Chapter Text
Red woke to the sound of cabinets closing with unnecessary force.
She lay still, staring at the ceiling of her apartment, counting the seconds between each slam. She knew the rhythm. Three cabinets meant Bridget was already annoyed. Four meant she’d found something expired.
“Red, Darling” her mother called from the kitchen, voice carrying without effort. “Why do you own almond milk if you’re not going to drink it before it turns?”
Red groaned and rolled onto her side. “Because sometimes I like to believe in a better version of myself.”
Pink laughed from somewhere near the counter. “You bought that two weeks ago.”
“I was optimistic two weeks ago.”
Bridget appeared in the doorway a moment later, arms crossed, eyes sharp, hair pulled back like she was bracing for battle rather than breakfast. She took in Red’s still-unmade bed, the hoodie draped over a chair, and the faint bruise blooming along Red’s ribs from a suspect who’d decided to resist arrest three nights earlier.
Her mouth thinned. “You’re sleeping like this now?”
Red pulled the blanket higher. “I sleep just fine.”
“You sleep like someone who hasn’t eaten a real meal in days.”
Pink leaned against the doorframe behind her, already dressed, coffee in hand. “She had pizza last night.”
Bridget turned on her. “That doesn’t count.”
“It absolutely does,” Red said. “It had vegetables.”
Pink snorted.
From the kitchen, Chloe’s voice drifted in—calm, amused. “Bell peppers do not count as a balanced diet.”
Red pushed herself upright immediately. “You’re siding with her now?”
Chloe stepped into view, coat neatly folded over her arm, hair perfectly in place despite the early hour. She looked… at ease. Which was unsettling, considering Red’s apartment was currently being judged by two family members and a medical examiner who knew exactly how many hours of sleep Red had gotten last night.
“I’m not siding,” Chloe said gently. “I’m observing.”
“That’s worse,” Red muttered.
Bridget’s expression softened just slightly when she saw Chloe. “Did you eat?”
“Yes,” Chloe said without hesitation. “I always eat.”
“Good,” Bridget said, satisfied. Then, to Red, “See? Responsible.”
Red shot Chloe a look. Chloe only smiled faintly.
They gathered around the small kitchen table a few minutes later—Bridget pouring coffee like she owned the place, Pink scrolling through her phone, Chloe sitting with her hands wrapped around a mug she hadn’t asked for but had been given anyway.
This—Red realized distantly—was her normal now.
It still startled her sometimes.
“So,” Pink said, breaking the quiet. “You’re off today?”
Red shrugged. “On call.”
Bridget’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not the same thing.”
“It’s close enough.”
Chloe glanced at her watch. “I have paperwork this morning. No scheduled autopsies.”
Red opened her mouth to make a joke—
Her phone rang.
She looked at the screen and sighed. “That’ll be Major Crimes.”
Pink sat up straighter. Bridget’s jaw set.
Red answered. “R—” She paused, listening. Her posture shifted almost imperceptibly. “Where?” Another pause. “Yeah. I’m on my way.”
She hung up and stood.
Chloe was already reaching for her coat.
Bridget exhaled sharply. “Be careful.”
“I always am,” Red said automatically.
Pink grabbed her keys. “I’ll text later.”
Chloe met Red’s eyes. No words. Just understanding.
They moved together, out the door and into the morning, the quiet of ordinary life already receding behind them.The apartment building was already crawling when they arrived.
Patrol cars lined the curb, lights washing the brick façade in alternating red and blue. A small crowd had gathered behind the tape—phones out, voices low but buzzing, the kind of attention that came with a name people recognized.
Red ducked under the tape without slowing, badge flashing briefly. Chloe followed close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed.
“High-rise,” Red muttered. “Secure entry. That narrows it.”
“Or complicates it,” Chloe replied calmly. “Depending on who had access.”
Red glanced at her, then smirked faintly. “That’s why I bring you.”
Max was already inside the lobby, pale and trying very hard not to look at the body bag being maneuvered toward the elevator. He brightened when he saw them, relief flickering across his face.
“Hey,” he said. “You’re gonna want to see this.”
