some Zayne/Hilary
Rating: PG-13 for one potty-mouthed Texan
Word Count: 3,184
Summary: Zayne’s trying to navigate being a detective without a partner.
Author’s Note: Not what you’re thinking so stop that. One of my bingo cards had a square for pre-cannon and I struggled to think of anything for this. Then, out of the blue, Spotify coughed up George Strait’s “Amarillo By Morning” and inspiration struck. I know I had written a first meet for Zayne and Andrej some time ago, but I couldn't find it to save my life. So, here is the new pre-cannon and a bit of Zayne without his better half.
Amarillo by morning, up from San Antone/Everything that I got is just what I've got on
With a sigh, he heaved the stack of files onto his desk. He felt the urge to give them the finger, but he wasn’t sure how well that might go over, considering the asshole at the desk six to the left of his own was a bit of a prude. And the asshole in question was currently watching his every move.
“How the hell do you work homicide with a mindset like that,” he muttered.
“What are you muttering about now, Reyes,” Trish asked. She propped one elbow on the edge of her desk, leaning towards him.
“None-yas, Rollins,” he shot back playfully. He glared at the stack of case files again. “Not having a partner really fucking sucks.” This was not a mutter, but a declaration.
“Language, Reyes,” the prissy detective to his left announced. “Not all of us want to hear that kind of thing.”
“Oh, go to hell, Dalton,” Zayne said. “This is a goddamned police station and we’re solving goddamned murders. The least you can do is let me swear once in a while.”
“It’s more than occasionally, Zayne,” Hilary snorted.
Looking at his girlfriend, he grinned. “Are you any better? I think not.”
Giving him her best and brightest smile, Hilary flipped him off.
Zayne burst into laughter. “I love you, you know that, right?”
“Of course I do,” she said. “It’s the only reason I haven’t smothered you in your sleep yet.”
“Thanks, I think,” he said, eyes wandering to her mostly empty desk. “Why do I have so many files?”
“Because you haven’t solved a damn thing since you lost your partner, Reyes,” Dalton’s partner, Stiles, said. “We always knew you were dead weight. Moreland jumping ship only proved it.”
“You can also go to hell, Stiles,” he growled.
“Zayne,” Hilary said, grasping his forearm. Her voice low and threatening. “Don’t.”
He looked away from the prick and the prude and glanced at his girlfriend. “I wasn’t going to do anything,” he lied. Tugging his arm out of Hilary’s grasp, he stood. “Excuse me, I think I need a drink.”
As he walked out of the bullpen, he heard Dalton say, “Oh, so now he’s drinking on the job? Maybe what he needs isn’t a new partner, but a stint in rehab.”
He managed to maintain his cool until he hit the sidewalk outside of the station. Frustrated, he ran his fingers through his already messy hair. Dalton and Stiles had been on his ass since the day Moreland had announced he was leaving homicide and moving home to the small, New England hamlet he’d come from. Sounded like a demotion to Zayne – he’d hate to go back home to that little Texas town he’d grown up in.
“The fuck does he think he is,” Zayne said, angry that he’d taken the high road for a change. A month ago, he’d have punched them both and worried about the fallout later. But after two months of working a heavy caseload on his own, he was simply too damn tired to act on his frustrations, no matter how much the idiot deserved a pounding.
Dalton was wrong, by the way, he had solved things since his partner bailed. He’d closed four cases in two months, which wasn’t the best solve rate, but what could he do? He was only one man. A man barely keeping his head above water as it was. None of it mattered, though, because their captain didn’t care he was on his own. All he cared about were the numbers on the board and the department’s bottom line. Something he’d been told he was dragging down.
Zayne walked into the little coffee shop and ordered a drink he’d probably later regret – hot coffee with caramel, half and half, and whipped cream. Nothing soothed his frazzled nerves better than sugar. Scratch that, sex and alcohol were ten times better, but not appropriate in the workplace. Taking his order when it was ready, he headed back outside and slumped onto the nearest bench.
“I’m so fucking tired of all this,” he said before taking a tentative sip of his drink. “God, that hits the spot.” Warm, rich, and sweet, it was exactly what he needed. He took another drink, savoring the creamy, sweet elixir.
