Fake Fan Fiction ❯ Circle's Edge ❯ Chapter Two: Writ On Water ( Chapter 2 )

---------------
Circle's Edge

A FAKE Fan Fiction by Aino
---------------

Disclaimer: The FAKE series and all associated characters are property and copyright of Matou Sanami, BexBoy Comics, Biblos and Tokyopop (even though they did a mostly crappy job with the translation). Amen to that.

---------------
Speak to me in a language I can hear
Humor me before I have to go
Deep in thought I forgive everyone
As the cluttered streets greet me once again
I know I can't be late, supper's waiting
On the table
Tomorrow's just an excuse away
-- The Smashing Pumpkins, Thirty-Three
---------------

Chapter Two: Writ On Water

Diana combed her bangs out of her eyes and adjusted the collar of her suit jacket before knocking on the white door whose plaque read "Meeting Room" in square, black letters. The entirety of the FBI's New York office exuded razor-sharp professionalism, and she felt far too disheveled to meet its harsh standards.

"Ah, Agent Spacey. Please come in." She blinked as the door was opened, and squared her shoulders before entering.

"Good morning, Lodge, sir." The sight of the robust, bespectacled man who was holding the door open somewhat eased Diana's mind. She had worked with Assistant Director Brian Lodge before, and could trust him to be straight with her. The last thing she now needed was some jargon-spouting blue-eyed boy who would drone her to sleep before getting to the point in the first place.

Pulling a teal-cushioned chair from the table, Lodge indicated it with a fluid turn of his hand. "Have a seat. Hawthorne, this is Special Agent Diana Spacey."

A man probably in his late twenties had been standing on the left side of the door; he extended a hand to Diana.

"Agent Joseph Hawthorne, ma'am. It is a pleasure." His voice was pleasantly low, the handshake solid, but very brief.

Diana flashed a smile. "Pleased to meet you. I understand we'll be working together on this case?" Seating herself, she took stock of the man with practised discretion. His deep chest and wide shoulders diverted the eye from his rather scant height; his close-cropped hair was an almost unnatural shade of orange under the sterile lamps. Hawthorne passed her a file, making snapping eye contact as he did so.

"Yes. We wanted someone with previous experience of New York's Mafia families, and you were recommended to us."

Diana looked up sharply. "Excuse me, but you pulled me out of a highly flammable operation just for that? I'm sure --"

Lodge cut in, cool and calm as always. "We do have plenty of agents with firsthand knowledge of the families, yes. However, there's another component to this case, Spacey, and your familiarity with it is singular." He opened the file before continuing. "What we have here is an investigation into possible Mafia contacts within the NYPD."

Diana's mind snapped to full attention, her fidgety night on the plane receding to the back of her head.

"We're still bringing our background info up to date, but I will brief you on what we've got so far. You should be able to begin on Monday."

"I see." She held out a hand. "May I?" Lodge offered the file to her; she set it in her lap and began skimming it.

"So, Spacey. When were you last in New York? This spring, protecting Leo Grant's wife, right? Then you'll recall the late Bruno Grant, as well as his family's power struggle with Bennett's that went on at that time."

Diana nodded automatically; her attention was distilled into a red arrow pointing at the page she had opened.

To Lodge, her nod sufficed. "It turns out that the case was not closed as cleanly as we thought. The Grant Mafia is recovering from the loss of its big bosses with curious speed. Of course, that's not the real reason why we requested you --" Lodge halted. "Ah. You noticed as much, I see."

"I did, sir," Diana replied, her throat tightening subtly as she stared at the personal information record.

"We're conducting an investigation of the NYPD 27th Precinct. Two of their murder detectives are suspected of having ties to the Grant Mafia. You've worked with them before, right, Spacey?"

"I have, sir." Diana's eyes remained glued to the page, her brain trying furiously to kick into gear. This was not good. She would have to play her cards very, very carefully.

