Glenn's Apartment

[Glenn]

Swinging the refrigerator door shut with a light rattle of jars and containers against the drawers and shelves, Glenn turned from the appliance, two bottles held in one hand, and dug through a drawer nearby, retrieving the opener with ease. Even if they had been in his partner’s apartment and not his own, he would have carried out the task with the same level of effortlessness and familiarity; he had spent enough time there off-the-clock after all. He and Ophelia were not only efficient, complimenting partners on the job, but very good friends when they were allowed their social freedom.

Setting one of the bottles down on the counter near to where Phee was working, he offered her an easy, loose smile, and tossed the opener back into the drawer. “Because of course,” he said to her casually, “what is Chinese food without beer?” He smiled at his own joke-that-wasn’t, and took a swig from the bottle still held in his hand before wandering towards the wide doorway that led into his lounge, leaning against the frame just long enough to get a sense of what was happening on the TV before he glanced back at the blonde working in the kitchen.

“I know I’ve already said it like three times tonight, but I could have ordered in, you know.” Glenn was half-expecting her to lob some of the diced food at him right about then, but so long as he had enough time to duck out of the doorway, then he would be spared. Hopefully.

[Ophelia]

Given the amount of time they spent together on the job it was really a huge plus that they got on so well and actually chose to socialise, they had on occasion in the past and likely would in the future have the other's life in their hands, in a round about way they did every time they were out on a case. Trust was a must, as the slogan went, and Ophelia was glad to be able to call Glenn a friend. Hell, with the tongue-in-cheek exception of Metcalfe, she was happy to be able to call most of the cops in their department her friends.

Turning around to look towards the kitchen doorway, Ophelia narrowed her eyes; "And I've said three times in response that I offered to cook." She countered, feeling the urge to throw the raw broccoli she held in her hands at her partner but restraining if only for the fact that she was hungry and she wanted to eat the stuff rather than go hunting around the floor picking it up if she started a food fight. Maturity was completely overrated.

Eyebrows raised at Glenn as if that really solved everything, Phee dumped the green vegetables into the wok and then snatched up her beer with one hand, nodding thanking him for getting her one out of the fridge just as automatically as he had performed the action in the first place. After a swig of the alcohol and a satisfied accompanying sigh, she set the bottle down and picked up the wooden spatulas, tossing the contents of the wok over and watching absentmindedly. "Seriously, this is all I know how to make so drink your beer and stop bothering the chef unless we're moving past the take out thing."

[Glenn]

It was true, many partnerships faltered, fractured and broke under the pressure and strain of two people so potentially different clashing and being forced together for extended periods of time without respite and release. Tempers frayed, tensions mounted, and some results were near on disastrous. But such was not the case with Glenn and Phee. They got on like a house on fire, as the saying went, able to taunt and tease just as well as they could support and guide, and the man of the pair knew he had struck gold with such a partnership placement. He could have easily been stuck with someone utterly obnoxious and even someone who would have ended up being poisonous to his determination to the ‘mission’ of their department.

Narrowing his eyes at the ominously brandished stalk of broccoli, he was only too glad when she decided not to peg it in his direction. Hurtled greens were hardly his idea of a good time, as amusing as such a mental picture was, his no doubt comical dive for freedom included. As the broccoli was dropped in the wok and he returned her bottle-shaped salute, he leaned more casually in the doorway.

“Consider it passed,” he announced with a nod of his head, accepting the change of topic, regardless of the fact that it hadn’t quite come along yet. “If it helps, my stomach’s growling.” Glenn smiled to add weight to the conviction of his words, holding back from grinning on the off-chance that an over-the-top expression would ruin the sincerity. And he was hardly stupid enough to offend the designated cook for the evening. He didn’t want to starve, after all.

[Ophelia]

Ophelia peered into the saucepan on the back burner of the stove and, one hand continuing to stir and toss the contents of the wok, she reached out and dropped a block of egg noodles into the boiling water and then glanced at her watch. It was true that she and Glenn got on like a house on fire, and the woman in the partnership was grateful for that, given the amount of horror stories she had heard and witnessed over the years, partnerships failing and breaking down because of one tension or another. That wasn't about to happen to them; she wouldn't let it, and knew Glenn wouldn't either. They worked well together; it was as simple as that; they were a formidable team.

