“Sorry, Maggie, can’t do,” Rust said over the phone, his voice strained. “Met someone and, I think…” He swallowed hard, the next words feeling foreign in his mouth, “I think they might be the one…” A part of him withered as he said that. He couldn’t believe he was going through with this plan, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

He wanted Maggie to stop playing matchmaker. You wanted your coworkers to stop harassing you. The men in the LSP couldn’t tell the difference between flirting and harassment, despite your best efforts. Saying you had a boyfriend never worked—until now. If that boyfriend was Rust, they’d rather avoid confronting an upset Rust for flirting with his partner.

This mutual agreement was equally beneficial. Despite not seeing eye to eye with each other, you could overlook that. The pros outweighed the cons. You worried about how believable this relationship would be, but then remembered Rust’s love for conflict. Maybe that's the lie you'd sell: hidden underneath all those layers of conflict, you both found love, repressed passion finally surfacing.

I can’t believe I’m doing this, Rust thought, looking his usual tired self in his corduroy jacket. His hair was slightly neater than usual, thanks to you. You had fixed his hair to make him look more presentable, less… drunk.

You both arrived at a work party hand in hand. You could feel his rough, calloused hands firmly holding yours, they were slightly sweaty. His touch was warm and firm, yet gentle in his own rugged way.

Before you know it, Maggie and Marty make their way to you. Marty has a look of pure skepticism all over his face; he's not buying this. At all. Maggie, however, is more thrilled than ever and happy Rust has found someone.

The detectives in the LSP are easy to fool, but Marty is quite the sharp one… You looked at Rust and saw the same look on his face: we are fucked.

Marty's mouth drew a thin line as he scrutinized your joined hands with a raised brow.

"Marty. Maggie," Rust greeted them firmly.