The office is, once again, absolutely freezing. Jongdae knows she paid the heating bill; she has receipts and her call log notes right in front of her, so the heater itself is frozen or broken. She’s a heartbeat away from taking a wrench to it herself when the door opens, and she sits up brightly until she sees who it is.

“Boss,” she hisses sweetly.

Sehun pauses with his scarf partway off and looks over his shoulder at her. He’s already closed the door and can’t move fast enough to avoid his secretary when she darts across the short distance between her desk and the door.

“Sehun,” she says lowly, taking the ends of his scarf in either hand, “I thought you were going to fix that damned heater.”

“I thought...I did?” He lurches forward when she yanks his scarf.

“Does it feel like you did?” Jongdae takes his scarf for herself and winds it around her neck. It clashes with the color of her dress, but she cares more about comfort and warmth than fashion, unlike her boss. “Get a wrench and fix it right now, or so help me.” Her voice is muffled, but Sehun gets the gist.

He greets his dog, curled up on his bed beneath a blanket of his own, but he gets a huffy sort of growl in response. Even he’s upset about the lack of heat. Sehun is on his own.

When he bought this apartment, it was definitely a place in need of TLC. With Jongdae’s help, he got it up to code and decorated in a fashionable but not luxurious image. It’s the perfect blend of comfort and professionalism, with spots of personal style in the lanterns hanging in a corner, vases of seasonal flowers, frames on the walls, and an imported rug.

The one thing no one mentioned was how unreliable the heater is. When it works, it’s noisy, like there are tiny gremlins inside kicking the pipes and blowing through any tiny crack to make the metal whistle. When it doesn’t work, his secretary gets ready to pack up his dog and leave.

He may need to break down and ask Jongdae to budget for a new unit. Or may change to something like a coal stove. His family home still uses a stove and fireplace; they’re reliable, at least.

After tinkering for less than ten minutes, Sehun sees Jongdae’s shoes. “Well?”

“Well, I don’t know. I’m a detective, not a handyman.”

“And I’m a secretary, not a housekeeper, dogwalker, cook, or mother. I shouldn’t have to nag you for something so simple and obvious as heat in winter.”

Sehun bangs the side of the heater with the wrench, sighing happily once it clunks to life. That’s how his dad fixed things, too. It actually works. “It’s still fall, Jongdae. It’s only November.”

“If icicles form on my unmentionables when I hang them to dry, it’s winter.” She offers him a hand. “Now get off the floor. I’m seeing a potential client within the hour, and you’re lying down relaxing.”

There’s a knock on the door as she’s pulling him to his feet. “She’s early…” Jongdae closes the inner office door and shushes Vivi the dog’s hushed barks. After situating some things on her desk just so, she realizes she’s still wearing Sehun’s scarf and quickly tosses it in a drawer. “Come in!”

It’s not who she expects, but a client is a client. Jongdae stands with a smile and waves to the chair across from her. “Hello. Please, have a seat.”

“Thank you…” She’s young, Jongdae’s age, and sloe-eyed with painted lips and a fur coat that hangs below her knees. Jongdae wonders what makeup she’s wearing, or if she just has the money to afford hose in today’s economy. “Is Detective Oh available?”

“Do you have an appointment?” The woman half-smiles sheepishly. “I can’t let you in without an appointment. We’re expecting another client, soon, but if you could tell me the details of your case, I can find a suitable time for you to meet with him.”

“Alright,” she sighs. “I guess that’s better than nothing.” Her eyes brighten when she sees Vivi stretch beneath his blanket, sticking out a perfectly white leg. “Oh my goodness, is that your dog?”

“My boss’s. His name is Vivi, and he is very spoiled.”

“Aww! Now I miss my dog even more. He lives with my parents.”

“Where is that?”

“New York, but they’re originally from Bucheon, outside of Seoul.”

Jongdae nods. She knows of the city.

“I’m sorry. I haven’t even introduced myself, but I don’t have a lot of time. I’m already late...” She digs through the pockets of her coat and hands a card to Jongdae. “Please call me. I work nights at this number; ask for Bunny. I really do need help.”

“Alright. I’ll let Detective Oh know. Thank you for stopping in.” Jongdae adds the card—black with shiny gold text reading CLUB EL DORADO with an address in the outskirts of Chinatown— with the rest of the cards she collects from clients and utility companies. “I’ll see you to the elevator.” She wants the excuse to leave the office; it’s still much too cold, and she’s afraid her joints will freeze, if she stays sitting.

In the hall, the woman buttons her coat higher and asks, “What’s the detective like? I’ve never met one before.”

