Kind Regards, Detective

by Dragonkitty

Summary:

It's been years since the Dover and Birch case and Detective Loki has found his rhythm again. But his world is turned upside down when he's dragged in to a new kind of case. Not one he's ever seen before. With a sudden string of mysterious disappearances all linked to several detectives named at the crime scenes, Detective Loki one of them, the FBI is called in. And while David doesn't want anything to do with the feds, he begins to realize what you need isn't always what you want. Not when she's involved.

Chapter 1: The Black Rose

Detective Loki wasn’t happy.

An understatement, to be sure.

Detective Loki was filled with fury and a sort of passionate anger you could taste, if only he opened his mouth long enough to let it escape his lips.

But he didn’t.

Looking at him, standing in front of the whiteboard in the large conference room in the precinct, anyone would think him an average detective doing his work. The sleeves on his white button-down were clasped at his wrists, his shirt buttoned right up to the neck as it always was and without a tie. Unusual, but not strange in any way. Black pants hung off his hips, a black belt holding them up, his badge and gun strapped to him. His dark hair, as always, was slicked back and his icy eyes were focused.

He looked like an average detective. A gorgeous one, to be sure. He’d had his share of married women coming in for ‘noise complaints’ just to try and catch a glimpse of the man. And his heart, of course, that gentle space he pretended wasn’t so soft, had given him away. He was average as hell, save for the collection of tattoos he had gained in his troubled youth, at least.

Everyone in the damn precinct knew he wasn’t. Average, that is.

“Detective Loki? Agent (Y/L/N) is here. Should I send her in?” The young officer had pulled the short straw, a rookie kid who had started a few months ago. David didn’t know him well, but he did know his name. He knew everyone’s name.

Blinking hard a few times he placed his hands on his hips, eyes staying focused on the whiteboard, “Don’t really have a choice do I, Anders?” It was rhetorical. He knew he didn’t have a choice and he was vaguely aware Officer Anders would be too nervous to answer.

A moment of silence lapsed before Detective Loki rubbed his face, “Send her in.”

The Captain had warned Loki about this days ago. The disappearances in Conyers, they had realized, were not just isolated to Conyers. They spanned into Noxen, Benton, White Haven, and even out to Catawissa.

After ten disappearances were linked together from the different towns and cities, the Feds were finally called in.

“With all due respect, Captain, I can work this case on my own.” David’s voice had been collected at first as he stood in the Captain’s office, hands on his hips, eyes narrowed.

The Captain looked frustrated. He was, really. He’d been on the phone with five different precincts to coordinate information and speaking with the Feds on how to proceed. Everyone was pissed. No one ever wanted the Feds involved, “I get it, Detective, but orders are orders, you know that. And the Bureau wants us to let one of theirs in. I don’t get a say, and frankly neither do you.”

His voice raised now, “What about the Dover and Birch case? I got those sons of bitches on my own, the Feds didn’t even know about it until I caught them!” He was leaning forward.

O’Malley had gone from frustrated to pissed, “Just shut up for once and cooperate, OK? You work alone, I get it, but with the Black Rose case the Feds are involved and you’re gonna have to play nice. Or at least tolerable, understood?”

Looking at the pallid yellow wall to the left of him, David kept his eyes narrowed, his mouth in a straight line. Unspeaking, he turned and walked out of the office.

Fucking Feds.

Fucking Feds indeed. Footsteps, soft and light, were muffled still by the old, grey carpet with strange geometric patterns on it in the building as she walked towards the conference room. The case was already drilled into her head. Names. Dates. Locations. Buildings. Abduction theories. So far, Conyers had three of the ten abductions which was why they had sent (Y/N).

Other precincts had also gotten federal agents, but Conyers was special. Detective Loki was special. That was part of the problem.

When she stepped in Loki didn’t even flinch, save for the sharp blinks as he stared at the board. There were faces, three in fact, two men and one woman, smiling brightly. Next to each was the location of abduction. How did they know?

“Kind regards to Detective Loki,” (Y/N) broke the silence as she walked to the circular table nearby, placing her stack of folders and black messenger bag down. She was, of course, reading off of the note left with the black rose at each location the abductions had taken place.

David turned, a reminder flashing in his head to play nice, reaching out to take the woman’s hand, “Detective Loki. You’re Agent Y/L/N, correct?”

She was surprisingly stunning, he realized as he took her soft hand, stained lightly with blots of ink. Y/N looked softer than he expected, not like someone who’d ‘seen some shit’ in their day. He imagined on the street he’d have done a double take, subtly, if she walked by. He wanted so bad for her to be ghastly. Appalling. For her breath to smell and for her to sound whiny. He wanted a reason to be irked by her but so far all he found was that she was… lovely.

She smiled gently, “I am. Pleasure to meet you, Detective,” she took his hand firmly, shaking it, the tattoos not going unnoticed. Not much had, really. She knew about David. She’d asked for his file and his background. His cases solved. Any reports. And per her own curiosity, she had asked for a personal history on file. It had surprised her, just slightly, that he’d made his way from a delinquent boys’ home with dabbling in petty crimes in his youth to a top ranking detective. It wasn’t a common theme. But he was a good man, despite everything she read. He had taken the Dover and Birch case hard, forced to take a leave after it all settled. No follow-up evaluation was done in small towns like this.

When Loki drew his hand back he kept his lips pursed into a thin line, turning back to the board, “So the feds wanted a shrink involved? Did they send a shrink to every location or just Conyers?” There was a hint of bitterness in his voice that didn’t go unnoticed by the woman standing in a simple grey sweater hanging loosely off her shoulders and a pair of blue jeans and black Converse shoes. Not exactly ‘shrink’ material, really. Not that one would notice. Except David. He liked it, though. He liked that she seemed to fit and that she wasn’t trying too hard. Or being blase about the whole thing. He liked that she wanted to talk about the case and not prod about how he was doing or how cold it was. She was his type.

Fuck.

She inhaled sharply. Yale didn’t prepare you for how to deal with cops in high-profile cases. The bureau had warned her that she’d be unwelcomed and especially given she was a profiler; she was the one with the psych background. Sure, she’d done her criminology bit, but she’d never used her weapon. Hell, she didn’t even keep it holstered on her person. But Detective Loki knew that. She was that type.

“Well, Detective, Conyers was where the first two abductions took place, though the third a couple weeks after. And as you well know, your name was personally left at all scenes. Of course, in the other cities Detectives Miller, Warren, Riley, and O’Toole were all named in their notes as well. I suspect that if we don’t get moving soon, more notes and more roses will come up. I’m here because this is where it started and profilers start at the beginning.” Her voice had stayed steady and cool as she watched him, her form and posture unmoving, his doing the same.

The world paused for just a moment as she eyed David. Detective Loki. Man hardened by the system who had saved the lives of many. Who had rescued a father trapped and left for dead. She saw the religious-themed tattoos, the juvie ones on his knuckles. She saw his clean cut hair, shaven face, shirt buttoned higher than most but with no tie to speak of. She liked that. He stood out without actually standing out. And god… he was hot. Ah, shit. No. Stay professional.

It was quiet as (Y/N) stepped up to the board, able to see that while half focused on Conyers, the other had the abduction sites and pictures as well as the detectives named. There appeared to be no pattern. Nothing as of yet. Just names. Detectives.

“May I be candid with you, Detective?” She stood next to him, arms crossed in front of her chest as she stared at the white board.

Almost confused, David glanced over, not making a comment about being informal, “Sure.”

She sighed heavily, closing her eyes a moment and composing herself before looking back up at the board, “I don’t think any of them are alive.”

A look of anger fell over Detective Loki’s features, though perhaps not directed at Y/N as he turned to her completely, “How the fuck would you know that?”

On some level, he knew it.

Hostile. Well, of course.

“I don’t think they lived long after being abducted, Detective. I don’t think any of them did. Why kidnap ten adults and just… keep them?” She looked over at him, aware she’d hit a nerve.

Loki was perturbed as he narrowed his eyes, “We didn’t find any evidence of a struggle at any of the scenes. No blood, nothing broken, all perfect. Why take people peacefully then kill them?” He was drawing on his many years of detective work, and (Y/N) knew that. He was bright and he was skilled. It was why he had been allowed to work as the lead. The other detectives named hadn’t been so lucky. They were all too involved. At least, they weren’t as good at hiding it as David was.

But she shrugged, “Ted Bundy got women to his car before they even knew what happened on a regular basis. So that’s why I’m here, I guess. Make it make sense.” Concern fell on her features, Loki watching as she reached up and took a picture of Frank Cohen. He was about forty, blonde hair styled well on his head. Went to temple regularly with his wife and kid. He was a banker at a local credit union and had no real ‘enemies’ to speak of. A neighbor who hated that he didn’t keep up his lawn. Wife’s friend who’d tried to flirt with him. He was average.

Placing the picture back up, she reached across Detective Loki who silently stepped back, watching as she took the second picture. Liana Lopez. Dark hair hanging by her shoulders, early thirties, Hispanic, Catholic, didn’t attend services save for bigger occasions. Left behind a husband who was cooperative, a man who had relied on his wife for work as he’d recently been injured working construction.

That one went back up and she looked at the third without taking it down. Another caucasian man, this one only twenty-five, recently married to his husband. That one had first been the first and thought to be a hate crime, potentially, but with the rose and the note, and then the others, that had been ruled out. None of it made sense.

There was no discernable pattern, and it really pissed off both of them.

“This guy isn’t Ted Bundy. He’s worse than a psychopath,” Loki almost snarled out the words. In truth, he was aware that the individuals taken likely weren’t alive. What had frustrated all the precincts was where, then, they had gone. Why go through the effort of abducting people quietly, but leave a message behind to tell the world what happened?

Kind regards.

Chewing on her bottom lip, Y/N squinted before looking at the scenes, “The words are very… well, they’re formal, but they aren’t sweet. They’re taunting, but you knew that already.” She stood, walking to the corkboard again and squinting as she eyed the abduction sites.

Well, presumed abduction sites. Why leave these anywhere else? No other places in the surrounding areas had signs of a struggle, the dogs and forensics had dug through cameras and they all seemed like these were the spots.

She turned to David, “Why does someone give a person a rose?” She raised an eyebrow.

Loki looked almost bored, though it was annoyance. He’d already asked himself this twelve times, “Sign of affection. So why a black one?”

She shook her head, “Yeah, but that’s the thing. The letter was left for you. The letters for the other detectives as well. But you…” she appeared to get distracted by her own thoughts, not unusual for the quirky woman, squinting again as she walked to the round, grey table and took the top file.

David was almost intrigued now, beginning to find himself drawn in, as he watched her, knowing there was some kind of process. He was still impatient, however, and still quite salty about the FBI coming in, “What about me?”

Pulling a few pieces of paper out, she grabbed a color copy of something out and walked over to David, “The last abduction was in Conyers, which you know. All the other detectives have been pulled off the cases for being too involved. But not you,” she glanced over at him, watching his face change as he glanced at her, then back at what was a copy of the last note, “No, you’ve stayed on. And this last note- here!” She pinned it to the board, pointing at the lettering, “The lines are darker. Thicker. The pen changed. Not the font or the style, but this note has more care put into it. Up until now, the notes all looked fairly carbon-copied, you know? But this one is-”

Quiet.

Staring at the lettering silence fell once she stopped herself from finishing.

Years ago she had felt that same pang in her gut she was feeling now. That overwhelming sensation of dread and panic. She felt it when she had watched the clip of a video someone had posted near a crowd where a murder had taken place. She had felt that gut wrenching sensation as his face appeared. It was hard to spot a murderer because at the core, she knew, everyone had that potential. But some had that piece.

Detective Loki was not endeared by any of this, though. He didn’t buy the idea that suddenly he might have mattered to this killer more than anyone else. Thicker font. Who cared? People lose pens. And he was going to say that before Anders entered once more, a look on his face.

That look.

He was falling over his words. Tripping and stumbling over them. He was grasping for them.

But it was Y/N who frowned and spoke quietly, “Just tell us where they found them.”

Chapter 2: Hamburger

The Dover and Birch case had been rough on David, years ago. For a number of reasons, though not the least of which was the fact that he had almost watched a child die. Conyers didn’t really have a lot of deaths, but he’d worked elsewhere. He’d seen bodies. And Y/N had seen bodies, too. But she was never on the front lines.

It was still cold in Pennsylvania and the snow hadn’t disappeared yet, covering the dead earth below. Both were wearing jackets, Y/N’s not nearly as warm as she had hoped. It didn’t matter. Not with what was inside.

The old, small white church with peeling paint and crooked doors had been taped off, a forensic team already taking pictures and dusting for prints. Y/N had an idea that they’d come up empty.

“How long has the church been shut down for?” She looked over at the taller man who was blinking more than a few times, aware of the tic he’d carried with him since the belt that got used in the boys’ home decades ago. Some things you carried with you, he’d learned. Some scars were worn under clothing and others you couldn’t shy from. They betrayed you.

David took a deep breath, inhaling the cold air that reminded him briefly of the burn of smoking a cigarette. He wanted one right now. The burn would feel nice compared to this. “A year or so. Closed down once the larger parishes popped up. Conyers isn’t exactly a place that attracts a lot of heavily religious types, and small towns can’t afford to keep up places like this.”

Religion had always been touchy for Detective Loki. He grew up with it forced down his throat but had found God of his own accord. It was painful what lay inside the building, however, no matter what you believed.

Both stepped inside the church that felt more like an icebox than anything. A coffin, perhaps. Death was palpable. It was in the air.

Looking around, Y/N thought for a moment she was having another one of her nightmares. She could feel this one, though. In her bones. On her skin. And what she saw was something she knew she’d never ever get over. As much as he would hate to admit it, or perhaps he’d do so readily, David knew he’d never get the image from his head. Knowing that this scarred you meant you were still human.

There were little numbers taped to each of the bodies the forensic team had already covered, twelve in total, sitting straight in each pew, alone, standing up straight. It was slow motion as Y/N walked down the aisle, black rose petals lining the floor, her feet hitting a few, the soft petals crumpling beneath her. Each body was staring straight ahead, perhaps at the front, though nothing was there. Nothing except for a note that David knew deep inside was for him.

Y/N was quiet as she held back her trembles, trying to look stern and focused rather than terrified. Her cases had been fairly straightforward so far. Perhaps a few victims, or following crime patterns. She didn’t commonly work with serial killers, and found herself working instead with a variety of criminal patterns. But when she had been tasked with serials, she was often the one who caught the little things. She had a complete success rate. What an odd thing to be proud of, she’d once thought, eating dinner alone.

Looking around, she tried to focus on facts. They were dressed well, formal, even. They had their hands folded in their laps, staring ahead. There were ligature marks on the wrists, but she had known that.

Taking a breath, it was suddenly caught in her throat, her eyes fluttering for a moment as she took it all in. All twelve bodies. More than they had accounted for. Ones they must have missed. Somewhere. Two missing persons they’d find, they were sure. Maybe from an overworked police station that hadn’t thought to log the missing persons. All lives taken. All formally placed with care and consideration, with aisles decorated in those taunting black rose petals. She closed her eyes tightly, those Y/E/C eyes unable to take anymore.

A soft hand was suddenly on the small of her back, pressure to the touch as she heard his voice, deep though soft, “Do you need to go back outside?” David’s voice was kind, now. Perhaps he felt what she did. That same terror, sadness, overwhelming sense of loss and helplessness that left a person rattled to their core. He wanted outside as damned badly.

