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If you aren't a police officer now, what would you be? she asks.
They're nearing the tenth-hour mark and she might have grown more restless than he took note of because during the last hour she had stopped trying to talk him into conversation and stuck to an animated monologue about almost anything and everything. It might have to do with her third cup of coffee or the excitement that in a couple of hours this would be over and she'd be having breakfast - Seriously, who gets that excited over eggs and sausage and more coffee? - but he couldn't know. He wouldn't ask. During the course of the night he'd realized it was better to let her be or tempt being wrangled into verbal exchange he does not have the energy or patience for. There was a time he wondered if doctors are generally this energetic. Does it come from constant anticipation of being called into emergencies? Again, he wouldn't ask.
When the occasional silence in between her self-talks lengthened uncharacteristically, he looked over to check if she hadn't talked herself to incapacitation. Imagine his surprise when he finds her watching - all playful look and dimpled smile - clearly expecting to draw his attention. He frowns on reflex.
It was a strange question on its own, made more peculiar because upon thought he realized he has no ready answer. From childhood he had aspired to be like his father - principled and brave. Time only served to fuel the desire more until it came to fruition. Because there was no answer, he shrugged.
Come on, you didn't want to be an astronaut when you were young?
No.
An architect?
Bad at drawing.
Stamp collector?
His lifted eyebrow did not seem to deter her inquiry. Facing the street again caused him to miss the comical face she made.
How about a singer? You can sing, right? I doubt you're the ballad type. Maybe more hiphop? Loud beats. Something.. What's that again? She was snapping her fingers, no doubt with a frown trying to recall and then jerks from her seat, YG material. Yeah, they'd definitely scout you.
Because he's turned, she missed when his lips faintly quirked. It lifted a little more at hearing her comment that a known rival company would only make him Pretty and that It's not like you aren't that already.
Still, he keeps to his silence. She seems to adapt his demeanor after a while and settles in her seat, socked feet lifted under her. The occasional sounds of her moving keeps him from checking back. That might as well be, as there had been enough distraction from her than he had been prepared for tonight. First is the whiff of her - vanilla - that remains in the cramped space despite coffee cups and boxes of takeout. Then the talking, and it's not like she's spouting nonsense. Her topics can be varied and fleeting but enough to spend thought on. The worst, however, are those damned dimples. Every time she smiles, his eyes are drawn to them. It's maddening how base his reaction is.
I'd be a travel writer. Or host a travel documentary. Go to places and see the sights, taste the local cuisine. She offers moments later, her voice with a hint of a smile to it. The idea amuses him because it isn't difficult to imagine. She could certainly talk her way into people and her taste in food is always agreeable - minus the oatmeal. Or a figure skater. A ballroom dancer. Or a pastry chef!
Her exclamation makes him sigh. What happened tonight only pounded the fact more that his partner can be a little detached from reality.
But you know what I wish I could be? The out-of-this-world-crazy version of me I'd like? She sighs dreamily. A time traveler.
It is peculiar, he thinks. He could have thought of other things, but apparently they're at the 'beyond Earth' category and he supposes this one would qualify. The why though is still unclear. He waits.
No, let me reword that. It's inspired from the idea of a time traveler, but what I really want is to travel to the other universes. You know about that right? The theory of multiple verses?
He still doesn't face her, but there's a subtle nod that makes her smile.
Imagine, that there are a million universes and in each one of them there's a version of you different from the other. You can be good or bad, alive or dead, human or not. Rich or poor, happy or sad, loved or taken for granted. The person you love here can be your mortal enemy in another universe. Friends can be family or the other way. You can be the wildest version of yourself, because there might be a universe that's just all about chaos. I can be Queen in one and rebel in another.
Or a dog who insistently barks, he drily adds.
She glares, and there's no hint of shame when she spouts, Then I'll make sure I'm rabid enough and find you.
Seung Hyun chuckles. His efforts are proving to be futile when she's drawing him into crazy talk and he's actually considering her ideas. He shifts at his seat, his eyes still trained on the street.
When I was in medical school, I'd get frustrated when the people I know seem to be doing well with their lives while I'm stuck with hospital duty and explaining why disease happens. Don't get me wrong, I wanted to be a doctor - had dreamed of it since I was five - but sometimes we get overwhelmed too. It didn't seem a fair deal to be.. limited.
She lifts a hand, playfully tracing the patterns of the seat cover. But I was shown this article - the thought was originally romantic - and I liked the idea. For all that I couldn't do at a point in time, I'd think that there's me in another universe doing it. I told myself this one's where I do things as expected. Where I focus. Everywhen else..
Is the version you don't get to be, he continues for her.
Yeah. She grins now that he's facing her. I know it's not the conventional way but it got me through a lot of things. Even the board exams.