“Well,” he’s difficult, too stoic among clients, and absolutely adorable, “he’s brilliant. I’ve worked with him for a long time and taught him a lot of what he knows, actually, although he’s the one who perfected the techniques.”

“So he’s a genius?”

Jongdae presses the elevator button. It lights up, and she hears the clank and hum of the car travelling up the cable. “I would never tell it to his face, but I think so, yes.”

“Is he married?” There’s a purposeful tilt to the woman’s head, feigning disinterested curiosity, just making conversation. Jongdae’s met enough women to recognize coyness when she hears it.

“Only to his work. I don’t know if there’s room for a woman in that relationship.”

The elevator car stutters to a stop. Jongdae pulls aside the grate for the woman. “He has you, though.” She smiles and closes the gate behind her. “So there’s even less room for someone else.” She presses the button for the ground floor. “Thank you for seeing me.” A ding, and the main doors close.

Jongdae returns to the office somewhat reluctantly. Vivi greets her with a dance on his hind legs that means he wants to be held and leech her body heat.

Sehun peeks out once she leaves. “Was that her?”

“No, a different client. Maybe. I’ll talk to her again later.”

He nods and retreats to his desk. He’s probably playing and wasting paper, crumpling sheets into balls to try and toss into the wastebasket.

Jongdae pushes her chair back, enjoying the freshly oiled lack of squeaking, and plays with Vivi’s ears until he starts lifting his upper lip. She soothes him with languid down his back until the hall lights cast another petite silhouette. This knock is quieter, and a pretty woman cautiously looks inside.

“I have an appointment with Detective Oh. My name is Wheein Jung.”

Jongdae smiles. “I’ll let him know you’re here. Come in, please.” She doesn’t bother knocking on Sehun’s door and closes it behind her, letting Vivi hop down and toddle to his cushy dog bed near the radiator. “Your actual client is here,” she informs, picking up balls of paper, “so get your feet off the desk and straighten your tie,” she says as she straightens his tie and opens their intercom line. “Miss Jung,” she holds the door open, “he’ll see you, now. Have a seat.”

“Thank you.”

Jongdae could eavesdrop with the door open, but many clients prefer thinking they’re having a completely private conversation. Sehun doesn’t take notes, however, and is likely to forget details or his own notes to himself, so Jongdae listens in and jots down key points on a notepad.

“What brings you here, Miss Jung?”

“I’m a student at the women’s college. A freshman. Four years ago, a girl died, falling from the roof of our literature building. Two years ago, another girl did. This year,” her voice wavers, “it was my best friend. They were all popular and beautiful girls. Hyejin did not kill herself!”

“Are police investigating?”

“Not anymore. They said it was suicide, like the others.” Sehun pushes the tissue box across his desk; Wheein grabs a few and blows her nose. “I don’t believe it, but if...but if it is true, I want to know for certain. The police barely did anything. I talked with Hyejin’s parents, and we all agree that she would never have killed herself, but we just want to know for sure, whatever the reason, why she’s dead.”

“It is very possible, Miss Jung, that these are willful deaths. Student life is difficult, and young women are even more susceptible to pressures of society. I have no clues or conclusions right now, but I ask that you do not close yourself to any possibilities.”

Wheein sniffles and sighs. “Alright...”

“Tell me everything you can about the deaths.”

“All of them?”

“As much as you know, yes.”

Jongdae takes notes as Wheein recalls details. According to gossip circles, students are starting to believe there’s a curse. Every two years, since six years ago, a student has died at the university, which admits females only and guides them towards careers in nursing, teaching, and home economics, although Wheein herself is pursuing a degree in the growing field of social work.

Before she was a glorified secretary and babysitter, Jongdae challenged society by entering the police academy and joining the International Policewomen’s Association. Her early success granted her greater respect and responsibilities and a rookie partner, fresh-faced Sehun Oh. She respects these young women and hopes to see more opportunities for them in male-dominated fields.

The meeting is somewhat brief, but Wheein shares some great information and promising leads for Sehun to look into. He thanks her after about twenty minutes and walks her to the main door of the office. “Thank you for coming to see me. I have your number; I’ll call you when I know something.”

“Thank you so much, Detective.” Her smile is genuine, revealing a pair of deep dimples in her cheeks. “Stay warm!” She tucks her scarf into her coat and pulls it up around her ears, waving to Jongdae and Vivi as she leaves.

Jongdae waits until he’s closed the door to ask Sehun what he thinks.

“I think it’s not as simple as the rumors suggest.” He sits a cheek on the edge of her desk and pets Vivi’s ears. “Once is an accident. Twice is a coincidence. Three times is an enemy action.” Vivi nips at his fingers. Like Jongdae, he gets grumpy when cold and teased. She picks up the dog and places him in his bed.