But instead she swallowed hard, inhaling sharply and straightening her back, “None of them have their wedding bands on, Detective. He set this up like a goddamn wedding, and none of them are wearing their wedding rings,” she looked over at him, finding a way to process the information so she could actually be helpful for once, and not losing her goddamn mind about this entirely terrifying scene.

Detective Loki had been focused as well, trying to keep himself grounded. He had felt off about the whole thing and the air felt… wrong. It was hard to explain. But when he looked over and saw that same confident woman suddenly rattled, he knew it wasn’t just him. If this… shrink, or whatever, was trying to stomach this, he felt at least a little better that he could barely do the same. He didn’t like the idea that she was struggling, however. He didn’t like it because it meant that this was bigger than any of them thought, because she was supposed to be the smart, focused one here but also… also because he hated the idea of seeing her like this.

Her words, after he’d found himself touching her without even thinking about it, startled him a bit. It was true. Every single one, all married, were missing their bands, “Why take their wedding rings? Why prop them in a church and pose it like a wedding?” He was looking over at Y/N, aware that maybe her being here wasn’t such a bad idea. This wasn’t just some abductor or psycho. This was a true sociopath.

Y/N could only shrug, shaking her head as she found herself more grounded the more she focused on the case clinically, “It’s not religiously themed, despite the church. The church is a prop, really. They’re posed. This is a wedding without a bride and groom, though. It doesn’t make sense,” her face turned quizzical. She was puzzled.

A man, looking to be mid-thirties, approached the two, “You need to see this. It gets worse.”

Y/N wasn’t sure that was possible, but as the two followed the officer into the basement of the church, it was clear why.

Looking around felt like being in the Twilight Zone for a moment. There were cots lined up, pictures above each that, from what Y/N knew of the case, were the significant others of the individuals. Each cot was set up to look fairly… well, comfortable, strangely. They were organized closely, but up against the center wall was a large, flat screen television. The TV itself must have cost upwards of five or six hundred dollars, which felt like a strange thing to leave behind. Below was a blu-ray player, stacked with movies. But they weren’t just any movies.

David had made his way towards the cots, curious at the state they were in, which was immaculate. Spare clothes were folded by each, though zip ties on the floor backed up his theory that they’d been bound. Of course they had to be. But Y/N had crouched by the movies, picking them up individually, white latex gloves on her hands as she examined them. Love Actually, Titanic, The Notebook, Pretty Woman, When Harry Met Sally. Her face contorted into confusion, whispering to herself, “They were watching movies… love movies.”

Straightening her posture as she stood, examining the room that echoed something sinister she didn’t quite like but understood, she shook her head, “I was wrong. They were alive. I mean, those bodies out there were barely decayed and that’s nothing to do with the temperature. There’s clothing, movies… Jesus, they’ve been kept alive down here?”

The detective’s startling blue eyes turned to the woman who looked like she was staring at a train barreling down at her. He knew that she was aware of something else. Something more.

From there both individuals spent no more than an hour examining the place. There wasn’t much to see. Nothing of real forensic use. The prints, Y/N suspected, would all belong to those who’d been held captive. Same with fibers and hair. Anything found would be contaminated. Maybe that was the point.

Both drove back to the precinct, separate cars, quiet as the place became silent when they entered. Silent still as they walked into the conference room and closed the door. Silent as the world paused, the town aware that they were once again the target of something terrifying. So much more than before.

Hours had passed with the two staring at pictures and information printed and handed to them. Hours spent sitting silently, so engrossed in their work they didn’t notice the precinct had begun to empty out, the area that housed detectives and other administration becoming dark as the other end of the station, where the night shift cops were, remained alive. Away from them.

Both were startled, suddenly, by the young woman’s phone going off, a soft twinkle alarm waking her from her senses, “Ah, fuck! Shit…” she muttered to herself, grabbing the alarmingly large iPhone from inside her black messenger bag, glancing at it. A reminder, one she had set, for times like this. It wasn’t uncommon for her to become so engrossed she lost track of the time.

David glanced over, also woken from his work coma, “Everything all right?” He looked at her, a looking like he’d been woken from a trance.

Glancing at her phone, able to see the screen, he held back a grin, though the ghost of one danced on his lips, “Hamburger?” He could see the alarm name and the words in bright white, making him curious.

Looking at him, confused, she realized that of course he wasn’t a mind reader. Instead she chuckled, “Oh, yeah. I have a tendency to get focused, and if I focus, I don’t eat. And by the time I’m hungry, I’m sick… so I set the alarm for 8:30pm, not too late, but enough to jar me to eat something. And I figured ‘hamburger’ was pretty obvious. Pizza always seemed so cliche, you know?”

Despite his better judgment David smiled, “Hamburger. That what you gonna go get?” He eyed her, curious now about what she’d do. He knew himself well enough to know he’d be here another few hours before driving home to sneak some sleep in, get up early, and down a few cups of whatever his neighbor Elisa had left for him. A nice woman, older, had taken a liking to David. She took care of him, in a way. One of those ways was buying the man coffee to brew so he wasn’t stuck with that instant crap he’d drink otherwise.

Shrugging, she began to stand, wincing as she realized how stiff she’d been, tucking some files and pictures away into the bag with her laptop she hadn’t even opened yet, “Probably. I saw a Burger King a few miles from the hotel. I mean… it’s no five-star but it’ll do for now,” she forced a smile on her face, trying to focus on something other than the case. On Detective Loki. On his face. On his small little tattoos decorated like freckles on his skin. The way pieces of his hair had fallen to frame his face, his eyes, icy blue, looking fierce and strong as though nothing could waver him.

For a moment it was quiet, David wondering if maybe he should offer to take her to the Chinese place he liked, but he reconsidered. She was still a Fed, and this was still a case. A disturbing case. He guessed they both kind of wanted to think of something else. Be somewhere else. But David couldn’t do that, and Y/N had to. She knew that sitting in a small precinct would only heighten her anxiety. She had to be somewhere contained with actual food in her system.

A moment longer than both were comfortable with passed before David took a breath, “Nothing five-star in this town, Agent Y/L/N, or the next few towns for that matter. Enjoy dinner. And uh… be safe.”

Softly smiling she nodded her tired head, “Of course, Detective.”

He was going to correct her, at that moment. He had considered letting her know that ‘David’ was fine, or even that most called him ‘Loki’ around here. And she had considered the same. Letting him know that Y/N was fine, and ‘Agent’ was what she told people when she wanted to get something done and people weren’t listening. But that moment passed in an instant, leaving Y/N to walk out the door, bag around her shoulder.

It felt eerie, walking to her car and loading her things in, the rental she was provided with so foreign, but she was used to foreign. And as she plugged her phone in, the one filled with pictures she’d taken on her own, with notes and screenshots, she tried to get the face of the detective out of her brain. And it wasn’t that she didn’t like the idea of Detective Loki. She did. She really did. But she didn’t like that he was existing there alongside the case.

A long time ago she had learned to make a mental box. A locker. And in each locker she would put information, separate them from each other. It helped keep things clear. She could put Detective Loki’s face, his attempt at hiding a smile, his small tics and blue eyes, his focus and hardened exterior… she could put it away. And for now, in the locker she needed, the one that was black and filled with something she didn’t want to even name, would be the case. And that… that would be her focus.

If not? She knew she was in trouble.

Chapter 3: Falling (drabble)

Notes:

Just a quick blurb between chapters. I kinda liked it. Poetic in a way.

He thinks of her before he falls asleep that night. He thinks of those eyes that brightened when she looked over at him before leaving. He thinks of the way she walked across a precinct of cops and detectives without even making a sound. How she wandered in like some sort of ethereal being he had yet to understand or expect. He thinks of the way she softened into his touch, how she reacted to a show of kindness when he hadn’t even thought it was possible from a man like him. He thinks of the way she adjusts her bag over her shoulder as though it carried the weight of all her thoughts and emotions. He thinks that she thinks too much and doesn’t need to be a shrink to know that.

As he closes his eyes and finally lets sleep take him in, Detective Loki thinks about how he doesn’t want to feel this way. About anyone. He thinks about how dangerous it might be to allow himself to feel deeply for someone in a way that isn’t about a case. He thinks that he hasn’t loved anyone since Ellen Crow when he was nineteen and drinking more than a man twice his age. Ellen, who had sad eyes and a record longer than his. Ellen, who he found out later had moved to California. He was too scared to ever check on her again. He knew it wouldn’t be pretty.

David thinks of how he would have kissed her on the first date if this were any other circumstance. It leads him to imagine how she’d taste and he knows she’d taste like a restless soul and a softened heart. She’d taste like the girls he watched coming out of the local high school when he was a teenager with their bags clinging to their form and curious smiles on their faces. The girls who would finish their homework and maybe stay out ten minutes past curfew. She’d taste like the world he had thought about.

And as he sleeps without dreams, finally, he thinks about how he’ll see her in the morning and know that somehow, in the matter of less than a day, this woman has woven herself into his life in a way none else could. It terrifies him.

Chapter 4: There's an app for that

Sleep wasn’t something that had ever come easy to Y/N. No, she had spent her time in undergrad preparing for graduate school, graduate school preparing for her application to the FBI. Time training at the FBI training to become a profiling agent. Once, when awake at 2 in the morning, sitting on the couch, her ex-boyfriend had asked her to come to bed. She had spoken without even looking up, “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

She wasn’t kidding.

They broke up shortly after.

It was arguably harder to sleep now because her brain was always processing information. It was hard to make sense of something so seemingly senseless. And now she had a pile of information that didn’t even add up. More frustrating was having to wait for the lab reports to come back and for forensics to identify everything and tag it. She supposed evidence would come to light in the morning.

Her room in the Holiday Inn was hardly spectacular, to say the least, but it was fine. It had a queen sized bed, a large desk for her to sprawl her things out on, and a place to put her suitcase with the exact amount of clothing she’d need, plus an extra set just in case. Once upon a time she had been the person to travel with seven bags and joke “you never know!” but those days had passed. She had learned that carrying essentials, and sometimes even less, was the way you lived. It made her yearn for that oversized blue hoodie she had stolen from some ex-boyfriend (maybe that asshole who told her to come to bed) that was sentimental only because she wanted it to be. And that thing was durable as hell.

She had slept like a rock that night, for the first time in ages, which was unsettling when she finally did wake up. It didn’t mean her brain hadn’t processed the information, though. Her process meant that when she did wake up, after her shower and getting dressed in clothes too casual for an FBI agent, that she’d come up with new thoughts. New concerns. New ideas.

By the time Y/N rolled into the precinct, it was still only 7:30am. She had a cup of coffee in her hands that she’d scored from the sad and emotionally draining continental breakfast offered by the hospitable Holiday Inn. But food was food and all she’d really wanted was that bagel and a hard boiled egg. Now she had consumed at least two cups with the third in a travel tumbler she brought with her. Her office one, the black one that said nothing but had a small crack at the top was nestled safely in her cabinet at home. That small apartment with a weird amount of locks on it and a keypad she had. Just in case.

Placing her bag on the small table, she glanced to the side and saw Detective Loki at his desk, hunched over and looking at files. He had a powder blue shirt on this time, and looked cleaned up, meaning he’d at least been home, but she suspected he’d had significantly less sleep than her. Which made sense.

The note left at the front of the church had indeed been for him.

My deepest regards and thoughts for you on this anniversary.

It had seemed to rattle the man initially, his eyes blinking almost non-stop. Twenty seconds and he composed himself. Twenty seconds and Y/N knew not to ask and she knew not to pry. His file had so much in it, but now was not the time. If it had been relevant to the case beyond wanting an emotional connection to David, he would have said so.

Laying out some files and opening her laptop, she stood as it booted up, walking over to Detective Loki and knocking softly on the table, “Morning, Detective,” she smiled cautiously, unsure of how to greet the man. He was still wary and they were still both digesting all of yesterday.

He looked up, hardly shaken, looking tired but nothing dramatic. He sat up and nodded, glancing at his computer to get a sense of the time. Raising an eyebrow, he turned back, “You’re here early.”

She grinned, “One to talk. Did you sleep much?” Normally she might have said it was small talk, though in this instance she found she truly cared. Shared trauma did that. Or maybe it was something else.

A soft, quick laugh left his lips and he stood, mostly to stretch himself out, “I slept. Any is better than none, right? Maybe I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” he grinned at his own dark humor, gathering his things and walking towards the conference room, the young woman following behind, chalking it up to coincidence. Everyone said that.

He glanced at the papers on the table and her laptop loaded, “Any emails come through yet on the case?” Obviously the answer was no, because normal people rested at night and the lab worked on normal hours, but he liked to think that every once in a while, people stayed late and did their jobs the way he did.

Taking a breath she sat on the uncomfortable plastic chair, signing in to the database remotely, “Nothing as of this morning. The lab spent the evening processing the materials, though. One benefit of Feds, right? We have people who work around the clock,” she smirked at him, David almost surprised that perhaps she had read his mind, too. Though in reality she was used to this. Small towns or even cities often backlogged, suddenly given resources they weren’t used to.

A small ‘ding’ went off from inside the bag, Y/N quick to fish around inside for it, “Do you just… not carry your things on you?” Detective Loki didn’t mean to sound condesending, though his tone certainly spoke that way. More than anything he was concerned. Why she didn’t have her weapon holstered on her person or even her phone in her pocket said there was a level of disconnect. And there was. She liked to process in her head and her phone took her away from that.

Ignoring the snide remark, she glanced at the text that had popped up, “Check your email, ladybug. Fast tracked some of that forensic work for you.”

Ding.

“No offense but does that precinct always work so slow? We never got the cell phones in with the belongings and even you have a cell phone.”

Glancing over at David who had taken a seat not so far away, she furrowed her brow with concern, “Forensics bagged up all the personal affects of the individuals at the scene, right? Like, all of it?”

David frowned, “I sure as fuck hope so. Is something missing?”

She began desperately clicking through the laptop, accessing the items retrieved from the scene, David standing, concerned and terrified, still seeing that note in his brain, reminding him of what he had tried so hard to forget. Placing a hand on the back of her chair and leaning in, perhaps inches from her face, able to smell the coffee on his breath and his face wash, whatever he used to keep himself so clean shaven. She could hear him breathing. It was eerily calm despite his clearly rattled demeanor. And him being so close? Hard to focus.

Squinting she scrolled through each individual’s information, frowning as she compared, “Shit. Shit!”

 

David was looking at the same documents, and he was realizing the same thing that she was. He supposed it might not have been so obvious so immediately, but he also wasn’t a profiler. This wasn’t what he did the way she did it.

Grabbing her phone she typed desperately into it, sending the message off to her coworker, Adrian, the one she’d had a crush on and had flirted with terribly. The one who had told her he was interested, but maybe not right now. The one who sent her flirty texts still and she knew he just liked the attention, but sometimes you couldn’t help who you liked. Even if that person was a total asshole.

Ding!

Damn he was fast.

“Who the hell doesn’t have backups on the cloud? So far these people are coming up empty, ladybug.”

