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"You've broken out of prison," Percy notes.

Ramsey laughs. "Eh, s'more of a recess. Temp thing, you know?"

"You've broken out of prison," she repeats. "Temporarily."


"And you're in my apartment."

"Sure seems that way."

Percy sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. Ramsey finds himself put a little on edge by that. If there's one thing he's learned, it's that Percival King is neat, precise, and punctual. Seeing her stumble through her doorway was odd enough, but now she was leaned slightly on her door frame, one hand perched almost habitually on the pommel of her sword.

"You, uh, you alright there?"

She breathes heavily out her nostrils. "Why did you break into my apartment?"

"Well," says Ramsey, who suddenly realizes this was pretty stupid, actually. "I like your company?"


"Alright, fine, I wanted a decent cup of joe."

Percy studies his face for a second, her rigid shoulders falling ever-so-slightly. "Fine. One cup of coffee. Then it's back to jail."


"I don't josh about coffee." She brushes by the couch he was sitting on with hardly a glance. "Try to flee and I will be forced to use excessive force."


"Your spine will be kinked, yes."

It's maybe two minutes later when Percy appears in the living room with two mugs of steaming brown liquids. One mug had #1 Cop written on it in bold. The other was an ugly tan. The officer considers them a moment relative to their coolness, than to the situation, before ultimately handing Ramsey the #1 Cop mug. He was a guest, after all.

"I have done my hostess tasks," she announces, sinking down beside him. "I will now read reports in total silence. Finish your beverage at an adequately swift pace, but be careful not to burn your tongue."

"Yeah, yeah." Ramsey risks a glance at her, half-expecting the usual stern glare their interactions garnered. Percy was staring into her coffee. He noticed, belatedly, that her hands were shaking. "You, uh, you alright there, chief?"

"I'm alive."

"Kind of a low bar there, King. When did you sleep last, anyhow?"

Percy pauses mid-sip, lips fixed around the edge of her cup. She squints. "I don't recall what day today is, so I can't answer that accurately, but judging by the sensations I'm suffering I'd say at least two days."

Ramsey takes the mug from her. "Maaaaaaybe we've had enough coffee, yeah? Let's get you to bed."

She shakes her head. "I have to take you-"

"Not goin' anywhere, Perce. We both know Bliss Ocean'd have my ass on a platter if I stepped two feet onto the street alone." Ramsey takes her gloved hand and helps her to her feet. Percy's hand tightens around his; a sign of gratitude. "Besides, I might as well get the whole free experience, right? A nice cuppa coffee and a nice night's sleep on a nice couch."

"That would be a waste of a platter." Percy is stubborn, though. Always is. She twists her hand so the fingers lock around his wrist. "You will join me, Murdoch. It's the only way I can be sure you haven't skipped town in the night."

"Why, officer. Are you coming on to me?"

A thick eyebrows lifts. "Hoping to fluster me," she guesses. "So I will allow you the couch."

"Worth a shot, right?"

"Your aim could use some work."

"Oooh, nice zinger!"

That garners this tiny, secret smile that Ramsey always seems to draw out. He likes to think it's because he's a comedic genius, but it's hard to say for sure. It takes years off her face.

The moment is spoiled by the crackle of a radio. Ramsey registers, barely, that he should probably let her answer. It's probably something important. Cop stuff. But his hand still reaches out, still unhooks it from her belt, and still turns the damn thing into gold, halting it mid-screech.

Percy's jaw drops. "That's government property!"

"And now it's worth triple what it was before," he replies easily, handing it back to her. Percy flips it over as if hoping to find a single spot not turned yellow. "Now, that's gonna stay off for the night- and maybe, if you sleep good and are no longer a risk to lives everywhere, I'll change it back."

"I have a duty, Murdoch! I can't just shut it off and-"

Ramsey elbows her. "Hey, look at it like this. You never see a real criminal miss a good night's sleep, do ya?"

"I do not fraternize with criminals."

He clears his throat.

"I have no proper argument for that rebuttal."

He's taking her bewildered status for granted now, leading her down a short hallway to what he assumes is her bedroom. Either that or they're about to squeeze into the bathroom. "Criminals, we know what's up. Ain't no good plans gonna come outta running yourself ragged. And how are you gonna stop us, all jacked up on sleep and proper nutrition, if you're like this?"

"My heroic heart," she says promptly, in such a tone it comes across as an explanation of some kind. Ramsey honestly, legitimately can't tell if she's being honest or just fucking with him at this point.

"Those need six to eight to start up, sweetheart."

Thank god, it's her bedroom. It's smaller than the living area, with a simple nightstand and bed. Nothing fancy or elaborate. Ramsey can't help but notice the visible lack of family photos. Maybe she kept them somewhere secret, treating the place as her personal sleeping office, or maybe it was something else entirely. It wasn't exactly his place to judge.

Percy jerks free from his grip, defeated. "I'll change. You should... remove personal affects as well."

"What, like, my pants?"

"I was referring to your shoes."

"Oh. Yeah, that'd make more sense."

Percy turns her back to him and promptly pulls her top off. Ramsey chokes on surprise and hurries about taking off those pesky shoes. Oh, god, Ramsey thinks, turning away with the most awkward look on his face. It's her bedroom.

He hears a shifting, and then she's comfortably curled up on one edge of her one-person-sized bed, clearly intending for him to get in. Ramsey squishes under the covers with a grunt, feeling bad that he's using them while she lays on top of them, but it's her bed, right? She's in charge.

"I'm in a romcom," Ramsey realizes.

"That's ridiculous," Percy rebukes. "That would imply any of this is romantic or comedic."

He swallows. Their backs are pressed together, and it's somehow such an intimate thing- that Percy trusts him enough to lounge in old blue pajamas and not even facing him and for some strange, unknown reason, he somehow found a way to trust her just as much. The fact that she's gonna drive him back to the slammer in the morning isn't even that big of a turn-off.

Then the crackle comes back with a vengeance, and Ramsey dives onto and across Percy, who has scrambled to the drawer of her bedside table with such precision you'd think it was life or death.

"HOW MANY OF THESE DO YOU HAVE?" he screeches, turning it to gold.