Luis stood a few feet back, talking quietly with a uniformed officer. He nodded once at Red—acknowledgment, not urgency.
Red stepped into the apartment and immediately clocked the silence.
It was staged. Too clean. Too intentional.
The living space was immaculate in that curated way—neutral furniture, decorative books no one read, a ring light still standing near the window. A phone lay shattered on the floor beside the couch.
The victim lay supine near the kitchen island, eyes closed, expression almost peaceful.
Red crouched. No visible trauma. No overturned furniture. No signs of a struggle.
“Doors locked?” she asked.
Max nodded. “Front door was secured. No signs of forced entry. Security confirms she came home alone last night.”
“Cameras?” Red pressed.
“In the lobby and garage,” Max said. “Nothing inside the apartment.”
“Of course not,” Red muttered.
Chloe stepped closer to the body now, careful, observant. She didn’t touch anything—just took it in. The pallor. The stillness. The faint discoloration along the lips.
Red noticed when her focus sharpened.
“Something’s off,” Red said quietly.
Chloe nodded. “Yes.”
Max shifted his weight. “So… not an accident?”
Red straightened. “Nothing ever is.”
Luis approached, lowering his voice. “Media’s already circling. Name leaked fast.”
Red sighed. “Of course it did.”
Chloe turned to her. “I’ll need her brought in as soon as possible.”
Max winced. “I’ll, uh—coordinate that.”
Luis clapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Try not to pass out.”
“I am not going to pass out.”
Red glanced at Max. “You’re going to pass out.”
“I am absolutely not—”
Luis cut in, deadpan. “Ten bucks says you do.”
Max scowled. “I hate all of you.”
Chloe stepped back, already mentally elsewhere. “I’ll call you as soon as I have preliminary findings.”
Red nodded. “I’ll start pulling names.”
Their eyes met briefly—understanding passing between them without effort.
This was the part they were good at.
The morgue was colder than Red remembered every single time.
She told herself it was psychological. It wasn’t. It was just cold.
Chloe stood at the stainless steel table in a fitted charcoal coat she hadn’t bothered removing yet, gloves already on, posture immaculate even under fluorescent lighting. The victim lay between them, stripped of the glittering persona she’d sold to millions. Without the lighting and contour and curated angles, she looked younger. Smaller.
Human.
Max hovered three feet back, holding the tablet like it might protect him.
Luis leaned against the counter, arms folded, calm as ever.
Red stayed near Chloe’s shoulder.
“External exam first,” Chloe said, voice steady, professional. “Female. Late twenties. No visible defensive wounds on forearms or hands. No blunt force trauma to the skull. No petechial hemorrhaging in the eyes.”
Max swallowed audibly.
Luis didn’t even look at him. “You good, Hatter?”
“I’m fine,” Max said too quickly. “I’m absolutely fine. It’s just… she was alive yesterday.”
Red didn’t take her eyes off Chloe. “Everybody in here was alive yesterday.”
Chloe adjusted the overhead light slightly and leaned in closer. “There’s faint erythema along the lips. See this?” She gestured with her gloved hand.
Red stepped closer automatically. She always did when Chloe asked her to look.
“Could be an allergic reaction,” Red offered.
“Possibly,” Chloe said, approving but measured. “But there’s no swelling of the airway visible externally. I’ll confirm internally.”
Max made a small noise that sounded like regret.
Luis finally turned his head. “You’ve processed worse scenes than this.”
“Yeah,” Max muttered. “When they’re still in one piece.”
Red smirked faintly. Chloe didn’t.
Chloe picked up the scalpel with the same composure she used when turning pages in a book. “Standard Y-incision.”
Max visibly tensed.
Luis nudged him lightly with his elbow. “You can look away. She won’t revoke your certification.”
“I’m not looking away.”
He looked away.
Chloe’s incision was precise, controlled. From each shoulder, meeting at the sternum, extending cleanly down toward the pubic bone. No hesitation. No theatrics. Just clean anatomical access.
Red didn’t flinch. She never did. What she watched instead was Chloe’s focus—the way her brow tightened slightly when she was concentrating, the way she narrated not for drama but clarity.
