Fake Fan Fiction ❯ Secrets ❯ Chapter 3

Title: Secrets: Chapter 3

Author: Ladymynx
Rating: R

Disclaimer: I don't own FAKE -- that's Ms. Matoh - although if I did I'd make it into an anime series.
Spoilers: Through Like, Like, Love
Warnings: Profanity, violence.

Characters/Pairings: Drake x JJ, Dee, Ryo
Notes: More of a serious Drake and JJ ficlet.

 

 

 

 

 

Drake jammed the heels on his hands in his eyes and sat heavily on the sofa.

 

You stupid fuck! How could you do this to JJ? To me?

 

“Drake?” It was Ryo's voice, tender and concerned. Drake didn't have the strength to respond.

 

The liquor burned his throat and stomach raw…no it wasn't the booze. Drake had downed three glasses in succession and his thoughts raced with the sober mind of someone who hadn't taken a drop.

 

He was furious.

 

For a brief moment, in the very back of his mind, Drake wanted to kill his own brother.

 

No - not kill him. Hurt him as violently and as terribly as he'd hurt JJ. The thoughts brought him guilt on two accounts - even considering killing his brother whom he worshipped and adored and not wanting to thereby betraying JJ.

 

“This is so fucked up,” the words were spoken in an agonized whisper.

 

“He looks bad, Ryo,” it was Dee.

 

He started to shake. It wouldn't stop. Drake had not had a reaction like this since the first time he'd drawn his gun and taken the life of some coked-up kid who had a knife to the throat of a pregnant woman. Drake knew he had to do it. That he'd saved the woman and her baby and they treated him like a hero but all he could remember was the look of terror on the woman's face as she pleaded with her eyes and the surprised agony on the perp's face as Drake's bullet tore through his skull. Drake had known then how different it could have turned out. So he'd let his hand fall to his side and allowed his partner - a seasoned veteran, to lead him away.

 

“You lousy no good fuck!” Drake came out of his seat, and jammed both hands through his hair. “You miserable asshole!”

 

He needed to drink. He needed to get so fucking drunk that he wouldn't remember his own name. It was the only thing that would keep him from making his sister-in-law a widow.

 

“Drake!” Ryo's voice reached him through the anger. The chestnut haired detective had him by the shoulders. “Who was it?”

 

Drake drew in three sharp breaths. It was suddenly too close in the room. Cold sweat dampened his forehead. He felt the bile rising, churning in his stomach. Christ he was going to be sick all over Ryo.

 

“Frank.”

 

“What?” Ryo cupped Drake's face in his hands, applying a slight pressure that forced Drake to stare into those eyes. Drake had the most ridiculously inappropriate thought - Ryo had nice eyes. Damn, Dee must really enjoy looking into them.

 

Of course he preferred to look into JJ's.

 

Damn it to hell. “It was Frank, my brother Frank.”

 

Ryo's eyes grew wide. Behind him Dee's jaw hit the carpet.

 

“Are you shitting us, Drake?”

 

“Fuck no, I'm not shitting you!” The explosion surprised even Drake. He smacked Ryo's hands away. “Why the fuck would I joke about something like that!”

 

“Drake, are you sure?” Ryo said, “Look at me! Are you sure?”

 

But he couldn't. They weren't even in the room. A part of him knew - that part that made him a good detective was being blinded in his rage. “I'm going to fucking kill him.”

 

“Drake, listen to me!” Ryo was in front of him and he was aware of Dee moving behind him.

 

“Get the fuck out of my way, Ryo,” He wasn't going to let some pansy-ass prissy-boy stop him.

 

Ryo moved with surprising speed. He spun Drake around and twisted his arm up behind his back. Pain lanced up his arm and Drake growled in frustration. He'd forgotten that behind that soft exterior there was one bad-ass cop.

 

Dee planted both hands on his chest. “Calm the fuck down!”

 

“Drake,” Ryo said, his voice soft, “If you try to leave this house and do something stupid, I'll haul your ass down to the station in cuffs myself understand?”

 

“You got to keep it together for JJ, man.” Dee said.

 

“JJ?” The red haze in his brain seemed to lift with the mention of JJ. Drake realized what he was about to do.

 

“Start thinking more like a cop and less like a man in love, all right?”

 

Drake could feel the heat turn his cheeks crimson. Damn it all he was blushing like a fucking teenager! Had he been that obvious?

 

“Don't worry man, no one knows but me and Ryo and we both think it's cool.” Dee grinned.

 

Drake sighed in relief. “I didn't think we were that obvious.”

 

“JJ wasn't. You were,” Ryo said.

 

His blush deepened, “Son of a bitch.”

 

“Sit down Drake,” Ryo motioned to the chair. “Tell us why you think it was Frank?”

 

In as calm a voice as he could muster, Drake told them how he'd come to that conclusion. Dee poured him another drink which he downed without even tasting it. Drake found he had to choose each word carefully. His anger was like a rabid dog waiting to come leaping out of its cage at the slightest provocation.