“So what’s first?”

“I’ll head over to the university and look around.” He stands and stretches his arms over his head. “Talk to some students and staff who were there when the deaths happened. You and Vivi can do some poking around the library for records. We’ll meet up at my apartment, and I’ll call there if I find anything.”

“Sounds like a plan, Boss.” She follows him to the rack holding their coats and holds his hat while he pulls on his heavy coat. He touches his neck and looks around himself, lost.

“What happened to my scarf?”

“Oh!” Jongdae leans over her desk to open the drawer, pulling the scarf out with a flourish. “I stole it.” She ties it around his neck and tucks it into the neck of his buttoned coat. “It’s kind of worn, isn’t it? Should I pick up a new one?”

“It’s fine. I like this one.” It was a gift from their first Christmas together as partners. He shakes out her coat and holds it out for her to slip her arms into. “Now you.” She thanks him. “Also call the guys at the news office. Deaths always make it into the papers.”

“On it.” Jongdae buttons her coat up to her neck and whistles to Vivi. “C’mon, baby. Your turn.” The dog is less willing to move, but with some sweet words and treats from her pocket, Jongdae has Vivi dressed in his sweater she’d knit especially for him and hooked to a leash.

Sehun locks the office behind them and leads Jongdae with a hand on her elbow to the elevator. The building manager nods to them when they walk by, and a paper boy eagerly opens the door, excited to earn a coin from Jongdae’s purse.

Traffic has slowed with the melting snow turning to slush on the road. Sehun raises an arm; a taxi pulls alongside the sidewalk, spraying wet, gray ice. He hands the driver a bill and tells him to take Jongdae to the public library. He’ll take the next taxi, heading the opposite direction.

The driver chatters about the cold weather and how the Chicago Bears are playing; he’s a Chicago native and hopes for a playoff blowout win like a few years ago. Jongdae doesn’t follow sports and just enjoys the heat, letting the driver talk to himself.

She carries Vivi into the library beneath her coat, happy to sit in the heated building for the tedious task of research with the dog beneath her chair and out of the librarian’s sight.

The phone booth is occupied when she looks, so she calls the newspaper office before leaving and leaves a message with the secretary.

An older man outside of the library lets Jongdae take the taxi he’d hailed. It’s after six in the afternoon when she reaches Sehun’s building, and he hasn’t left any messages at the front desk or on the machine in his apartment.

She goes out for dinner at a nearby Chinese restaurant, but there is still no word from her boss when she returns. Pulling a random novel from the shelf, she tries to pass the time reading but only lasts an hour before she’s restless.

This is what she hates the most about her position. Waiting. If she could go along with Sehun, she wouldn’t be nearly so antsy, but since retiring from the force, Sehun has been adamant that she support him from a desk. He doesn’t have to know about the cases she’s taken on the side--she’s also a licensed detective, after all.

Even when the sun’s completely set, and streetlights throw black shadows in the ruts on the road. Sehun’s not back, and Jongdae paces the floor, cradling Vivi in her arms. "He's coming home soon, Vivi. Daddy'll be home, soon." Vivi sighs a snorty sort of sigh in her arms, not at all concerned.

Footfalls stop outside the apartment door, and keys clink together softly as one slides into the lock and turns. Sehun walks in and closes the door with his foot, dropping the chain in place. He jumps when the kitchen light turns on.

"It's past your curfew, Boss Daddy," Jongdae chastises immediately, setting Vivi on the floor. He toddles to his human dad's feet, sniffs his legs, and stands on his hind legs, a demand to be held again.

"Sorry. It started to snow on my way back; the roads are slick..." Sehun shakes off his hat and hangs it over his coat on the rack beside his front door. He side-steps his dancing dog and turns on the bathroom light, leaning over the sink to look at his face. “I look beautiful.”

Jongdae watches from behind him but pushes her way in when she sees the left side of his face. “What happened?” She takes his head and tilts it right and left, up and down, sighing at the mottled mauve crescent curling around his eye from his cheekbone. She closes the toilet lid and points to it. “Sit.” The medicine cabinet behind the mirror is stocked with pain-killers, bandages, and antiseptic, looking like a small pharmacy. Her own cabinet at home is similar.

“It’s nothing, Jongdae. Really.” He flinches when a wad of cotton with antiseptic touches his cheek.

“You look awful,” Jongdae mutters.

“Thank you.”

“Haven’t I taught you to duck?” She grabs his chin when he jerks away again. “Hold still, Sehun Oh, or so help me.”

