Helping
The end of a twelve-hour shift was pulling at Kyson’s eyelids, the weight of the day settling into his shoulders like lead. He looked down at Sisko, who was trotting with a slight hitch in her step, her ears occasionally flickering toward the sirens in the distance.
“Almost home, girl,” Kyson murmured, reaching for his keys. “Dinner, a long nap, and absolutely no radio for ten hours.”
Sisko stopped. She didn’t look at Kyson; she looked toward the shadowed alleyway behind a row of brick apartments. Her nose twitched, and she let out a low, urgent whine that Kyson knew all too well. It wasn’t the sound of a predator spotting prey; it was the sound of a partner spotting trouble.
We’re off the clock
“Sisko, come on,” Kyson groaned softly. “We’re off the clock.”
She didn’t move. Instead, she barked once—sharp and demanding—and began to pull toward the alley. Kyson sighed, his exhaustion momentarily eclipsed by the duty he’d sworn to uphold. “Alright, lead the way.”
In the dim light of a single flickering streetlamp, they found a man collapsed beside a motorized wheelchair that had tipped on a jagged piece of broken pavement. He was an older man, a veteran by the look of the faded olive-drab jacket he wore, and his right leg was missing below the knee. His prosthetic had become detached and was wedged beneath the heavy frame of the overturned chair.
“Hey, easy there,” Kyson said, rushing forward and kneeling in the grit. “I’m Officer Hunter. We’ve got you.”
The man, breathless and pale, gripped Kyson’s forearm. “Battery died… tried to push it over the bump… tipped on me. I’ve been here an hour.”
Sisko didn’t wait for instructions. She moved to the man’s side, pressing her warm flank against him to provide heat and stability. She nudged his hand with her snout, a silent assurance that she wasn’t leaving.
Kyson worked quickly, using his strength to right the heavy chair and then carefully retrieving the prosthetic. He checked the man for injuries, his fatigue forgotten in the precision of the task. He called for a transport van to get the man home safely, staying with him until the lights of the precinct vehicle appeared at the mouth of the alley.
You two look like you were heading home
As the officers helped the man into the van, the veteran looked at Kyson and then at Sisko. “You two look like you were heading home.”
Kyson looked at Sisko, who was already waiting by the patrol car, her eyes bright and alert despite the late hour.
“There’s no time to rest when someone’s waiting for help,” Kyson said, offering a tired but genuine smile.
He climbed back into the driver’s seat, the drive home feeling a little shorter. He realized then that Sisko didn’t have an ‘off’ switch—and as long as he was her partner, neither did he.
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