He thinks it's safe to linger watching when her attention turned elsewhere. It takes a while to realize that for all the time she spent twining and untwining her fingers on her lap, it was because she's embarrassed. He surmised she didn't think to say as much as she revealed. She was always talkative, but their interactions had been confined to police work and a bit of one-sided social talk. Personal matters have rarely been a topic.
Conventionality is subjective, is his attempt at bypassing her discomfort without calling it out - one she readily accepted with a nod.
She watches him - form turned in front of the wheel, the dimmed light outside illuminating the angles of his jaw and cheeks - and for all their fighting she realizes that he's not so bad when he isn't being disapproving of her. He must have been having a similar thought because another good thing happens and he almost has a hint of a smile to his lips. She wonders if it's the coffee, the too late hour or something else entirely. It's got to be a tangible reason at least.
Her Thank you remains unsaid because the movement from the street corner catches her eye and she's sitting up and tugging at his sleeve all at the same time. He reaches for his gun, she pulls at her own (the station's actually and one she can't fire unless really, absolutely necessary) and shortly after he's shouting, Stop! Seoul Police! and they're being led to quite a chase. She had never ran so fast or so determinedly for a while, but this is the stuff of social order and it's really quite.. propelling. To her credit she keeps up to his speed, doesn't trip and reads enough of her partner's signals to know he needs her to intercept from the other direction.
She succeeds in blocking the way, even shouts halt to the person, prepared to bodily subdue him if push comes to shove and proceeds to do so. Adrenaline can make one do brave things, that she's aware. The momentary victory, however, renders her a second late with reflexes she could have used to avoid the knife going through her arm. The pain and surprise, however, are enough to threaten the person with a cocked gun.
You stabbed me! She exclaims disbelievingly, the barrel of her - the station's - gun firmly lodged against the man's neck.
It was your fault! is the panicked reply, hands raised over his head. A second before the clang of knife hitting the cement had sounded. I'm sorry!
Seung Hyun skids to a halt in front of the alleyway they were in, jogging to their direction just as she stands and threatens their suspect to stay still.
You okay? He is breathless, but he holsters the gun and pulls out the cuffs.
Fine. She nods to her arm. But I might need a few stitches.
Three or four maybe, he thinks after checking the wound. It was a clean slice and healing would be easy. Less marked too. The knowledge doesn't help lighten his frown though. Had he not made a wrong turn he would have gotten to their suspect first. First chase with his new partner and he's already putting her in danger. Chief would have something to say about that.
Her breakfast schedule is an hour later than expected, and nowhere near the confines of her apartment. She had insisted on filing her report right away and they return to the station after her friend had stitched her up. He tells himself it isn't guilt that makes him pull by the curb when he asks to pass by the overnight mart and he has to wait a few minutes while she buys things. When she goes straight for the kitchen and mouth-watering smells of hotdog and eggs and brewed coffee waft to him, he tamps down the urge to ask if she needs help with anything. She lays a platter of generous serving right above his keyboard and he looks up to gray-rimmed eyes, pale skin and bright smile.
Eat.
She pulls a nearby swiveling chair, sets her own plate on another side of his table, serves them both coffee and plops down to dig in. It takes a moment to realize what she just did, and acknowledge that the smell and sight of this kind of breakfast after a long night is too good to pass up. In the middle of eating he sneaks a glance at her - quiet and methodic - and might have regretted a few things. The chase, primarily, because she's not used to that kind of work. He should have called for someone else, told her to stay in the car.
No, he isn't guilty. He should have just prepared her more, that's all.
She catches him watching and indulges an amused, Is there something on my face?
Amusement makes him frown, but she reads the expression beneath the outward one he gives and so she leans back, arms crossed over her chest waiting for his words. She knows he's been thinking a few should-haves, if the weirdly pinched look on his face in the car and at the hospital was any indication. There's enough of watching him to know that when things don't go as expected, he has a habit of putting blame to himself, as if others couldn't make their own mistakes. Crazy, but she understands.
You don't like the food?
I was expecting something bland but healthy, and his lips actually quirk upwards this time. His jab at her daily preference for food would have merited a kick to his leg, but this is the first time he smiles at her and in the partnership milestone it's a big thing. She smiles right back.
Yeah, you look very disappointed.
What will the multiverse you think about that?
She follows the look he's giving her bandaged arm. Her cut had throbbed with the cleaning, but now it's just a constant discomfort she eventually got used to. The way he asked also meant it's the closest to an apology he would give. Not that he really needed to anyway.
Amazon version would have been proud for a few seconds. Elle shrugs her nonchalance, throwing a casual glance at her arm. Then she'd tell me I should have gotten stabbed somewhere vital, you know, for fierceness.
Isn't that kind of insensitive?
She points her fork at him, in agreement to the point, having taken another mouthful of scrambled eggs. He sips at the coffee and hums under his breath. It must have been the breakfast, the coffee or the lack of sleep but he finds himself for a rare time agreeable to her, especially when she says,
She can be right too, you know. Battle scars are, after all, hot.