“I said I’m fine.” He gently grabs her wrists to plead mercy on his delicate face. “I don’t need a nurse. Just give me some Anacin and ice.”

“I should give you another black eye for being so careless, but our business will take enough of a hit with you looking like a hoodlum.” Jongdae pulls an ice bag from beneath the sink. It's worn; there are old stains from coffee spotting the surface. “No one would come at all, seeing you looking like a raccoon.” She grabs a chunk of ice from the ice box with her bare hands and drops it into the sink a few times to break it apart. Sehun hovers behind her and takes the bag when she passes it to him.

“Your concern is touching.” His mumble drags out in a jaw-popping yawn, as he carefully holds the ice pack to his face. Vivi sniffs it with mild curiosity.

“So why did you not duck?” Jongdae returns to the sofa and picks up the book she’d been reading just to toss it onto a side table. She lost her page.

“I didn’t expect to need to. We were at the precinct, and he was about to be booked when he decked me.”’

“So the case is solved, already?”

“Part of it. This guy I found was the first victim’s fiance. He was on the roof with her, and they argued. I believe him when he says he did not plan to kill her and feels sorry for it. Still, he didn’t enjoy my digging into the past and wanted to share his pain with me--thank you for the ice--but I'll take that over shooting anyone. It was an accidental death. Probably manslaughter and five years, if he gets a good lawyer.”

Jongdae sighs and shakes her head. That’s sad. She feels bad for the man, although he’s sat on the knowledge for so long she doesn’t feel too badly for him. “I wish I’d been with you. If nothing else, I could tell you when to duck.” Her scars throb, even after so long, and she pulls a smile from somewhere as she rocks off the sofa and onto her feet. “Well, good work. Get some sleep; you’re exhausted. Vivi and I went for a walk about an hour ago. He may need to go out again." She gathers her coat and purse and balances on one foot to tuck her other foot into her boot.

Sehun watches with furrowed brow. "You should stay the night. It's late."

"Why Sehun," Jongdae says, batting her eyelashes, "are you inviting me for a sleepover?"

"I'd feel better if you stayed. The roads are dangerous right now.”

"Well, since you asked so..." she yawns widely, "nicely," and kicks off the one boot she'd slipped on, "I suppose I'll stay. Lemme borrow something to wear, though." She doesn't wait for permission and raids his dresser drawer. He isn't surprised she knows what drawer has what clothes; Jongdae's been mother, sister, secretary, mentor, friend, any and nearly all other roles to him since their relationship began some seven years ago.

Jongdae returns from the bathroom and hangs her dress on the closet door. Sehun's pajamas on Jongdae are comically large. The pantlegs are rolled up multiple times; the waist is tied with long ears to the bow, and the top hangs open nearly mid-chest.

“By the way, while you were making friends, I called Joonmyun. He and Minho are looking into the news photos and the stories covering the deaths.” She grabs a pillow from his bed and tosses it onto the sofa, dragging the afghan from an armchair to join it.

Vivi sits at Sehun’s feet; their postures match, with tilted heads. "What are you doing?"

"Making myself a nest." She grins, holding a freshly fluffed pillow to her chest. "Why, you want company?"

Sehun doesn't blush, but he quickly turns away and asks Vivi if he wants to go outside. The dog snorts. "I thought you'd take my bed, and I'd have the couch."

"I'm not going to kick you out of your own bed." She tucks herself in and holds her arms out for Vivi, who ignores her. "Now brush your teeth and go to sleep. But don’t keep that ice on all night."

"Yes, ma'am."

Jongdae listens to the running water of the faucet and gargle and spit as Sehun brushes his teeth. He says something to Vivi, who trots out moments later to make himself comfortable between Jongdae's feet. She stays up after hearing Sehun climb into bed, making notes about the most recent case and finalising his schedule for the week. Sometimes, she's not sure why she even bothers with the calendar. Sehun doesn't follow it unless Jongdae reminds him of everything, more likely to just go through the day as he feels it.

Before finally turning off the lamp, she pulls the black business card from her wallet. Vivi cracks open an eye when she rolls onto a hip and lifted the phone receiver from its cradle. The phone buzzes as an operator connects the call, and a man answers, shouting a bit over loud music and laughter.

"Let me talk to Bunny, please."

"She's about to go on."

"She'll talk to me. Get her."

"Yeah, fine. Just hang on." He sets the phone back in its cradle, so Jongdae doesn't hear the room noise anymore. She nudges Vivi with her foot and tickles behind a silky ear with her toe.

"Hello?"

"Is this Bunny?"

"Yes. Who is this?"

