Kristeva blinked himself awake an indeterminate period of time later, lifting his head and rubbing his eyes since someone had apparently turned the office lights back on and they were incredibly glary. He stared at Devetko, who was still typing and looking things up on his computer and didn't even seem to notice that he'd dozed off. "Thanks for waking me," Kristeva muttered, got no response, and stood, wincing as he stretched; he shuffled toward the bathroom, thinking maybe some cold water in his face would help keep him more alert.
Once within he stood before the sink, running the water and waiting for it to get cold, then cupping some in his hands and taking a drink, and splashing the remainder on his face. He stood up straight again and wiped the drops from his eyes, blinking until the blur of the lights grew clear, and then stared at the reflection in the mirror. He was staring back at himself, of course, but he was no longer alone in the bathroom. Two men leaned against the wall behind him, arms crossed, staring back at him as if they'd been there all along.
"Told you he doesn't know when to quit," said Det. Singer, his clothes wet and torn and bloody, his throat sliced across.
"Not even when it's probably the best idea?" said Sgt. Kincaid, dressed in a police uniform like in his memorial picture, but with blood running from his nose and staining his teeth.
"Especially not then." Singer shrugged. "I think it's appealing."
Sgt. Kincaid hitched a shoulder. "I think it's stupid."
Kristeva just stared at them, not daring to breathe. It took him this long to realize it was obviously a dream, but for some reason it didn't occur to him to try to change the course of events. The two other policemen turned their heads when the door to the restroom opened and Devetko popped his head in, spotted Kristeva, and made a face at him.
"Max--?" Kristeva met his eyes in the mirror--not daring to turn around--and Devetko spread his arms and looked at him as if he were a moron. "Are you going to hang out in here all night?"
"I don't know what he's complaining about, since you figured he has no social life," Singer mused.
"I don't know," Sgt. Kincaid said. "Leave early enough, maybe you can introduce him to a club or a bar before it closes, have him leave with a woman on each arm."
Singer shook his head and made a clucking noise. "With a man on each arm."
Sgt. Kincaid shrugged. "I'm not judging. Whatever floats his boat."
"Max," Devetko said again, apparently not seeing or hearing a word of this. He spread his arms again, starting to look peeved. "Hello--?"
Kristeva swallowed and turned away from the mirror, dreading the thought of what might be behind him.
Something thumped on his shoulder and he gasped and his head popped up. Devetko, leaning forward and toward him, frowned and pulled back, a pen in his hand; Kristeva blinked a few times, looked at his computer monitor--it was off but the computer was still running, indicating that it had gone idle--then down at his desktop--there was a little damp patch where he must have drooled in his sleep. He pressed a hand to his mouth and looked around the room in confusion.
"What time is it--?"
"Way past time to head home. Thanks for waking me."
Devetko started shutting down his own computer, reaching under the desk to retrieve his umbrella and briefcase, opening the latter to shove a few more papers in. Kristeva moved his mouse a little and logged off when the monitor came back on, memories starting to filter back into consciousness. They'd been mulling over a few more promising missing person cases and Devetko had printed out what information he'd found in the database. At some point, both of them must have dozed off; he glanced at the clock and saw it was past 3AM. He pushed himself to his feet and started slowly gathering his own belongings, not bothering to clear his desk. He peered in the direction of the restroom, toward the back of the building, as he did so, pondered mentioning the dream, then decided it would be best not to.
"What're you looking for?" Devetko asked, sounding irked, though Kristeva was starting to suspect that was his neutral tone of voice.
He turned back to his desk without answering, reaching for the lamp but deciding to leave it for last. "What were you so busy doing all evening?" he said instead. "I figured you bailed out of here hours ago."
Devetko made a face. "I've been thinking about Mitch's interview. It still bothers me. I thought maybe I could find a way to get a look at July's autopsy records, but I'd need to talk with Dr. Steiner. I didn't think I should call him on a Saturday night."
Kristeva's mouth twitched; he clicked off the lamp. There was still enough illumination from the few lights left on by maintenance that they could see, although dimly. "Dr. Steiner's a Reform Jew...I really don't think you would've bothered him much." He pretended not to notice the slightly chagrined look that flitted across Devetko's face. "But it's probably too late to get anything else done until Monday anyway. I thought it might be good too to talk with Trooper Lopata, as far as I can tell he practically lives at the hospital when he's not working. Maybe he can clear up some of the details of the story Steiner told us."
"You think something's missing? You have any reason to believe he'd share something with us he didn't share before?"
Kristeva shrugged. "He did say he thought it was an attempted murder, even if Steiner thinks otherwise. I left him my card...if we haven't heard from him by then, it can't hurt to go ask." He peered at Devetko again as he shuffled his own papers into haphazard order. "That sound like anything you'd be down for looking into...?"
A shrug; Devetko gave up on the umbrella and snapped his briefcase shut. "It's not like I have anything better to do."
They both turned away from the desks and headed for the exit. "Not even head home with a hot guy on each arm...?" Kristeva ventured, and got the finger in return. "I'll take that as a no," he said, and had to hurry and catch the door before it could swing back and hit him in the face.
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