When he ran out of steam he looked at his fellow officers. “I guess I should see where he is.” Drake's cell was on the hall table. He retrieved it and dialed Frank's number.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Hey Bon-bon,” Drake said when his sister-in-law Bonnie answered. “Is Frank there?”

 

“Oh --,” Bonnie Parker said quietly, “I guess that answers my question. I was about to call you and ask if you knew where Frank was.”

 

Damn. Drake swallowed thickly, “How long has he been gone?”

 

“Four -- maybe five hours,” Bonnie said. “He'd been drinking and I didn't want the kids to see him that way, so I told him to go outside.”

 

Drake's grip tightened around the phone as Bonnie continued.

 

“I went to give the kids their bath and when I went out to get him he'd taken the car and gone.”

 

An image of JJ's battered face flashed in Drake's mind. He could still hear his lover's pleas for Drake not to tell anyone.

 

“Drake? Drake are you still there?”

 

“Y-yes.”

 

“Would you look for him? He's not answering his cell and I don't want him driving drunk.”

 

Drake moistened suddenly dry lips before speaking, “Yeah I'll go look for him.”

 

“Drake is everything all right?”

 

No it wasn't, it was never going to be all right again. “Yeah, I'm fine. I'll call you in a little bit.”

 

He clicked off then gave a brief detail of the call to Ryo and Dee, “I know a few places where he might be but--,”

 

Ryo smiled with sympathy. “I'll take care of JJ.”

 

“Thanks, Ryo,” Drake realized he was glad he'd called them. They'd stopped him from making the biggest mistake of his life.

 

Drake and Dee rode the elevator in silence. It wasn't until they were out on the street where the humidity made their clothes adhere wetly that Dee spoke, “So how you wanna handle this?” He lit a cigarette and the brief flair of the lighter illuminated features that seemed to Drake, darker then they should have been.

 

And Drake knew exactly what Dee was asking him.

 

Dee lit a second cigarette with the tip of his own and handed it to Drake who took several drags before answering. He really fucking needed this. “I don't know man. I'll guess I will when I see him.”

 

“Whatever. You know I got your back.”

 

“Yeah.” It was strange. Drake wasn't angry just then. In fact he didn't feel anything. It was the second time that night he was running on auto. The next thing he knew he was in the passenger side of Dee's car. He didn't even remember opening the door and getting in. His voice was a monotone as he gave directions. He was aware of all of it but he simply couldn't dredge up the emotion to care. Drake mildly wondered if this was his own brand of calm before the storm.

 

There were a few bars and pool halls that he and his brothers frequented. It became a routine. They'd walk in, flash their badges, Drake would show a picture of Frank and then they'd leave.

 

Dee pulled over at one point and ran into a nearby convenience store and came out with a carton of cigarettes. He divided the packs up.

 

“JJ hates it that I smoke,” Drake said as he blew out a cloud of menthol.

 

“Yeah, Ryo hates it to.”

 

“Dee--,” Drake couldn't believe he was about to ask this question, “When did you first—?”

 

Dee was silent for a moment, then blew out four smoke rings. “When I was seventeen. Yeah I tried to hide it at first but then I thought what the hell?”

 

“You know I've been with women,” Drake was still trying to make sense of it all, “Lots of women

but JJ--,”

 

He turned to Dee, “I know he was an annoying little prick when he was in the Academy with you but why didn't you get with him?”

 

“Because,” Dee smirked, “We weren't meant for each other.”

 

Drake drew in a breath at Dee's look. He couldn't think of a damn thing to say to that. Dee started the car without another word.

 

They found Frank and the very last place they looked of course. It was one of those establishments that are so far away from the norm that only a select few know about it. It bordered on “dive” but was kept nice enough to keep the Liquor Board and the Health Department from darkening their door. Drake recognized some cops from other precincts there. He hoped they had the sense enough not to get in the way.

 

“Yeah,” the bartender nodded at the photo, “He's in back. He hasn't been causing trouble or anything.”

 

“Thanks pal,” Dee said.

 

It wasn't until Drake saw his brother sitting in a darkened corner, nursing his fourth beer that Drake experienced a spark of emotion. Asshole, you shouldn't still be drinking!

 

“Drake--,” Dee grasped his shoulder.

 

“Hey Laytner!” A man approached, a friend of Dee's obviously. “How they hanging?”

 

“Better than yours, Chris.”

 

“Fuck you, who's your friend?”

 

“Never mind, he's got business here. How about a game of pool?” Dee draped a companionable arm around Chris' shoulders and drew him away for which Drake was grateful.

 

Of course the commotion had drawn Frank's attention. He looked up and saw Drake and a brief flash of shock crossed his features. Almost immediately, his eyes dropped but not before Drake saw the shame mirrored in them.