Detective Loki had seen that text. It had made him tighten, for whatever reason. Maybe it was the information given or maybe that little nickname at the end. He didn’t know squat about this woman and so far he was finding that it wasn’t making him dislike her. He wanted so badly to have slept on it and realized she really wasn’t his type. But here she was, focused and on task, already making headway with evidence. She wore an attire so different than his own and she didn’t look like a Federal Agent the way he always had seen them. She didn’t wear that stupid-ass jacket they all had, or that dumb fucking cap. She looked like she belonged in a coffee shop somewhere reading a book and staying quiet. But it bothered the hell out of him that she didn’t keep her weapon holstered or her badge on her.

“None of them had their cell phones. And we didn’t find them at the abduction sites. We assumed they were dumped for safety reasons, but from what Adrian is telling me, they didn’t even have backup information. We literally have no digital information on them,” she frowned, turning to look at David.

He paused for a moment, so close to her, able to smell the shampoo she had used, the lightly floral fragrance, the look of concern in her eyes. He could see everything.

Stepping back suddenly he rubbed his hands over his face, “All right. So let’s look at this. Phones get dumped for a ton of reasons, right? And maybe they just… all didn’t back up their phones.”

Y/N shook her head and frowned, as she typed back a response before tucking the phone away, “The GPS and locators on the phones were all deactivated, or else the lab would have coordinates for the phones. And why does someone not back up their phone?” She looked at him, already with the answer, though she needed him to say it. She needed him to understand what she was getting at.

“Everyone leaves some digital footprint. Can we find them online? Social media, maybe?” In that moment Y/N almost felt like giving him her signature ‘are you fucking with me?’ looks, though kept her poker face. He was a man living in a small town who had done small cases, for the most part. He didn’t know the ins and outs the way she did. He hadn’t been trained as she had.

So instead she looked at her computer, “I can do some searching myself, but for the real stuff… for what we’re really looking for… we need someone with experience.”

For a moment she thought briefly of her own team. Of course there was a group she worked with, but ultimately there was no ‘Penelope Garcia’ on her team, or a quirky tech nerd. There were expert analysts who could pull data and indeed find footprints. Honestly they were probably already doing that. But she had that feeling again… that gut wrenching pain.

Staring at the monitor for longer than felt comfortable, she sighed heavily, “I don’t like this, Detective. It’s wrong. I feel like we’re watching the lights flicker before the power goes out. I don’t even think this is the worst of it.”

Admittedly, she had been wrong in the beginning. But being wrong meant she was learning more about this person, and she didn’t like that. She never liked being in the head of a criminal, but of a sociopath… that was scary. Sleep wouldn’t be coming again any time soon, that much she knew.

As if overtaken, Y/N lept from her chair, almost knocking the damn plastic piece of garbage over as she stood and began practically tearing through the files. David looked at her, both confused and angry, though unsure why he was angry, “What are you doing?”

Her eyes were wide, though, and she was focused. In that moment it was all she could think about, all she could see, all she could-

“Here! It’s here!” She pulled out a statement by one of the victim’s spouses. Louise Frank, 43, nurse at the local hospital in Noxen. Putting the paper down she pointed, Loki now shoulder-to-shoulder with her, eyes locked as she pointed out the sentence, “Her husband stated he was having trouble getting in touch with her, which makes sense, but said he thought it was just something to do with her new phone. Detective, what if her husband still has the other phone? He said the screen was shattered but if we can get it, we can check the old phone.”

Adrenaline was pumping through her body, wanting in that moment to wrap her arms around his neck as she realized the opportunity they had. But instead she kept those Y/E/C eyes wide and excited, excited in a way she didn’t like to admit but in a way that David knew meant they had something to go off of.

“Let me get my keys, we’re driving to Noxen,” he looked stoic, though his breathing had increased, his own adrenaline pumping as he adjusted the collar of his shirt.

Looking at him with confusion she shook her head, “That’s two-hour drive, Detective. Shouldn’t we call them first?”

He was opening the door and headed to his desk as he spoke, “David. And I couldn’t give a fuck how long that drive is, we need that phone.”

Chapter 5: Safe and Sound

David.

They had gotten into his car in a bit of a hurry, though Y/N was quite proud of remembering to bring her phone and her badge, both tucked into her jacket. Well, her badge was. Her phone was in hand as she called Noxen Police and had them email her the name and address of the husband. She had gone so far as to call the husband as well, warning him they were coming, and politely, kindly, sweetly, asked if he knew where the phone was.

He did. He had it.

Hanging up, she tucked the phone away, “Mr. Frank said he’ll have it out for us.” David barely nodded, instead gripping the steering wheel tightly, knuckles almost white as he kept himself from going seventy in a fifty. This was a lead, he knew. It was a lead they’d be able to solidly point at and hold up in the air and shout, “here!”

And he was not about to jeopardize that by having some idiot mail it over or some rookie cop drive it and drop it again. Or lose it entirely. He didn’t trust anyone except for the two people in the car.

“I dated a guy once with knuckle tattoos,” she spoke calmly, looking out the window at the barren trees and quiet grey day.

Loki was shaken from his trance and looked over, his face washed with confusion, “What?”

Y/N turned to face him, “I dated a guy once with knuckle tattoos. Like you,” she gestured to his hands, partially to let him know she noticed how tightly he was gripping the wheel.

He let go slightly.

Raising an eyebrow he turned back to the road, his posture relaxing, “Oh,” he said flatly.

She kept her face stoic, “Don’t you want to know what it said?”

David glanced back again, confused though now oddly engaged, “What did it say?”

She got quiet, “It said ‘gullible’ on one hand.”

His face contorted for a second as he considered this, “That doesn’t- goddamnit,” he felt himself smiling as he looked over, watching the woman in the passenger seat smiling as well, her form relaxed as she chuckled. David did too.

“How often do people give you shit about your tattoos?” She kept her smile but softened her tone, deciding she didn’t like the idea that the rest of the car ride would be silent. She wanted to know David more than just as a man in a file. She wanted to understand what went on in his head.

Taking a breath, he considered the question. His internal monologue was often just that, internal, but he found himself being asked questions that people didn’t often ask him. A joke that no one else would have ever made seeing him angry. This wasn’t just a woman, but chaos in a bottle, perhaps, “When I was in the academy, lots of people gave me shit. I was a bit older than some guys in there and I still had my temper,”

She grinned, “Oh, this is you calm?”

The corner of his lips curled up slightly, just slightly, “Anyway, I got into a couple fights. Off grounds, of course. But I talked to one of the sergeants in the academy and he sort of set me straight. Told me there would always be something and that if I wanted to be any kind of officer, any kind of detective, I needed to let those things go. So yeah, people ask, but I don’t get into it.”

Nodding, she folded her hands in her lap, leaning back, “Back when I was in college, freshman year, of course, I was determined to get a tattoo. I mean, straight up determined. I thought, ‘Hell yes, you’re an adult, get that fairy tattoo on your ribcage!’” She looked over at David who was already smirking, “Hey, shut it.” He held a hand up, staring ahead at the empty highway as they drove.

“But ultimately I didn’t. It changed. It was a butterfly on my ankle, then for a brief moment a rose on my wrist. By the time I decided I wanted to be in psych, and work with the FBI, I had talked myself out of a tattoo entirely. It’s funny, because people always say they regret the tattoos they got, but honestly? I regret the tattoos I didn’t get.” Her eyes turned back to the trees as they drove, remembering those rushes of adrenaline as she took out a few hundred in cash and stood outside some shop near her school. Always a different one. Always the same amount of money in hand. Always certain. Then always with a reason not to.

It had never occurred to David that someone might regret not getting a tattoo. Some of his he had gotten in some guy’s basement when he was fifteen. Some when he turned eighteen and nineteen. Some even when he was twenty-four. His neck and hands were his younger years. And for a moment he tried to picture a young Y/N with her shirt hiked up getting a tattoo on her ribs that she wouldn’t possibly imagine how painful it was. Or maybe she did. There was much about her he didn’t know.

Her phone dinged again, breaking the silence, pulling it out to read another text from Adrian, “Ladybug, you’re teasing me with all this exciting information. Update me on the case. Place isn’t the same without you here.”

Sighing, she frowned, eyeing the message, “Ladybug?” David had caught a glimpse of the message, and while he had tried not to pry he was somewhat curious. Was it a significant other? A friend? Something else?

Shutting the screen off, the young woman tucked her phone away again, “Coworker. Not a profiler but he’s a field agent with serials back in DC, where I’m out of. It’s a long standing joke, mostly born of me forgetting the word ‘bee’ and instead screaming ‘ladybug’ because clearly those two things look and sound the same,” she rolled her eyes at herself. It had been such a bad first week, so much so she’d stressed herself out that when a bee came near her, allergic of course, she had screamed instead ‘ladybug’, the first insect name she could think of.

David only nodded his head, and Y/N considered her own fondness for Adrian. She wished she didn’t like him. She wished she could listen when her own friends told her he was just using her for attention. But she knew that already. Didn’t matter. Not really. Emotions were always fickle that way, driving you to do stupid shit. It was why she was so good at her job, in that she understood what drove people, even when it didn’t make any logical sense.

The drive after was fairly quiet, though interjected with sparse conversation. Meaningful, but quick. Tidbits shared. Pieces. Shards. Bits of each other’s puzzle that they would later try and piece together to make sense, even though it never would. But she found out he had spent ten years in the boy’s home, sprinkled with some juvie time for petty crimes he rolled his eyes at himself for. And Y/N had let out her own experience coming face-to-face with one of the serials she’d caught. He didn’t know who she was. She knew who he was. Just by that look. The vacant look but one that was burning. An empty building on fire. Nothing inside. Nothing but the fire to drive him. It had terrified her. She still woke occasionally to those eyes, staring through her, passing her by on the street like dodging a bullet.

Getting the phone once they arrived in Noxen had been quick. The husband wanted less than nothing to do with the police and it was clear he had already spent time crying. David knew the look. Y/N did too. Grief stricken and angry. Nowhere to put it.

Giving the phone to David (who insisted he be the one to hold it) she sighed, shaking her head, “We have to plug it into my laptop at the precinct and use encryption. Whoever did this, all of this, is smarter than we’re giving him credit for. If he knows we have the phone, he’ll be all over this. We need to consider who this man is.”

A shiver ran up Detective Loki’s spine, looking at Y/N as they got into the car, “You’re saying this is a guy?”

She frowned, chewing at her bottom lip, “I didn’t want to think it was. I don’t think he was trying to trick us with the formal writing and the flowers. I think that’s just how his brain is wired. But I need to know, then, why he’s targeted you and the other detectives. And now… now you, David. He wants something from you.” Her eyes were filled with concern as she stared at him in the car, still turned off, cold.

He turned the car on without a word, beginning the drive back to Conyers. He was angry now. Not just at the situation, but at all of it. He had wanted to be grateful for the phone, for having someone like Y/N on the case who could figure this out, but he was angry at how he felt. He didn’t like being a target this way. He didn’t like that someone knew him. Knew the anniversary of the day his horrid mother dropped him off at the home and ran off. He didn’t like that this was so damn personal.

Dover and Birch was hard, but it was easy. He was fueled by the parents' focus. He was driven by the need to save a child. Children. He had wanted to do something good after so much time hiding in a town like Conyers. And now someone had hand-picked him, of all detectives in the world, for this.

Y/N wanted to tell Detective Loki she knew he was better than that. Than some psychopath who would stage a mass murder. She wanted to urge him to be cautious, though understood someone was poking the bear in a big way. Someone wanted him upset. On guard. Determined and angry. Someone wanted him emotionally involved. It wasn’t because they were getting back at him, though. She knew it was something else. But that was the big question.

Chapter 6: Outrunning The Past

Once the phone was plugged in to her laptop at the station, the encryption starting, Agent Cairns let her know it would be a few hours to get it all sorted into something they could use. He’d be encrypting the data and replicating the phone digitally to the laptop so they could use it as such without triggering the GPS. Hours, he said. Hours.

There was a feeling of anguish now in her body and she didn’t like it. David had become exceptionally quiet as he sat across the table this time, not next to her, going through the evidence that had been cataloged and documented. His face was fixed and she knew he was gone. She supposed it was fitting.

Taking the phone that was too large to fit in the pocket of her jeans, but that was on the table, and pressing a few numbers on the touch screen, she held it to her ears. It rang once.

“I thought you might have been ghosting me. You know, this is exactly why I disabled my Tinder account.”

The voice was smooth, though not as smooth as he wanted it to be. She imagined Adrian was like eating a Snickers when you wanted the chocolate mousse. Satisfying, tasty, but not really what you should be going for.

She sighed, “You disable it three times a year, Adrian. Four, last year,” she shook her head, realizing she was falling into that same damn trap, “Listen, I got an email that the toxicology reports was taking a while. Is there a reason or is the agency backed up?” She wasn’t being smart with him, but serious. Focused. Enough so to miss the blue eyes looking up carefully and studying her. Watching her. Seeing her fidget as she shifted her weight from one foot to another as she stood instead of sat.

A brief pause played out and Y/N didn’t like it, “They found something. It’s not something we usually find, ladybug. Weird timing, though. The results came through about twenty minutes ago.”

Her heart stopped.

“So what did they find?” She knew there would be a run-of-the-mill sedative, aware the autopsies being done would find puncture marks on the bodies. Aware that this would be basic. God, it had to be.

“I honestly didn’t believe it, but they found a nerve agent in the bodies. I mean, it was still fresh so it was used recently, but it’s fucking VX, Y/N. Who the hell manages to get their hands on a nerve agent like that, let alone enough to kill twelve adults, and no one notices?” It was hard to rattle a man like Adrian. He was a few years older, but his cases had been gruesome. Not on purpose. He was given the affectionate nickname of the Grim Reaper, that Y/N never used, whenever he was on a case. This was not going to help his stats.

Pressing her hand against her forehead she winced and closed her eyes, “Do I actually need to ask you to find out if any labs or agencies reported anything missing?”

He sighed, “We both know that any companies that have something like this aren’t going to report it going missing. That kind of legwork takes weeks. It’ll be defense companies and agencies and that shit takes time. I’m sorry, ladybug. I am.” He was genuine this time. He was an asshole, but he felt bad. He knew a missing nerve agent wasn’t something anyone announced when they could cover it up.

Without a word she pulled the phone from her ear and ended the call, no goodbye, not to Adrian. Not today. Instead, she stared at the screen and spoke softly, “He took their breath away.”

By now David’s eyes were tearing into her, feeling the concern, the worry, the panic and able to piece together enough to know that it wasn’t good, “Who did?”

Y/N looked over at David, her eyes suddenly tired, “They were doused with a nerve agent, called VX. It’s military grade, David. It’s considered a WMD by the United States and it was used to kill twelve random fucking people staged in a church.”

The room was eerily silent as the two stared at one another. David was trying to understand what she had just said. Well, he understood it logically, but on the level of how someone commits murder, it was beyond comprehension, “How- I mean, it’s- but-” not even David could verbalize it.

Raising an eyebrow she kept her body lax, “How does someone get their hands on it? Honestly, what I’d like to know. But… this isn’t just some psychopath, David. This man isn’t a criminal as we understand him. And it almost doesn’t matter if we can even find someone willing to admit the chemical went missing, since the decay rate takes forever. He could have had this in his closet for years. And now he’s disabling phones?”