Looking around him at the mesquite trees and assorted desert foliage, he sighed. The last thing he wanted was to go back home, tail between his legs, feeling like a failure. But the longer he went without a partner, the more he felt like it was his only option. Thankfully, Texas was a big ass state and he had plenty of options if he decided he couldn’t hack it here any longer.
“You don’t have to go back there either,” he said quietly. It was a thought that usually eluded him, skirting around edges of his consciousness, nipping at his brain, but not quite forming into a full, coherent idea. Why it was presenting itself now, he wasn’t sure.
Liar, the thought came to him immediately. You know why. It wouldn’t be the first time you picked up and moved on without more than the shirt on your back and a tankful of gas, would it?
“I’m not sure I like that look on your face,” a familiar voice said. “It’s much too serious for you.”
“No offense, doc, but I’m not in the mood.” Zayne tried to smile at the assistant medical examiner and failed. “Sorry.”
“Are you saving that spot for someone,” she asked. “Detective Maxwell perhaps?”
Zayne looked stupidly at the empty portion of bench beside him before her words hit home. “Oh, no, no,” he said, scooting over a bit so he wasn’t hogging half the seat. “Sit, please.”
“You sure,” she asked, taking the spot next to him.
“Yeah,” he said. “Not like Hil’s going to come looking for me.”
“I thought the two of you were doing better,” she said, taking a drink from her own coffee cup.
“We are,” he said, “but I still piss her off regularly. Possibly even recently, although I’m not sure if she was mad at me, Dalton, or both of us.”
Dr. Mulholland made a face. “Dalton’s a sanctimonious jerk.”
“That he is,” Zayne agreed. “But I set him off.”
“Gotta curb that swearing, detective.”
“Fuck off,” he laughed. “I’m good though,” he said. “Or, mostly good, I guess. Struggling.”
“Still no partner,” she asked. She lifted her cup to her mouth, drinking deeply.
“Nope, and when I asked the cap last week when I’d be getting one, he just stared at me.” He knocked back the rest of his latte and pitched the cup towards the trash can.
“Nice shot,” Carla acknowledged when the paper cup landed inside the can.
“Thanks, I play pickup in the park near my apartment when I’m bored.”
“So, you get a lot of practice then,” she asked.
“Sometimes.” He shook his head. “But not lately. Too goddamned busy.” Zayne rubbed the palm of his left hand along the length of his thigh. “I’m not sure how much longer I can handle this workload on my own. And then with those two pricks breathing down my neck, analyzing and critiquing every case I pull…”
Zayne stood abruptly and threw his hands in the air. “Maybe I should give up and go back to Texas.”
“There might be people who’d miss you,” she said offhandedly.
“Yeah, maybe,” he agreed, “but the number that would be eager to see the back side of me greatly outweigh the rest.” Catching sight of her frown, he sighed. “I’m sorry. Hilary told me it’s not fair to dump my shit on unsuspecting people. I didn’t mean to do that.”
“Reyes, are you cheating on your woman again,” Stiles called as he and Dalton caught sight of him with the medical examiner. “Yanno, I’d happily take her off your hands if you’re bored.”
This time, Zayne didn’t hesitate to use his middle finger. “Up yours, Stiles. And if I ever catch you within arm’s length of Maxwell, I’ll break your fingers.” He paused. “Even if she’s kicked my ass to the curb, my point stands.”
Stiles waved a hand at Zayne as if his words didn’t matter, which they probably didn’t to that asshole.
“I really don’t care for those two,” Dr. Mulholland muttered.
“You, me, Rollins, and Maxwell,” Zayne said.
“I’m in good company at least.” She reached out a hand towards Zayne, brushing her fingers against his hand. “If you need an ear, I’m here. You have a reputation for being both an asshole and a womanizer, but you’re good at what you do. We’d be the losers if we lost a detective of your caliber.”
He smiled and gave her fingers a squeeze. “Thanks, Doc. You might be the only one who feels that way, but I’ll take it.” He looked back towards the station. “I ought to get back. Thanks for listening.”
“Anytime.”
When that sun is high in that Texas sky/I'll be buckin' at the county fair
Slamming the door shut behind him, Zayne threw his keys onto the kitchen table. He was done, just fucking done. Despite his best efforts, the day had only gotten worse after his impromptu mental health break that morning.