“Minimal subcutaneous hemorrhaging,” Chloe said. “No internal bruising consistent with assault.”
She worked methodically, opening the chest cavity, examining organs in sequence.
“Lungs are mildly congested. Not consistent with drowning. No frothy edema in the airways.” She paused. “Heart appears structurally normal.”
Max risked a glance and immediately regretted it. “Why does it look like that?”
Luis answered before Chloe could. “Because it’s a heart.”
“That’s not helpful.”
Chloe ignored them both. “There is mild gastric irritation.” She glanced up briefly at Red. “Chemical, not bacterial. I’ll confirm with tox, but this suggests ingestion.”
Red felt that small, satisfying click in her head. “Poison.”
“Likely,” Chloe said calmly. “Not an irritant strong enough to cause immediate distress. No tearing in the esophagus. This was absorbed.”
“So not a dramatic collapse,” Red said. “No choking, no thrashing.”
“Correct. Based on tissue presentation, onset would have been delayed. Possibly mistaken for fatigue or anxiety.”
Max frowned. “So she didn’t know?”
Chloe’s hands stilled for half a second before continuing. “Probably not.”
The room went quiet in a different way.
Red leaned her weight against the table edge. “Someone close to her,” she said. “Has to be. If there’s no forced entry and it’s ingestion, it’s either trust or routine.”
Chloe nodded once. “I’ll have preliminary toxicology in a few hours.”
Red watched her for a moment longer than necessary.
Chloe always looked composed in here. Untouchable. But Red knew the tells now. The slight tightening at the jaw when the victim was young. The way she adjusted her gloves when something bothered her more than she’d admit.
“Max,” Red said, not looking at him. “Pull every brand deal, every assistant, every manager. If her life was curated, I want the editor.”
Max nodded, grateful for movement. “On it.”
Luis pushed off the counter. “I’ll talk to building security.”
As they turned to leave, Chloe stripped off her gloves and disposed of them neatly.
Red stayed.
“Something else?” Chloe asked.
Red hesitated. It was barely a pause. “You’re sure it wasn’t accidental.”
Chloe met her eyes fully now. Clear. Certain.
“No,” she said. “It was deliberate.”
Red nodded once.
She trusted that tone more than any lab result.
“Coffee?” Red asked, like it wasn’t routine.
Chloe’s expression softened by a degree only someone who knew her would notice. “Black. No sugar.”
Red smirked faintly. “I know.”
She left the morgue already building a list of people who thought they’d gotten away with something.
Behind her, Chloe turned back to the table.
Careful. Precise.
Determined to make the dead tell the truth.
The interview room smelled faintly of disinfectant and stale coffee.
Red sat across from the victim’s manager, a woman in her early thirties with perfect posture and hands folded too carefully in her lap. No lawyer yet. That alone told Red a lot.
Red didn’t rush. She never did when someone was already talking to themselves.
“You managed her schedule?” Red asked, flipping open a thin file she hadn’t actually read yet.
“Yes,” the woman said. “Everything. Brand deals, appearances, social media.”
“Everything,” Red echoed, mildly.
The woman nodded, swallowing. “She trusted me.”
Red leaned back. “Funny thing about trust.”
She let the silence stretch. The woman filled it with a breath that came a little too fast.
“You were with her yesterday,” Red said calmly.
“I dropped her off around six.”
“Security footage puts you there at eight.”
The woman’s eyes flicked to the door and back. “I—I forgot my phone.”
Red smiled faintly. It wasn’t kind. “That’s a long time to look for a phone.”
The woman’s jaw tightened. “We argued.”
“About?”
“She wanted out,” the woman said, voice sharp now. “She wanted to end the contracts. Stop the brand. She said she was tired of pretending.”
Red nodded once, like this confirmed something she’d already known. She slid a photo across the table—close-up of the victim’s lips, faint discoloration visible even in bad lighting.
“Ms. Charming says she ingested something,” Red said. “Not enough to hurt immediately. Enough to kill her later.”
The woman stared at the photo.