Fear was a hard one for Y/N. Not because it was a difficult emotion to consider, but because it meant she was vulnerable. Being scared was one thing, but fear was permeating. She had seen so much and read so many different files. She wished, suddenly, the place had been a massacre. She wanted to be able to look at blood splatter marks and stab wounds. Signs of a struggle. But no. What they had was a fucking stack of romcom blu-rays, perfectly preserved bodies, a chemical agent banned by the United States Government, and missing phones. This wasn’t just ‘some guy’ anymore. It never had been. And maybe she always knew that. Maybe she knew when she had read the flowers were bred to be black, naturally, or that the letters were signed with perfect penmanship to each individual agent. But now it was real.

A ding came through, a text from Adrian that told her they were sending in a dozen 2-PAMs in epi-pen form. A dozen. Fuck. She wanted to thank him for even getting his hands on any, given the state of the world, though she supposed the FBI would also be sending over a nice little note forbidding them from disclosing the information with anyone on the case, other than the two of them. If word got out someone had this in their closet? No.

It had never been in David’s nature to be the caretaking type, but something roused him. Maybe it was the look in her eyes, the way her body had stopped fidgeting entirely and had become rubber. Perhaps even he had seen her hand shake.

Pushing his chair back, David stood, “I’m hungry. And so are you, hamburger alarm be damned. Let’s get Chinese.”

____

She had been quiet on the drive over to the restaurant David liked to go to when no one was around, and it was mid-afternoon by now. A few people were in the place, but nothing dramatic. A small table by the back was where the two had been seated, Y/N fidgeting nervously as she was clearly trying to process what was going on.

He didn’t like seeing her this way.

“The usual to start?” A young woman approached, perhaps early twenties, David smiling appreciatively at her as Y/N looked away.

He nodded, “Two. And some tea,” he smiled, a smile that was genuine but nothing dramatic, a smile that meant he was actually smiling. Soft. Small.

It seemed to perk Y/N’s attention, “You really don’t strike me as the tea type. And why did you order my food?” Her face contorted as she felt herself pulled back to reality.

David grinned, “You weren’t answering so I got you egg drop soup. Relax. And tea is good for you. I think,” he smirked.

Y/N couldn’t help but scoff with a smile, shaking her head as she looked at him, “You’re so strange, Detective.”

He grinned, “I’m not the one who wanted a fairy tattooed on my ribcage.”

Her face was bright as her eyes widened, “Absolutely no, Mr. Neck Tattoo!” Her voice raised, though jovial. Bright. Warm. He liked it. It felt like how he expected tea was supposed to taste. Good for you.

Smiling still, he thanked the waitress as she brought over two small cups of soup, the tea coming shortly thereafter. David poured the hot liquid into the small, white ceramic cups, one for each, “Fair. You’re a little weird too, though. It’s nice,” he lifted the cup and took a sip, glancing at her over it. For a second, the briefest moment, he could have sworn he saw her blush.

Picking up the spoon she had some of the soup, rather taken at how good it was. In her time traveling, she found that wasn’t uncommon for small, unassuming spots to have some of the best food around. Nothing you’d find on the Food Network, but delicious none the less. Good because it wasn’t trying to be. Because it just was.

“Your work with Dover and Birch was good shit, David. Little messy, but good,” she raised an eyebrow at him.

He leaned back and smirked. She liked that smirk. It told her he liked what she was saying, that he was listening. That he agreed with her and that he was present. It was a smirk that reminded her of the lingering smoke from a dying cigarette, brief, soft, but strong if you stood close enough. It would bring back memories and haunt you if you weren’t careful, “Hardest case I ever had, next to this. Parents sure as shit didn’t help.”

A soft chuckle left her lips as she nodded, “Family never does. Well intentioned, always. But you know what they say about the road to hell,” she held a hand up, “paved with good intentions.”

They talked, after. For longer than either intended. It had been so long since anyone touched him the way she did. He didn’t think of the random women he had met in bars miles outside of Conyers where no one knew who he was. In this moment, of a strange kind of tragedy and trauma, he found himself bonding with a woman he had wanted to hate the moment he read her name on a piece of paper.

And in truth, she felt similarly. She had been so unsure of what lay ahead in Conyers, beyond knowing she was unwelcome. But this didn’t feel like unwelcome. Detective Loki felt like strong arms she had once felt keeping her close, though this time she felt safe. She knew in this moment, the man across from her could protect her from more than just the bad guy around the corner. Shared trauma did that. Bonded you. She understood that a man like Detective Loki wasn’t a common occurance in the world and he was the thing you wished for when you finally caught the clock at “11:11”.

The drive back had kept them both in a better space. Not to say either were ‘ok’ by any means, but they were better. An emotional connection, on a level one could never really quantify. It was one forged on battlefields, they both knew. A connection in the midst of war was one never forgotten or loosely held together. It was iron. It was solid.

Back at the precinct time moved fast. It was bearable only because they had each other, now. Focused on a sheet of paper, David would be briefly interrupted by Y/N shoving another one in front of him wordlessly, telling him without say so he needed to read it. He did. And he did the same to her. He had told himself that sitting next to her as they worked was so he could stay focused, but somehow he knew it was more than that. No bullets were flying at her head but he wanted to keep her safe just the same. He couldn’t hold her. He wouldn’t.

Again the precinct had died and again the two had been left alone, waiting for that damn phone to be done processing and encrypting.

And it was.

A soft ‘beep’ alerted Y/N the laptop had finished and the phone was ready for review. Popping her head up, her neck aching and her back sore, she felt her stomach suddenly rumble. Looking at the time, she saw the clock read ‘9:26pm’ on it. Concern washed on her features as David pulled his chair so close he was touching her, the woman reaching at her phone first and glancing. Her alarm had never gone off. Squinting, she shook her head, “Fucking technology… all right.”

Putting the phone down, she opened up the application that looked almost identical to any cellphone interface. Shaking her head she sighed, “Technology is so weird… OK. So. If you were hiding something, where would you put it?” She spoke aloud, though not necessarily to David. She knew he was close, his leg against hers, shoulder-to-shoulder as they read the screen together.

“No chance we’ll find an app or some- oh, nevermind…” David trailed off, almost about to joke that people weren’t really stupid enough to put a dating app or a hookup app on their phone that blatant. But they were. And they did.

Y/N glanced at him, “People are always that stupid, David. But the question is why a married woman has Tinder on her phone,” she double-clicked the app, bringing it up. No login required, IT had made sure of that, but she was curious what was on there. Deaths hadn’t been made public, save for a family’s choice, so the chance of someone ‘unmatching’ due to it was low. Both were rather surprised at the number of matches, however. Conversations littered the page and the pictures used were ones that you could perhaps make out who it was if you knew. And they did. But the profile requested someone for something ‘discreet’.

Scrolling was unpleasant, at best, and Y/N rolled her eyes. Men desperate for hookups, many unanswered messages. Some answered. Some even with meetups planned. And of course the profiles messaging her were inoccuous. Other people looking for hookups. David documented any dates he saw, making sure to follow up with the individuals. No last names and private profiles made it hard, but they had something to go off of.

Beyond that, there was nothing, “If someone did meet her on this… he’s unmatched her. And if he’s good, he’s wiped himself. We’ll need to ask specialists in DC to get a release from the company to get records. See what we can scrounge. I’ll get that going, you keep browsing the phone. You’re a smart guy, you’ll know it when you see it,” she smirked briefly at him, David hiding his grin as she stood, the detective pulling the laptop to where he was.

Getting up, Y/N pulled out her phone, typing up a few quick emails on their encrypted and authorized server, the one that didn’t use Conyers’ piss-poor security. A few quick clicks and she sent out the requested information, reading a few others regarding 2-PAM being sent to the station for the morning.

Fuck, that was fast.

“Ladybug, you OK? Hung up on me. Worried about you.”

Frowning at her phone she felt that tug again at Adrian. That desire to be close. Knowing he’d always just flirt. Like her sister told her once, Sometimes the asshole falls in love with you and sometimes you fall in love with the asshole. So eloquent.

“Fine. And don’t call me ladybug on here. You know this gets monitored.”

Ding!

“Should I text it to your cell then? Finally gonna give me that number?”

Shaking her head she clicked off the phone. That had been a point of contention with Adrian. He had her work phone, but her private one was her own. The flirtation was done in the office and she knew, knew that if he had her private line she would fall. Fall for a man who was emotionally incapable of being connected to her. She didn’t want to fall for a Snickers bar.

It was another hour of phone scanning and scrolling through emails she had been sent, knowing the autopsies would take longer to get back. Twelve bodies was a lot, and while patterns emerged, it took time. And families were involved… it was never easy. The job never was.

Her stomach roared, suddenly, wincing as she felt the ache of not having eaten. Even the detective looked up, raising an eyebrow, “Need to get some food?”

Holding back another wince of pain that came from neglecting herself this long she nodded, “Probably. I should… I should head back anyway. You’re welcome to see if you find anything on the laptop but the app itself is pretty telling. See if we can deep scrub and get more data from it. Sort of ideal.” She sighed, pushing back her hair as she felt the need for sleep but the vague understanding it wouldn’t come. A fickle mistress.

Was it disappointment? David frowned a bit as he watched her, “I mean… I can drive you back. If you want, of course. We’ve got a three-star Taco Bell nearby,” he forced a smile.

But Y/N felt herself tighten, her body, her thoughts, her emotions. He was pulling at a piece of her she didn’t like to think about. The piece all those boys in bars and officers in other districts never understood. He was fighting to fit in her life and she was finding that in only a few days he was doing a great damn job at it. She needed distance. Space. Safety. But he was safety, wasn’t he? God, this was complicated.

A thin smile painted itself onto her lips, “Raincheck. I’ll grab some takeout nearby. Hell, even some Ramen from the gas station sounds good. But I’ll meet you back here early. Get some rest, David.”

With that, she collected her things, not watching as the man who fought to keep the world out was fighting to keep it from overwhelming him now. There was chaos, and fear. Of course. But there was trauma. And there was a woman he felt so compelled to keep safe that it was unclear why, exactly. She didn’t remind him of some kid he knew growing up, or even one of those stupid ulterior motives. He felt a part of her that was good, and of all people he knew keeping the good stuff good was important. That was his work. She was an agent, though. Nothing stays pure forever.

As she packed her files into the rental that felt familiar and foreign, she didn’t think about what tomorrow might bring, or what the world held. She was distracted again. Words spoken to her in passing, a man getting to know her. A man with eyes that glowed when he was focused and who blinked more than most, tight blinks, when he was upset. Nervous. Scared. Angry. He had his tells.

And as she drove back to her hotel with an acute awareness she wasn’t sleeping tonight, she ignored the tug at her gut that told her something was wrong. The calm before the storm. The flickering lights before the power goes out.

Sometimes you fall in love with the asshole.

But sometimes the asshole falls in love with you.

Chapter 7: Deepest Sympathies

She didn’t sleep last night, which was no surprise. She had spent much of the night awake and poring over documents and cataloged pieces. Her own theories had been spun and while some might have felt outlandish in her head, she understood that this was an outlandish case. It had been hard enough to put on those headphones and let herself fall into a trance. Remember her sister. But not directly. She remembered remembering. Buying that damn CD she would play over and over. Peter Gabriel was her sister’s favorite, not that she’d ever tell anyone. Neither would. Her sister touted her love for System of a Down and Trust Company back when those bands made you cool.

For years after her sister passed she had found the only thing that felt vaguely satisfying was leaving that CD on her sister’s grave. And when CDs started becoming scarce, she had spent a few hundred dollars on Amazon buying all of the CDs she could find with that song on it. She’d be damned if she ever missed a single anniversary. Never went on the day of her passing, though. No. That felt sacreligious. She went on her sister’s birthday, played the song on her headphones, along with a few others, but Heroes was the one that she played most. It was the one she’d leave behind after telling her how her parents had finally divorced, or how her dad had been ‘thinking’ about retiring again. For the hundredth time. Or how she’d been accepted as an Agent and two weeks ago, about how she was feeling so fucking lost.

But memories of memories are easier to put away, and much like her locker that held Detective Loki, her sister’s, much more ornate and much larger, she put those memories of memories away.

Her bag was hanging off her form lazily and her hair was done just enough to be presentable. By no means was she falling apart, but she was working. Working hard meant she lost focus on other parts of herself. It meant she had zeroed in on certain aspects of the case. Like how all of the individuals abducted had been on the same phone carrier, Radius, or how the TV was a model made by the company Source that had been discontinued three years ago, but at the time had been beyond revolutionary. Even now it was considered brilliant. She had found no traces of the nerve agent were discovered at the scene which meant they were probably injected with the pure form. Which meant someone had a lot of it.

Her theories meant that this man was not just dangerous but he had resources. He had access to things that people shouldn’t have access to and maybe he worked with Radius? Had access to their systems? The generator powering the church had been a Source item as well, meaning both were connected. Who used Source and Radius?

The precinct was still somewhat quiet, at 8am, slightly later than yesterday. Shift change had taken place and the detectives were still filtering in. Except for Detective Loki who was hunched at his desk, a long sleeved, form fitting black shirt on his form and black pants hanging off his hips. He looked sleek. Dangerous, even. She could see how someone might fall for someone like him.

Placing her bag down in the conference room, having actually remembered her coffee traveler this time, she glanced up as one of the cops walked in with a box, “Agent Y/L/N, this was left here about an hour ago for you. UPS dropped it off.”

The 2-PAM. She smiled and took it, “Thanks. Kind of nice when things work out like they’re supposed to for once,” she chuckled, curious why the box was so damn light.

The officer left and Y/N looked down, noticing that the label wasn’t stamped ‘FBI’ and in fact the sender name was absent, save for an address in Pennsylvania that didn’t look familiar. Maybe not the FBI?

Her heart suddenly began to race, carefully putting the box down as she looked to the side, seeing Detective Loki still hunched over. The man was on a mission.

Reaching behind herself she withdrew the small switchblade she kept tucked into her waist line, the one that no one ever saw. That was small. Cold and awkward at times but useful. Like now.

Why did this feel like defusing a bomb?

The blade clicked and she carefully began to open the box. She was aware it didn’t matter anymore who touched it, or if she damaged it. She knew whatever was inside the box was key. And with a final tug, the lid opened and she peered inside.

Time stopping had always felt like kind of an exaggeration to Y/N. How does time even ‘stop’? What, does the world freeze? Well, it did.

Staring inside the box she could see the face of a man she knew well, a man who cradled her soul and her heart and sang brilliant love songs to her, who had kept her connected to her sister, even in death. The black CD cover with two red forms on it, her sister claimed them red blood cells but said they looked like rose petals.

Her hand was surprisingly steady as she picked up the note inside, reading the immaculate cursive written on some kind of specialty papyrus paper, “My deepest sympathies, Agent. Your triumph through tragedy only enhances your beauty.”

And with that, she ran for the plastic trash bin nearby and fell to it, retching hard as she threw up the entire contents of her breakfast, causing the box, the note, and the Peter Gabriel CD with Heroes on it to tumble to the floor.

Immediately David heard the noise and jumped, running inside the room as the precinct suddenly jumped to life, turning to take in the scene. The note, CD, and box were on the floor and Y/N was kneeling by the small, cheap plastic trash bin puking.

“What the fu-” David was almost able to spit the words out before a strangely animalistic sound came from her lips, screaming into the bin that she had already emptied the contents of her stomach into.

The world grew quiet as the scream died down, leaving Y/N on her knees with her eyes closed, knuckles white as she gripped the bin as though it were the only thing keeping her alive right now. Stable. Present. Here.