The constant needling from Stiles and Dalton were starting to get under his skin. Before, he’d always been able to ignore them, but lately, it’d gotten next to impossible to let things slide. Maybe it was the stress, maybe he had gotten to a point where he wasn’t going to deal with the bullshit any longer, he didn’t know. What he did know was that he needed something to change and soon.
Angry at himself and the world, he grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator and slumped onto the couch. He was exhausted – more tired than he ever remembered being – and he felt it right down into his soul. Zayne wasn’t sure how much longer he could go without a partner, even a temporary one, but the outlook wasn’t good. No prospects on the horizon and no light at the end of the goddamned tunnel.
Grabbing his laptop, he checked his bank balance and sighed. After paying rent and utilities, plus the money he sent to his parents every paycheck, he wasn’t left with much. A quick calculation let him know there was enough left for gas and lunches for the week – if he ate frugally – but not much else. Which sucked because he really, truly, wanted a pizza.
Another glance at the webpage and he gave up. “Fuck it,” he grumbled, grabbing his phone. “I don’t care if I have to walk to work, I’m getting a pizza.”
Two Weeks Later
They took my saddle in Houston, broke my leg in Santa Fe/Lost my wife and a girlfriend, somewhere along the way
“It wasn’t intentional, Hil,” he said. “I know I’m an asshole and a pretty shitty boyfriend, but I wouldn’t lie to you about this, or anything.” Which was the truth. She was the one woman he’d never lied to about anything, a novel concept for an idiot like himself. “But whatever. That one,” he said, with a flick of the hand in Trish’s direction, “has you convinced that I can’t be trusted. So – I don’t know. Believe what you want. I’m too tired to care.”
Hilary glared at him, her arms crossed over her chest, hugging her tightly. Trish sat on the couch, watching their fight like it was a tennis match. “This has nothing to do with her, Zayne, and everything to do with the fact you’ve missed two dates. In a row!”
“I. Fell. Asleep.” He raked his fingers angrily through his hair, resisting the urge to pull on his dark locks. “I’ve been working fourteen hour days for months, Hil. You know this.” He looked at Trish. “She knows it, too, but I’m sure she’s not reminding you that I’m doing the work of two people right now, and have been for months.”
She shook her head. “It’s not good enough, Zayne. It’s happened twice this week.”
“And how are we to know that you’re only tired from work.” She gave the last word air quotes.
“Trish, you’re not helping. Could you give us a minute?”
“Yeah, Rollins, skedaddle,” Zayne added, giving her a little shooing motion.
Trish slowly got up. Giving Hilary’s arm an affectionate squeeze, she whispered, “Call me later.” Shooting a glance at Zayne, she said, “You’d better behave yourself.”
“Go to hell, Rollins,” Zayne called after her.
“You are not helping your case any,” Hilary reminded him.
Zayne deflated. “Rollins won’t take it personally,” he said. “If she’s still talking to me at this point, she’s never going to stop. I’ve worked with her longer than you have, you know. She was used to my BS long before you arrived in our dysfunctional little department.”
Her shoulders relaxing, Hilary sighed. “I know, Zayne, but that doesn’t mean you can talk to her like that.” She sat on the empty couch and patted the seat next to her. “Sit.”
“Nothing good ever comes from sitting and talking,” Zayne muttered, but did as he was told.
“Look,” she said, taking his hand in hers, “I know you’re under a lot of stress right now and your workload has to be insane. Trish and I are barely keeping up and there are two of us. But I can only deal with so much, you know?”
He hung his head because he did know. She was the best woman he’d ever met and deserved more than he was giving her right now. Hell, she deserved better than he could ever give her. Hilary’s biggest mistake was ever saying ‘yes’ to a date with him. “Yeah,” he said.
“Maybe we should put our relationship on the back burner until you get a new partner.” She gave him a small smile. “And you’re back to getting your usual ten hours of sleep a night.”
He snorted despite himself. “Yeah, well,” he said, rubbing his hands along his thighs. “I guess I oughta go now.” Zayne stood.
“Wait,” Hilary said, standing with him. “You don’t have to leave yet.”