"We're assigning Hawthorne here as your partner. He's an expert on the local crime families," Lodge said. "Most of the information we have so far is in the file you're holding. I expect you to familiarize yourself with it by Monday."

"Yes, sir." Diana was aware of both the men casting discreet glances at her; she had let the papers distract her from the discussion at hand. "I apologize, gentlemen. I'm afraid I haven't slept very well." She forced a prim smile.

"As long as you're rested and ready on Monday, Spacey." Lodge smiled back at her, in the tight-lipped way of his that most often left Diana wondering if he meant more than he directly conveyed."Hawthorne, could you go over the rest with Agent Spacey, please? I'm in somewhat of a hurry."

"Of course," Hawthorne said. "Excuse me, sir, but you have informed the commissioner of the 27th, yes?"

Of course they would have. It was the proper procedure. But Diana paid no mind to whatever Lodge answered. 'It doesn't matter. I already did. I already did.'

The door closed behind Lodge; Hawthorne pointed at the very record she had open, his mouth cracking into an outpouring of information she did not really want to hear. Still, she sat and listened; listened intently, for within his words lay the only hope of finding a way to solve the situation before it plummeted into irreparable chaos.

---------------

She had unpacked her bags, eaten an early dinner and vacuumed the dust of the last month out of the apartment, and still her cell phone sat untouched on the kitchen table. Disquiet scuttled up her spine at the prospects of both answering it and making the call.

Diana nestled deeper into the overstuffed armchair. It had belonged to a second cousin of hers who had moved away shortly after she'd rented the apartment. The worn, pine-green plush really was not to her taste, but right then the massive chair felt the safest place in the still foreign apartment. She spent little time here as it was, although she cherished a hope of staying more often -- and for a longer time.

The coffee table was piled with paper like fortifications encircling the bulwark of her humming laptop. Armed with only her coffee mug and three hours of fitful sleep in the last twenty-four, Diana did not feel up to storming that fort.

'In short, they want me to find out if two old friends've been playing stool pigeon to a crime family all but dead and buried.' She got up to refill her mug. 'Considering those two don't exactly act reasonably when it comes to the Grant family, things can well get bad.'

Internal investigation was always a sensitive affair, and if mucked up, it could too easily become the swan song of a business. When the business in question happened to be a precinct of the New York Police Department...

Diana sighed. The studio was airy, the high ceiling adding to the illusion of space. The night-brimming windows loomed above her like accusing eyes. Her cell phone was flashing a "Battery Low" message; she absently plugged the recharger into a wall socket. She had promised to call, but had not been able to bring herself to. Saying precisely why seemed beyond her.

'He won't blame you. You know that.'

"I do," she said aloud. 'This just could not be any further away from how I thought this would go.'

A loud ringing sound, quite as delicate as could be coaxed out of her old doorbell, split her thoughts. She crossed the room, slowly opened the door; to find Berkeley standing there, one hand on the doorframe, something weary in his gaze, did not really surprise her. "Hello, Dina."

Diana stepped back. "Come in."

As he did so, the weeks' worth of longing that stretched between them washed over her. He was right here; yet closing the distance, an act never requiring so much as a thought, was suddenly a towering dilemma. She bit her lip, apprehensive.

Deliberately, Berkeley hung his coat on a hanger; then, every bit as deliberately, he turned to her and enfolded her in an embrace that nearly lifted her feet off the floor. Her uttering of his name became a murmur into his shoulder as she held on to him.

Wordlessly, Diana drew him the few steps to the coffee table. Berkeley sank into the armchair, his unflinching manner slipping. Perhaps it was only a trick of the low lighting, but the shadows of his face were starker, deeper. She tilted from the waist, towards him. "Coffee?"

"Not right now, thank you." He reached for her, a nakedly honest gesture. "Don't go anywhere."

Diana all but fell into him, curling into the heat of his body with a chest-emptying sigh of relief. "I'm right here, Berk."