“Get me gloves and bags for the items, now!” David yelled out, to no one in particular as he knelt by the woman in a kind of distress he didn’t know a person could experience from a simple box, “Hey, talk to me, what happened? Are you OK?”

Her face snapped, wiping her lips as she glared, “Do I look OK to you, Detective? Do I fucking look OK?” Her voice was raised, though not yelling.

Snapping back David glared, “Do we need to decontaminate the room? Is there anything infectious?” He looked at her seriously.

Taking a breath her eyes pulled away, “No. No chemicals. But it’s toxic none the less.”

Her voice was quiet as she spoke the words, closing her eyes and trying to forget what she had just seen. Experienced. Felt in her gut. Her soul had been torn forth in that moment and the timing of the CD was so tragically horrifying. For a brief moment of paranoia she wondered if perhaps someone had been able to access her personal phone, heard what she was listening to. The artist. The song.

Getting up rather quickly, Y/N stumbled slightly as she made her way through the people that had clustered, watching as two other detectives came rushing forward with evidence collecting items. Forensics would get it. They’d dust it for fingerprints and they would come up with hers, the delivery driver’s, the handlers at the warehouse… maybe a dozen people. And none would be the culprits. David would direct people to track the package and they would. They’d track it to some nondescript location where cameras weren’t installed and it’d been paid for with cash. She knew it like she knew the songlist on that CD.

Heading for the door of the precinct her head felt light, woozy, and she was struggling for something stable. Something to keep her grounded. Even as she threw open the doors of the building, those glass doors lined with metal, solid as hell, heavy as fuck, she ran out into the bitter air, feeling the cold devour her skin.

More.

She didn’t realize it but she was running now, into the parking lot, David not far behind, though he didn’t exist right now. Her sister’s smile was there, a true memory in its purest form, the smile she had wanted to see last night but didn’t want tainted and tied to this psychopath now.

Unthinking and perhaps uncaring, her hands grabbed at the hem of her sweater, pulling it up and over her head, tossing it to the ground of the parking lot filled only with cars, otherwise without a soul. The air was frigid as it enveloped her and tore her from reality. She gasped as the item fell, leaving her in her form-fitted white t-shirt and jeans alone, able to see her breath as she felt it stopping her from hyperventilating, the cold burning her skin, tearing at her and pulling her out of this other reality.

Once, during training, she had been shot. Not with a real bullet, of course, but shot none the less. A rubber bullet the academy insisted they feel the impact of to know what they might use in certain circumstances. And, perhaps, be prepared for since it’d be similar to a bullet hitting a bulletproof vest. The bullet had been fired by some complete and utter asshole Thomas Engleson, a man who didn’t think women could hack it. He shot her in the ribcage, instead of the stomach. He hit her directly. Not indirectly. And of course he was excused for it.

The pain of the shot had been incredible but she had gritted her teeth and taken it in. A cracked rib meant she was out for a bit, but it didn’t actually stop her. She kept training. Moving. Not exacerbating the damage but doing just enough to keep going. But the pain of that moment had been etched into her body’s memory.

This hurt worse.

Her skin was covered in goosebumps from the cold, beginning to shiver as she stood, perhaps for ten minutes, David standing behind her as he looked at her. This woman unshaken by so much, who had taken in twelve dead bodies and kept going, who took information meant to terrify and had kept pushing. Whatever had been in that note, in that box, had been meant just for her on a level those notes for David never touched.

It felt like an ache, standing in the cold as he watched the woman he had found himself so fond of suddenly pushing out the entire world as though it might infect her. He wanted to grab her sweater, wrap her in it, and pull her close. He’d swear to god he’d get the guy. And he would, even if he didn’t tell her that. He swore as he watched her, that finding this man would be his only task. He wouldn’t sleep. Wouldn’t eat. This was Dover and Birch, but now he was the onve involved. His own life was on the line.

“Do you ever wonder what it feels like to die, David?” The words were loud enough for him to hear, the wind suddenly picking up as she stared ahead to the road leading into the precinct, fairly empty though cars scattered about, the day cloudy and bitter.

He took a moment to consider it. He had. He had wondered once, when the kid in his backseat was frothing at the mouth, if maybe he prayed hard enough her poison would go into his body. He could take it, he thought. Better let the child live. He had seen enough, “Yes.” He answered simply. Now was not the time for banter.

A sort of dark chuckle left her lips, “I used to wonder what it might be like to die. After my sister was killed, I thought it was the only thing left that could actually scare me. The world couldn’t hurt me any more than it did when I was seventeen. I didn’t want to die, I still don’t, but I knew I could face that fear.

“But now? God, David… I wish I was fucking dead.” She fell to her knees so suddenly it caught David by surprise, running to her as he grabbed her sweater, saying ‘fuck it’ to the world as he wrapped his arms around her, pressing her body to his as he tried to finagle a way to keep her sweater on her as well.

No sobs or cries escaped her lips as her body went lax, falling against him as she wondered, perhaps, if maybe just giving in to this would be best. This felt so goddamn dramatic, and maybe it was, but for good reason. This man had found out one of her most intimate details of her life and sent it to her in a box. He had delivered to her a piece of her, and what scared her most was the fact that this man, this murderer, thought he was showing some sort of deranged compassion.

Time seemed to stop and David was grateful for the fact that they were far enough away, and behind most of the cars in the lot, that the world wouldn’t see them like this. He could smell the free, nondescript shampoo offered by the hotel, unsurprised that she wasn’t doused in perfume. But she did smell of something. Her own personal brand of herself. Pushing back some of her hair he spoke, “You can’t go anywhere yet. You can’t possibly trust me to finish this case by myself,” he grinned, stopping himself from pressing his lips against her head.

Chuckling, despite her desire not to, she shook her head, “I sure as hell don’t expect you to solve this alone. You need my theories, Detective Loki. I came up with a bunch last night.” It was tragic in a way, how fast she was working to compartmentalize. Whoever it was that had sent her the letter had done a bang-up job scaring the shit out of her. He had opened the locker that held her sister and emptied the contents without permission. But Y/N was cleaning it up. She was fixing it. In her mind she was already putting herself and all those pieces back together.

Looking confused David pulled away slightly, “Don’t you think you should go get coffee or something? Take a- Ah, fuck, who am I kidding. You’re not listening to me, are you?”

The ghost of a smile crept onto her lips as she raised an eyebrow, looking at David now, “Not really. And I mean, what’s stopping going to do? We both know I’m invested. He… he may have targeted you and those other detectives, and honed onto you, but with me… I’m a happy accident. He picked me. I don’t want to be another body in a church, David,” her eyes changed as she looked at him, suddenly fragile and vulnerable, opening her heart to this man. Detective. The one holding her in the parking lot of the precinct while both tried to put together what they just went through.

Stroking her cheek lightly David whispered, “And you won’t be. You’re gonna get up, put your sweater on, and go back inside. And when everyone looks at you, or asks if you’re OK, you’re not gonna smile or fake it, you stare at them. Through them. None of them matter now. Not a single soul inside. We’re gonna find this asshole, and we’re gonna stop him. Now get up.”

He pulled away, nothing truly romantic in the gesture but one that broke her just the same. They were words that felt charged with something more than a pep talk, but instead felt like a true demand. David understood she wasn’t some person who just fell over because they were pushed. She’d stumble. She’d fall. And he knew she could get right back up and go back to bat. And as she stood, David doing the same, he watched her eyes as she put the sweater on. Something had changed, briefly, something else. Something oddly dark that he couldn’t put his finger on, but understood she perhaps needed. The same thing he had needed in his time.

Turning her back to him, Y/N made her way back towards the precinct, her feet marching with purpose, her eyes focused, laser focused, as she understood what this was. This man chose people. Always. He had a reason and a purpose and it was never an accident. He had found the CD she brought to her sister’s grave (though she suspected it wasn’t the same one), he had written a detailed note, and he had found the one thing in this world she was still so very vulnerable to.

Now she was going to find him.

Chapter 8: Den of the Demon

Back when Y/N was in undergrad, she remembered one of her classmates affectionately telling her she was afflicted with what was known as “resting bitch face”. She became known as the Queen of the RBF within her circles, and honestly it remained with her. But it was protective, and in times like this, when a precinct was staring at you, you had to protect yourself.

One of the things that would come up was a conflict of interest, she knew that immediately. Her supervising agent would be concerned about a package sent directly to her. No one would know the depth of it, though. They’d know it was in reference to her sister’s passing, but the song? The CD itself? She could lie. And she would. Even when her phone rang and she ignored it, she kept her face stoic and her eyes locked on the computer, scanning over the evidence collected from the scene still.

“Agent Y/N, there’s a call for you from the bureau-” a young officer, though not a rookie, popped his head in.

She didn’t even look up, “That’s cool.”

Loki glanced from her to the officer who looked more confused than anything. Clearly that was not the answer he was hoping for.

“I mean, they want to talk to you.” He suddenly got quieter. Meeker.

Again, she didn’t even pause, “Nice of them. I’ll send them a thank-you card later.”

Now the officer was confused, “Did you want to answer it out front or I can-”

“Tell them I’m dead. Or I’m in the bathroom. Whatever. I’m busy so please don’t come in again.” Her eyes glanced briefly from the screen to the man who got the hint, his mouth in a straight line as he backed out of the room, entirely missing David Loki’s very soft smirk.

But she was. Busy, that was. Not dead. She had found a few interesting leads, and was suddenly finding a rather disturbing pattern, “David, c’mere a sec. I need you to look at this and tell me I’m not crazy,” she looked across the table at the man who’d been poring over the papers and pictures, hating to look at bodies but knowing now was not the time to be squeemish. He thought his note was bad… hers was tenfold. Whatever it was. He didn’t know about her sister. Or any of her life, really. He knew what she had shared. He was vaguely terrified that this would stop all of it.

Standing, he walked over to where she was, a spreadsheet open, “So look,” she held up a finger, glancing back to the man who was leaning over, face by hers as he looked at the screen, the moment intense, though far from intimate, “if we follow the purchases, the television is old but beyond state-of-the-art, telling us it was pricy. And you don’t leave pricy things behind, especially if you think you can be traced. And when we tracked the generator down, it was from a different manufacturing company, so both were dismissed out of hand. But when we add in the piece about the phone company provider and the chemical weapon used… Look.”

She brought up a page of a very formal looking website, Safety in the palm of your hand was the caption under the large “West Company” logo in block letters at the top. David knew of them, but clearly Y/N knew more, “The company does a lot of work with technology and weapon engineering. The federal government has a contract with them, so we’ve worked with them before. David, they even have a lab on site…”

He stood back, looking down at her with focus and concern. Without the chemical agent to go off of, the connection might be a reach. But the fact that it all tied to one company, and one that would have direct links to technology to reach into… anything, meant it was a good chance that the person they needed would be there.

“So what do we do with this? I mean, that’s a huge company. And with a defense contract, they’re probably not gonna wanna talk to you,” David crossed his arms in front of his chest, concern on his features. She was a bloodhound who had finally picked up a scent and he had a sinking feeling she’d chase that scent, regardless of what came in her way.

Nodding, she closed the laptop, “Normally that’d be true, but I may have a way into the company records. I can’t divulge why. I just need you to trust me.” Her eyes were wide. And pleading. She had just been hit with a wrecking ball and already she was back on her feet, but David knew she was hurting. And pain made you do stupid things. But she was slowly becoming his weak spot.

Pushing back his hair he sighed, “Fine. What do we do next?”

Standing up and grabbing her phone that had more missed calls than she could reasonably get away with, she shrugged, “We don’t do anything. I make a call, and you keep going over evidence. I have to go back and grab something at the hotel. I left a file back there we’ll need to keep moving forward on this.”

There was something in her voice, her tone perhaps, or her body language. David would blame himself later, as he always did, for not noticing. He’d tell himself it was his fault. He should have known she wasn’t going to the hotel, or at least that wasn’t her final stop. And as she walked outside without her federal issued phone, only her keys and wallet in hand as she held her jacket tight, she understood what had to happen.

_____

She wasn’t lying. Not completely. She had gone to the hotel and grabbed her personal phone, the one she used for calling her parents, listening to music, listening to audiobooks when she was stuck on airplanes, or in this case, long car drives alone. But her first call had been, surprising to most, to Henry Best. The man was one of the top CEO and board members of West Company and one she knew better than most. It was the way she had into the company.

Henry had been surprised to hear her voice, though not disappointed. He had liked Y/N when he met her four years back, when she had just begun her profiling in the field. Back when she was still wet behind the ears, so to speak. And that she was calling on her personal phone made him even more curious, “Of course. Around when should I expect you?” His voice, smooth as silk with a ‘proper’ British accent, a voice that could melt a woman without effort, came forth.

Glancing at the dashboard of her car, Y/N shrugged, “GPS says it’s another hour. So around 3pm, if that’s all right? Honestly, I hate to barge in like this. And I know you’re doing more than a favor. Especially since the FBI doesn’t even know-”

There was a soft chuckle, the man on the other end smiling, “Please don’t apologize. It would be my pleasure to see you again. After all, it is you I have to thank for where I am now, is it not?” A genuine kind of thanks to his voice, though something else lingered. Perhaps not strong enough for the bluetooth in the car to detect.

Either way, she felt herself smiling as she eyed the guidance system, “That was all your own work, Henry. But we can talk more when I get there. Do I check in at the front desk?” She was adjusting herself in her seat, suddenly a little nervous. She really hadn’t thought this through. And she was still wearing… well, a sweater and jeans. And her hair wasn’t well done, either. Fuck, she really did not think this through.

“I’ll have someone waiting out front to valet the car, don’t worry about parking. Mark will bring you up. Take your time.” He was calm. Cool. Collected. More than he had been before. It was kind of nice.

She nodded, to no one in particular, “Will do. See you in an hour, Henry.” She clicked off the phone, continuing her drive.

Her phone rang again, though this time the number came up as Delete This Later, “Madison is on a rampage. And now I have some podunk Detective Loki- Hey, what kind of name is that even? Whatever, anyway, this dude is calling me wanting to know where you are. I made some shit up about you needing to coordinate with another office. I still have Madison on a rampage, though. He’s your boss. Remember him?”

Rolling her eyes, she was already regretting giving Adrian her personal number, “Thank you for covering. I’m actually headed to see Henry Best. Over at West Company. Who knew my name was so memorable?” She smirked.

Adrian huffed, “Just don’t do anything stupid. Well, more stupid than you already have. Wits about, right?”

She cocked a sideways smirk, “Always. And you know the deal. Call David at 3pm, when I’m due in New York to meet with Henry. I’ll text you the address. And you can give him this number. Otherwise the guy will have a heart attack,” she sighed softly.

There was quiet for a moment before Adrian spoke again, “What did he send you, Ladybug? That guy. I haven’t seen you like this since the Boston case when you almost bumped into the dude we were after. I’m worried.”

But she was quiet. Too quiet.

“Nothing’s gonna happen. I just have a feeling Henry will be able to help.”

___

He had called her. He had called her twice before realizing the ringing was coming from inside her bag. He had thrown his own phone across the room, though one cased in an Otterbox after the officer manager was tired of him breaking phones. Instead, it bounced off and hit the ground. He had wanted to break something. Fucking anything.