“Yeah, I do,” he said, leaning in and kissing her chastely on the cheek before exiting the apartment.
Outside, he found Trish standing on the little porch-like enclosure. “Well?”
“As if you didn’t already know what was going to happen,” he said, but his heart wasn’t set on fighting. “You know, this is the last thing I needed right now, but apparently, it’s the only thing I deserve.”
Trish started to reply, but he didn’t wait around to hear what she had to say.
Well, I'll be lookin' for eight when they pull that gate/And I hope that judge ain't blind
“Wait, there he is,” he heard Trish say.
Rolling his eyes, Zayne picked up the pace as he walked towards his desk. “I’m not late yet,” he said. “I’m actually five minutes early.”
“For the first time in your damn life,” Trish joked.
“Fair point, but I’m still not late.” He stopped a few feet from his desk, noticing Captain Amherst gathered with the girls, a fourth person standing to the side of the Captain.
He was a tall, slender man with carefully controlled dark, wavy hair. His skin was darker than Zayne’s own, his eyes the brightest blue Zayne had ever seen. The suit he wore looked like it cost an entire paycheck, too. Tailored to perfection and in a shade of blue that nearly matched the stranger’s eyes.
“Ah, about time, Reyes,” Amherst said lightly. “I’d like you to meet the newest member of our team, Andrej Zeklos.”
The stranger reached a hand towards Zayne, a carefully controlled smile on his face. Something sparkled in those bright eyes of his, making Zayne wonder what kind of person he was. What kind of detective. “Pleased to meet you, Detective Reyes,” he said.
His voice lilted with an unusual accent; one Zayne couldn’t quite place. “Likewise,” Zayne said. “And you can drop the ‘detective’ and call me by either of my names.” He flicked his eyes at the women and grinned. “Or, by the end of the week, even ‘asshole’ will suffice.”
Zeklos’ face broke out into a real smile at that. “I am not sure I have ever called my partner that to his face,” he admitted.
“There’s always a first time,” Trish said. “And this clown is the one likely to deserve it.”
“Very funny,” Zayne said, rolling his eyes. Then he replayed the words back in his head. “Wait, so this means you finally found me a new partner? Oh thank god.”
“I am sorry for the delay,” Zeklos said in that strange, stilted way he had of speaking. “However, I was not sure if I wanted to remain in New York or move west.”
“What changed your mind,” Hilary asked, the detective in her curious.
“The snow,” he chuckled. “I left my home for many reasons,” he admitted, “but the cold and the snow were a large part of it.” He made a face. “And the bears.”
“Bears,” Zayne spat, nearly choking on his laughter. “Where the fuck did you move from? Russia?”
Zeklos shrugged. “Close, but not quite. Romania.”
“Well, that explains so much,” Zayne teased. “Come on, sit. I have so many questions.”
One Month Later
I ain't got a dime, but what I got is mine/I ain't rich, but Lord, I'm free
Amarillo by morning/Amarillo is where I'll be
“I think Zayne has met his match,” Trish whispered.
Hilary looked over at where Zayne and his new partner were sitting, haggling over whether they should go grab their suspect at work or do more background research first. Zayne was firmly on the side of dragging the douchebag out of his office by the scruff of his neck, but Andrej was opting for the more cautious approach.
“Dude’s guilty,” Zayne was saying. “We have every right to drag him in here by his ankles if we have to.”
“What are you,” Andrej asked, his accent getting thicker the more worked up he got. “The Securitate?”
“The what?” Zayne leaned back as if to get a better look at his foreign partner.
“The Romanian secret police,” he explained, then shook his head. “You have rules here in America, no? We cannot go grabbing citizens without evidence.”
“We have evidence,” Zayne was saying.
“Nothing that will convince a judge,” Andrej replied.
“It’s like the immovable object has finally met the unstoppable force,” Hilary agreed, grinning. “It’ll be good for Zayne, although it might send our new best friend running back to the motherland.”
“Nah,” Trish said. “You see how he’s smiling? I think he likes challenging Zayne.”
“You just might be right,” Hilary said, watching her ex-boyfriend and her new favorite person with new eyes. “You know, this could be good for us, too.”