He put an arm around her; they sat for a minute, letting the silence do the speaking. Diana gave a small laugh, nearly subliminal. "This is so ironic."

"That it is," Berkeley agreed. "I got the word from the FBI office this morning. I'm sorry I could not come sooner."

She kissed his cheek lovingly, in both acceptance and apology. "I'm sorry I didn't call."

"Would you think that suffices as to making amends, Dina?" he sounded a trifle arch.

"Did I fly all the way from the Pacific Coast simply to quarrel with you?" she riposted.

"I would that that were the case," Berkeley replied, no longer bantering. Elation and melancholia alike melted into yearning as they kissed, Diana's hands coming up to hold the back of his head, Berkeley's fingers burying themselves into her freely falling hair. When she withdrew, it was only so much that she could rest her head against the side of his neck.

"Instead, there I've got enough evidence to shelve the badges of two of your detectives." She pointed at the papers. He just nodded into her hair.

'And to warrant the utter lack of any non-work-related involvement between you and me,' she had to add, and she knew that the same thought burned somewhere in the back of his mind. "It just doesn't seem fair," she whispered, "not at all."

Berkeley's chin dipped downward; she shifted enough to be able to see his face. He corrected the angle of his eyeglasses, probably more out of habit than anything else. "Dina. That is all true, but I didn't come here because of that. Not this time."

Reaching up, Diana took his glasses, folded them and placed them on the coffee table. With a bit of a stretch, she lowered the monitor of her laptop shut. His hand cupped her cheek as she turned back, the deep-hewn furrows of his face softened by the half-light, his eyes gentle, gentle, all traces of worry and sorrow banished for the time being.

Before either of them could dredge up another inescapable concern, not yet, she leaned in to seal his mouth with hers.

---------------

The black ball sailed smoothly down the lane and impacted upon the center of the tenpin formation, sending the pins spinning and clattering against each other. JJ straightened and threw a look at Drake, who in turn looked at the score display screen -- as if to verify what he had just witnessed -- and swore softly.

"I believe dinner is on you, partner." JJ grinned, unabashed. "Unless you'd like to defy the laws of addition by topping that score?"

"Yeah, fine," Drake grunted. "Next time we're going someplace where hand-eye coordination doesn't determine who wins."

"Ted-senpai did recommend that archery range," JJ said innocently, "if you want to give it a try."

"That'd hardly change the odds, JJ," Drake answered, but without venom. He might grumble for a few more minutes, but JJ was confident that by the time they left the bowling alley Drake would be his mellow self again. He did not quite believe Drake had it in him to stay cranky at anyone for very long.

Drake raked a hand through his hair, grown long enough since spring to again fall into his eyes. Not that JJ minded Drake's slipping back into that tousled look; it softened the angles of his face in a way that JJ could not help but find endearing. "So, where d'you wanna go? I'm getting a bit hungry."

"We've still got a round left," JJ reminded him, picking up a bowl from the chute.

"And if I score two strikes, and you miss by some miracle, it'll shorten your lead to a much less embarrassing seventeen points." Drake chuckled, and JJ nodded to himself, satisfied. "It's not my day. C'mon."

Leaving the creak and slam of the ball chutes and the noise of the assorted Sunday evening bowlers behind, they returned their bowling shoes to the counter. Once through the front doors, they emerged into a light rain, shot through by the last red beams of the westering sun. The sidewalk gleamed wet, but they both had overcoats, so the drizzle was no real threat.

An exceptionally lucky turn -- or a good thwack upside Chief's head from Providence -- had earned them the evening off after a hostage situation in Washington Heights had practically solved itself. A dopehead with a gun had been holding a woman and her two daughters in their apartment after breaking in, but with some quick-thinking JJ wouldn't have minded having been there to see, the mother had convinced the narc to give away his weapon. It could have become very ugly, but, as Drake had summed it up, maybe even underpaid detectives up to their necks in work deserved a break sometimes.

