Fake Fan Fiction ❯ Common Ground ❯ Chapter 6

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Chapter Six



If it was possible to feel exhausted and hyperactive at the same time, Drake was feeling it. His body screamed for sleep and his limbs felt like they weighed a ton each, with an additional weight located in his poor head. But at the same time, he couldn't seem to sit still. And he was only on his second cup of coffee. Some bone-shaking paranoia, born from restless sleep and strange dreams, had settled on his mind, and he couldn't shake it.

"How many damn bottles of vodka were in that punch?" he asked in a low murmur.

He hadn't expected an answer, but Dee gave him one in the form of a grin.

"Yeah," Drake muttered and scratched his hair. God, he needed a shower.

Dee took his cup of coffee and sat down on the opposite side of the small kitchen table. "About time you woke up. Your cell phone's been ringing all morning. I almost threw it out of the window an hour ago. Can't believe you have some cutesy ring tone on it."

"It's not mine, it's JJ's," Drake said. He closed his left eye as a ray of sunlight peeked from between the drawn curtains and seemed to burn into his poor head. He wished he didn't have to explain any further. The memory of how he had ended up with JJ's cell phone was pretty clear in his head, but it got mangled when he tried to think closely about it. And he couldn't seem to help trying. Drake swallowed and nervously tapped his finger on the table.

"What are you doing with his cell phone?" Dee asked, but in an amused, rhetorical tone. "There's more coffee if you want it."

"Yeah, thanks."

The surrealism of the moment hit Drake. Here he was, sitting in Dee and Ryou's kitchen which looked clean and alien in the morning light, opposite of Dee, who seemed as perky as ever. Add a suit and he'd be ready for a business meeting. Drake felt impossibly dirty. He wished he could go back to sleep, but then soundly decided against it.

He rarely dreamed - most of the time he was so exhausted when he hit the sack that all he saw was black. Or he snoozed in front of the TV, and upon waking wasn't sure which part had been late-night television and which he had dreamed. But last night he had a clutter of chaotic, vivid dreams, all of which had included his partner. Drake felt like a teenager, full of hormones and his body seeming to belong to someone else. This wasn't happening. He might've lost his sanity for a moment but he was *straight*, dammit. JJ just happened to know what to do to get to him, to make him...

He grimaced. Maybe he was just reading too much into it. Yes, better to forget all about JJ blowing him in the broom closet and focus on something… easier.

"I'm sorry, Drake."

Drake looked up when he heard Dee's voice, surprised.

"Hell, I admit it, Ryou was right. I shouldn't have invited her, right?" Dee made a face and scratched his head. "Sorry, man. I just realized… it was a shitty thing to do, to make you go through that."

Oh. Jill. Jesus, he hadn't even thought about her. JJ had been far too much for his poor mind to take. Drake looked past Dee, fully expecting to see the words "YOU ARE FLAMING GAY" written in huge pink letters on the kitchen cupboard doors.

"No, no. It's okay," he muttered, somewhat horrified. "We're disagreeing to agree, or something. She's… I'm fine."

Dee snickered and got up to pour more coffee for himself and Drake. "That's agreeing to disagree, and c'mon, you're all shaken. I can tell."

"I drank about half of the friggin' punch," Drake said quickly. Alcohol was a marvelous scapegoat. God knew it was the most common excuse the suspects he questioned used.

"Yeah, but… Oh, come on, Drake, stop being so fucking vague. You keep taking punches and never say a word. Why didn't you just tell me that you didn't want to see her? I'm meeting her and Barry next week anyway, it would've been okay. It's like you're masochistic or something."

Drake's head was pounding fiercely. "Just forget it, it's - it's not Jill, Dee. I'm just - forget it, okay?"

Dee's eyebrows shot up. "Not Jill, huh? Then why the hell do you have this lovelorn look all over your face?"


Ryou appeared in the doorway wearing Dee's boxers, drying his hair. "The shower's free, Drake."

Drake scrambled onto his feet. "Thanks. I'll just take a quick shower and be gone."

"No hurry." Ryou smiled and went over to put some bread in the toaster.

Drake was just about to leave the room when Dee's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"I have to go to the station to pick up some forms later; you want me to take that cell phone to JJ on the way? I bet he wants it back as soon as possible."

Drake turned around stiffly. Shit. Oh shit. Dee was looking at him thoughtfully. How the HELL did Dee know? Or did he? Was Drake just getting fucking paranoid when it came to his workmates?

"No," Drake said. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded forced. "That's okay. I'll take it."

