Imperfect Cadence

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A/N I decided to put this up because of a random-ass dream I had last night. Right. In my dream, I put this up and everyone took the piss out of me for writing a cop drama. And I had a baby.

I have some fucking weird dreams...

Anyway, here is the prologue to a random story about cops from the OCD. Organised Crime Division, that is. And it's not entirely true to real life cops in America, I'm assuming, since I've never been there. But just keep in mind that it isn't written to be a perfect reality of what the police force is actually like, because I don't have a clue.

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im·per·fect ca·dence

music

1. The form of which a cadence sounds imperfect or unfinished
2. May refer to an authentic (V-I) cadence in which the chord is not in root position, or the melody does not end on the tonic
3. V-I progression, but allows for inversions
4. Rhythmic flow of a sequence of sounds or words that is not correct
5. (In free verse) an imperfect rhythmic pattern that is nonmetrically structured
6. The feeling that there is more to come

Prologue.

The problem with the situation wasn't that no one wanted to give him cases now that Rebecca was in hospital. The problem wasn't that his partner was gone now, damaged for life if she ever woke up, and certainly not fit for work any more. The problem wasn't even the sympathetic looks he kept getting in the office, the 'pity him' looks that everyone sent him, the sad smiles and offers to go home to rest. No. The real problem in the OCD was all the bloody paperwork.

Rebecca's picture had somehow made its way upon his desk. Jack never was sure how, but he had his suspicions, mostly including the fact that his desk was situated in a room with around thirty other desks, all belonging to people who had known Rebecca Jones. She was... well, never unpopular, Jack remembered with a wry smile. He had been trying to make sense of the new papers for so many hours now that he had half a mind to put the wastepaper basket on his desk and label it "in".

"You've been here for three hours longer than your shift, Cadence." And it was true. But in all honesty, when the time to leave had come it had gone just as quickly and still Jack felt that he had done no more work than when he arrived. "You're not on the graveyard shift. Get some sleep, you look like shit."

Jack looked up at his boss, not moving from his seat. "I'm guessing this is 'flatter your co-workers day'," he stated darkly, faking a look of concentration as he shuffled through more papers.

"You're not my co-worker, Cadence, I'm your boss. You're my bitch," Cedric Francis replied, smirking down at him. Jack snorted lightly, shaking his head. The papers were shuffled once again. Words turned to markings turned to a sleep-induced blur.

"You're right, Francis," Jack admitted, leaning back in his desk to stretch. "I should be off. I'll drop in on Jones before work tomorrow." He rose to a stand and hesitated in front of the many papers. They were no longer even in piles, instead spread over his desk in random places.

"Don't stress yourself out, Cadence. You'll start at eleven rather than eight. Get yourself some sleep, kid, you're no good to me if you pass out on the job," Cedric told him. Jack smiled, eyes settling on the picture of Rebecca momentarily.

"Right. You're right. Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow at eleven."

Jack turned to leave, hesitating only to wave over his shoulder at his co-workers.

"Oh, and Cadence?" Cedric called out to him, leaning against the doorframe of his office. "I've found your new partner. He'll be in tomorrow."