"So you mean I get to decide?" JJ tilted his head to the side. "And it's your treat?"

"Well, sure." Drake shrugged as if to say it was no big deal. "I'll bow to the master."

Something hitting home, Drake stopped and whirled on JJ, holding up a warning finger. "That was not an innuendo. We're in the middle of the street."

It was hard to believe looking at Drake, but sometimes he was nothing short of maddeningly quick-witted -- and paranoid. JJ smiled placatingly. "Don't worry. I was kind of saving ravishing you for later."

"That's a comfort," Drake said airily, looking the other way -- most evidently to conceal a smile of his own. "Now can we find somewhere to eat?"

"I was thinking that Italian place by the park, that okay?" JJ said. "It is a ways, but then it's also homeward."

"Sounds good to me."

They walked through the dripping twilight of the city, the heavy air filtered by the early September rain. Albeit warm, it already tasted of the incipient autumn, carrying with it a crispness alien to summer humidity. Upon entering the tiny corner trattoria, they discovered they had it mostly to themselves. The waitress bubbled at them chiefly in Italian, but with some helpful pointing JJ got their orders across. Drake smoked at a restful pace and communicated his amusement mostly by raising his eyebrows. The food was toothsome, and plentiful, and they set to stuffing themselves in companionable silence.

"You serious?" JJ looked at Drake with a mixture of incredulity and mirth. "You're, what, thirty-three and you've never had cappuccino?"

"Thirty-two, and yes." Drake stumped his cigarette. "Coffee, JJ. Black honest-to-God coffee. Just tell her." The diminutive waitress was watching them intently, and after another minute of JJ playing at interpreting, she happily scooted off.

JJ propped his chin on his palm. "I guess I'm lucky you're not that narrow-minded as a rule."

As JJ had come to know over the years, and even more clearly over the last few days, baiting Drake was so easy it strictly ought not to have been legal. Of course, Drake also rather frequently missed the finer point. "There's nothing wrong with plain old coffee. Got no use for all that fancy stuff, anyway."

There was simply something so Drake to the statement that JJ had to laugh. "Sure. Keep your prejudices." He nudged Drake's shin with his foot under the table, only partially in jest. Something about Drake was making him radiate the warmth commonly just flickering through his smiles and small kind gestures, and it made him damn near irresistible.

"'S not that funny," Drake murmured good-naturedly; and there it was again, a glimmer in his gray eyes, a glow on his usually somber face.

"Sure isn't," JJ obliged and, without pause, reached over the table and kissed Drake, firm and wet and swift.

JJ had to admit to some degree of surprise as Drake, instead of letting him make good his escape, grabbed the collar of his shirt and held him there, tracing the ridge of JJ's teeth with his tongue. Not one to be caught on the hop, JJ responded in kind, relishing Drake's sharp intake of breath as his teeth grazed Drake's lip. He really seemed to like that, JJ noted, for future reference.

The awkwardness of three feet of tabletop between them finally made JJ pull back, his lower back starting to protest at the strange angle he had forced it into. Never mind that, though: Drake had just ensured, with a last-nail-in-the-coffin grade of certainty, that unlike all week, he would not get to slip away tonight. JJ determined this as the waitress scuttled to bring their coffees and whisked off once more.

Drake had fallen quiet, into one of what JJ had once dubbed his soul-searching spells. He was staring into his coffee, brows drawn together, oblivious to that the liquid was cooling all the while. JJ contented himself with his cappuccino, waiting for Drake to come to a conclusion.

It was only after Drake had paid and they had exited the restaurant that Drake ended his silence. Ahead, JJ spied the corner where he would normally turn towards the underground station; they were within walking distance of Drake's apartment. It was still raining, somewhat harder now.

"So --" Drake hesitated "-- you got any plans for tonight?" He had plunged his hands into his jacket pockets, and his eyes sought JJ from behind his messy hair, riddled with water-beads.