Dee nodded nonchalantly. "Good."

Ryou looked from Dee to Drake, a question hanging in the air. Drake escaped to the shower and left the answering to Dee.


***


Not surprisingly, Drake didn’t get around to bringing the cell phone back to JJ. He spent the whole day snoozing his hangover away and watching TV, keeping his brain activity to a minimum.

When his alarm clock woke him up in the morning, he found that all of Sunday had turned into gray, indistinguishable haze in his mind. He groaned and decided that he needed a few hours more sleep before he was ready to face the inevitable meeting with the rabid grizzly bear that was the chief.

It was nearing lunchtime when he finally arrived at the station. He was doing his best to focus on the case, knowing full well that he and JJ had been a little sloppy so far, and Chief wouldn't thank them for that - let alone Drake's own conscience. He wasn’t good at ignoring things that went against his morals.

*Concentrate, Drake,* he told himself, striving for his father’s strict tone. *There’s some sicko roaming the streets, killing whoever he feels is in the right spot at the right time. This is no time to be sloppy.*

Not surprisingly, JJ was waiting for him at the door of their office, tapping his foot. Drake felt his stomach turn strangely when he realized JJ was wearing the same clothes he had worn at the party. What the hell was he supposed to say in this situation?

He swallowed and did his best to sound normal. "Hi, I know, I'm late. Is the chief spitting fire yet?"

JJ's gaze was sharp, but not threatening. "No, actually, the Olsen case has kept him busy this morning. But he did want to know where you were, and I would've liked to know, as well. Harris was just here with the lab results and you know I hate poring over those by myself."

"Sorry." Drake felt JJ's eyes burning into his back as he entered the office and shrugged off his coat. He couldn't believe how unnerving it was, and not in a completely bad way, either. Instantly, memories of Saturday night flooded his mind. He found himself recalling the feel of JJ's fingers dancing up his chest, the taste of cakes and punch and JJ mixing in his mouth, the warmth of JJ's body when it was pressed against him.

*No,* he thought desperately, *don’t go there, Parker. This is not the place or the time; you’ve got to finish a late report to Chief. Yes, think about Chief. Chief in his worst Monday morning mood.*

JJ walked into the office after him and closed the door. "The knife is going to be our key piece of evidence, no doubt about it."

"Fingerprints?" Drake asked, hopefully. He wanted nothing more than to get this case closed quickly.

"Now, don't get too carried away." JJ winked cheerfully and stretched his arms.

Why that little... Drake was glad he was sitting at his desk. He shifted uncomfortably and summoned up more mental images of the chief, his most regular way of fighting down arousal.

"The forensics team did find traces of blood on the edge, though,” JJ continued. “The blood type didn't match any of the victims', so they figured that our perp might've accidentally cut himself when he stumbled and dropped the knife. Maybe the small cut was the reason he dropped it."

"What do we have about the blood, then?" Drake picked up one of the files and quickly went through the detailed report it contained. Forensics reports: nothing as asexual in the world. "They appear to have run the information through CODIS."

"The blood type's rare, at least." JJ finally sat down, scratching his jaw. "Of course, not all the lab tests are done yet. But I think we should run his info through international records. Illegal Russian bullets, mysterious expensive cars… this guy has quite a backing. He seems too showy and reckless to be any of the locals."

"You already put that into the report?" Drake asked and glanced at JJ. Now that they were at their own desks, on opposite sides of the room, and discussed the case as usual, he felt a little calmer, more professional.

JJ smiled sweetly at him. "Of course not. That's your job."

Drake didn't feel like complaining. "Fine. Anything else?"

"You could get me a cup of coffee." JJ made a big show of focusing on the file in front of him, but Drake could tell he was laughing inwardly.

"I meant about the Forensic report," Drake said.

"Hm? What?" JJ looked up, blinking.

Drake sighed and got up. "Never mind."

He headed to the first floor to fetch the coffee. JJ was plotting something; he knew that cunning look. Or then JJ was just laughing at him behind his back, but honestly, Drake couldn't think of JJ as that malevolent. JJ, JJ, JJ. Was it just him, or was he going in circles? Drake gave himself a mental kick. He was making a complete ass of himself and they had work to do.


Apparently smelling blood, Chief marched into their office just when Drake had thrown his feet onto the desk and was about to start sipping his coffee. The chief was red in the face from running and he had a big pile of files under his arm.

"Parker, Addams, what the hell are you two doing?" he started in an irritated growl.

JJ sat up straight. "Uh, yes. We were just putting the information together for the meeting, sir."

