Fandom: Lethal Weapon (TV)
Characters: Roger Murtaugh, Martin Riggs.
Spoilers: Nada. Set sometime in season one.
Summary: Riggs and Murtaugh have a new case, but where the hell is Riggs?
Word Count: 802
Written For: Prompt 042 – White Noise at fandomweekly.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Lethal Weapon (TV), or the characters. They belong to their creators.
Riggs wasn’t in the trailer that passed for his home when Roger swung by to pick him up. He hadn’t been answering his phone either, which was why Roger hadn’t just told him to get his ass in gear and meet him at the crime scene, but had been forced to trek all the way out to the beach, something he could’ve done without. The day was already shaping up to be hotter than Hell.
Sighing, Roger tried Riggs’ phone again, and wasn’t too surprised to hear the familiar ring tone blasting from the pocket of a jacket lying crumpled on the floor beside an empty whiskey bottle.
“Never make things easy for me, do you?” Roger grumbled, stepping back out into the heat of the day and scanning the beach for any sign of his missing partner. Partner: that was a joke. Partners worked together, were there for each other, they had each other’s backs and they kept each other apprised as to their whereabouts. Partners did not make their partners spend half the day trying to find them in order to inform them they had a job to do!
Riggs’ truck was still parked beside the trailer, so he couldn’t have gone far. Bringing all his detective skills to bear on the situation, Roger listened hard, trying to detect any sound of movement that might tell him which direction to go, but the silence was almost complete, broken only by the soft shushing of the waves against the sand.
Far off down the beach, near the shoreline, he could just make out what looked like a darker, unmoving lump that could have been a body. He started towards it at a shambling run, stumbling frequently, and cursing the sand that dragged at his feet. “Dammit, Riggs, you’d better not have done anything stupid, or at the very least, nothing any more stupid than usual,” he muttered.
The lump was indeed his missing partner. Riggs was sprawled spread-eagled on the damp sand at the ocean’s edge, as if he was about to start making sand angels. The gentle wavelets of the incoming tide lapped around his head, which was the part of him closest to the water. His eyes were closed, but Roger noted with some relief that he was breathing. He kicked at Riggs’ foot. “What the fuck you think you’re doing out here? Waiting to get yourself drowned?”
Riggs blinked open his eyes, squinting against the sun as he tried to focus on the other man. “Oh, hey, Rog! What brings you way down here?”
“We’ve got a case, and if you don’t mind my asking again, just what exactly are you doing, lying out here half in the water? You finally lose what little sense you had left?”
A dreamy smile spread across Riggs’ face. “Just listening to the music.” He raised one arm, waving it back and forth as if conducting an unheard orchestra. “You should try it; it’s very relaxing, I’d even go so far as to say it’s soothing.”
“There’s no music playing, Riggs.” He’d been right, the man had finally flipped, gone right over the edge. Better call the men in white coats to haul him away.
“Sure there is, Rog; you’re just not listening. It’s the music of nature, the wind and the water, and the lonely cries of the seabirds.”
“That’s not music, Riggs, it’s just white noise.”
“You say to-may-to, I say to-mah-to.”
Roger glared down at the man lying at his feet and resisted the urge to kick him again. “You’re drunk.” Of course he was. Empty whiskey bottle, remember?
“Nuh uh,” Riggs disagreed, shaking his head against the sand. “I was drunk at some point last night, but not anymore. Little hungover now is all; it’ll pass.” Just then, a slightly bigger wave swept over Riggs, briefly submerging his head and drenching him past his shoulders. He surfaced, spluttering a bit and wiping his face. “Ahhhh, that hit the spot! Thank you!” He waved one arm vaguely at the ocean before scrambling dripping to his feet, swaying a bit unsteadily. “You said something about a case?”
Roger nodded. “Homicide.” He eyed Riggs distastefully. “Go get changed.”
“What, this?” Riggs flapped his sodden shirt with one hand. “Just a bit damp, be dry in a few minutes.”
“You’re not getting in my car like that; you’ll ruin the upholstery!”
“Calm down, Rog; getting upset is bad for your blood pressure.” Riggs clapped Roger on the shoulder. “Gimme the address, I’ll grab my phone and keys and follow you, okay?”
“Fine.” Giving up, Roger turned back towards the trailer and his car, floundering through the loose sand again. His heart had failed to do him in, but the way things were going his partner just might succeed.