It was a flurry of words after that, David having rolled his sleeves up, his hair repeatedly needing to be slicked back as his face looked vaguely similar to John Wick finding his dog dead. He kept telling himself he was angry because she was in harm’s way, and that was true, but there was something more. This woman he had felt vulnerable with, who had in turn shared her own vulnerabilities, was gone. And he knew that she was gone because she was chasing something that not even God himself could stop her from getting. She was on a mission.

David was a driven man just as much, however, and he had gotten through to Y/N’s unit by sheer force of will on the phone. He had kept it together enough that he was actually able to get through to someone named “Adrian Dent” who worked closely with her. The one who had texted her ‘ladybug’ and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like Adrian. No idea why, but when the smug asshole gave him a regurgitated message about her meeting with another agent in another city, he understood it was a lie.

But what else did he have? He was sitting by himself in the conference room they were using, staring at a laptop that had the company name on it. And he knew. He didn’t know exactly, but he knew. And fuck waiting. Fuck telling his chief. Fuck all of it. He was headed to New York City just the same as she was.
____

It had been strange, walking into the large, sleek office building. The floors were marble and the colors back and silver were clearly the aesthetic. She had trailed behind a young man who looked to be no older than twenty-two, probably scored this gig right out of a prestigious college, wanting to work his way into the defense industry. What a strange goal. No stranger, perhaps, than wanting to be an FBI Field Agent.

He was quiet as he lead her up, his earpiece wired in as they took a private elevator to the… damn, fiftieth floor? Last time she could have sworn it was forty. But that was four years ago.

Stepping off the elevator that looked like something out of Blade Runner, she followed the assistant carefully down the hall, carpeted in black with dark wood lining it. Far fewer people here. And it was clear, by the large double doors ahead, that this was where she was going, “Mr. Best is inside, you may enter.” He looked almost smug. She didn’t belong. He knew it. She knew it.

Shrugging off her winter jacket, she knocked on the door, heading the rather gentle, “Please, come in,” beckoning her forth.

It had been four years since she saw him, but Henry looked amazing. He had before but… there was something else now. His dark blonde hair was styled on his head, not slicked down but a certain casual and professional look to it. He had on a white business shirt, black tie tight around his neck though with his sleeves rolled up. And he, of course, was gorgeous. Blue eyes that felt like they could stop you in your tracks, angular features that made him all the more distinguished. He looked good.

And the office was amazing. An entire wall was purely windows, looking out at the impressive New York City skyline. It was like being in a movie. Her entire life she had never existed in a world like this, and now she was investigating a serial killer in an office that looked so extraordinary it hurt. Book shelves, a large desk by the back where he had been standing, oak, of course. He smiled, a sort of crooked smile that, were she paying attention, would have concerned her more. But he was smiling as he walked over, “Oh, please, let me take that. Shouldn’t have you lugging this around,” he smiled as he got close, taking the jacket from her hands, draping it over a chair nearby.

Nervous, suddenly, she pushed back her hair, “Thank you… and sorry about not being dressed for the occasion… Like I said, kind of a rush deal getting here,” she laughed nervously, fidgeting.

“Nonsense. You look wonderful, if I may say so. Would you care to take a seat? I wager you’ve just driven a bit of a ways, so I’ll understand if you’d like to stand.” There was care in his voice and tone, and suddenly she was struck by how strange it was. She tended to trust her gut, and suddenly it was telling her to be aware.

Smiling with her placating, plastic smile, she shook her head, “I’m happy to sit.”

He looked satisfied with the answer, gesturing to the table in the corner, two cups and a teapot on it, “Please, take a seat. May I offer you some tea?” He sat across from her, his movements graceful and purposeful, and perhaps almost serpent-like.

She held up a hand, “No thank you. Long drive back, don’t want to have to make pit stops,” she smiled at the man who looked… content. Relaxed. Hardly what she remembered before.

He was pouring himself a cup, Y/N looking around as she noticed a plant on his desk. Well, one. And flowers on his window. Gorgeous lilies. And orchids. Succulents were on two shelves of the book cases. She couldn’t help but smile, “Quite a lot of greenery around your office, Henry.”

Taking a sip of the tea, he smiled, “After we spoke those years ago, I took you up on your suggestion. I began gardening. Took a month off, worked on myself, and began gardening. Hobbies really are a lifesaver, aren’t they?” He was watching her now, able to see that brief moment of her eyes widening, ever so slightly, her breath catching in her throat. He could see her wheels turning. But she was no mere rabbit. Fear was not something that drove her.

And true, in her own mind she was rationalizing it, “I’m glad it seemed to work for you. Having a hobby like that can be therapeutic. And it seems like our meetings got you back on track. How have things been now?”

Of course, she was referring to the incident that had lead her to his office years ago. He had lost his wife in a rather tragic car accident. From what he had told the police, they had gotten into a fight, and before he could stop her, she had gotten her keys and driven off. She’d wound up running a red light at a major intersection and was killed on impact.

Something was clicking, now. His face changed every so slightly when she asked how things had been. Hobbies. Not just gardening. And now she was poking at the wound.

He nodded, quite like the gentleman he was, “Much better. Work has been consuming much of my time. I imagine you’re in a similar boat. I always sensed we were quite alike in that way,” he placed the tea back down and smiled at her.

There was a feeling of anger that came with the comment, though she was unsure why. It wasn't rude in any way, nor did it infer anything negative about her. But it felt personal.

“Speaking of work… I’m here because I think I have a lead on my case. And not to be an alarmist, I’m somewhat concerned they’re linked with your company somehow,” she eyed him carefully.

He looked out the window with a bit of a chuckle, “We have quite a few employees, you know. Do you have anything more to go off of? I’d love to help you, but that’s quite a broad brush to be painting with, Y/N,” his smile was daring this time. He was playing with her. What may not have been personal now was. But he was fishing, too. He wanted to see what she had. If she’d divulge.

She was many things in this world. Stupid was not on that list.

“If you could set me up with someone in human resources, I might be able to go over a filter given some of the profiles I have set up. Think you could make an exception for me?” She forced a smile, hoping, perhaps, she was wrong about that feeling in her gut. The feeling that was screaming at her, louder now, telling her to get out of the building. To find her car. But he had that, didn’t he? He had insisted he park it for her. Insisted he take her up through the private elevator. And she had complied.

Maybe she was wrong.

“Were I a different man, I might argue against it. But you’ve done quite a bit for me, Y/N, more than you know. You helped me realize my potential in those meetings. The kind of man I could be. And so of course, Agent Y/L/N, I would be more than honored to help. After what you’ve done for me. Truly, it stayed with me.” He smiled. And he was being honest. Sincere. She had made an impact in his life that had changed the entire course of his world. He had gone from a man on the brink of losing his life to drugs and alcohol over the loss of his true love, to a man who had channeled his grief into something else. He understood what it meant to lose.

A feeling of relief washed over her and she smiled, more sincere this time, “That’s really kind of you. And if it means anything, I always knew you’d come back from it. It’s why I recommended the board keep you on. We all have choices in life, I’m glad you made yours.”

A small ‘chirp’ came from the digital watch on the man’s wrist, looking down as he grimaced slightly, “Seems I’ve had an unfortunate emergency arise. I’ve got your number, so I’ll be sure to give you a call when I can locate someone in HR who can work remotely. Wouldn’t want you taking the trek back and forth from Conyers again, would we? You said over the phone the Detective you’re working with is stationed there as well,” He smiled as he stood, the agent doing the same.

He handed her the jacket she’d come in with, walking her to the door. And for a moment, she knew she could walk out and it would be the end of it. Her gut would stop screaming at her, now from the top of its lungs, and maybe she could get out unscathed. She could simply walk to the elevator and find a way to do things on her terms. She knew, deep down, that she could walk out the door confident in her own beliefs and he would be confident that she had only the brief terror that prey does when suspecting a predator nearby.

Instead, she turned as she walked out the door, her eyes locking onto his, “I meant to ask, you have so many different plants and flowers, do you have any favorites? I’m a lavender woman, myself,” she smiled strongly, forcing herself to speak now as she felt the rest of herself coming undone.

And he smiled. The smile that would seal in every fear she had, every terror that she would feel, every nightmare that would haunt her, and she knew that look in his eyes with that smile as he spoke, “Oh, my dear, it’s roses I love best. Give my kindest regards to Detective Loki, won’t you?”

It took every ounce of strength she had to stay standing as he closed the door with the look of a man she had seen once. The man who had fallen apart but was wearing the mask of something else. She understood his comment, now. Two sides of the same coin. Two people shaped by tragedy. Two lives changed in a moment. And a grin on his face that felt like a bullet to her chest.

Kind Regards indeed.

Chapter 9: Love and Hotel Rooms

It was like walking in a fog as she made her way back down the elevator, no longer accompanied by Mark. She was sure that was on purpose. Henry was a predator, and it seemed a disservice to call him a snake, or even a lion. He was cunning. He was smart. And he had an entire defense company at his fingertips.

He wanted her to feel alone.

For a moment she did. Standing in the elevator she knew had a camera in it, down the hallway lined with people and, of course, more cameras, she allowed herself to feel fear. It wasn’t just the terror of a brief brush with death, of course. This wasn’t like almost getting hit by a car crossing the street. She had confronted the man who she knew, deep inside, had sent her that CD and that note. The man who had tried to devour a piece of her soul.

Walking through the hallway she found immense relief as she could see the windows and doors leading to the outside. It wasn’t bright, certainly. March never was. But it was light enough outside and she felt that fear leaving as she stepped towards it. Her palms pressed flat against the cool metal doors as she pressed them open, the cold air swallowing her whole.

In those minutes walking alone through the building, Y/N had allowed herself to be scared. She had given herself permission to feel the terror of seeing a murderer watch you and size you up. Of course there was no proof. Just that gut feeling and those parting words. They were a staggering memory for her, recalling now as she stood outside and let clarity settle in again, of words he had used years ago. A final email he had sent her, thanking her for her sessions, few as they were, ending the email with kind regards, Agent. Who forgets that kind of thing?

She was becoming more focused, however. Fear has a way of hitting you with a fight or flight. A fawn or freeze. There are always more ways than one to react to looking through the eyes of a man who had found his calling in something darker.

Her phone went off, buzzing in her pocket as she lifted it to her ear, aware it was one of two people, though immediately telling who, “Are you fucking insane? You went there by yourself?!” His voice was loud, enough that she cocked an eyebrow and held it away from herself briefly as she walked down the polished granite steps of the building towards the sidewalk, seeing her rental parked in front, a man standing by it with the keys, undoubtedly.

“How’d you even know where I went? Did Adrian tell you?” She was genuinely curious, wondering if he had scared the shit out of the man who honestly could probably take on David in a fight. He wasn’t a small man.

His voice didn’t quiet at all, “I’m a fucking detective, Y/N. Are you still at the main building?” He had calmed a bit after getting that sentence out, perhaps just needing to let go of that anger inside him. The fear. The terror at the idea of losing this woman who he had promised himself would do nothing to cloud his judgment.

Taking her keys from the man in a suit who smiled plainly at her, she walked around and got into the car, “Just got out of the meeting, I’ll be back in Con-”

“I’m almost there. We need to talk, though. You can’t do this. You can’t do this to me, Y/N.” His voice was quiet, a pause as she sat in her car, keys in the ignition but not starting it up. She was staring at the car in front of her, a taxi with its lights blinking, waiting for someone to get in. No one was hurrying her on, and if they were it wouldn’t have mattered. David had spat up something he hadn’t felt since he was a child and it terrified him.

Closing her eyes she took a breath, “I’m gonna text you the address of a coffee shop nearby. Meet me there, OK? It’s got parking. Promise.” She forced a smile, one that was felt by the man who had only moments ago been gripping his phone as though it was the only thing keeping him alive. He had her back. She was OK.

Why did he care so goddamn much?

He had sped, much like those chaotic New Yorkers around him, to the address given. He was only a half-hour behind her, though he’d made short work of the difference. What was she even thinking going to that place alone? And what did she even think she’d accomplish? What if she’d tipped off the killer somehow? He didn’t know. He couldn’t have.

Pulling up to the shop that he could see was on the corner, away from the city proper, he knew why she’d picked the spot. It wasn’t busy and there was, in fact, parking. And she was, in fact, standing out front. Her coat was zipped up, hiding her form that looked rather relaxed, all things considered. But she was watching him and his car, hardly waiting as he pulled up.

Before he could even speak, her hand was on his driver’s window, holding a piece of paper that said “LEAVE PHONE. GET OUT.”

Even her handwriting was perfect.

Confused but not about to argue, David did as was instructed and dropped his cell phone on the seat, stepping out and closing the door, “Can we talk about this yet?”

Glancing around, she nodded her head and walked into the shop, eyeing the sparse customers. The shop itself was nothing to write home about. It wasn’t cute and quaint, but it wasn’t loud or noisy. It was just… a shop. And David supposed that was the best kind of thing right now. And given Y/N… this was on purpose.

David watched her walk towards the window, using all of his strength not to wrap his arms around her. He didn’t really know why he wanted to, but he felt like he had to protect her. But a woman made of fire didn’t need protection, not really. She needed to be reigned in sometimes. And David wasn’t afraid of being burned.

Both sat, and it was Y/N who spoke first, her cup of coffee she had clearly recently ordered still steaming as she sipped and placed it back down, “When they first asked me to come to Conyers for the investigation, I was eager. I thought to myself, a real serial case. I’d done others before, but this seemed heavy enough that much of my team got brought in for it. I thought I’d finally be able to carve a name out for myself which is weird.” She chuckled a little, turning to the side and staring out the window.

He was quiet as he watched her, wanting nothing more than for her to finish, or to contemplate what had happened, which had clearly changed her. Something was different, “Four years ago I was asked to come here and interview Henry Best after he lost his wife in a car accident. The details were vague, fuzzy, and I’m pretty sure he lied about a few things, but the man wanted to change. He was hurt. I suppose when you lose the love of your life, your life shatters, too,” she turned back with a soft smile.

“I had three, two-hour sessions with him. The first one he was a mess. Clearly hungover from whatever binge he’d been on. He was angry and he yelled a lot. Second time he had cleaned up a bit, talked more fluidly, opened up. The final time he was able to lay out his plans for the future, which included devoting himself entirely to his work. I recommended hobbies, of course. They help heal. And he had said he wanted to garden,” her smile darkened as she looked at him, watching David process the information.

Pursing her lips, she let out a sigh, “I am a true believer that everyone in this world has a choice. We may not like the choices we have, but we have them. I chose to go to college, to graduate school, to apply to be a federal agent. You chose to give up a life of petty crime and stupid decisions to become a top ranking detective. But sometimes people are so consumed by their anger and their grief that they feel they don’t have a choice.”

Her words made sense, now. And her reaction did as well. Whatever she had encountered inside, she seemed to understand that Henry Best was the person to call ‘killer’ with a neon sign above his head. But David was far from stupid and he also understood that you couldn’t just arrest a man like that, even with all the evidence in the world. He knew that.

“Did he touch you?” His words were sharp, holding back the anger that was bubbling inside of him. It was reasons like this, Y/N thought as she eyed him, that she hadn’t told him where she was going. His temper was what had caught him many times. She’d seen his interrogation tapes. He was good, he was smart, but when he was involved he had a hell of a time making that break.

