Robbery-homicide. It should have been exactly what it said on the tin but lately it felt as though the department needed to be renamed … looting-did-they-die-of-the-virus-please-tell-me-they-didn’t-die-of-the-virus. The department was stretched thin with their own slowly falling prey to this thing and the city’s reaction to it. Thin enough that he had been partnered back up with Zoe. It was a torment walking into the precinct every morning, knowing that he would have to face her and hold onto to that thing deep inside him that wanted to drive him down to his knees to beg her to give him another chance.

He’d called in that morning to say that he was working on something from home and he’d be in later on in the day. If Zoe had been the one to pick the phone up Jack knew she’d have seen through the charade, that tone would’ve cut through her voice. He’d been cutting class instead, spending a couple of hours working on the architectural plans for the home of one of their city’s beloved politicians instead, scowling at them between trips to the kitchen to stir the risotto, to add more of the stock. He’d been a polishing a bowl of it off, considering how far he could stretch this out when his phone had rung.

The summons. Not to the station but to an arcade a single block from his own instead. Now. Please.

Huffing out a breath he’d taken off for the place. Patrol was already there with the owner. They’d disappeared pretty soon after he’d arrived however, leaving him with the irate owner. The man had been throwing his hands everywhere, still spitting mad over the fact that some punk kids had broken in and stolen a couple of his most expensive machines. It wasn’t like there had been any money left here so long after the lockdown had been introduced. The machines were worth tens of thousands of dollars though. Jack had calmed him down, practically cow-towing to the man to do it and had sent him home, promising he’d wait for the locksmith who’d been called. It was better for the police to be able to seal it up afterwards. It had placated him a little, had him trundling off home at least.

Two hours. That had been the locksmiths ETA, just enough time that he wouldn’t have to head back to the station today. Raking his teeth over his lips Jack had lasted about ten minutes before he’d reached down to switch on one of the pinball machines. He’d winced as the sound had beeped out of it but a glance over his shoulder proved he was alone. Five minutes he was lost in the game, fingers finding their muscle memory from summers spent at the local arcade as a child evading au pairs.

Perhaps he should’ve been a little more aware but he’d fallen down a rabbit hole into the game, chasing a new high score. He flinched at the woman’s voice, the ball shooting straight down between the paddles. Jack glanced aside at her, narrowing his eyes so he was peering through a dark screen of lashes at her. ”I should say no, it’s a crime scene after all but who am I to ruin what little fun might be found right now.” His lips pursing with his smile, Jack leaned down, flicked on the power on the machine next to his. ”Think you can play catch up?” he asked. This was a thin line, probably an illegal one, that he was toeing but that wasn’t exactly new now, was it?

Tagged: @seraphina * Word Count: 600