Fingerprints

Three

It had been almost a week since Newt had met his knew partner, and he thought Thomas was settling in well. He was getting on well with everyone, and was already very popular. He brought a new light to the office, cracking jokes and annoying Newt when he was trying to work. He had started joining Brenda and Minho with their pranks, enjoyed the chats with Harriet, Aris and Sonya by the coffee maker, liked cracking jokes with Frypan and Alby. The man was yet to win Gally over, who had seemed to developed a slight hate for the brunette, but Newt knew it was only a matter of time.

Newt wasn't sure how he felt about Thomas yet. He hadn't tried to create any kind of hierarchy, he was certainly very smart, and wasn't clingy. At all. That was the only problem. For a reason the blond couldn't possibly explain, he had become annoyed when Thomas went off with the others. He had decided it was a mix of a lot of things. He knew they could not afford distractions, detectives had to be right. All the time. And he felt like sometimes, despite the happiness he brought, Thomas could be a huge distraction for everyone else. That was the other point. He wasn't distracting Newt. When someone found their partner, they stuck to them. It had always worked that way: Minho and Brenda stayed together, as did Gally and Frypan, along with Harriet and Aris. But Thomas had strayed from Newt, and the blond felt like he knew nothing about the man, because he spent so much time with the others.

But it was their first case today.

As Newt shrugged on a jacket, pulling the sleeves down passed his wrists, he glanced up at Thomas. He had a stony face, the light suddenly refined into a perfect attitude for their job. A sharp, quick light, which could remember who sneezed in a lineup of people it'd seen on the street and remember the mannerisms of people it passed once in a lifetime. The observation Newt had noted on the first day, had changed from recklessness to something quick. The blond felt the sudden need to be on his toes, like he wouldn't be able to catch up with him if he didn't.

Newt clambered out of the car, gripping the door as unwanted weight was put on his foot. Once he had regained his balance, he shut the door and pulled his jacket closer to his body. Their first case together, on site. The apartment they were stood out of was shabby, bricks deteriorating and the door mouldy. A small balcony stood above it, dead plants and colourless flowers drooping in the early morning light. They were in the middle of a busy street, and the apartment had two on top of it, bustling with life as the world went by outside. So how had someone been murdered somewhere so busy? The doorway was cautioned off with tape, which the two men ducked under and followed the sound of voices upstairs. They made their way into a room, crowded with a few officers and forensics. Newt glanced around for anyone he recognised, but found no one. The brit felt a hand on his back, as Thomas made his way forward, both of them coming to a stop to analyse the scene before them.

It was cut off with tape, the corner of the room brown with blood. A large pool surrounded the body, reaching out toward the officers, before drying. There were no footsteps, but a hammer had been left carelessly next to the body, soaking in dark blood. The body itself had been badly mulled, curled up in a loose foetus position. Newt never got used to seeing someone like that, even if they were unrecognisable. He could only imagine the feat they would have gone through. Thats why he did his job. To catch the bastards.

He found himself next to the chief of police, who was quickly filling them in on the situation. "This is Roderick Harrison, he's a 56 year old man. No fingerprints on the hammer, but the blood on it matches his. It wasn't a robbery, because there's no sign of a break in, and his wallet is still in the kitchen. He had a girlfriend by the looks of it, but theres also pictures on his phone of him with another woman, so we can't really be sure. Locals say they saw nothing, but we think he's been dead for about a day." The man grumbled. Thomas nodded, a precision flashing in his eyes. "Have you got his phone?" he asked sharply. The chief handed it to him after the brunette had put on gloves. Slowly, the police filed out, followed by the chief after muttering something about success. Forensics soon had all the samples they needed, and left formally too, leaving the two alone.

Newt ducked under the tape once again, grimacing slightly. "Pass me some gloves will you Tommy?" He didn't even think about the name, only glancing up as Thomas threw him some disposable gloves with a look of confusion residing on his features.

"Tommy?"

"Aww, what?" Newt teased, pulling on the gloves, "You don't like it?" He plunged his hands into the pockets of the bloodied clothes.

"Jokes on you Newtie, I like it." The blond rolled his eyes and found a small, folded piece of paper in the dead mans pocket. He gently unfurled it, finding a picture of a girl in it. He passed it to Thomas, watching the phone over his shoulder after crossing the room back to him. "So this girl is the one he's kissing here." He showed Newt a picture, and he hummed in acknowledgment, "But in this one, he'd kissing another woman. And they're wearing wedding rings."

"Ah. Typical cheating case?"

"I think so." Newt hummed, and went for a search around the home. He found various pictures of the man with his wife, taking photos of them and jotting down notes. He watched Thomas from a far, as he analysed the body and the state of the apartment. Newt hadn't thought Thomas would have been able to take anything seriously, but there he was, looking like a professional. He was pretty happy with how they were working.

"Forensics will have the fingerprints soon." Thomas muttered, straightening up.

"We heading back?"

"Unless you have something else, I think we've seen everything here." Thomas shrugged, making his way over to his partner. The brit pulled off the gloves and nodded in agreement. He noticed Thomas staring at something, and he glanced at him.

"Tommy? What are you looking at?" He pulled the brunettes gloves off and discarded them. The american pointed to a a small purple bruise on Newt's wrist.

"Oh, that? I just smacked my wrist like a bloody slinthead." The blond shrugged. "My limbs are quite lanky if you hadn't noticed."

-

Three days later, Thomas sunk down into the chair next to him, smacking down a file. Newt opened it with his slim fingers, flicking through the pages.

"They're accusing the wife of first degree." Thomas muttered as the brits chocolate eyes scanned over the page. He hummed in acknowledgement, eyes not leaving the page. Thomas clicked his pen in boredom, before grabbing one of Newt's post-it notes. "I dunno what this is actually for, but I want to write one." He announced, scribbling something down and sticking it next to Brenda's. Newt glanced up at it, and smiled fondly as he rolled his eyes.

'Our cases together!'