Her reaction wasn’t one to placate, however. She only cocked an eyebrow and smirked slightly, leaning back and crossing her arms in front of her chest, “If he tried to, we wouldn’t be sitting here talking, David. Either I’d be dead or he would be. Limited options, here.”

His face was flat and he looked mildly perturbed, “This isn’t a joke. I need to know if you think he’s the Black Rose.”

Sitting up, she leaned forward,closer to David, closing the distance a bit, “When I was new in the academy, I asked for a few training courses from some CIA agents. Not all agencies get along well, as you know,” she raised an eyebrow, “but they agreed. I asked for some 101 tips, so to speak. One of them was to always have a safe zone in whatever city you’re in. Another is to be mindful of all technology and what it’s capable of. This cafe doesn’t have wifi, no security cameras, and I disabled my GPS. He’ll have yours soon if he doesn’t already, but by then it won’t matter. I need him to think we’re oblivious, at least somewhat, to what he’s doing. I need him to underestimate both of us, because he already doesn’t. He picked you, and he stumbled upon me. So, ask me again if I think he’s the Black Rose.”

It was true. She had spent time with the CIA getting a sense of intelligence gathering, and while she wasn’t as up to date with it, she did know he probably had access to her phone. He knew about her sister, and hell he probably had the photos from her phone she’d taken, selfies taken for the few times she had dated, nothing explicit, of course. He would see pictures of her parents’ dog Raymond, the creature with two different colored eyes. He would see her schedule, and she guessed he would turn on the microphone or camera if he could.

David was quiet as he watched her. It was so baffling to have such a profound emotional tie like this.On the one hand he wanted her safe and he wanted her away from that monster. But he also trusted her, explicitly, and knew she wasn’t kidding when she said she’d have killed him. She was so fucking important.

Reaching over, she took his hand that was on the table, his body tensing and releasing all at once at her touch, gentle and warm, “David, I’m OK. I promise. Can you trust me?” Her voice was soft and warm. It was comforting. It was so different from this morning and her entire tone and form had morphed. He understood she was becoming herself, in a strange way. Some are shaped by trauma and others made a choice. David had only ever been one to channel his anger and so it was strange to see someone so calm about it.

To both of their surprise, David held the hand that had touched his, looking down at the table, “I trust you.” His words were simple as he looked back up, his face stoic and sincere.

“I trust you.”
_____

Y/N didn’t feel like driving back at this point. It was getting late, and if they left now, both of them, in their respective cars, they’d be lucky to get back by 8pm given all the damn traffic. The decision was made, by Y/N, to spend the night in the city. Get a hotel room.

As David wandered inside the rather stunning lobby of the Hyatt Regency, he felt so terribly out of place. All he had was his jacket and a few essentials he carried in his car. Just in case. Thankfully, they both lived that way.

He watched her slide her credit card on the counter, the woman dressed in black, looking pleasant as hell, spoke gently, “And how many rooms for the evening?”

“Just one. Two queen beds, if possible.” Y/N spoke and David was a bit surprised. He expected to have to fight with her about this. About the fact that she was at risk, and he was as well. That he wanted to make sure they were both safe. But she knew he’d pitch a fit and she honestly welcomed any kind of company right now. Just knowing he was sleeping nearby was reassuring. He was safe, just as she was to him. She trusted him more than most right now. More than Adrian who had texted her seventeen times before she sent him a selfie with her flipping the bird to reassure him she was alive. More than her own agents who she knew were also at risk, more than her superior who could easily be given information from higher ups and make her life that much harder. She had to be careful.

The woman smiled and swiped her card, giving her two room key cards and directing her to the fourteenth floor. Not the highest, for sure, but a decent view, she figured.

The two were quiet as they made their way upstairs, David thinking how strange it was to get a hotel, rather than just a motel, though deciding that it was a nice deal. He hadn’t been in one like this in… well, he didn’t really know.

Swiping the key card, Y/N entered the room and held the door for David who locked and bolted it behind them both. When he turned, he watched as she removed her jacket, dropping it over the black desk chair towards the window at the other end of the room. He could see the softness of her skin as she pushed back her hair, kicking off her shoes with a kind of casualness he didn’t expect. He found himself watching her in the dim light of the hotel room, quiet as she moved like some ethereal form he couldn’t pull from.

Even as she lifted the sweater over her head, dropping it on the desk as well, her small bag next to it, he watched. She had a black tank top on, of course, or he would have looked away. He hoped he would have. But he could see the light reflecting off her skin, making it glow as he entered the room proper, forcing himself to finally move from the frozen state he was in. Her beauty was raw and untouchable, he considered. The woman he could dream about pressing his lips against but he would never imagine would feel the same. She was unattainable. Wasn’t she?

Turning her head, her eyes locked with his, a soft smile on her features, “Get comfy. Pick a bed. Although I’m by the window so your options are limited.”

The ghost of a smile danced on his lips, blinking a few times as he nodded, sitting on the edge of his bed, large as his one at home, and unlaced his shoes. He knew the blinks would be caught by the agent across the room, blinks that served as a nervous tic and his giveaway. Leftover from foster homes, boys homes, and juvie. The thing he found he could never really control as much as he tried.

Looking up, he watched as she picked up the phone, the sleek black phone that still looked like it didn’t belong and David knew that feeling. She dialed, speaking softly, “Mhmm. Room 1436. Uhm, two of the burgers,” she glanced at David, giving him a questioning thumbs up, to which a startled David only nodded, “and that’s it. Hah, no, not unless you guys have six packs of Sam Adams lying around. Oh, no, it’s fine. Just the food. Thanks.” Hanging up the phone, she walked back to her bed and sat down, “Figured food was a good idea. Hope you’re ok with the lack of booze.”

David grinned, “Not all cops drink, you know that, right?”

She looked almost irate, “Oh, so you don’t drink?”

He shrugged, lifting up his own long sleeved shirt and removing it, revealing the form-fitting black undershirt, “Not what I said. But I’m fine without the alcohol.” He stood and draped his shirt over the chair by hers, the woman suddenly taken by his own form. He was removing his belt, though not with the intention of removing his pants, but because his gun and badge were strapped to it. She could see more of the tattoos on his body, some faded, some poorly done, some religious themes… he was interesting. For a moment she wondered what other tattoos he was hiding and internally she blushed.

“You OK?” He turned to her, walking back to his own bed and sitting on the edge, facing her.

Smiling softly, she nodded, “Well, my day was spent interviewing a sociopath and having personal information used against me, but now I’m here in a hotel room with good company, so I can’t complain too much,” she chuckled nervously.

The words caused David to tense again and he was blinking once more, his nose scrunching as he tried to keep his eyes closed. He hated that idea. The man who had targeted him was now gunning for this agent. This woman. This person who had become something else and it wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right and he swore he would-

“Hey,” she spoke softly, moving from her place on the bed to where he was, sitting next to him. Immediately she took one of his hands, holding it between the two of hers, their sides touching as she held his hand, “I’m safe. Well, especially now that you’re here, right?” She tossed him a crooked smile, her face turned to his. He was still stoic, however, even as he grasped her hand tightly, so very aware at how fragile all of this was. Dover and Birch had been easy, in a way. He was invested because it was a case and because he cared, but it wasn’t like this. Black Rose, he had thought at first, was a person picking a fight. But now it was more than that and he felt so very much to blame for this. For her.

Shaking his head slightly he turned to face her, now, a few pieces of hair falling by his face, his icy blue eyes softened now, “How can you be so relaxed about this?” And truly he wondered. He could barely hold it together on a good day and had received the wonderful reputation of a man with a bad temper. But Y/N knew he was more than that. He was so much more than that.

Reaching up, carefully, she brushed her fingers against his cheek, feeling a bit of scruff that the day often brought on towards the end, his skin smooth, warm. He melted into her touch. His eyes closed and suddenly his blinking stopped. His tics. He felt his form relax as she got close, stroking his face, “Because we all have choices, David. And I’m choosing not to let this man decide my fate. Not let him dictate how I live. I won’t let him scare me. Not again. And I won’t let him hurt you, either.”

His eyes opened at her last words, words he had realized had never been spoken to him before. No one had ever promised him safety or care, love and compassion, the ability for him to expose himself without fear of what came next. He had heard the fake ‘I love you’s whispered when the woman he was seeing didn’t really want him to go, but would be fine if he did. No one had ever promised him safety, though.

At once the world dissolved. The hotel room could have been anywhere. Anything. Nothing. And all David saw in that moment was this woman he had found himself falling, tumbling, stumbling, tripping over his own feet for. She was more than she understood.

Without hesitation David leaned in, his head turning slightly as his lips met hers, sitting on the edge of the hotel room bed, her hand still warm against his face, her other holding his. She tasted sweet, delicate. She tasted like smoke and fire, like kindness and hope. She was everything he missed. That he had pined for. Wanted. Never thought he deserved. His eyes closed tightly as he turned his body further to face her, Y/N doing the same, instinctively. They weren’t close enough and both wanted to be closer.

A soft gasp had escaped only briefly when his lips collided with hers, magnets connecting sharply but not desperately. He felt so perfect, with her hand against his face, keeping him close as he leaned in to the kiss, worried perhaps she might pull away. She didn’t. She fell into the kiss naturally, her heart racing and her stomach suddenly flipping, unexpected but so perfect. Even as his tongue parted her lips and pressed against hers, spilling his heart along with it, he needed her so much more.

After what felt like forever, though only seconds of the two embraced in a kiss, Y/N pulled away, taking a soft breath as David’s lips followed hers slightly, eyes opened as both looked at the other, “This isn’t smart,” her words were soft, closing her eyes once more as she rested her forehead against his, both facing the other.

He couldn’t help but chuckle, “This is one of the smartest things I’ve ever done.” He reached up, his hand brushing away her hair, seeing the softness of her features now that they were so close. And of course, he wouldn’t push for more. If the kiss was a mistake, or all she wanted, he would be happy with that. He would know that for the briefest of moments he had felt what it meant to be cared for. Needed.

“That’s a low bar, Loki,” she smirked, opening her eyes and locking onto his, causing both to laugh slightly.

Sitting back up, David was worried for a moment as she scooched away a bit, “C’mon, lay down with me. We’re not fucking in a hotel room,” she adjusted herself, her body crawling towards the top of the bed, lying on her right side.

A bit relieved, and almost laughing at the insinuation, David followed suit and lay across from her, close enough, however, to feel her breath, facing her, “I didn’t say we were gonna fuck. What if I didn’t want to?”

She smirked, David grinning, very aware that his tic wasn’t there right now, wondering if perhaps a human being could be treatment itself, “Oh, you don’t?” She reached up again, her fingertips dancing over his soft lips, lips he pursed too often, kept in a straight line. Lips that were now turned up in a grin. Devilish. Playful. Trickster kind of grin. Like his namesake.

Taking her hand on his lips, he kissed at her fingertips, almost thrown off at his own softness, “Ok. I do. But… I’m fine just being here, right now,” he got quiet, shaking his head a bit, “Fuck, that was stupid, wasn’t it? I just gave you a really, really stupid line.”

Y/N laughed and for that he was grateful. Not just because her smile was perfect, and the sound was better than any other he thought he could make her make (and he really wanted to), but because he knew he could say these things. The things that others cringed at, or yelled at. The things he didn’t actually feel for other people, that he felt, deeply, for this woman he had wanted to hate before he’d seen her. He felt this about someone who was making him more invested than if this were just about him. He was absolutely vulnerable around this woman he wanted only to see smile, laugh, grin, smirk… any of it.

Adjusting herself again, she curled against him, tucking her head under his chin as she pressed her hands on his chest, “It was. But that’s ok. Because I’m happy, David. And as corny as it is to say, I’m happy here with you. In this stupid hotel room after a day that still makes no sense to me. I’m happy.”

Chapter 10: Anything For You, Ladybug

They didn’t fall asleep right away. Which made sense on many levels. She was still shaken and he was still quite taken with the woman in his arms, who he had dreamed of namelessly for so long. She was already a dream. But that was dangerous, and he knew it.

She told him stories of training in the bureau, and what she had encountered. Being a woman and an agent was never easy. He told her stories about when he started off as a beat cop and his first time arresting someone back when he worked in Philadelphia. He talked about having seen so much and knowing what he did, he wanted to bring his work to an area that didn’t always get attention. That needed good cops. Conyers had been that place.

Her words were shaky when she discussed the loss of her sister, and that was what the CD had been in reference to. David had lost so much in his life so young he supposed he didn’t really understand that kind of pain the way he wanted to. He hadn’t ever loved something like that before. He had felt adrift, a ship without an anchor. Love was a memory to him and he dreamed of it sometimes so hard he could taste it.

When they did finally fall asleep, David had buried himself against her and they had managed to look disgustingly adorable in a way neither would ever admit to, even in a court of law. Y/N had prided herself on her ability to keep work separate. It helped that at least once a month she’d spend a couple days out of town. Sometimes longer. Meant she had good excuses for staying settled. David had no such excuse save for his own emotional damage as a child and teen.

Her phone was what stirred her from sleep, sleep that rarely came so deeply. The phone was by her bed, the issued FBI one she was sure was being tracked but didn’t much care. Breaking away from the warm embrace of the man who had no business being as wonderful as he was, she fumbled for it before answering, not registering the emergency ring, “Agent Y/L/N. Yes, that’s what I said. Wait, what?”

Loki had stirred when she woke, though more so as he watched her suddenly sit up, pushing back her hair that had become quite a mess. He was almost hurt he didn’t get a chance to see her as she woke. A soft waking. Not this.

Already she was on her feet, “No. That’s incorrect. I’m still in New York, the drive was a nightmare so I decided to stay at a hotel and- it doesn’t matter. Check my phone records, I never-!”

She was silent, David sitting up as he watched her, a frantic look suddenly dissipating from her delicate features, her skin pale, eyes wide, looking like a deer in headlights. So far he had found that answering the phone was not ending well for either of them.

He was adjusting his own hair, standing and going for his shirt and belt, watching as she pulled the phone away to look at the screen.

By now she had adjusted to this sort of new normal. Henry Best was not a shy man and she suspected that for a long time he had been killing people. For whatever reason, it had escalated the past few months and she was certain when they looked at patterns statewide, they would find a broader, less direct pattern. No roses, but perhaps notes. Ones discarded. A disappearance and a body found days or weeks later would be easily dismissed by an overworked department.

Closing her eyes tightly, she took a breath before lifting the phone back to her ear, “When was he found? Yeah, check the hotel records I don’t give a fuck. You think I seriously killed my own coworker?! Tell Kendrick to call me himself, then!” She pulled the phone back and hung it up.

It was six in the morning, and she supposed the few hours of sleep they had gotten was a blessing, but one she would regret. She would speak at the funeral later and try not to loudly blame herself, but it would be hard not to. She hadn’t pulled the trigger but she had left a loaded gun on the table just the same. She had let David in and in turn let other parts of herself go.

David was quiet before he spoke, “What happened?”

What a stupid question. It was met by a look of anger he didn’t recognize immediately but knew as rage. It was a powerful kind of rage that clouded judgment and made people do stupid things. He hoped it was the kind of rage Y/N could reign in and use as fuel but he wasn’t sure. He didn’t know enough. He knew fragments and pieces and he hoped she could keep herself together. Keller Dover had let that rage nearly destroy him and almost got himself killed. It was personal.