"I was thinking I'd follow you home." A frank question merited a frank answer, JJ figured. The rainwater clinging to his lashes blurred the edges of things, but he returned Drake's look squarely. Idly, he wondered as to the reason he had not jumped Drake yet, for his partner's gaze had darkened with feeling in an eminently toe-curling way.

"Yeah," was all Drake said. To hell with it, JJ decided, he was going to throw this man down here and now. Drake met him halfway, trapping JJ flush to him in a fierce hug, momentarily derailing JJ's plan. Slipping one hand behind Drake's head, JJ caught Drake into another kiss. It became a thing of raw urgency, Drake tasting of tobacco and strong dark coffee, little whirls of heat rippling and crawling throughout JJ. He was standing on his toes, drawing Drake's face closer; his free hand wandered to Drake's backside.

Drake ran a hand down JJ's back, water trickling down his face, a drop lingering in the corner of his mouth. He was breathing in soft, shallow gasps that tickled JJ's cheek. "You wanna go somewhere a bit less wet, maybe?"

"You're never happy, are you?" JJ put on a mock pout as he twisted the button holding Drake's coat collar out of its hole. "Not in the office, not on the street, not in the rain..."

For an answer, Drake chuckled against JJ's mouth. "Never knew I was that high-maintenance."

JJ moved on to Drake's shirt buttons, baring skin. A water-drop slid down Drake's jaw and along a tendon of his neck, taut beneath the skin. Trailing after it with his lips, JJ was rewarded with delicious, thrumming noise from Drake. However, when Drake drew JJ's face up to his own, it was to speak, even if huskily. "Really, JJ. That's damn good, but I think soon we'd both be glad to be indoors."

Truth be told, JJ could not argue with that.

---------------

The city outside was a uniform gray in the late Monday morning, the rain beating the stairwell windows into tapestries of oozing silver forms. As they descended the stairs, Ryou found that his eyes were roving, unwilling to settle on anything -- least of all on Dee, whose face was a study in schismatic emotions.

The past two days, Chief's cryptic and yet so crystal-clear warning had been haunting Ryou. He had tried suppressing his concern, mostly for Dee's benefit, but after almost eight years, he could hardly hope to fool his partner. Dee, in turn, was far too hands-on to share Ryou's anxiety until the source of it became something concrete, but he had made it his business to soothe and distract Ryou best as he could. Their day off had passed in near silence, touch and closeness and need spelling out what neither of them could find words for.

As they had come to work, Ryou's apprehension had received proof beyond any disputation.

It was Dee who knocked; he was in as soon as Rose's voice sounded through the door. "Come in."

Upon seeing the two other people in the office, seated to the left of the commissioner's desk, Ryou illogically recalled the last time he had entered this room. He had gone to, politely, inform Rose of the fact that if he ignored Diana for much longer, she would marry another man.

Diana had crossed her arms over her breasts, her countenance severe. Next to her sat a man in a sharp two-piece suit, his bright ginger hair the only feature that deviated even slightly from his ambience of curt expertise.

Ryou saluted, falling back into protocol, its rigours at least something of a safety net in the unsettling situation. Aware of Dee opening his mouth, Ryou spoke before his partner might say anything they'd both regret. "Commissioner, sir."

"Detectives." Rose acknowledged them. "These are Agents Spacey and Hawthorne of the FBI," he went on, indicating Diana and the man. Hawthorne's brow creased minutely, in what to Ryou seemed disapproval; however, his expression leveled almost at once.

Diana stood up, the heels of her shoes snapping on the floor as she went to collect a file from Rose's desk. She looked from Ryou to Dee, who, Ryou could tell, was beginning to seethe inwardly.

"Detectives Latener and MacLean, as of this moment, you are both suspended without pay until further notice." Diana spoke softly, but authority resonated in each word. "You will turn in your issue firearms immediately."

"On what damn --"

For an instant not heeding that the room was full of his superiors, Ryou threw out an arm to restrain Dee before he got any further. "Dee."

