a day in the life (lost - miles, james)
Title: A Day In The Life
Fandom: Lost
Characters/Pairings: Miles, James
Rating: PG
Summary: Just another day at the LAPD.
Notes: 1003 words. Written for story_lottery prompt 16- a souk. Spoilers for season 6, but set pre-S6? Does that make sense?
He meanders down a street of the bustling market, bright colours of robes and fresh fruit contrasting with the dull wooden frames of the stalls. He’s been here before, plenty of times in fact. There’s that stall owner that sells only scented soap, and that woman with multiple piercings and tattoos, selling the gothic jewellery.
A cacophony of noise surrounds him; stall owners crying out about their newest stock on sale, customers haggling for prices, to his left, beautiful caged birds chirping merrily - and further down to his right, a young busker is strumming his guitar, coins falling every now and then into the open case in front of him.
He digs into his pockets for a coin or two; he doesn’t usually throw his money away without a thought, but today is different, somehow. Finally finding one, he edges with the crowd towards the musician and tosses the coin into the case, where it clinks against the others. The man looks up and him and smiles a thank you, but keeps on playing, and Miles can’t help but to give a light smile in return.
He finally reaches the taco stand and pays for his fish taco, before heading back to the police department.
There are some days that Miles is surprised by his job, albeit even if to a smaller extent than would be normal. He’s a detective, so he’s seen more things than a usual person - and combined with his… ‘gift’, well, that really leaves nothing to the imagination. So it’s a surprise when they cart the next body into the room, and it’s that busker. The guitar-playing homeless man on the side of the market. Why would anyone want to kill him?
Miles takes a brief glance at the half-covered body, before donning gloves (though they really weren’t necessary) and addressing the coroner, Linda.
“Any ID on the victim?”
“Negative. Judging by the state of his clothes, though, he’s homeless, so we’re probably not going to have much luck. Either that or he hasn’t changed in a month. Or had a shower,” the medical examiner says, sniffing a little at the air in mock-disgust.
“Right, any info you could tell me about this guy?”
Linda raises an eyebrow at him. “Will it matter? Won’t you just do your mojo magic and know everythin’ already?”
Miles rolls his eyes, but leans towards the body anyway, closing his eyes.
It’s silent for a moment, then-
“Would you-?”
“Yeah,” Linda says as she leaves, almost disappointed. Miles follows the sound of her footsteps leading away and then the heavy metal door gliding shut with a soft click.
A minute later, Miles opens his eyes and straightens, stepping back from the body. He gives a nod to the black glass covering one wall and Linda walks back in, ready with a pen and notepad.
“So? What’s the deal?”
“His name is Anthony Garcia. Almost went to Julliard, but his dad dying wrecked his life. Flunked out of school, ended up homeless,” Miles starts, furrowing his eyebrows at the lifeless man on the table. “He received multiple beatings to his chest and facial area, and then died via stab wound to the chest. But you-”
“Already knew that, yeah. They still pay me for a reason, y’know,” she says, smiling fully. (She can be cheerful enough for the two of them, she figures.)
Miles gives a faint smile that slowly fades, tugging on the security pass around his neck absent-mindedly. “Garcia didn’t know his murderer. It was a complete anonymous killing. Although…”
He trails off, and Linda has to prompt him, pen poised: “Yes?”
“He thinks he might have saw him, in the market,” Miles stares at the body. “How did I not notice a suspicious-looking guy, trench coat and big-ass knife in his inside pocket? Even the homeless guy saw him flashing it ’round.”
“Wait, wait… what? You were there?”
Miles shakes his head impatiently. “I was at that market today. You know, that Arabian one with the guy that sells scented soap bars that no one buys? Well, he was there. Busking. I gave him a dollar,” he realises. He starts taking off the gloves hastily (almost makes a hole in one of them, too) and is beginning to walk out the door when Linda calls him back.
“Did you see his face?”
“Yeah yeah, I’ll give Annie the description on the way out. I just have to grab Jim.”
“Jim! I have a lead on the person who killed the homeless guy.”
James looks up from the small stack of paperwork, peering at him from over the top of his reading glasses. “Can it wait? I have all this paperwork to do, and Johnson will get all-” he stops at Miles’ urgent look, and sighs. “Is it actually a lead, or is this one of your ‘hunches’?”
Miles is already grabbing the keys on his desk. “Aren’t they the same?” he calls over his shoulder. James shakes his head with a smile, following his partner out the door.
They catch the guy, in the end. The guy was a deadbeat dad, apparently abused as a child and had gone psycho when his ex-wife was supposedly with another guy that looked like Anthony Garcia.
Yeah. They’re putting him in for more psychiatric evaluations later today.
“Good work, Detective Straume,” salutes James with a smirk.
Miles just shoots him a look. Then, “I’m just glad we got another crazy off the streets.”
James contemplates this. “I guess he did have a screw loose, didn’t he?”
“'A screw loose'? I wouldn’t be surprised if he turned out to be a paranoid schizophrenic.”
Miles shakes his head. “I just feel sorry for the kid. Murderer for a dad.”
“The media will keep it on the down low,” assures James.
They consider the case for a few more moments, then Miles stands up after glancing at the clock. “Hey, do you wanna grab a beer?”
James stands up immediately, grabbing his keys. “Thought you’d never ask.”