Fandom: Romani Detective Original Fiction
Pairing: Gen, some Zayne/Hilary
Rating: PG-13 for one potty-mouthed Texan
Word Count: 3,184
Summary: Zayne’s trying to navigate being a detective without a partner.
Author’s Note: Not what you’re thinking so stop that. One of my bingo cards had a square for pre-cannon and I struggled to think of anything for this. Then, out of the blue, Spotify coughed up George Strait’s “Amarillo By Morning” and inspiration struck. I know I had written a first meet for Zayne and Andrej some time ago, but I couldn't find it to save my life. So, here is the new pre-cannon and a bit of Zayne without his better half.
Amarillo by morning, up from San Antone/Everything that I got is just what I've got on
With a sigh, he heaved the stack of files onto his desk. He felt the urge to give them the finger, but he wasn’t sure how well that might go over, considering the asshole at the desk six to the left of his own was a bit of a prude. And the asshole in question was currently watching his every move.
“How the hell do you work homicide with a mindset like that,” he muttered.
“What are you muttering about now, Reyes,” Trish asked. She propped one elbow on the edge of her desk, leaning towards him.
“None-yas, Rollins,” he shot back playfully. He glared at the stack of case files again. “Not having a partner really fucking sucks.” This was not a mutter, but a declaration.
“Language, Reyes,” the prissy detective to his left announced. “Not all of us want to hear that kind of thing.”
“Oh, go to hell, Dalton,” Zayne said. “This is a goddamned police station and we’re solving goddamned murders. The least you can do is let me swear once in a while.”
“It’s more than occasionally, Zayne,” Hilary snorted.
Looking at his girlfriend, he grinned. “Are you any better? I think not.”
Giving him her best and brightest smile, Hilary flipped him off.
Zayne burst into laughter. “I love you, you know that, right?”
“Of course I do,” she said. “It’s the only reason I haven’t smothered you in your sleep yet.”
“Thanks, I think,” he said, eyes wandering to her mostly empty desk. “Why do I have so many files?”
“Because you haven’t solved a damn thing since you lost your partner, Reyes,” Dalton’s partner, Stiles, said. “We always knew you were dead weight. Moreland jumping ship only proved it.”
“You can also go to hell, Stiles,” he growled.
“Zayne,” Hilary said, grasping his forearm. Her voice low and threatening. “Don’t.”
He looked away from the prick and the prude and glanced at his girlfriend. “I wasn’t going to do anything,” he lied. Tugging his arm out of Hilary’s grasp, he stood. “Excuse me, I think I need a drink.”
As he walked out of the bullpen, he heard Dalton say, “Oh, so now he’s drinking on the job? Maybe what he needs isn’t a new partner, but a stint in rehab.”
He managed to maintain his cool until he hit the sidewalk outside of the station. Frustrated, he ran his fingers through his already messy hair. Dalton and Stiles had been on his ass since the day Moreland had announced he was leaving homicide and moving home to the small, New England hamlet he’d come from. Sounded like a demotion to Zayne – he’d hate to go back home to that little Texas town he’d grown up in.
“The fuck does he think he is,” Zayne said, angry that he’d taken the high road for a change. A month ago, he’d have punched them both and worried about the fallout later. But after two months of working a heavy caseload on his own, he was simply too damn tired to act on his frustrations, no matter how much the idiot deserved a pounding.
Dalton was wrong, by the way, he had solved things since his partner bailed. He’d closed four cases in two months, which wasn’t the best solve rate, but what could he do? He was only one man. A man barely keeping his head above water as it was. None of it mattered, though, because their captain didn’t care he was on his own. All he cared about were the numbers on the board and the department’s bottom line. Something he’d been told he was dragging down.
Zayne walked into the little coffee shop and ordered a drink he’d probably later regret – hot coffee with caramel, half and half, and whipped cream. Nothing soothed his frazzled nerves better than sugar. Scratch that, sex and alcohol were ten times better, but not appropriate in the workplace. Taking his order when it was ready, he headed back outside and slumped onto the nearest bench.
“I’m so fucking tired of all this,” he said before taking a tentative sip of his drink. “God, that hits the spot.” Warm, rich, and sweet, it was exactly what he needed. He took another drink, savoring the creamy, sweet elixir.
