Selfless Concerns for a Widow

The afternoon sun rose high in the sky before Graham was able to drag himself up and out of bed. He threw on his lab coat and slumped down the stairs. Charles looked up from his newspaper.

"There's coffee in the pot. I figured you'd need it strong this time," he said.

Graham nodded, but just flopped down on the couch next to him.

"Right. You want me to get it?"

Graham nodded again and curled up with a pillow.

Charles sighed, set his paper down, pushed himself up and off the couch, and went into the kitchen. "You really ought to try to take better care of yourself, Graham," he said, pouring the coffee into Graham's usual hangover mug. "What'll happen when I'm not around to take care of you anymore?"

"That's silly, Charles. You'll always be around," Graham mumbled softly with a smile on his face as he snuggled deeper into the pillow.

Charles ignored his comment, simply placed the mug in Graham's hand, and went back to his newspaper after closing the blinds and switching on a small lamp, naturally so the dim light didn't disturb Graham's sensitive, hungover eyes.

Rubbing his eyes and sitting upright, Graham sipped at the coffee. "How's the case going, Charles?"

"Hm? Oh, just fine," he said, not looking up from the newspaper.

Graham nodded. "And the widow? How is she?"

As he folded up the paper, he revealed a frown. "She's fine, Graham. Stay out of this one. Speaking of which, I better be going. Behave."

"Tt, take better care of myself," Graham scoffed, pulling out a flask from between the couch cushions and adding quite a few splashes to his coffee. He continued to grumble to himself a while before standing up, grabbing his coat and heading out the door.

Calling over the first cab, he hopped in and gave him the address of the poor lonely widow he was told not to see. The poor woman, he thought as the cab drove on, she has no one to keep her company, to speak with, to touch her. Despite Charles' wishes, Graham figured that this was for the best of all parties concerned.

Naturally, he was there for a few hours, and it was splendid. Before she sent him on his way, she pecked his cheek and handed him a vintage bottle of whiskey with a red ribbon tied around it. He grinned as set back off to the office. When he got back, Graham set the bottle in the drawer of his desk for another day. Charles would be back soon.

It was late before Charles arrived. He had made several stops for his investigation and had gotten caught up at the station, bickering with a few officers. It had seemed to Graham that Charles just enjoyed bickering.

"Feeling better, I hope?" Charles asked, stripping of his jacket and setting down his briefcase.

"Much better, Charles. Believe me," he grinned widely, swiveling in his desk chair.

"Right...I'm going to bed. It's been a long day. I suggest you do the same."

Graham nodded. "Yes, yes, I'll be right up."