"Detective Latener." Rose's voice rang with an edge of iron. "Settle down. That will not help either of your case."

Diana continued as if the interruption had not even occurred. "You are both under suspicion of contact with the Grant Mafia organization. A thorough investigation will be conducted. Until it is concluded, your badges will be revoked."

Light-headed, Ryou sought out Rose. The commissioner met his gaze, but his visage was unyielding. Dee's muscles trembled beneath Ryou's hand; Ryou clenched his fingers fast around Dee's arm. 'Not now, Dee.'

"Mr. MacLean. You will come in for a hearing at five p.m.," Diana said. "For now, we trust that you will comply with the procedures of the investigation. If they become necessary, more severe measures will be implemented."

Ryou released his grip on Dee. Moving with almost exaggerated care, he produced his gun from the shoulder holster and laid it on Rose's desk. He continued the motion to the inside pocket of his jacket and placed his badge next to the black Glock. Hawthorne observed him all the while, as if expecting Ryou to whip around and fire at him.

Diana seemed satisfied. "Very good. You are dismissed."

Ryou saluted, leaden, and turned on his heel. Dee blurted out his name, but Ryou's only objective now was the door: out and away before the last of his facade of calm shattered miserably. Dee, starting after him, was intercepted by a terse "Detective Latener!" from the commissioner.

As soon as the door slammed into its frame behind him, Ryou broke into a run.

---------------

"Ryou!" Dee tore down the thankfully empty stairs -- right then, he would simply have barreled into anything that came in his way. "Goddamn it, Ryou! Wait!"

The clang of the ground floor door three stories below told Dee his partner had a different view of the matter. Pouring on speed, he tried to rein his own sheer fury. What the hell the FBI bastards were thinking, he had no idea, but he'd been ready to kill men for less.

"You are both under suspicion of contact with the Grant Mafia organization."

Not to even speak of Ryou, for fuck's sake. Ryou, who'd believed his ghosts laid to rest this spring at long last. The thought quelled Dee's anger somewhat, the worry for his lover fighting for the foreground. Ryou had stayed cool, had, as usual, held Dee in check, but he'd break down sooner or later. Dee needed to be there when that happened.

"Ryou!" He was yelling in vain; Ryou had to be outside already. Ducking past a secretary with an armful of cardboard boxes, Dee raced into the entry hall. He faintly registered heads turning his way, Janet's gasp as he passed the counter.

"Dee!" He did not slow down at the shout, but the hand seizing his sleeve made him halt. "Hey, wait up!"

Dee was spun partway around to come face to face with Drake, a bunch of questions writ large on his face. "What's going on? First Ryou storms out like some drama queen, and --"

"Let the hell go of me!" Dee knew he was yelling -- and gave precisely a damn. "I've gotta catch Ryou!"

"You'll have to steal a patrol car, then. Ryou made off with yours."

"Fuck." Dee uttered the word low and weighty. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He inhaled deeply. "He better have enough of his wits left to drive straight."

"Dee, you're not making a lick of sense." Drake's hand moved to Dee's shoulder. "C'mon, ease down."

"Not here, Drake. And not now, dammit --" If Ryou had taken the car, there was no telling where he'd go. Home was as good a guess as any, but... Dee made an attempt at reasoning. 'He knows I'll follow. Because he didn't wait, he doesn't want me to follow. Which means... Goddamn it.'

"You guys have a fight?" Drake's face drew into a sympathetic expression.

"Hell, no." Right then, the whole suggestion was ridiculous. "I wish. No, it's -- we can't talk here." Over Drake's shoulder, Dee glimpsed Janet peeking at them, curious.

"How about upstairs? I doubt anybody's using your office right now."

"Uh-huh," Dee conceded, conscious of the irony in the statement. Nobody would be using the damn office. Jesus, he needed a smoke. Or a stiff drink -- or several. His thoughts were running in little circles, no doubt waving their arms and screaming, and he couldn't focus. Ryou. Suspension. FBI. Diana. Grant. Ryou. Oh, fucking hell.