Looking around him at the mesquite trees and assorted desert foliage, he sighed. The last thing he wanted was to go back home, tail between his legs, feeling like a failure. But the longer he went without a partner, the more he felt like it was his only option. Thankfully, Texas was a big ass state and he had plenty of options if he decided he couldn’t hack it here any longer.
“You don’t have to go back there either,” he said quietly. It was a thought that usually eluded him, skirting around edges of his consciousness, nipping at his brain, but not quite forming into a full, coherent idea. Why it was presenting itself now, he wasn’t sure.
Liar, the thought came to him immediately. You know why. It wouldn’t be the first time you picked up and moved on without more than the shirt on your back and a tankful of gas, would it?
“I’m not sure I like that look on your face,” a familiar voice said. “It’s much too serious for you.”
“No offense, doc, but I’m not in the mood.” Zayne tried to smile at the assistant medical examiner and failed. “Sorry.”
“Are you saving that spot for someone,” she asked. “Detective Maxwell perhaps?”
Zayne looked stupidly at the empty portion of bench beside him before her words hit home. “Oh, no, no,” he said, scooting over a bit so he wasn’t hogging half the seat. “Sit, please.”
“You sure,” she asked, taking the spot next to him.
“Yeah,” he said. “Not like Hil’s going to come looking for me.”
“I thought the two of you were doing better,” she said, taking a drink from her own coffee cup.
“We are,” he said, “but I still piss her off regularly. Possibly even recently, although I’m not sure if she was mad at me, Dalton, or both of us.”
Dr. Mulholland made a face. “Dalton’s a sanctimonious jerk.”
“That he is,” Zayne agreed. “But I set him off.”
“Gotta curb that swearing, detective.”
“Fuck off,” he laughed. “I’m good though,” he said. “Or, mostly good, I guess. Struggling.”
“Still no partner,” she asked. She lifted her cup to her mouth, drinking deeply.
“Nope, and when I asked the cap last week when I’d be getting one, he just stared at me.” He knocked back the rest of his latte and pitched the cup towards the trash can.
“Nice shot,” Carla acknowledged when the paper cup landed inside the can.
“Thanks, I play pickup in the park near my apartment when I’m bored.”
“So, you get a lot of practice then,” she asked.
“Sometimes.” He shook his head. “But not lately. Too goddamned busy.” Zayne rubbed the palm of his left hand along the length of his thigh. “I’m not sure how much longer I can handle this workload on my own. And then with those two pricks breathing down my neck, analyzing and critiquing every case I pull…”
Zayne stood abruptly and threw his hands in the air. “Maybe I should give up and go back to Texas.”
“There might be people who’d miss you,” she said offhandedly.
“Yeah, maybe,” he agreed, “but the number that would be eager to see the back side of me greatly outweigh the rest.” Catching sight of her frown, he sighed. “I’m sorry. Hilary told me it’s not fair to dump my shit on unsuspecting people. I didn’t mean to do that.”
“Reyes, are you cheating on your woman again,” Stiles called as he and Dalton caught sight of him with the medical examiner. “Yanno, I’d happily take her off your hands if you’re bored.”
This time, Zayne didn’t hesitate to use his middle finger. “Up yours, Stiles. And if I ever catch you within arm’s length of Maxwell, I’ll break your fingers.” He paused. “Even if she’s kicked my ass to the curb, my point stands.”
Stiles waved a hand at Zayne as if his words didn’t matter, which they probably didn’t to that asshole.
“I really don’t care for those two,” Dr. Mulholland muttered.
“You, me, Rollins, and Maxwell,” Zayne said.
“I’m in good company at least.” She reached out a hand towards Zayne, brushing her fingers against his hand. “If you need an ear, I’m here. You have a reputation for being both an asshole and a womanizer, but you’re good at what you do. We’d be the losers if we lost a detective of your caliber.”
He smiled and gave her fingers a squeeze. “Thanks, Doc. You might be the only one who feels that way, but I’ll take it.” He looked back towards the station. “I ought to get back. Thanks for listening.”
“Anytime.”