Chief glared at them both. "Haven't you had four damn hours to do that? What am I running here, a sloth zoo? Get your asses up and into my office, NOW!"

Drake quickly threw a few papers - most likely the wrong ones - into a file. He hoped JJ had his papers in better order as they hurried after Chief, who huffed and muttered under his breath about him being the only one who ever worked in this goddamn squad.

When they reached the office, the chief sat down with a relieved sigh and slammed the files on his huge desk. Drake and JJ found chairs for themselves and Drake tried to peek over at JJ's papers. JJ gave him an annoyed glance, which was unusually gruff of him and made Drake frown. What had he done now?

"So, you can thank your lucky stars that your whiny colleagues can't seem to solve a simple case without getting someone to threaten to sue them. Let's start from you, Drake; where the hell were you this morning?"

"Uh, I was having a chat with the eyewitness, the perp's last victim who survived. Miss… Tandi Borland; she's in the hospital but not with very heavy injuries."

Chief squinted and glared at Drake. "Oh? I wonder why your partner had no idea about that little chat?"

JJ looked pointedly at Drake, who felt this was a two-against-one situation. "Yes, well, that's…" Drake trailed off, wondering why JJ didn't follow up with some kind of an explanation. They were usually so good at the synchronized Chief-bluffing routine. But JJ just frowned and twiddled with his cufflinks, apparently unable to think of anything.

The chief leaned back and sighed. "Oh, never mind, you dimwits, I can see this is exceeding your mental capacity. Just tell me what you've got so far."


***


After forty excruciating minutes, Drake and JJ headed over to the basement floor to get their car. They had to *really* question Ms. Borland. Drake had a hunch she might know something. When they came to the door that led to the garage, they both reached to open it at the same time. They looked at each other, their faces only a few inches apart, and Drake could see his own surprise mirrored in JJ's expression. What the hell was going on? They never did that. They had been partners for seven years; they could read each other. Unless they didn't want to, for some reason. Drake pushed the door open, a little more forcibly than was needed. He had to admit that he had been avoiding looking at JJ. Was it showing?

Nothing was said about the incident, or about anything else, during the drive to the hospital, although Drake could tell JJ was unusually thoughtful, too. When they stopped at traffic lights, Drake leaned against the steering wheel and looked at JJ. His partner was staring out of the window, frowning and chewing on a finger nail. JJ only frowned when he was honestly worried. A frown simply didn't suit his usual sunny face; it made him look alien. Drake always felt bad when JJ was miserable, and this was not an exception. His irritation at JJ faded away as raw sympathy set in. He thought of reaching out to ruffle JJ's hair a bit, to snap him out of it, but felt oddly reluctant. Familiar body language seemed to have taken a completely new twist between them. He wasn't sure if he wanted to test the new boundaries.

"The light's green," JJ said without looking at him.

Drake sighed and turned his attention back to the road. "Oh."


The Heaven's Mercy Hospital was relatively quiet. They took the elevator to the third floor, still in silence, and walked along the long, sterile hallway.

There was a young man sitting on a chair next to the door of Tandi Borland's room. He was slumped over so that his long, dirty black hair completely hid his face. There was something familiar about his shoddy leather jacket, and it only took Drake a few seconds to remember him. You never really forget the first guys you arrest, do you?

He walked over and sat on the chair next to the man - what was his name? Sanchez? Santos? Oh, what the hell. Maybe his memory was as good as Drake's. "Shakey, imagine meeting you here. Not intending to walk out with some cancer patient's pills in your shoes, are you?"

The man looked up at the sound of his voice, and Drake saw recognition in his eyes. "Whatta hell?"

"Who is this guy, senpai?" JJ asked.

"Shakey and I are old pals from the time I was in the beat. He and his little buddies halfway cleaned out a pharmacy once, ain't that right, Shakey?"

"The name's Santos, and I dun know who th' fuck you are, man," the man said in a quiet, nervous voice.

Drake would've expected no less from someone who had apparently been able to walk out of it last time. If Shakey was caught doing something now, on top of that last pharmacy number, he would be doing a whole shitload of time. Unfortunately, carefulness had never really been one of Shakey's strong points. Drake had taken this guy in at least three times. "Here to see Tandi? Bet you're a little upset about what happened to her, right? Wouldn't happen to be any of your buddies who did that to her?"

"I ain't sayin' nothin'-- "

"Of course you're not," JJ put in, "because if you sing, you'll get the same as Tandi, right? But let's talk speculatively, here. What if we happen to have something on your friends, and are only short a few names? The names *they know* you could easily provide us… see where I'm getting with this?"

