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“It’s fine, you don’t have to—“ Ramsey quickly finds his feet swept out from under him.
“Absolutely not,” Percy says, hands under his knees and back. “You’re in no condition to be trampling about.”
Ramsey huffs and tries to ignore how flushed he’s feeling. “Just rolled my ankle. I’ll survive.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Percy says, shifting him to get a better grip. She starts walking back to squad car; it’s the middle of the night in Sweet Jazz Park and Ramsey is tired. Luckily, the perp’s been caught by an officer on the other side of the woods, which means they can call it a night. “But if you’re genuinely injured we’ll need to bring you to a medical technician as soon as possible.”
Ramsey groans, leaning into Percy’s shoulder. His ankle does hurt, as does his knee where he skinned it on the hiking trail, but his mind is elsewhere. “Can’t we do that in the morning? Wanna go turn on some shitty reality TV and pass out.”
“As do I,” Percy mutters, quiet over the late-night traffic.
“Aw, what?” Ramsey stifles a yawn. “The great Detective King actually gets tired? Who’d’a guessed?”
She rolls her eyes, but Ramsey knows her well enough by now to recognize it as fond. “Caring for you has greater precedence over watching the premiere of the latest ‘The Real Inscribed.’”
He smirks up at her. “What, you don’t wanna find out what Georgie’s real epithet is, after he lied to Marlo? Or whatever the hell Tanisha’s been hiding about her epiphany?”
Percy’s pace slows for a moment, looking down at him and narrowing her eyes. “Didn’t you say that you only watch that for background noise while drawing?”
Ramsey shrugs, or shrugs as best as he can in her grip. “Listen, sometimes you catch the plot. Or, whatever the hell they edit together and call a plot.”
Percy chuckles, shaking her head. “We’re going to get you examined. And then we are going to go home and watch terrible television. Satisfied?”
“Very,” Ramsey says, snuggling against her chest. “On one condition.”
“What would that be?” Percy asks as they approach her cruiser. She sets him down for a moment, supporting his weight as she fishes her keys out of her pocket.
Ramsey leans into her, lips close to her ear. “You carry me up the stairs too.”
“Hm,” Percy hums, opening Ramsey’s door for him. “Perhaps. I’d be willing to negotiate.”
He keeps a grip on her arm as he climbs in, careful to keep his weight off of his foot. “Name it.”
Percy leans down to give him a soft peck on the lips. Ramsey snakes his arm around her neck, short hair on the back of her neck prickling against his fingers, and draws her in for another kiss. Then another.
Percy pulls away and gives him a serious look. “We watch Taiga’s Got Talent instead.”
“Aw, what?” Ramsey pouts, but she’s already shut the door.