When that sun is high in that Texas sky/I'll be buckin' at the county fair
Slamming the door shut behind him, Zayne threw his keys onto the kitchen table. He was done, just fucking done. Despite his best efforts, the day had only gotten worse after his impromptu mental health break that morning.
The constant needling from Stiles and Dalton were starting to get under his skin. Before, he’d always been able to ignore them, but lately, it’d gotten next to impossible to let things slide. Maybe it was the stress, maybe he had gotten to a point where he wasn’t going to deal with the bullshit any longer, he didn’t know. What he did know was that he needed something to change and soon.
Angry at himself and the world, he grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator and slumped onto the couch. He was exhausted – more tired than he ever remembered being – and he felt it right down into his soul. Zayne wasn’t sure how much longer he could go without a partner, even a temporary one, but the outlook wasn’t good. No prospects on the horizon and no light at the end of the goddamned tunnel.
Grabbing his laptop, he checked his bank balance and sighed. After paying rent and utilities, plus the money he sent to his parents every paycheck, he wasn’t left with much. A quick calculation let him know there was enough left for gas and lunches for the week – if he ate frugally – but not much else. Which sucked because he really, truly, wanted a pizza.
Another glance at the webpage and he gave up. “Fuck it,” he grumbled, grabbing his phone. “I don’t care if I have to walk to work, I’m getting a pizza.”
Two Weeks Later
They took my saddle in Houston, broke my leg in Santa Fe/Lost my wife and a girlfriend, somewhere along the way
“It wasn’t intentional, Hil,” he said. “I know I’m an asshole and a pretty shitty boyfriend, but I wouldn’t lie to you about this, or anything.” Which was the truth. She was the one woman he’d never lied to about anything, a novel concept for an idiot like himself. “But whatever. That one,” he said, with a flick of the hand in Trish’s direction, “has you convinced that I can’t be trusted. So – I don’t know. Believe what you want. I’m too tired to care.”
Hilary glared at him, her arms crossed over her chest, hugging her tightly. Trish sat on the couch, watching their fight like it was a tennis match. “This has nothing to do with her, Zayne, and everything to do with the fact you’ve missed two dates. In a row!”
“I. Fell. Asleep.” He raked his fingers angrily through his hair, resisting the urge to pull on his dark locks. “I’ve been working fourteen hour days for months, Hil. You know this.” He looked at Trish. “She knows it, too, but I’m sure she’s not reminding you that I’m doing the work of two people right now, and have been for months.”
She shook her head. “It’s not good enough, Zayne. It’s happened twice this week.”
“And how are we to know that you’re only tired from work.” She gave the last word air quotes.
“Trish, you’re not helping. Could you give us a minute?”
“Yeah, Rollins, skedaddle,” Zayne added, giving her a little shooing motion.
Trish slowly got up. Giving Hilary’s arm an affectionate squeeze, she whispered, “Call me later.” Shooting a glance at Zayne, she said, “You’d better behave yourself.”
“Go to hell, Rollins,” Zayne called after her.
“You are not helping your case any,” Hilary reminded him.
Zayne deflated. “Rollins won’t take it personally,” he said. “If she’s still talking to me at this point, she’s never going to stop. I’ve worked with her longer than you have, you know. She was used to my BS long before you arrived in our dysfunctional little department.”
Her shoulders relaxing, Hilary sighed. “I know, Zayne, but that doesn’t mean you can talk to her like that.” She sat on the empty couch and patted the seat next to her. “Sit.”
“Nothing good ever comes from sitting and talking,” Zayne muttered, but did as he was told.
“Look,” she said, taking his hand in hers, “I know you’re under a lot of stress right now and your workload has to be insane. Trish and I are barely keeping up and there are two of us. But I can only deal with so much, you know?”
He hung his head because he did know. She was the best woman he’d ever met and deserved more than he was giving her right now. Hell, she deserved better than he could ever give her. Hilary’s biggest mistake was ever saying ‘yes’ to a date with him. “Yeah,” he said.
“Maybe we should put our relationship on the back burner until you get a new partner.” She gave him a small smile. “And you’re back to getting your usual ten hours of sleep a night.”
He snorted despite himself. “Yeah, well,” he said, rubbing his hands along his thighs. “I guess I oughta go now.” Zayne stood.