True to his nickname, the young man was shaking like a leaf, now. "I - I dun know, man, I--"

Drake was pleased to see JJ had caught on so quickly. Maybe their poor teamwork that morning was improving. "We could take you down to the station, ask you the same things again… but you see, Shakey, it wouldn't make any difference whether you told us what we wanted to know or not. What matters is that it'd look a whole lot like you'd been caught in the act. It'd look like you would have no choice but to sing."

Shakey looked around, sweating. "No, man, don't take me down there; they'd fuckin' kill me, man…"

"Who's cut up Tandi? And why?" JJ asked, now standing on Shakey's other side, watching him attentively.

Shakey ran his long fingers through his hair, desperation in his manner and in his voice. "I dun know who done it, man, I swear I don't know nothing… It's bad shit… It's them big shots, I dun wanna know nothing 'bout that…"

"Big shots?" Drake asked anxiously. They were getting somewhere.

"Higher up the food chain, huh?" JJ asked almost at the same time.

Shakey nodded frantically. "Yeah. It's bad. Got everyone on their fuckin' toes… Something big's goin' on. Somethin' bad… Our people get done, just like fuckin' that…"

Drake and JJ glanced at each other. "So who's pissed off?" Drake asked.

"Toldja it's the big guys… From the east side, the ones who call the shots, they're fuckin' pissed, man. Everyone's just keepin' outta the way, y'know?"

Bingo. So this *had* something to do with gang activities, after all. Drake tried the direct approach. "So then you know what gang we're talking about?"

Shakey jumped. "N-no, I… People tell me it's those Red Robs tryin' to get even, but I dun fuckin' know. Listen, I dun wanna get involved, okay? Okay?"

Red Robs? What the hell was that? Drake had never heard of a gang by that name, and the name sounded odd, anyway. Drake looked at Shakey searchingly. Nope, he didn't think the man was lying. After all, it was in his best interest to tell them everything he knew. The streets couldn't have been very safe with a reckless and powerful gang on the war path.

JJ leaned closer to Shakey, his interest piqued. "Get even for what?"

"Fuck, y'know what it's like. Dun cross m' hood, I dun cross yours. An' they don't call 'em East Hounds for nothin'."

"Get even for *what*, Shakey?" JJ pushed.

"I dun know! I tell ya, I know nothing 'bout that, man." Shakey jumped to his feet and looked nervously from JJ to Drake. "I hafta go now, man, I swear that's all I know."

Drake nodded to JJ, then muttered, "All right, get lost," to Shakey, who scrambled noisily to the elevator and disappeared through the doors.

JJ looked after the man, his hands on his hips. "You think he was telling the truth?"

Drake went to the door to Borland's room. "I don't know why he wouldn't have. And anyway, we can confirm it with Tandi, right?"

JJ nodded, and followed him inside.


***


The visit earned them two important facts. One, Shakey had apparently been correct, for Tandi confirmed his words. Two, she was able to tell what Shakey had only vaguely referred to: what had started the disruption with the gang known by the weird name Red Robs. Judging by the scale of the events and the fact that neither he or JJ had ever heard of it, Drake guessed that it was more like a collective name for a number of smaller gangs that hailed from the east side, some kind of a secret pact. That fit their profile of the murderer being rich and resourceful, if not extravagant. Guys that influential would have no problem helping their underlings to disappear. So much for the theory of one rich bastard who liked the attention.

But the similarity of the careful cutting patterns and the witness statements still spoke of only one man actually committing all the murders. Could it be that a gang had simply put one man to the task? And what task was that? According to Tandi, one of the Red Robs' leading men, Phil "Lazy Eye" Lance, had been murdered during a border skirmish. The death had set the Red Robs' movers and shakers' blood boiling, and worried everyone else. But still, a series of gruesome cuttings like this seemed too planned for simple revenge. Not to mention that none of the victims were known to have any connections to gang activities.

It was a puzzle, all right, but now they at least had some clues to go with that piece of evidence.


When they were walking back to the car, JJ suddenly broke into a grin and asked, "So why did you call that guy 'Shakey', senpai?"

Drake was glad to see that JJ looked more like his usual happy-go-lucky self. Well, he was feeling a little better himself; he felt like he had accomplished something. And the memory of how "Shakey" Santos got his name brought a smile to his lips. "Oh, that takes me back. When I was on the beat, we used to cruise around this grungy mall a lot. Y'know, one of those places that are robbed clean by high school kids every Saturday."