 

You should be ashamed you rotten prick. Drake felt the anger build and fought to keep it in check as he thread his way through the line of pool tables.

 

Frank didn't raise his head when Drake stepped beside him.

 

“How is he?”

 

“I don't know,” Drake was surprised he could answer the question. He flexed his fingers several times. It gave them something to do besides wrap around Frank's neck. “He wouldn't go to the hospital.”

 

Frank finally looked at him with a bleary-eyed stare. “Why?”

 

“Why do you think, dickhead!” Drake growled.

 

“Son of a bitch,” Frank muttered. “The little fag boy really does love you.”

 

Drake lunged. It was an almost involuntary reflex and he was only barely aware that he was doing it. All he heard were the ugly words Frank had used. Drake had interrogated many a suspect in his life and there was always the few who said the same thing - that while they were committing the crime they'd had no control over themselves. Like they were strangers within their own bodies. A different person standing outside looking at a scene unfolding before them like a bad movie. Drake finally understood what they meant.

 

His left hand fisted around the collar of Frank's shirt and twisted, cutting off his air. Drake dragged him from the booth and slammed him to the floor. Never releasing his grip Drake raised his other hand and smashed his fist into his brother's face. There was an almost eerily satisfying crunch of bone.

 

Drake was aware of only two things. Dee stepped near but still stayed out of their space. His badge glinted in the light. And the people staring and suddenly not - perhaps, they thought, the man was a vicious criminal and deserved what he got. Some watched while others turned away in disinterest.

 

And each time Drake's fist came down, his teeth ground, saliva dripping on his chin, he thought of JJ. His JJ, taking a beating for him. The bruises, the blood, he wanted Frank to look much worse -

 

And then another image filled Drake's mind -

 

“Uncle Drake! Uncle JJ!”

 

“Hey precious!” JJ knelt before Drake's four year old niece.

 

“What did you bring me?”

 

JJ grinned down at her. “Have you been a good little girl?”

 

“Uh huh! Haven't I mommy?”

 

Bonnie smiled with all her love and affection, “Yes you have been sweetie.”

 

“What about me?” His nephew came into the room, feigning disinterest but his face was hopeful.

 

“We have something for both of you,” Drake lifted his niece into his arms. “For our favorite niece and nephew.”

 

His hand suddenly numb, Drake released his hold on Frank's shirt. His brother moaned as he gingerly held his nose with one hand. The other seemed to grope blindly for something. Drake wasn't certain what.

 

“Drake?” It was Dee. “Enough already. Let's take him in.

 

Drake finally became aware of the staring people. Of the bartender rushing into the room, screaming out obscenities. Of the sudden almost oppressive silence.

 

He had to get out of there.

 

He was moving past the tables and the nameless faces and staring eyes. Down a hall, past smoke filled lavatories and out the fire door which he knew wasn't alarmed. The back alley was piled with bags of garbage, some torn by greedy claws, their contents strewn. The stench was overpowering. Drake turned violently and slammed his fist against the wall. He drew in three shuddering breaths. Fuck, he wasn't going to cry. He hadn't fucking cried since high school. Dry heaving sobs filled his chest. Stupid, stupid fucking prick! Drake didn't know if he was talking about Frank or himself.

 

Drake sat amongst the filth and wiped his tears away with the back of his hand. “Fuck Parker you are so pathetic.”

 

After awhile Dee appeared, leading a handcuffed Frank. Someone had bandaged Frank's nose. His brother seemed subdued and didn't look at Drake as Dee walked him past.

 

When Dee returned he was smoking a cigarette. He drew it from between his lips and handed it to Drake. “Come on, man. I'll take you home to JJ.”

 

Drake could only nod. Yes, he wanted to go home to JJ.

 

They were silent on the ride back. His hand throbbed and Drake dimly wondered if it were broken. If Frank was in any pain he gave no indication.

 

“Stay here,” Dee told him.

 

Drake didn't have the strength to protest. In the uncomfortable silence that followed Dee's departure, Drake found he could do no more than rest his suddenly aching temple against the cool window glass.

 

When Dee returned, Ryo with him, Dee said, “Go on up. Ryo and I will take care of things.”

 

Drake hesitated, contemplating speaking to Frank, decided it wouldn't be safe for either of them and he climbed from the car.

 

“JJ is sleeping well,” Ryo said. “Go get some sleep yourself, Drake.”

 

Drake nodded. He couldn't do anything else.

 

Once inside his apartment he undressed right in the living room. There was blood on his shirt. He hadn't noticed it before. He looked in briefly on JJ. Ryo had been right, he seemed to be sleeping well. Drake flicked on the bathroom light and caught his first glimpse of himself in the mirror. Blood splattered face, eyes red and puffy, hair in disarray. “Damn you look like shit warmed over, Parker.”

 

He turned on the shower and climbed in. The last of his strength ebbing away, Drake slid down to the floor of the shower. Then he really did cry.