Part Eight

[intheheart]

Title: Part Eight
Rating: PG.
Summary: The plot advances, and Zack commits the sin of envy.
Date: December 29th, 2028
Notes: Not 100% happy with this. Stupid transitions. Oh well, enjoy!


"Is something wrong?" Zack asked, as the black-and-white lurched into yet another pothole.

Dr Kendall-- no, Summer now, he reminded himself-- Summer shrugged, and tugged at her sleeve again. "I didn't sleep very well," she said. "I don't, when I'm away from home." She glanced down at her suit, pulled at the hem of her jacket. "I'll be all right."

Zack kind of doubted that. He hadn't gotten much sleep either, thanks to an adrenaline rush that still hadn't quite worn off, and he'd heard her tossing most of the night. And now she was twitching, adjusting her suit every few minutes, rubbing at the dark circles under her eyes. Poor woman. She'd been through way too much.

He hadn't helped with that any, either.

Well, he could stop being an asshole now. It was a start.

At least Paige, bless her, had managed to sneak in some pajamas and dinner, so neither he nor Summer had to sleep in their clothes or go to bed hungry. There were benefits to having a sister who liked to take care of people. He'd have to make sure the department reimbursed her. God knew she wouldn't take it from him.

Summer was gazing at the window, still tugging absently on her sleeve. "Where are we?" she asked. "I've never been to this part of DC before."

"Near Eastern Market," he said, and pointed. "The Metro stop's just up Pennsylvania that way. You've never been southeast?"

She shook her head. "When I was at medical school I stayed on campus mostly. And since I've been living here I haven't really left the area."

This was quite possibly one of the most inane conversations he'd had this week. Still, inane was probably good right now. "Where do you live now?"

"Georgetown," she said, and shrugged. "I was comfortable there, so I stayed."

Comfortable. Right. She liked comfortable. She liked safe. And thanks to some trigger-happy asshole calling himself Jason Dacre, her world was neither right now.

"We'll get him," he told Summer, then. "We will."

She looked at him then, blue eyes wide. "I know that," she said, sounding confused.

For some weird reason, that made Zack feel better.

Felipe was waiting for them when the black-and-white got them to Central a few minutes later. He stood on the front steps with a cup of coffee in each hand, and looked just as exhausted as Zack was. "Hey, jerk," he said, raising one of the coffees in salute. "I see you managed to not die."

"No thanks to you," Zack said, and took the coffee from him once he'd climbed the steps. "Have a nice night?"

Felipe gave him an eloquent look, then turned his attention to Summer. "Hey, querida," he said, his voice considerably gentler. "How are you doing?"

Summer said nothing, simply wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder. After a second, she gave a dry little sob and shuddered.

Felipe handed his other coffee to Zack and put both arms around her. "There, querida," he said. "It's all right now. You're safe."

"I know," she said, her voice muffled but surprisingly steady. "I know. I just... I'm so glad to see you."

"And I you," he said, and kissed the top of her head.

Zack, a little nettled and not knowing why, said, "I hate to break up this touching reunion, but could we possibly move the lady who's getting shot at inside the building?"

Felipe gave him another speaking look, but said, "He's probably right, Summer. On we go." He offered her his arm, and she took it. Zack followed them, holding the coffee and feeling rather abandoned.

Once they were inside, he took a couple of big steps and caught up with them, walking on Summer's other side. "So what have you found out?"

Felipe shrugged. "Jason Dacre doesn't exist, so we're officially working with an UNSUB, but we knew that. The receptionist and a couple other people from the morgue are working with Aston-- he's a sketch artist," he added, to Summer. "Captain'll probably have you work with him for a bit."

Zack had latched on to an entirely different part of that sentence. "Why do we need a sketch artist?" he asked, after a healthy slug of coffee. "We have surveillance cameras, don't we?"

"Recorders disabled, discs taken," Felipe said, with a disgust in his voice that boded ill for someone. "Turns out the guy who was supposed to watch them yesterday evening called out sick and no one bothered to replace him. Heads will roll at the morgue."

Zack shrugged. "Well, we are short-handed. And dead bodies don't usually cause that much trouble."

"Someone's still getting fired."

Summer, who'd been walking quietly between them, looked up at him with a distressed expression. "I hope not Paul," she said. "It's not his fault."

Felipe and Zack shared a blank look over her head, then Zack asked, "Who's Paul?"

"He was supposed to be on cameras last night," Summer said. "It's really not his fault. He has prostate cancer. It's difficult for him right now."

"His head is safe," Felipe said. "He called out using proper procedures. Captain wants the head of whoever does the assignments over there."

Zack, tickled suddenly, asked, "What for? To stick on a pike?"

Felipe considered. "Festive paperweight, I think," he said.

Summer, between them, giggled. "You sound like my sister."

"Who?" Felipe asked. "Moi?"

"Both of you, actually," she said. "Ivy has the same sense of humor. She once threatened to make Jake's kneecaps into festive shoulderpads." She glanced up at Zack, through her eyelashes. "It was the word festive, you see, that reminded me."

Zack, mindful of his resolution not to be an asshole, bit back an unfortunate remark. "I do see," he said, instead. "Festivity is much to be desired these days. Who's Jake?"

"He's a friend," she said, and this time he bit back a surge of irrational annoyance.

Felipe must have been watching his face, because he asked, "That reminds me, how'd his campaign go? Did he get reelected?"

Summer nodded. "Yes. Olivia wrote me the other day. She said that he's thinking about running for governor next."

"Better than the psycho they got now," Felipe said. "And he does have a really photogenic family."

She tilted her head, and Zack wondered if she was giving Felipe the same weird look he was giving his partner. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Politics is all about who looks best on the internet," Felipe said, and shrugged. "Your friend's got a hot wife and some hot daughters. It helps, is all I'm saying."

"I don't think Olivia likes being called hot," Summer said, thoughtfully.

Zack resolved to have a word with his partner later. Much later. "Hot wives notwithstanding," he said, "what else went down?"

"There's not much else to tell," Felipe said. "Once we have a sketch, we'll run it through the system and see what we get. And by we, I of course mean the detective."

Pertinent information at last. "Who did we get?"

"Joseph Robb," Felipe said.

"Thank God," said Zack.

Summer glanced between them, looking confused. "What?"

"We could've gotten worse," Zack said. "Much worse. But this is not the place to talk about it. I thought Robb was homicide though?"

"They're treating this as attempted homicide with a suspicion of connivance in the case of what's-his-face on the slab," Felipe said. "The one the UNSUB threatened her over. That was definitely homicide, Summer?"

"If you mean Eric Kurtz, yes." She let go of Felipe's arm and reached up to tuck an errant curl of hair behind her ear. "I think he was smothered. And someone tried to make it look like an attack, much later. And then they tried to hide the body.

"Homicide," Felipe and Zack said, simultaneously, and Zack added, "Damn it. I hate homicides."

"Um," Felipe said. "Speaking of homicide. We gotta talk."

Zack shot him a sharp look, but got no chance to ask, because the captain was waiting, and everything was about to get moving.

But they would definitely talk later.