JJ nodded, still smiling. "I know the type. Give me the keys, senpai, I'm driving."

Drake frowned a bit, but then tossed the keys over the car hood to JJ. Once they had both gotten into the car, he continued. "So, anyway. Shakey and his friends, a small gang of local spot-faced dopeheads, had been caught for shoplifting and possession of drugs numerous times. Two of them were in the Juvie Hall when the rest of the gang got the marvelous idea of robbing a drugstore." Drake chuckled at the memory.

"I take it their plan wasn't successful."

"Oh yeah, it was. They walked right past our noses with a handful of pills on each punk. And we knew they had sticky fingers and that painkillers were robbed from the store, but we couldn't do a damn thing. Sometimes we'd see them playing with the containers, but we couldn't do much when the pills themselves were nowhere to be seen. We couldn't figure out *where* they were keeping them when they left the store, because we searched 'em and found nothing."

Drake glanced at JJ and found him listening eagerly, amused curiosity radiating from him. Pleased, Drake went on. "So, the chief put two cops to hang around the store entrance to watch for them. When it was my turn to stand there and look stupid, Shakey was in the store with two of his pals. They walked out of the store, right under our noses, and suddenly Shakey starts shaking his foot, y'know, as if he's got a rock in his shoe or something. Except that it wasn't a rock. We looked on as small white pills started dropping on the sidewalk."

JJ giggled. "Oh, you're kidding!"

"You know those huge Airwalkers the kids wear. Apparently they were big enough to hide the pills in. They'd just deftly drop the pills from their hands into their sneakers. But Shakey stepped on them badly..." Drake shook his head, grinning. "And started spreading those pills around like a friggin' salt shaker. äMan, we got laughs out of that for weeks."


Drake looked out of the window. The traffic wasn't bad that day. They were only a block away from the station now.

"It's kind of nice to hear stories from the time you were on the beat, senpai," JJ said wistfully, bringing Drake's attention back to him. "You don't usually share that kind of stuff with the rest of the class."

"Well, most of the class was there to witness it," Drake said. He thought about Dee and added in his mind, *When they weren't AWOL, that is.*

"I wasn't." JJ sounded almost sad.

Drake shrugged awkwardly. "Hell, it's nothing earth-shattering. My life on the whole's pretty boring. So if there are a couple of things you don't know about me, it shouldn't make a difference."

He suddenly felt JJ's eyes burning right into him and involuntarily shuddered. His partner's voice was playful when he drawled, "I think there are some things about you, senpai, that you don't even know yourself."

Panic and irritation surged up, and Drake barked, "Whaddya mean?"

*Dear God, don't EVER let him look at me like that again or I'll...*

JJ focused his eyes back on the road, smiling a little hesitantly. "Oh, c'mon, senpai. We've been dancing round this all day. You know what I'm talking about."

Of *course* Drake knew what he was talking about. He wished he didn't, but there was no getting out of it. This wasn't something that would just pass. Drake's first impulse was to simply tell JJ to keep his hands out of Drake's pants, no matter the reason they had wandered there. He valued JJ far too much as a partner and a friend to find the task easy, however. JJ was a good kid; no, a good man to work with. Drake had spent seven years trying to cheer JJ up after Dee's continual rebukes, and he had seen enough to never want to be the one to cause such anguish to JJ. The poor kid, in love with Dee - who walked into walls whenever Ryou happened to walk by. Drake could relate, and knew there was nothing to be said about such blind infatuation after a certain point.

It would've been complicated enough even without a second impulse that kept telling him that there was also a chance here that he shouldn't miss. That impulse kept pulling up hazy, heated memories of Saturday night and shoving them in Drake's face when he least expected it, most often when JJ looked at him and smiled wistfully--

Actually, exactly like he was smiling now.

"You're a tease, you know that?"

JJ's smile didn't waver. "Yes, senpai."

Oh for the sake of all that was holy, Drake couldn't bear it anymore. He had to get this over with somehow. "Look, what’s with this flirting thing you’re doing? Or *more*, actually. Hell, I don't know what I should call this, this thing - you know damn well I'm not gay, so what the - why the hell are you -"


JJ let Drake's voice die out without replying, which was surprising, considering that he was usually prone to talking over others. He pulled over in the station's parking lot and then turned to Drake. He had the weirdest look on his face, a very intense look that bordered on sadness. The car seemed to shrink around them, trapping Drake to his seat. His heart was hammering. He didn't know if he was mad at JJ for being so calm and collected in this crazy situation or if he just wanted to throw him down on the seat and kiss his mouth shut. Neither of the options made any sense.

