The grimace that appeared on Alix’s face didn’t slip past Chase for a second. He wondered what it was about the homicide department that would make her look like he’d just asked her to introduce him to her ex-husband. It couldn’t be [i]that[/i] bad, could it? The office at the police station hadn’t been anything special either, just a bunch of old desks and chairs with no lumber support in a room lit only by dim yellow incandescents. It was a place meant for filing papers and virtually nothing else. He had a hard time believing the workspace here could be worse.

As Detective Andrews explained her history at the agency and as an officer, he raised a brow. Florida was quite the state to start out in. That was where most of the stories came from that he could only describe as the weirdest of the weird. His peers at the NYPD often joked that they would take the high crime rates of New York over nutjobs streaking with chainsaws any day. Of course, he knew outlandish situations like that were in the vast minority of cases, even in Florida, but he still wanted to ask if she had encountered any wild jobs worth telling.

Unfortunately, he didn’t get the chance before they arrived at the office. “Well, damn. I wish they would have told me that before I took the exam for homicide,” he shook his head when she told him about Vice. Despite the joking, he didn’t actually care much about what his workspace was like. As long as there was room enough to get things done and lighting that wasn’t so white it would give him a headache, he would make it work. It was what he’d done at the station for five years before this.

Upon stepping inside the room, Chase’s first thought was that it was a step up from his last place of work—not a big step, but enough that it was noticeable. He followed Alix over to one of the desks that she claimed as her own. It was evident from the layer of dust on the tabletop that the cubicle hadn’t been used in a long time, but he didn’t need to ask about it as she explained that she did her work in a different suite.

“Oh, come on. The leftover wontons are part of the charm,” he said with a smirk as he set his briefcase down on the desk adjacent to hers. It was empty, and he guessed it had belonged to the man who’d retired—Bronson, if he correctly remembered what Chief Martinez had called him.

It didn’t take long for him to put his belongings away, since he’d only brought the bare minimum of things he would need. He would personalize the space after he felt more settled in. Once he was done, he turned back to Alix, whom he’d heard rummaging through the drawers of her own desk. She had a pleased look on her face and surprised him by offering a piece of candy.

“Sweet tooth, huh?” he asked amusedly. “Sure, I’ll have one.”

As she told him about Karl of the autopsy lab, he laughed. “I’m almost afraid to ask what kind of anecdotes a forensic technician has to talk about. Luckily, I did plan ahead though.” Opening the top drawer of his desk, he retrieved the orange he’d packed that morning and tossed it in his hand. “Eagle scouts pays off, huh?” he grinned. “Alright, I’m ready to go.”