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okay so here's the police procedural au thing i was talking about earlier
sticking it under a cut because i'm dumb
Title;Â what title
Notes; thanks so much to mina, autumn, and mark for proof-reading this! you guys are great!! uvu
**
“Can’t believe Turdle put us on stakeout duty again,” Wan grouses when she re-enters the car. “This is, what, the third week running? If our guy was planning to make a move, he would’ve done it already.”
“Mmmm.” Raava hands him a venti-size cup of tea; they’d both agreed, years ago, that any kind of coffee tasted worse than cat piss. (Actually, it had been the only thing that they’d seen eye to eye on, at the beginning of their partnership.) “I don’t like it either, but we’re short on agents as it is. We can’t risk Varrick trying to pull anything before the big peace conference.”
“Still. Three weeks. We haven’t left this car in almost four days.”
Amusement gleams in her eyes. “Getting restless, Wan?”
“You know it.” He lifts the steaming cup of tea to his lips; ginger root, with two packets of sugar, like always.
“Oh, come off it,” chides Raava, now. “We’ve been stationary for longer periods than this.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. I believe the last time was……” Her voice trails off, and Wan remembers, with a jolt, that the last time had been in—
Paris.
The car is suddenly much, much warmer.
A quick glance to the side shows that Raava remembers, too; eyes widening, fingers curling tighter around her cup of tea.
“Do you remember?” Wan’s voice cuts through the thick air; it’s lower, huskier than he means it to be, and he clears his throat before continuing. “The last time. Do you remember the last time?”
Raava blinks at him, her eyelashes fanning like snowflakes. “Of course,” she murmurs, softer than he expected. “We were undercover.”
She smiles, then, just the barest quirk of her lips; it’s slow and sweet and sad, and Wan can’t take it anymore, God, all this bullshit pretending that’ll add up to nothing, absolutely nothing—
He tears his eyes away from hers before he…..does something he’ll regret later, and his gaze lands on Raava’s cup, still ensconced in her hands. There’s a faint blue stain on the lid, the color of her signature blue lipstick; and Wan remembers, distinctly, that exact shade imprinted on the collar of his favorite dress shirt.Â