"You gave me your number earlier. I'm Jongdae Kim, Detective Oh's secretary."

"Oh, hi! I'm sorry, this is a bad time, and I asked you to call... My last number's almost on. Could you call me later? Or even just meet me here tomorrow night? About eleven? I'll tell the guy up front to let you in."

"Can you just tell me what this is about at all?"

"I don’t know how to condense it, and this isn’t really the place to talk about it." Someone calls to her. Jongdae can’t hear what they say, but the woman responds with her hand over the phone.

"Alright. We'll be there."

"It's been fine this long. It'll be fine another night." She sounds like she's reassuring herself, and Jongdae tamps down on the rising concern. This girl sounds so young, and she can’t be all that old. Someone says something nearby, and Bunny replies with her hand covering the receiver "That's me, now. Thank you so much; I'll see you tomorrow. Bye bye."

"Goodbye." Jongdae replaces the phone and bends her knees to lie on her back. Something feels strange about this client, but she's always felt that way, about all their clients, until she knows exactly who they are and what the case is about.

She sits up again and dials the operator, reciting a number she's had memorised for years. The phone buzzes for a long time before finally being answered.

"Someone had better be dying, or whoever is calling will be."

"Kyungsoo. It's Jongdae."

He sighs. "Do you know what time it is?"

"Yes. What better time to do me a favor, when no one else is around to know about it and slow you down?" Bed springs squeak; Kyungsoo's getting out of bed.

"What is it?"

“You know the El Dorado Club?"

"Yes. I go there often, actually. It’s a popular club for those who can afford it." He yawns. “What’s this about?”

"I’m looking into a possible client. An employee of the club."

"Waitress?"

"Singer, from the sound of it. I’d just like to know all I can about her, but I don’t even know her real name. When I called, she’d said to ask for ‘Bunny.’"

Kyungsoo groans. "That’s Baekhyun Byun.”

“You sound like you know her.”

“She’s a piece of work. Her racket is dating rich men and then blackmailing them and-or their families. She’s sweet dame and very talented singer, but I can name half a dozen men she’s hung out to dry yet keep coming back.”

“Would any of them hold a grudge?” Jongdae has an idea of what the woman could be looking to hire Sehun for. She casts a glance at his partly-closed door. He did look awful when he'd come back. She hopes he's not sleeping on the bruised side of his face.

“If she was a man, I’d say they all would hold a grudge, but this Bunny’s charming enough they know they’re being taken advantage of and practically crawl to her, begging.”

“Can you give me names?” Kyungsoo is a reliable source, especially when it comes to gossip, and he knows he’s safe if he talks to Jongdae. They’re names she recognises, for the most part--old money and known local socialites. “Thanks, Soo. You’re a big help, as always.”

Kyungsoo yawns again, and the bed springs squeak as he lies down. “Is that all? Can I go back to sleep?”

“Of course. Thank you, Kyungsoo. If you think of anything else, call the office."

"Will do. Good night."

"Sleep well." She replaces the phone again and slips her feet from around a sleeping Vivi and tiptoes to Sehun's door. He hadn't closed his blinds or curtains; the moonlight and light from the streetlamps fall across his bed. The icepack on his face blocks out the light, and he's breathing evenly, sound asleep. Quietly, Jongdae slips inside and closes the windows and carefully removes the ice pack. He'll need to ice it again in the morning, but for now, sleep is the best thing for him.

He looks a lot younger when sprawled out carelessly. The lines across his forehead are smooth, and his natural scowl isn't as prominent. Maybe he's having good dreams.

"Good night, Boss," Jongdae whispers. She closes the door behind her, puts the ice pack into the sink, and returns to the sofa. Vivi wakes up just enough to climb onto her belly and nuzzle between her side and the back of the sofa, settling with a sigh. She pets his spine and closes her eyes.

a/n: Written for Chenpionships 2017 round.

This is a beginning. I had to cut it when I could so I could post, and technical problems tried to prevent that, but I overcame.

This is very much a mix of fact and fiction, taking place around the 30s/40s. The first female patrol officers were really only seen starting in the 1960s. Female cops were largely desk jockeys or handled evidence. There were fictional female detectives, though, or women in unlicensed detective roles.

The Eldorado Club was a real club that opened in 1947 in Las Vegas and was eventually bought out and renamed the Horseshoe Club.

The title is from a 1942 song made popular by the musical Iceland, which I have never seen.

The quote "Once is an accident. Twice is a coincidence. Three times is an enemy action." is from Ian Fleming's Goldfinger, which was actually published in 1959, some fifteen years after I set this story. It fit, though, so I used it.