Fandom: Lost
Characters/Pairings: Miles, James
Rating: PG
Summary: Just another day at the LAPD.
Notes: 1003 words. Written for story_lottery prompt 16- a souk. Spoilers for season 6, but set pre-S6? Does that make sense?
He meanders down a street of the bustling market, bright colours of robes and fresh fruit contrasting with the dull wooden frames of the stalls. He’s been here before, plenty of times in fact. There’s that stall owner that sells only scented soap, and that woman with multiple piercings and tattoos, selling the gothic jewellery.
A cacophony of noise surrounds him; stall owners crying out about their newest stock on sale, customers haggling for prices, to his left, beautiful caged birds chirping merrily - and further down to his right, a young busker is strumming his guitar, coins falling every now and then into the open case in front of him.
He digs into his pockets for a coin or two; he doesn’t usually throw his money away without a thought, but today is different, somehow. Finally finding one, he edges with the crowd towards the musician and tosses the coin into the case, where it clinks against the others. The man looks up and him and smiles a thank you, but keeps on playing, and Miles can’t help but to give a light smile in return.
He finally reaches the taco stand and pays for his fish taco, before heading back to the police department.
There are some days that Miles is surprised by his job, albeit even if to a smaller extent than would be normal. He’s a detective, so he’s seen more things than a usual person - and combined with his… ‘gift’, well, that really leaves nothing to the imagination. So it’s a surprise when they cart the next body into the room, and it’s that busker. The guitar-playing homeless man on the side of the market. Why would anyone want to kill him?
Miles takes a brief glance at the half-covered body, before donning gloves (though they really weren’t necessary) and addressing the coroner, Linda.
“Any ID on the victim?”
“Negative. Judging by the state of his clothes, though, he’s homeless, so we’re probably not going to have much luck. Either that or he hasn’t changed in a month. Or had a shower,” the medical examiner says, sniffing a little at the air in mock-disgust.
“Right, any info you could tell me about this guy?”
Linda raises an eyebrow at him. “Will it matter? Won’t you just do your mojo magic and know everythin’ already?”
Miles rolls his eyes, but leans towards the body anyway, closing his eyes.
It’s silent for a moment, then-
“Would you-?”
“Yeah,” Linda says as she leaves, almost disappointed. Miles follows the sound of her footsteps leading away and then the heavy metal door gliding shut with a soft click.
A minute later, Miles opens his eyes and straightens, stepping back from the body. He gives a nod to the black glass covering one wall and Linda walks back in, ready with a pen and notepad.
“So? What’s the deal?”
“His name is Anthony Garcia. Almost went to Julliard, but his dad dying wrecked his life. Flunked out of school, ended up homeless,” Miles starts, furrowing his eyebrows at the lifeless man on the table. “He received multiple beatings to his chest and facial area, and then died via stab wound to the chest. But you-”
“Already knew that, yeah. They still pay me for a reason, y’know,” she says, smiling fully. (She can be cheerful enough for the two of them, she figures.)
Miles gives a faint smile that slowly fades, tugging on the security pass around his neck absent-mindedly. “Garcia didn’t know his murderer. It was a complete anonymous killing. Although…”
He trails off, and Linda has to prompt him, pen poised: “Yes?”
“He thinks he might have saw him, in the market,” Miles stares at the body. “How did I not notice a suspicious-looking guy, trench coat and big-ass knife in his inside pocket? Even the homeless guy saw him flashing it ’round.”
“Wait, wait… what? You were there?”
Miles shakes his head impatiently. “I was at that market today. You know, that Arabian one with the guy that sells scented soap bars that no one buys? Well, he was there. Busking. I gave him a dollar,” he realises. He starts taking off the gloves hastily (almost makes a hole in one of them, too) and is beginning to walk out the door when Linda calls him back.
“Did you see his face?”
“Yeah yeah, I’ll give Annie the description on the way out. I just have to grab Jim.”
“Jim! I have a lead on the person who killed the homeless guy.”
James looks up from the small stack of paperwork, peering at him from over the top of his reading glasses. “Can it wait? I have all this paperwork to do, and Johnson will get all-” he stops at Miles’ urgent look, and sighs. “Is it actually a lead, or is this one of your ‘hunches’?”
Miles is already grabbing the keys on his desk. “Aren’t they the same?” he calls over his shoulder. James shakes his head with a smile, following his partner out the door.
They catch the guy, in the end. The guy was a deadbeat dad, apparently abused as a child and had gone psycho when his ex-wife was supposedly with another guy that looked like Anthony Garcia.
Yeah. They’re putting him in for more psychiatric evaluations later today.
“Good work, Detective Straume,” salutes James with a smirk.
Miles just shoots him a look. Then, “I’m just glad we got another crazy off the streets.”
James contemplates this. “I guess he did have a screw loose, didn’t he?”
“'A screw loose'? I wouldn’t be surprised if he turned out to be a paranoid schizophrenic.”
Miles shakes his head. “I just feel sorry for the kid. Murderer for a dad.”
“The media will keep it on the down low,” assures James.
They consider the case for a few more moments, then Miles stands up after glancing at the clock. “Hey, do you wanna grab a beer?”
James stands up immediately, grabbing his keys. “Thought you’d never ask.”