"Drake, listen." JJ's voice was serious and a little edgy. "I wouldn't have said anything, but I think we *have* to talk this through. It's affecting our work. I *know* this must be awkward for you, but..." He paused and looked away, sighing a little. "Work with me here, okay?"

"I don't know. Is there something to talk about?" Drake muttered stiffly, staring at the wall ahead and trying his damnedest not to think about the feel of JJ's body pressed against him.

"Oh, please," JJ said, and Drake couldn't really blame him for sounding exasperated. "Your cock down my throat? Hello?"

"Jesus, JJ!" Drake said, louder than he had intended, turning abruptly to stare at JJ. "Do I have to put on a tee-shirt that says, 'Respect my heterosexuality'? Just what the hell were you - stop *giggling*, dammit!" He was blushing and felt like a prude.

"Sorry!" JJ managed. He leaned back on his seat, his whole body shaking with laughter.

It felt good to see JJ laugh, and Drake calmed down a little. He realized it *always* felt good when JJ was happy; it somehow radiated from him and warmed Drake inside. "You just like getting at me, don't you," he said, in a hushed tone, and couldn't understand why the usual warm rush now included curling toes.

JJ's eyes were shiny and his laughter was there in their blue depths. "Yeah. I guess that's one way of putting it." His voice was quieter than normal, too, deeper and somehow...

Before completing the thought, Drake leaned over, braced his hand on the back of JJ's seat, threw all good sense out of the window and pressed his mouth to JJ's. He had expected it to be something shocking, something to shake them both back to reality, but JJ just raised one hand to hold Drake's head in place and returned the kiss, like it was nothing new. Like it was something they had always done. And despite the flood of new details, Drake slowly started to feel the same. Hadn't he always been aware of these things during the nearly eight years JJ had been there by his side, acknowledged them as he acknowledged JJ's working methods, the way he held a gun, the way he connected the dots in his mind and looked through forensic reports? Hadn't he somehow always known that JJ's fingers were strong and precise and that his eyes were intoxicating?

Conscious thought drifted away as he deepened the kiss and found that JJ's lips were - not soft, no, but pliant, and opened easily. Drake had expected it to be *him* kissing *JJ*, but to his surprise, he found himself having to fight for it. JJ's hand grabbed at his hair and the front of his shirt, full of frantic hunger, echoes of Drake's own. It was a new experience - women he kissed didn't tend to respond with that kind of raw need - but not unpleasant, especially since JJ obviously knew what he was doing. Drake had a vague feeling that he had been here before when JJ nibbled at his lower lip. Only this time the half bottle of vodka had been replaced by a bewildering feeling that yes, this was *good*.

He pulled back for breath, his fingers brushing JJ's temple. He had to swallow down the lump in his throat; he had never seen JJ look so happy. "Hey, uh," he said, gathering his wits, "we're... sort of in a public place."

JJ nodded, but looked like he hadn't heard a thing Drake had just said.

Drake ruffled his hair briskly, his favorite way of drawing JJ's attention back to matters at hand. It felt wonderful to do it now; he had feared he'd never get to do it again, and he had already made a habit of it. It helped him focus as much as it hopefully helped JJ. "Let's get inside."

"Oh, right. The report. We'll be maimed." JJ's eyes regained their usual clarity and he quickly hopped out of the car, slamming the door shut.

Drake took a moment before following. He had to count to five and think about Chief in a bikini before he felt decent enough to step out of the car. He had been utterly and completely drugged, there was no other explanation for it.

JJ waited for him and closed the door for him, impatiently. "You think we'll be able to file Santos in as a real witness?"

Shakey. Murder case. Work. He had to concentrate on something other than JJ's lips. "Um, I don't know. I think we could just put everything on Borland's shoulders. She knew about the same stuff as he, anyway."

A sudden gust of wind chilled them both, made their coat ends flap. JJ hurried into the shelter of the station's walls. "I think it'll work. In fact, I think it'll work just perfectly. The report should be a breeze, really, except that of course--"

"It was due this morning," Drake deftly completed the sentence.

They smiled at each other. Something had clicked into place.


***

Miraculously, the work just seemed to get done, and they had the first report finished in half of the usual time. It was an easy day, at least for Drake and JJ; Dee complained loudly that he was dying of boredom and Ryou clarified that they were up to their elbows in useless assignments that any secretary or uniform could've done. Dee popped by to mock Drake and JJ's enthusiasm and they all gathered to drink coffee in the copy room while Ryou copied notices that said "Please Don't Smoke in the Cafeteria". Ted looked like he had gone through the worst hell Chief had to offer when he walked in, but he grinned nonetheless when Drake announced that the coffee was on him. After all, the dumbasses had managed to avoid being sued by a pissed-off teenager whom Marty had apparently handled a little roughly. It was a reason to party as much as anything.

