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The Partners in Crime
The first time Anderson realized he had a problem on his hands, it wasn’t during a rescue.
It was in the station kitchen.
Matt Hartfield and Ben Ralston had been working together too long for their own good. Anderson had just walked in for a coffee when he caught the tail end of something that instantly made his life worse.
“—look, all I’m saying,” Ben said, gesturing with a spoon, “is that if I die in a fire, don’t be dramatic about it. Just write something simple on the memorial plaque.”
Without looking up from whatever he was reading, Matt said, “Like ‘Here lies Ben. Didn’t listen.’”
Anderson bailed immediately.
One call might’ve been nothing. By the third, Anderson felt a headache starting.
Matt came in wound tight and stayed standing. Ben wandered in behind him and took the chair like it was waiting for him.
“I’m going to ask once. Did you drive a patient through Memorial Park to beat traffic?”
“Technically, I didn’t drive,” Ben said.
“He convinced the EMT it was a shortcut,” Matt said.
“There was a ceremony in progress.”
“We were quiet.”
“Only because I made them kill the lights and noise.”
“Three complaints. Parks & Rec’s furious, the event organizers are livid, and City Ops wants a report.”
Ben raised a hand. “Was the patient stabilized? Yes. Delivered safely? Yes. Timeline improved? Significantly.”
“You really want to argue this with me?”
“No, sir,” Ben said. “Just providing context.”
“And you didn’t stop him?”
“I was outnumbered.”
“Get out. Both of you.”
Anderson had no idea how it started, but when he finally noticed, it was too late. The younger guys at the station had a running joke: Matt and Ben were basically married.
It should’ve been simple to shut down. It wasn’t.
Matt didn’t care.
Ben usually didn’t, either.
Usually.
“I don’t even know where this came from,” Ben was mid-rant. “It’s not like—okay, yeah, we work well together, but we’re not—”
“Babe,” Matt interrupted, half-focused on whatever he was reading, completely deadpan, “you’re overreacting.”
Someone choked on their drink.
“…No. Don’t even joke like that,” Ben said, a little too quick.
Matt flipped a page. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”
The guys at the table howled. “Put a ring on it, Hartfield!” Someone called.
Anderson slipped out of the room and left them to it.
It was turning into a puzzle.
A kid somewhere in the storm-drain network, voice ricocheting all over the block. Anderson was still trying to piece together a plan, waiting on Utilities to cough up a usable map, when Matt reappeared at his shoulder.
“He’s in the maintenance vault under the substation. The echo’s coming back clean from that direction. Only a chamber that size can throw it back, and this block has exactly one.”
“How do you even know there is a vault?”
Matt looked genuinely confused. “That spot’s been there forever.”
“He reads maps for fun,” Ben translated. “My man’s wicked clever in the weirdest ways.”
“You’re calling me weird?”
“Great. Wonderful. You two can argue later. Make it safe and take primary entry.”
Matt and Ben dropped into the vault once Anderson gave the nod. He hardly had a chance to regroup before the two of them came back up with the kid between them, shaken but unharmed.
Medics reached them first. Anderson stepped in right after.
“Next time,” he told Matt, “mention it earlier when you’ve already memorized half the city’s infrastructure.”
“Figured everyone knew it.”
“Only you, man. Only you.”
Anderson sighed. But the kid was safe, the scene was clean, and he now had to tell Utilities they didn't need a map after all.
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