Then he snagged onto something in the spiral of gray matter. Something, that, momentarily, made him put off the futile chase after his partner. "Drake, if you can find Ted and Marty -- and JJ, bring 'em to the office, too. I'm gonna have a smoke first. I'll be along."

Drake looked at him, sympathy bleeding into concern on his face, but went off without further questions.

---------------

Throughout his disjointed account, spanning from Saturday morning and the Chief to a half an hour ago and the FBI, Dee had been smoking incessantly. The floor at his feet was strewn with fine ashes, and he appeared unable to stop the agitated movement of his hands. He was sprawled in his office chair, Drake standing beside him. Ted, looking more glum than JJ could remember seeing him, was sitting on Ryou's desk.

"Now, I've no fucking idea where Ryou is. He's shut off his cell," Dee finished, uncharacteristic defeat in his timbre.

"I'm sure he's fine, Dee-senpai," JJ said into the ensuing silence, if only not to allow it to stretch. "Anyone'd be upset at a time like this, and Ryou-senpai especially."

"Yeah," Drake echoed JJ, flicking a flame into his lighter for Dee as Dee fished out another cigarette. "If you ask me, he'll need a while alone now. Probably wants to calm down first."

"You could land in major trouble for this, y'know," Ted interjected. "Telling us before a higher-up did, I mean."

"That's Ryou's line, not yours," Dee replied darkly. "Besides, what does it matter? The fuckers already took my badge."

"Well, you wouldn't want to make matters any worse, right, senpai?" JJ said. Given the situation, Dee was in fact rather together. Granted, it had only been during the last months that JJ had given more thorough thought to Dee's qualities beside his roguish magnetism; however, he was most often right in gauging people, and Dee did not seem about to go off the deep end to him. "They're investigating. No one's taking you to court yet."

"Man, that really is over the top." Ted cocked his head upwards. "Ryou, a Mafia fink? A damn Officer of the Year would be more like it."

"That's why Ryou-senpai seems to be above suspicion," JJ pointed out. "It could be concluded he's using the trust of his superiors --"

JJ realized his chain of logical reasoning had run away from his tact as Dee surged out of his chair with a choked growl. "Shut your fucking mouth! Ryou'd never --"

"Dee!" Moving quickly, Drake hooked his arms under Dee's, bodily restraining him from setting upon JJ. "Easy, old buddy. We all know Ryou didn't. Take it easy."

JJ came forward, feeling a bit shaken by Dee's outburst, but understanding the reasons for it very well. "I'm sorry, senpai."

A corner of Dee's mouth quirked to the side in what should have spread into a rakish smirk; now his lips remained a strained line. "Don't worry 'bout it." As Drake let go of him, Dee collapsed back into a sitting position.

Eager not to aggravate Dee any further, JJ changed the subject. "Thanks for telling us, anyway, senpai. I don't think we would've got much of a prior warning otherwise."

Ted and Drake both nodded in unspoken agreement. The allegations against Dee and Ryou would affect their colleagues as well; and the rest of the homicide squad, as their closest workmates, would undoubtedly be the first to feel the effects. Nothing quite like officers slumming with organized criminals to destroy the image of a station, JJ thought sourly. Whether the accusations had any real ground often mattered little; the damage would be done in any case.

Dee regarded them wearily. "No problem."

He was about to continue as there came a knock on the door. They all tensed, tossing wary glances at each other. JJ grimaced mentally. 'This can't be good...'

Before anyone answered the knock, the knob was turned. A woman appeared in the doorway, poised and serene, her dark blond hair pinned back into a ponytail. Diana Spacey, the FBI agent, JJ connected her face to a name.

"I would like to talk to Mr. Latener, gentlemen." Albeit calm, her words were an order. "Alone. Now."