JJ looked at him over the plastic cup, eyes full of mischief. Drake eyed the file closet next to JJ, raising one eyebrow. They burst into chuckles; no one had dared to open the closet door ever since Marty had somehow shoved one more file inside, noticed that the tower was collapsing and quickly slammed the door shut.

"What's so funny?" Dee demanded, making paper planes of the Please Don't Smoke notices. "If you've got a surprise for me, I hope it's a big ol' prostitution gig, because I'm wasting away."

"Oh, shut up," Drake said, still chuckling under his breath. "When you have a case, you complain about the work load, and when you don't, you whine that you're bored to death."

Ryou laughed. "Too true. Don't worry, Dee. Chief will make us work our asses off again, sooner than we'd ever want."

"Hey, want my bitchy teenaged crack dealers, Dee?" Ted suggested. "You can have 'em. Just remember to be *nice* to the little bastards. We don't want some snot-nosed brat with a rich dad and well-paid lawyers bringing down the whole station." He made a face, obviously quoting Chief.

Variants of "it'll be okay, Ted" were muttered throughout the room, and Ted didn't seem all too concerned as he emptied his cup. "Well, back to work, gentlemen. Or not working, as it is. Anyone up for a beer or two at Sal's after the shift?"

"Yeah, okay," Ryou agreed, and Dee nodded too, unsurprisingly.

"No, sorry," JJ said, and looked straight at Drake, who had been about to say yes.

Drake swallowed and had to look away. It was a little too obvious how JJ kept staring at him all the time. "Oh yeah, we're, uh, working double tonight."

"Double shifts?" Dee stared at him. "Is there no end to your unhealthy work enthusiasm?"

JJ came to Drake's rescue. "It's not like we had any choice, Dee-senpai. Someone was just too lazy to show up for work this morning, and Chief happened to be in a lousy mood, so he slapped us the worst punishment."

Bless JJ's quick brain.

Ted patted Drake on the shoulder. "What can I say, man? It's your luck, all over."

"Yeah," Drake said, clearing his throat, "a little sleeping in and look what the tanuki does. Downright unfair."

"Sucks," JJ said emphatically, nodding in agreement.

Drake almost sputtered the coffee all over his shirt and started to cough. He knew that was what JJ had intended with his comment, and he couldn't even be mad at him, not after he saw his adorable, apologetic grin.


Everyone wandered off to their offices, and Drake and JJ worked quietly for a couple of more hours. No words seemed necessary; they were being efficient.

When there was less than an hour left before the shift ended, Drake went to get more coffee - both because he felt he might need the caffeine and because he also needed some time to breathe. Being constantly under JJ's adoring eyes was heady stuff, but having to fight off an erection tended to wear him out. Janet was at the desk, and she offered him the papers, winking. Drake thanked her, bought the coffee and headed back to their office.

When he opened the door, JJ was at the computer. He was frowning and obviously in deep thought. Drake put the coffee cup on the desk next to him, not breaking his concentration, and sat at his own desk.

"Drake?" JJ muttered, his eyes still glued to the screen. "Take a look at this death certificate."

Drake got up and came to look at the screen over JJ's head. There seemed to be a photo or two of a bloody, dead man, but JJ clicked them out of the way. "Who am I looking at, here?"

"Phillip Lance. Y'know, Lazy Eye. The one who died in the border skirmish, and whom these Red Robs apparently held so dear they put up this whole show."

"In other words, the guy from whom it all started." Drake quickly went through the lines. African-American, age 36, height five inches nine...

"Holy *shit*," he blurted out. The guy had almost bled to death. From two precise cuts in his ankles. And then he had been shot in the head, execution-style.

"His face is all bloody, as you can see," JJ said, clicking the two pictures back into view. "It's not clear from the photos, but it's because his teeth were dug out."

"And his earlobes have been cut. Jesus." Drake leaned back. What did this mean? The first victim had been one of these "Red Robs"? Had they been looking at the case the wrong way round, and this was really some gang from the *west side* that tried to pay back to the Red Robs?

JJ looked thoughtful. "It says in the report that they suspected the teeth and earlobes were cut for money. According to his friends, Phil had at least three golden teeth and loads of expensive earrings."

The puzzle was gaining new pieces, even if it had been turned completely around.

