The Detective

Part 1 here

"You look stressed, detective." They heard the smile in the Magpie's voice. "My detective."

The detective's heart leapt up into their throat. They started to straighten, to turn away from the railing of the pier, only for the Magpie's hand on their back to stop them. It was a gentle enough touch. Not especially threatening. The detective still went completely still.

It seemed impossible that they didn't remember the face of the thief behind them. They had stared right at them. Part of them were sure that, despite all evidence to the contrary, if they could just get another look they would remember.

"If you turn, I'll leave," the Magpie said.

"Not so sure you'd get away free this time?"

"No," the Magpie laughed.

The detective didn't know if they meant 'no, they weren't sure they'd get away free' or 'no, that wasn't it at all, and it was funny that the detective thought for a second that it was.'

The magpie's hand was warm against the detective's back.

Slowly, the detective eased themselves back into their previous position - bent leaning their arms on the railing, cigarette in one hand like a cliché, staring at the water. They decided to name their compliance curiosity.

They wanted to ask how come they couldn't remember the details of the Magpie's face, how they couldn't remember much of the details of their last conversation at all, but even asking the question felt like giving the Magpie an advantage. It showed how much the detective didn't know.

"Good." There was no particular teasing to the Magpie's voice, only simple praise, and it made something tug in the detective's stomach. Before they had time to overthink that too much, the Magpie's hand slid up to the nape of the detective's neck.

"Don't."

The Magpie stopped.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

"Why are you here?" The detective turned the cig in their hand. "What do you want?"

"Nasty habit, smoking. It will kill you."

"Everything kills you in the end."

"Ooh, broody." That was teasing. Mocking.

"What do you want?" the detective snapped.

The Magpie's thumb grazed robber-quick over the throbbing points of tension clustered at the detective's neck and shoulder, before their hand fell away entirely. The detective wondered if the thief would be gone if they glanced around. Without the touch, there was no anchor. They couldn't hear the Magpie's breathing over the roar of the waves.

"I wanted to check on you. Your coat's thin, too. I'd get you a new one, but they'd accuse you of bribery if anyone found out, wouldn't they? Even if it wasn't true."

The detective didn't know what to do with that. They didn't know what to say to that. Had the Magpie come to gloat? They weren't especially acting like they had. Yet what else could it be? It made no conceivable for a thief to care for the detective trying to catch them, no matter how odd the thief. They were strangers, besides everything else.

"It would be such a nice coat." The Magpie sounded wistful. "Softest, warmest, most beautiful thing you've ever owned. I'd love seeing you in it."

"Costs more than my year's salary too, no doubt, knowing you."

"It's no fun to spoil you with things you could get yourself."

It was a ridiculous notion to even entertain. The Magpie was probably just...being something. Then there was the whole bribery thing, given detective's really couldn't accept ludicrously expensive gifts (or gifts at all) from thieves. Yet. Maybe, just maybe, if they let the Magpie do that, let the thief get closer, they'd get close enough to catch. Maybe they'd be able to figure out where the coat came from, assuming the Magpie was even being serious. It wasn't like any of the conventional methods were working. They hadn't been in months, and no one else had made any headway on the Magpie case either.

"Sure," they said, with a huff, keeping their voice light and flippant. "If it pleases you."

They almost felt the Magpie's stare, their pinprick attention, gem bright and needle sharp.

"Dangerous promises, that."

"Hm?"

"It it pleases me." The Magpie's voice was suddenly very close by their ear, amused and not all flippant, and the detective's mouth was dry again. It took everything they had not to instinctively turn. They felt the Magpie's breath against their cheek, the proof that they were real, no phantom, no hallucination. "Would you let me do whatever I pleased with you then, detective?"

The detective's fingers tightened on the edge of the railing. They shivered, and the blamed the biting chill of Autumn starting to deepen and darken. They took a drag to avoid saying something stupid, or making a sound they might regret. They exhaled and managed to speak, fingers and soul burning up a little more.

"You take liberties, my thief."

"I take a lot of things, we've established that." But the Magpie sounded more cheerful than before.

"Memories?"

It sort of slipped out. Impossible though it was.

The Magpie's hand rested on the back of their neck again, giving the knots of tension an expert enough squeeze that the detective sort of regretted ever telling them to stop. The Magpie's hand fell away once more.

"Don't worry, detective. I won't take more from you than you can give me. I'm not that cruel."

The detective wouldn't have been able to describe how they knew the Magpie was gone soon after that, only that they knew. They turned, and scanned the half-empty pier, and found nothing remotely out of place with any of it.

Disconcerted, and...something, they stubbed out their cigarette and headed back, as ever, to work.

The coat turned up two weeks later; a perfect fit, but not ostentatious, and utterly gorgeous. Black, and white and lined with blue. A magpie's colours.

No one else even looked twice at it.