Red continued, voice steady. “Which means whoever gave it to her knew she wouldn’t feel it right away. Someone she trusted. Someone who knew her routines.”
“That’s not—”
Red leaned forward. “She didn’t choke. She didn’t fight. She went to bed thinking she’d wake up.”
Silence pressed in.
“You handled her supplements,” Red added casually. “Her diet. Her ‘wellness’ plan.”
The woman’s hands trembled now. She clenched them together.
“I didn’t mean—” She stopped herself.
Red stayed still. Didn’t interrupt.
“She was going to ruin everything,” the woman whispered. “All the deals. All the people who depended on her. I just needed more time.”
Red’s voice softened—not with sympathy, but clarity. “You needed control.”
The woman broke then, shoulders collapsing inward. “I thought it would just make her sick. Slow her down. Give me time to fix it.”
Red stood.
“You did fix it,” she said quietly. “For yourself.”
She knocked once on the door. An officer stepped in.
As the woman was led away, Red stayed where she was, exhaling slowly.
Red stepped into the hallway and pulled her phone from her pocket.
She didn’t hesitate.
Red: You were right. Ingestion. Trusted source.
Chloe: I know.
Red: We got her.
Chloe: Good.
Red stared at the screen a second longer than necessary.
Red: Coffee later?
Chloe: Yes.
Red slipped the phone away, the familiar weight of a closed case settling over her.
Another truth uncovered. Another lie dismantled.
And somewhere beneath the professional calm, the quiet certainty that Chloe had been with her through every step—even when she wasn’t in the room.
Red found Chloe exactly where she expected to.
The morgue lights were dimmed, the stainless steel table empty now, paperwork stacked neatly in a file at Chloe’s elbow. She’d traded the gloves for bare hands and a pen, her coat back on, posture still precise even at the end of a long day.
Red leaned against the doorway instead of announcing herself.
“You always stay late?” she asked.
Chloe didn’t look up immediately. “I prefer to finish what I start.”
Red stepped inside. “We got her.”
“I saw.” Chloe capped her pen. “Manager.”
“Control issues,” Red said lightly. “You called it.”
Chloe finally met her eyes. “You solved it.”
Red shrugged. “No,We did.”
There was a beat. Not awkward. Just full.
Red moved closer, dropping into the chair across from Chloe’s desk without asking. “Media’s already spinning it,” she said. “Tragic accident. Stress. Overwork.”
Chloe’s mouth pressed thin. “That’s easier.”
“Yeah.”
Silence stretched between them, but this one was different from the interrogation room. Softer. Familiar.
Chloe studied her for a moment. “You didn’t eat after you left this morning.”
Red blinked. “You were busy cutting into a thoracic cavity and you’re tracking my lunch schedule?”
“I can do both.”
Red huffed a quiet laugh.
Chloe reached into her bag and slid a small wrapped container across the desk. “Bridget insisted.”
Red stared at it. “You’re working with her now?”
“She was persuasive.”
Red peeled the lid back. Real food. Something warm and intentional.
“She worries,” Chloe added, more gently.
“I know.”
Chloe’s gaze lingered a second longer than usual. “So do I.”
It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t heavy.
But it landed.
Red looked away first, because she always did when something got too close to the bone.
“We make a good team,” she said instead.
Chloe’s expression softened in that almost-imperceptible way only someone who knew her well would notice. “Yes,” she said. “We do.”
Red stood, container in hand. “Coffee tomorrow?”
Chloe tilted her head slightly. “You’ll bring it anyway.”
A corner of Red’s mouth lifted. “Probably.”
She walked toward the door, then paused.
“Hey,” she said without turning fully around. “You were right.”
Chloe didn’t ask about what.
“I usually am,” she replied, calm but warm.
Red rolled her eyes faintly and stepped into the hallway.
The precinct was quieter now. The chaos of flashing lights and camera crews reduced to paperwork and tired officers heading home.
Another case closed.
Another day survived.
And somewhere between the morgue and the interrogation room and the kitchen table that morning, something unspoken had tightened — not dramatic, not visible to anyone else.
Just steady.
Just theirs.