Chapter Text
Sinking into the plush armchair, Jimmy found himself immersed in an old, tattered book. It wasn't particularly interesting, but Grian had given it to him that morning after he finished the paperwork from their last case. Nothing new had come up yet. Jimmy suspected this was Grian's way of being kind, as the book seemed well-loved. Despite their different tastes in literature, Grian's gesture didn't go unnoticed. Grian preferred historical texts or classics like The Great Gatsby or Pride and Prejudice. Although Jimmy could never tell if Grian actually enjoyed them or simply read to pass the time until something piqued his interest.
As Jimmy flipped through the pages, he remembered his childhood days when his mother made Grian read him stories like this to sleep. He'd often end up so bored that he'd pass out like a light. Maybe that was the point. Jimmy, on the other hand, had developed a fondness for non-fiction and fantasy books, worlds that sparked his imagination and allowed his more creative side to flourish.
A knock on the door pulled Jimmy out of his thoughts. Sitting up straight, he angled his neck towards the door, watching as Chief Inspector Symmetry marched up to Grian's desk with long, quick strides. "Detective,” she greeted. “I have something I want you to take a look at," she huffed out, her voice gravelly, likely from the constant yelling at new recruits, Jimmy thought to himself.
Feeling curious, Jimmy decided to head over to the desk to properly listen in. The Chief briskly nodded at him, acknowledging his presence but not giving him much attention. Her focus remained on Grian, her lack of respect for him evident in her demeanor.
Grian glanced at Jimmy and offered a faint, almost unnoticeable smile, as if reading his thoughts and coming to the same conclusion before turning his attention back to the Chief. "Well, what do we have here?" Grian asked, his voice calm and collected. Yet, Jimmy noticed the faintest shift in Grian’s posture—a subtle adjustment, as though he were trying to shake off some invisible weight. It was unusual for someone so typically composed.
Jimmy observed the scene intently, taking in every detail—the worn edges of the Chief's leather-bound folder, the subtle tension in Grian's jaw as he opened and flicked through the case file, and the flicker of something unreadable in the Chief's eyes. Grian’s fingers paused briefly on one page, his lips pressing together for a fraction of a second before he continued. Jimmy’s brow furrowed. Odd.
“Mr. Goodtimes, the owner of ‘The Gemstone,’ was found dead in the back office at the club,” she began. “Our main leads are either a hit pinned on his head by an impatient loan shark or an unhappy customer out for revenge. Heaven knows this is what happens with the kind of shady business that place attracted.”
Jimmy shifted slightly, trying to get a better view of the file. He noticed Grian's eyes narrow ever so slightly, a sign that he was deep in thought. But there it was again—a small, almost imperceptible movement as Grian adjusted his stance, his shoulders rolling back as if to release tension. Jimmy’s stomach tightened. Grian never fidgets.
"Have you found any witnesses or security footage?" Grian asked, his tone measured. Chief Inspector Harrington shook her head. "Unfortunately, the alley behind the club was a blind spot for the club's cameras. We're canvassing the area for any witnesses, but so far, nothing concrete."
Grian nodded, his fingers drumming lightly on the desk. "Timmy, what do you make of it?" Grian asked, looking directly at him. Jimmy straightened up, surprised but pleased that Grian was seeking his opinion. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking. "It sounds like Mr. Goodtimes had many enemies, given the nature of his business. We should look into his financial records and see if there's any evidence of dealings with any known loan sharks. Also, questioning the club staff might reveal any disgruntled customers or recent incidents."
Grian gave a slight nod of approval. "Good thinking. Chief, could you provide Jimmy with access to Mr. Goodtimes's financial records and arrange interviews with the club staff?" The Chief Inspector glanced at Jimmy, then back at Grian, her expression one of reluctant agreement. "I'll get on it," she replied curtly before turning on her heel and marching out of the room.
As the door closed, Grian turned to Jimmy, his demeanor softening. "You're showing a lot of promise, Tim. I trust you can handle working on this with me?" Jimmy felt a swell of pride at Grian's words. "Thanks, Grian. I'll do my best."
Grian's gaze lingered on Jimmy for a moment longer, a rare flicker of genuine warmth softening his otherwise guarded expression. "I know you will." The words carried a quiet conviction, but beneath them, a knot tightened in his stomach—a visceral response to the unspoken tension that seemed to thicken the air around them. He forced a steadying breath.
I’ll do my best.