Dee shot her a dirty look, but something in her answering gaze nipped his incipient protests in the bud. Ted stopped to squeeze Dee's shoulder before leaving; Drake lingered by his friend, talking to him quietly. "Keep your head, you hear? It'll be okay. I'll call you."

JJ poked Drake gently. "Let's go. We can't do anything right now."

Looking at Dee, JJ found himself strapped for words: Dee had lapsed into a simmering apathy, the crooked arch of his back seeming to deflect all messages of comfort and common sense alike. JJ settled for the one that at least was sincere, even if trite-sounding. "Take care, senpai."

Waiting until the three of them were in the hallway, Agent Spacey shut the door after them. As Ted headed off, muttering about Marty and witness statements and Harlem, Drake took three strides to the door of their office and punched the notched frame hard.

"God damn it."

In speechless sympathy, JJ wrapped an arm about Drake's back. Given that their physical distance was only freshly breached, and that they stood out in the open in the hall, Drake might have objected. Instead, he leaned his side into the doorframe and returned the sideways hug with one arm.

"Feels like an acid trip into some bipolar teenager's head," Drake said. "Right on top of yesterday, this crashes down on our heads. Not that anything was wrong with yesterday," he amended hastily, "I mean..."

"I sure hope not." JJ had to dwell on Drake's reference to last night, if only to tease him. He reached to the back of Drake's neck, the pads of his fingers kneading into the wound muscles there. A few hours earlier -- it felt a long time right then -- he had dragged his fingers down that back, mapped out the rise and fall of Drake's sides in the rhythm of his quickening breathing. Now JJ kept his touch slow and mild, trying to assuage his partner's rare outbreak of temper.

"No, it's --" Drake, naturally taking JJ seriously, fumbled for a fleeing thought. "It's a bit much, all at once, y'know? Take the bad with the good, yeah, but this is getting a little extreme."

"Dare I presume I'm included in the latter category?"

"You can take a wild guess," Drake said, with disarming honesty, the merest flick of a smile breaking the gravity of his expression.

"It never hurts to check." JJ stood on tiptoe to sneak a kiss into the dip between Drake's cheek and mouth.

Drake half sighed, half chuckled in reply. "Thanks. Just can't help being on edge, 's all."

"That's a mutual feeling, you know."

If Drake was still swamped in his emotional backlash at the news, somewhere in the background, JJ's brain was already busy inspecting the larger-scale consequences of the events of this morning. He was not nearly fully acquianted with Ryou and Dee's history with the Grant Mafia, but he knew enough to be concerned -- for both his workmates and for their entire squad. Any condemning facts, whether real or fabricated that the FBI investigators could unveil, would reflect negatively on everyone working close to Ryou and Dee.

JJ was brought out of his ruminations as Drake stirred, opening the door to their office with his free hand. "Hm?"

Slipping his arm free of JJ, Drake stepped into the office. "Thought I'd head to the range. We've got nothing urgent, except of course Navarro, and I'm sick of his mug."

"He is a sore," JJ agreed. "But his trial's coming up soon, in any case. We've got physical evidence enough we could just frog-march him into jail." JJ left unmentioned that he was still restless about the impassive Hispanic. If Navarro had killed Irving because of a disagreement or a messed up deal, it would make no sense for him to be aggravating his situation by refusing to talk. He had not even requested an attorney; his behavior was plenty strange for a first-time -- well, a first-time homicidal stoic, JJ curbed his sprawling train of thought.

Knowing that Drake probably wanted some time alone, JJ nodded and waved him off. He could relate to Drake's twitchiness: somewhere deeper inside him, too, welled a rising urge to shoot something.

The rain spattered against the window, blurring the world outside into melting shapes of gray.

---------------

Originally published March 20, 2005
First draft March 13, 2005
Revised March 19, 2005
Aino
ricepaperdreams @ yahoo. co. uk
groups. yahoo. com/ group/ ainofics/

.