Despite that, Phee was not above throwing things at her partner, not hard enough to actually do damage, but that was part of what made them work as a team, the ability to be as light and playful as they were serious and dedicated. There needed to be balance, and Phee felt that she and Glenn found it more or less effortlessly. It was easy and that was important to her.

"I know. I can hear it from here." Phee jibed, in her a-typical, pithy way, briefly shooting a mock glare over her shoulder, "Another four minutes for the noodles and we're all set." Abandoning the wok momentarily, the blonde bent slightly to check on the spring rolls under the grill, satisfied that they weren't burnt she looked up, "You grab the bowls, I'll serve?"

[Glenn]

“Very funny,” Glenn muttered with a smirk betraying his true amusement as he turned back into the kitchen, taking a swig of beer before he set the bottle down and moved to comply with her suggestion, nodding his head as he went. “Sounds like a plan.” Opening one of the cabinets not far from where she was working, he took down two bowls that, he knew from experience, would be big enough and then stepped back so he wouldn’t be in the way, reclaiming his bottle.

More times than he could count, Glenn had thanked his own lucky stars for being partnered with someone like Ophelia; not only was she one of the toughest cops he’d ever known, but she was just as passionate about her work as he strove to be day in, day out. There had been the predictable tension at first, the inevitable ‘are we going to get along?’ feeling that usually overcame both halves of the partnership whole, but it hadn’t taken them long to settle into a routine that not only worked for both of them, but was beneficial to their cases and their reputation. Their success rate far outweighed that of their failures, and Glenn was proud of them, a justified pride he was sure.

He also knew Phee took pride in her work too. She was one of the team, one of the guys, and Glenn honestly, by this point, couldn’t imagine working with anyone else.

[Ophelia]

When she thought about the team in VICE, about her partner and the guys like Simon and Matthias it didn't matter so much that her mother and sister were non-entities in her life, that she was basically a value to them as a carer and that was about it, she'd clean up their messes, make sure their homes had heat and electricity and a phone line, when her sister actually had a home that was, but otherwise kept out of their way and hoped they kept out of hers. None of that mattered because she had a family right here in Los Angeles. Maybe it was cheesy as hell, but her father had been a cop, she was a cop and she fit in better with others like her than she ever had or would fit in with her family and Phee could live with that. Glenn was her best friend and her partner, she put her life in his hands and trusted him implicitly, and none of those things could be said about her blood relatives. That had to count for something.

"Okay we, my friend, are good to go," the blonde announced, flicking the hob off and wiping her hands on her apron before taking another swig of her beer before putting it down and picking up the saucepan with the egg noodles in it, she crossed to the sink and poured the water and noodles into the sieve that waited there, "I hope you're really hungry because I seem to have made enough for the Lakers..."

[Glenn]

Glenn had been lucky after the incident with his father; he had been taken in by the Thorpe family and found in them what he’d lacked while he’d grown up in the orphanage, and they had been much better parents to him than anyone with any blood relation ever had. He loved them dearly, and spoke with them often, but they respected his passion for his work and had never tried to talk him out of what he did; they had affectionately encouraged and supported him. While Glenn had every right to ‘angst’ about the troubles of his past, he couldn’t justify it to himself. Not really. Not when life had thrown him a favourable curveball in the form of his adoptive parents. Especially not when he’d landed his dream job in the Vice department, and found a perfect partner in Ophelia. He had nothing to complain about now.

Laughing before taking a swig of his own beer, Glenn gave her ‘a look’. “Hey, you know me. I always manage to work up an appetite somehow. I’m not about to disappoint you now.” And he wasn’t lying, this really was no exception; his stomach was growling — thankfully not loud enough for his partner to hear — already just at the sight and smell. He had the feeling he would be doomed when he finally started to tuck into the home cooked food.