“Wait,” Hilary said, standing with him. “You don’t have to leave yet.”
“Yeah, I do,” he said, leaning in and kissing her chastely on the cheek before exiting the apartment.
Outside, he found Trish standing on the little porch-like enclosure. “Well?”
“As if you didn’t already know what was going to happen,” he said, but his heart wasn’t set on fighting. “You know, this is the last thing I needed right now, but apparently, it’s the only thing I deserve.”
Trish started to reply, but he didn’t wait around to hear what she had to say.
Well, I'll be lookin' for eight when they pull that gate/And I hope that judge ain't blind
“Wait, there he is,” he heard Trish say.
Rolling his eyes, Zayne picked up the pace as he walked towards his desk. “I’m not late yet,” he said. “I’m actually five minutes early.”
“For the first time in your damn life,” Trish joked.
“Fair point, but I’m still not late.” He stopped a few feet from his desk, noticing Captain Amherst gathered with the girls, a fourth person standing to the side of the Captain.
He was a tall, slender man with carefully controlled dark, wavy hair. His skin was darker than Zayne’s own, his eyes the brightest blue Zayne had ever seen. The suit he wore looked like it cost an entire paycheck, too. Tailored to perfection and in a shade of blue that nearly matched the stranger’s eyes.
“Ah, about time, Reyes,” Amherst said lightly. “I’d like you to meet the newest member of our team, Andrej Zeklos.”
The stranger reached a hand towards Zayne, a carefully controlled smile on his face. Something sparkled in those bright eyes of his, making Zayne wonder what kind of person he was. What kind of detective. “Pleased to meet you, Detective Reyes,” he said.
His voice lilted with an unusual accent; one Zayne couldn’t quite place. “Likewise,” Zayne said. “And you can drop the ‘detective’ and call me by either of my names.” He flicked his eyes at the women and grinned. “Or, by the end of the week, even ‘asshole’ will suffice.”
Zeklos’ face broke out into a real smile at that. “I am not sure I have ever called my partner that to his face,” he admitted.
“There’s always a first time,” Trish said. “And this clown is the one likely to deserve it.”
“Very funny,” Zayne said, rolling his eyes. Then he replayed the words back in his head. “Wait, so this means you finally found me a new partner? Oh thank god.”
“I am sorry for the delay,” Zeklos said in that strange, stilted way he had of speaking. “However, I was not sure if I wanted to remain in New York or move west.”
“What changed your mind,” Hilary asked, the detective in her curious.
“The snow,” he chuckled. “I left my home for many reasons,” he admitted, “but the cold and the snow were a large part of it.” He made a face. “And the bears.”
“Bears,” Zayne spat, nearly choking on his laughter. “Where the fuck did you move from? Russia?”
Zeklos shrugged. “Close, but not quite. Romania.”
“Well, that explains so much,” Zayne teased. “Come on, sit. I have so many questions.”
One Month Later
I ain't got a dime, but what I got is mine/I ain't rich, but Lord, I'm free
Amarillo by morning/Amarillo is where I'll be
“I think Zayne has met his match,” Trish whispered.
Hilary looked over at where Zayne and his new partner were sitting, haggling over whether they should go grab their suspect at work or do more background research first. Zayne was firmly on the side of dragging the douchebag out of his office by the scruff of his neck, but Andrej was opting for the more cautious approach.
“Dude’s guilty,” Zayne was saying. “We have every right to drag him in here by his ankles if we have to.”
“What are you,” Andrej asked, his accent getting thicker the more worked up he got. “The Securitate?”
“The what?” Zayne leaned back as if to get a better look at his foreign partner.
“The Romanian secret police,” he explained, then shook his head. “You have rules here in America, no? We cannot go grabbing citizens without evidence.”
“We have evidence,” Zayne was saying.
“Nothing that will convince a judge,” Andrej replied.
“It’s like the immovable object has finally met the unstoppable force,” Hilary agreed, grinning. “It’ll be good for Zayne, although it might send our new best friend running back to the motherland.”
“Nah,” Trish said. “You see how he’s smiling? I think he likes challenging Zayne.”
“You just might be right,” Hilary said, watching her ex-boyfriend and her new favorite person with new eyes. “You know, this could be good for us, too.”