"The ankles? Have you found any explanation for those?" Drake asked.

"No," JJ said, frowning again, "I didn't get that far. I was too busy thinking about what this means. Seems the ones we're after are not the Red Robs, after all."

"Yeah, I was just thinking the same thing. We're going to have to start digging around the big gangs from the west side of the city." Drake ran a hand through his hair. "Fuck. This means we're almost back to square one."

JJ looked at him, a half-smile dancing on his lips. "But it's the *right* square, at least."

Drake couldn't help smiling a little in return to JJ's positivism. "At least that, true. And this also means we don't have to worry about a big collective of gangs; just one moderately wealthy gang armed with bucketfuls of spite."

"Hey, that's right. Good. I think we can deal with just one puny gang." JJ grinned and stretched his arms. "Did you call Forensics about the knife?"

"Uh, yeah... there was a problem." Drake made a face, remembering the extremely unhelpful doctor he had milked for information. "Some assistant screwed up and mixed the samples, and it'll take them a while to get everything back in order. They were talking about the end of the week, or the day after tomorrow, the earliest."

"Ouch, that *is* a problem." JJ noticed his coffee and took a gulp. "Time's not on our side. The line is closing in. We have to stop the murderer before his work is done and he disappears from the face of the earth."

"The guy's been skipping from place to place before," Drake pointed out, but he couldn't help the wave of fear that swept over him as he thought about the blue X over Bushwick.

"True," JJ said. He gave Drake a searching glance. "Drake? Are you okay?"

Drake nodded and stared past JJ, into empty space. He wondered why he felt this sense of duty for Jill, needed to keep her and Stevie safe. Especially Stevie. He was only a kid, but could just as well become the next yardstick on their killer's way. Only a kid. Like Matt.

"You're worried about Jill." JJ put his warm hand on Drake's arm.

Drake blinked a few times and straightened his back. He walked back to his own desk and sat down. He started absent-mindedly to clean up his papers. "It's okay," he muttered awkwardly.

"You're not." JJ's voice was full of worry, although it was even.

Drake sighed and leaned heavily on his elbow, staring at the papers on his desk. "Okay, yeah, I'm scared for her. It - it just feels like we're not doing enough. That the harder we work, the farther away the killer gets. Now we're thrown back to square one, and - I just - I just don't know."

He didn't know what made him spill his guts at that moment, but it had an odd cleansing effect. Drake breathed in deep and closed his eyes for a second, only now realizing that he was about to fall asleep. When he opened them, he saw that JJ was sitting on his desk next to him, watching him quietly.

"It's been a long day," Drake said, and managed to smile a little. JJ was radiating exactly the kind of warm assurance that he needed right now.

"It has, at that." JJ nodded slowly.

They were quiet for a moment, and the station seemed to hold its breath. The shift was ending; people were packing up and going home.

Suddenly JJ sprang forward and planted a kiss on Drake's unexpecting mouth. "This is not the way I planned it," he said with a little breathy laugh, "but I think you really need some sleep, now."

No, it wasn't the way Drake had planned it, either. But then again, practically nothing had gone as he had planned it that day, and it had still turned out okay.

"You're right," he said apologetically. "I must've been drinking decaf by accident, or something, but I can't keep my eyes open."

JJ shifted closer until he sat right in front of Drake on the desk, his legs dangling on each side of his partner. "It's okay, you know. You probably need some time to think, anyway."

He did, he really did. Or at least some rest, to ease his overloaded brain. Was that the second time JJ had read his mind in the last few minutes?

"Yeah," Drake managed, wondering why he felt so reluctant to go home despite being tired.

"Right..." JJ shifted again, jumped down and went back to his desk. "I think I'll send an email to the lab and ask for the full autopsy report and the other papers. Maybe they will explain the ankles." He looked up and smiled reassuringly. "You go on home and get some shut-eye. I'll lock up when I'm done."

Drake frowned at his own hesitation. JJ was talking sense, but... "No, I'll wait for you."

JJ laughed a little. "That's nice of you, Drake, but you don't have to."

"No, I... It's all right. I'm not that tired. Go on, send that email. It can't take that long." Drake sat down to wait.

With a happy shrug, JJ went to type the message. Just having him near, with his incessant good mood and perky energy, seemed to lift Drake's spirits and take his mind off things he couldn't do anything about. Drake drank it in, wondering when JJ had become so important to his well-being that he was willing to sit here, yawning, when he could've been on his way to home and bed.

Drake had to admit it to himself: being without JJ meant being alone.