“Adrian is dead. They found his body in the parking lot of an empty office building, two shots to the chest. They found texts on his phone from me, though we both know it wasn’t. It was ‘me’, asking to meet him with important information I was ‘too scared’ to speak over the phone. Adrian died alone, bleeding to death in a parking lot because of me.”

Her face was stoic, eyes cold and echoing of something akin to heartbreak. She didn’t love Adrian. Not really. But she liked him. She liked how he flirted and made her feel cute, how he called her ‘ladybug’ and would grin even through the phone. Even when he was such a fucking asshole, blowing off her requests for meeting up or talking about his dates… she knew. He wasn’t a bad man, he was kind of a dick, but he sure as hell didn’t deserve to die. But she had killed him, hadn’t she? Maybe she didn’t pull the trigger but she left the gun on the table.

When her sister died, long ago, rage had taken the place of sadness and grief. She had felt anger like no other that the world would have reached out and taken her sister from her. It wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair. Sadness was so hard to manage but rage and anger was always so much more reasonable, in an odd way. Sadness you had to cope with but rage you could channel elsewhere. It also made you stupid as hell.

Loki was walking to where Y/N was, reaching for her arm before she snatched it away, “Hey, this isn’t your fault, we both know-”

“But it is!” She stared at him, eyes wide and deadly cool, “It is my fault, David. I thought that this,” she gestured between the two of them, “was a good idea. And it wasn’t. Henry got my phone credentials somehow and he got to Adrian.”

David stepped back, absorbing the blow that hit him right in the chest. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, but when a wounded cat is cornered and injured it will always lash out, even at what it loves the most. She was defending herself. Somewhere he knew that, in the same way he knew he would be doing the same, were he in her position. But he allowed it to sink, instead stepping away and getting himself dressed.

 

He was cautious as he watched her solemnly get dressed, do her hair as best she could before silently stepping into the bathroom to use the crappy-but-acceptable toothbrush and toothpaste provided. Her brain was trying to process what just happened, but so was David’s. He was reeling from the pain of being told he was a mistake, and because he knew that she didn’t mean it. He hoped she didn’t. He felt responsible as well, that he had distracted her from the case. Perhaps, he thought, it might give him clarity to have the step back that she didn’t.

If Henry had reached out to Adrian, it was because he knew a few things. First, he knew that Adrian provided Y/N with information frequently enough that he had access to quite a bit of data. He probably knew more than he even realized he knew, and he was a risk. Also, Henry knew that Adrian trusted Y/N completely. Enough that he’d simply drive in the middle of the night to meet up with her over a simple text. But doesn’t the FBI train better?

Suddenly it was David working like a profiler, and perhaps it was the brain of the woman he had slept next to that was rubbing off on him.

It didn’t make sense that Adrian would just trust a text message from Y/N, did it?

Looking down at his own phone, he scanned through a few missed calls and voicemails, a text or two from guys at the precinct. Opening his work mail, he noted a few important forensic items and tabbed them for later. One that stood out was the email that the PAM shots had come in.

When Y/N came out she was silent, her words feeling like pain, should she utter them. Instead, she grabbed her things, hardly looking at David as she felt the weight of the boulder she had decided to shoulder pressing down on her before breathing out the words, “Let’s go.”
___

The drive itself hadn’t taken long, all things considered. Y/N had insisted she drive her own car, the reliable car that felt reliably foreign, making her feel like an alien in a world she was supposed to be part of. Adrian didn’t deserve to die. Arguably, most folks didn’t, really. He was a good guy, though. He did the stuff you were supposed to do. Being an asshole wasn’t a reason to off someone and yet Henry (and she was sure it was Henry) had chosen him specifically. Whether or not it was because he ‘knew’ something, it was calculated. Gunshots, however, meant this was not as planned as he had wanted it to be. Something had been off. Emotions had been involved. This had been a crime of passion and not a single note was left behind. Not a single rose.

He wasn’t the pattern, though. So it made sense.

Pulling up to the precinct, she got out and made her way to the door, aware of Detective Loki only steps behind her, protective in a way he didn’t like, even for himself. Henry was bold, however. Further forensics on the phone had shown Y/N’s phone had been cloned, of course. She supposed handing the man her jacket in his office where he had defense level technology hadn’t been her smartest move.

She had to play chess and make him think she was still playing checkers.

“Agent? This was delivered about an hour ago, one of the DC Agents dropped it himself. Credentials checked out. It’s for you.” A young man was behind the precinct desk, looking a little tired but otherwise unbothered, handing her a small package. She was curious, though not concerned this time, able to spot the small sticker on the bottom left of a glittering ladybug.

Taking the box she glanced at David and nodded her head towards the long hallway that led towards the interrogation rooms. She was silent, moving like a whisper over the ugly rug in the dingy department that desperately needed an upgrade. Opening the door to the other side of the one-way mirror, she removed her jacket and her phone, David following suit. It was eerie, how silent she was, even her movements noiseless as she fiddled with the microphone settings and turned off all recording devices. She went so far as to power them off entirely, making the room dark.

Shutting the door, the young woman gently opened the box and withdrew a sleek, silver Samsung Galaxy, definitely not government issue. Squinting, she pressed the power button and turned it on, the phone booting up with no problem, the background a picture of a ladybug. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes and smirk, “Subtle, as always.”

Sitting down, David took a seat by her, watching as the phone appeared to begin on its own, the woman taking the cue to prop it up and sit back, the two close by once more as they watched a video begin.

“I know. This isn’t subtle, right? I mean, if you’re watching it then it’s not supposed to be. After what Henry did, I didn’t want you getting another package and being scared again.”

It was Adrian, his face, brown scruff over his handsome features, sharp jawline and broad shoulders visible, stunning hazel eyes that were arguably more green than hazel visible. His hair was dark brown as well, normally gelled down and styled, though a bit more tussled now. He was sitting in his apartment, what looked to be his apartment. Pictures of his family were behind him and he was sitting on his couch, beige… funny the things we choose to see.

“He texted me tonight. I mean, you did, from what police records will show, but it’s him. He’s gotta think I’m some next-level idiot, you know? He tried to get your tone down but he can’t get that icy exterior quite right,” he smirked, looking into the camera, Y/N’s eyes softened as she knew she was watching the final moments of a man’s life. You don’t turn away from something like that.

“It’s my fault… I’m sorry.” She whispered as she watched the video, her body caving in on itself as she felt herself tense.

“And before you apologize, don’t! Hey, for all I know, things turned out just fine and you’re gonna make fun of me for this video and I’ll get the credit for catching The Black Rose! I won’t let you live it down,” he smirked.

Tears burned at her eyes, holding a hand over her mouth to stop herself from speaking again, almost wounded by how eerie it was how well he knew her. It fucking hurt.

“I can’t call you on your phone because it’ll route to his. He has authority over it by now, so don’t trust it, whatever you read on it. It’s useless. I used this because I knew I could jailbreak it and install the firmware to keep him out. But yeah, this’ll be pretty useless too if he gets wind of it.

“Anyway. He wants to meet me. I figure if I can get some recordings of him in the parking lot, maybe clone his phone myself without him knowing, maybe I can get something off him for you. If not, if you’re watching this and feeling like shit… it means it’s a good thing I sent the phone. Because if you’re watching this, much like those tropes I know you hate, then I’m dead, Ladybug. And I’m sorry for that one. But it sure as hell isn’t your responsibility and you need to know I’m doing this because I chose to. You’ve always been the brave one, Y/N. I’ve watched you take hits from assholes, get threatened, travel across the country, work yourself through hell on earth… you’re brave. You’re good at your job. And you always deserved better than me. Doesn’t make much sense to tell you I always loved you, so I won’t. But I’m doing this not for you, but because of you. Catch the asshole.”

The video closed, another taking its place, this one far grainier and from within a spot on the dash of Adrian’s car. It was a shitty camera, one that would be found, quite obviously, and that was broadcasting a recording. Later they’d find out not even Henry could trace the broadcast, but Y/N knew. David knew. Both knew as they sat in the dark interview room in the Conyers precinct.

The audio was muffled and quiet, which made sense. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. But it showed Adrian getting out of the car, jacket on, walking over with his hands up. He was speaking, softly, and staying still as another man entered view.

Henry.

He had his hands in his pockets, though he was visible. His head. Face. Hair. Unmistakably Henry Best. It was like watching a horror movie, though, and she hadn’t even realized that David had wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled himself to her, ready to stop the video at any moment.

Shouts were exchanged suddenly, Henry barking at Adrian who stepped back, his hands still up, shaking his head and looking almost quizzical as he tilted his head to the side, “-her…-?” It was barely audible, though Henry’s face contorted into anger, rage, pulling a gun out of his pocket suddenly and screaming, “You could never understand my love for her!”

One shot. Two shots. Three shots.

Each made Y/N jump, tears in her eyes as she watched her friend, one of her closest friends, the man she trusted, shot dead in front of her, the feed suddenly cutting out.

The video closed, leaving only the phone with its basic desktop icons before them, Y/N reaching out and gently picking up the phone, “You fucking idiot, Adrian.” Tears were falling down her cheeks, not that she cared. And even Adrian’s promise that his death was not on her was not enough. The guilt was tremendous and suddenly she felt like she was the one speeding down the highway and popping a tire. She felt everything spinning out of control and she wondered if this was the same kind of end her sister had met. Chaos. Loss. Helplessness. Blame.

It was the icon in the bottom of the screen, however, that snapped her back, looking down at the icon that was only black but was titled all she needed:

“EVIDENCE”.

His last gift was not a video of his death, but rather, Adrian had ensured, was a gift of life and a promise of revenge against the man who had done so much. And, perhaps, a warning of something more sinister.

Chapter 11: Without You

The federal agent had slid from David’s hold by now, standing as she stared at the phone, this almost holy artifact of sorts, aware of what it meant. Adrian had entrusted her with his life, essentially, and with what she would need to get Henry Best. Of all people in the world, he had trusted her. Later she would understand that he was in turn trusting David was well. But now? She was too wounded to think of anything logically.

“Do you have your gun?” David’s voice startled the young woman from her focus, looking up at the man who had concern adorning his features like ornaments on a tree.

A scoff left her lips, “I don’t carry my gun. I’m not a good shot. I carry a pocket knife, and that’s it. It’s all I need.”

God, she was so dense. In the face of a friend’s murder she still didn’t get it. He had almost wished she’d said something this stupid when they’d first met. Maybe he could have hated her. Resented her. Not trusted her. But his anger was now out of fear and he understood that. Being a cop meant you saw that a lot and while David wasn’t entirely self-aware at times, he did know this: emotions made you stupid.

He huffed as she looked at the phone, “Don’t really give a fuck if you’re a good shot, Y/N, but you need it.”

She glared, “I needed Adrian, too. I don’t need a fucking gun, I need to stop Henry Best and we are literally the only two people alive who know who he is and what he’s capable of. You think a bullet is going to stop a man like Henry?”

More reason to carry a fucking gun.

She would argue a gun wouldn’t save her from this man, not really. He was dangerous because lethality in his world was easy. Everything was just a button away. A mere click and he could be inside her laptop. He probably already was. The second she connected this phone to anything except a charger it would put them all at risk. She wasn’t going to let Adrian’s death be for naught.

Making her way to the door, she was stopped by David’s hand grabbing her arm, “You can’t just go back out there. Not with that. What’re you going to do?” He was terrified, honestly. His eyes were blinking hard, a few strands of hair out of place at his sudden movements. He was angry that this was happening and he was terrified that she was a clear target. But had she always been?

She snatched her arm from his grasp, anger on her face. She was absolutely done with feeling helpless and attacked. She wanted to break that CD Henry had sent her into a million pieces. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs and pummel him until he couldn’t stand. Anger was so much easier than sadness and she was so tired of feeling like some helpless princess. So many murderers and criminals were behind bars because of her work and she understood Henry. Maybe that’s what scared her. She knew what he was thinking.

“I’m going to do my job, Detective. I recommend you work on doing the same.” Her voice was cold and it was frigid. She had closed the door on her feelings. Or she was trying to. Her feelings for David had compromised her and until the day she died she’d blame herself for Adrian’s death. She would carry that as her own albatross around her neck and it would be her curse. Repent, she thought. But she wasn’t the religious type. Not the way David was with his tattoos and a name he had chosen when he turned eighteen.

He had told her, falling asleep in the hotel, that the moment he turned eighteen and left the boys’ home, he had changed his name. David, he admitted, was from the Bible. Loki, of course, the Trickster god. He found it appropriate given the trouble he managed to get into. Now it had grown on him and many days he forgot his old name. His own dead name. A dead name for a dead man. He had become something better and had changed his life. He had promised himself that no man or person alive could ever make him feel anything less than human. There were no more shadows to hide in and he would never do so again.

Watching her leave the quiet interview room was painful but he understood it. There was a fire that burned inside her and it was part of what had drawn him to her. She was a force to be reckoned with. Without hesitation she had stared Henry Best in the eye and had done so alone. It was stupid but it was brave. He wondered if he’d have the same courage. He hoped he did. Facing demons was never easy but it was something she’d been tasked with, now more than ever.

Not a soul looked over as Y/N made her way back into the sterile conference room that had become a sort of second home to her. Not like her own, small apartment back in DC. The one adorned with art she had found in smaller galleries in the area, of artists no one knew about whose names she wouldn’t let disappear. It was such a small thing, really, but it was important. She often found that those people who the world overlooked were some of the most powerful creators. The one she had gravitated to most, the one that she had never imagined someone like she would buy, was the sketch of the shattered glass Coca Cola bottle. There was something so organized about the chaos of it, something meant to be so perfect but strewn about and messy. It felt apt.

From the time she had taken the case her own supervisor had been on her ass, not just because they needed something like this solved before the press got involved, but because it really was terrifying. Adrian had known the depth of it, but she wondered now if anyone else had realized the true gravity of the situation. Whoever the Black Rose was, (Henry Best) knew how to get into peoples’ computers. Their phones. Their everything. He had become a god of sorts, but there was something holding him back. There was a reason he had been committing these murders to begin with.

Propping up her laptop, Y/N carefully lifted the phone, turning it back on, no password on it as he had trusted it would get to her. And it had. Making it look like she was opening pages on the laptop, focused now, she was careful to be sure she was out of view of the cameras. Directly, of course. She wanted to be visible without being obvious what she was doing. Even as she opened the file made for her.

Confusion washed over her features as the single folder icon opened on the phone, a dozen or more opening up with it, each with a victim’s name. The first she clicked, “Eleanor O’Hare”, brought up a few different images. A click on each and it was suddenly so fucking obvious. They were screenshots, really, of Tinder conversations that Eleanor (or Elle as she had put as her profile) was having with… someone. Henry, probably. The conversations were far from PG and at least in Eleanor’s case, ended with her agreeing to meet with him somewhere secluded. Don’t drive your car… I’ll come get you. Can you download Antenna on your phone? It’ll keep our conversations private. It wipes them after. We should be safe.

But, much to the surprise of the young agent reading these image captures, the conversations had been saved. How Adrian had managed was beyond her… especially if Henry had access to Antenna on such a broad scale. He did, didn’t he? She would bet money his company had some kind of access or agreement.

Ultimately, the conversation went on to meet up outside the old Park Street outdoor mall that had shut down, the first abduction site. The first black rose. And the first one that had named Detective Loki. The conversations had made it clear she was admitting to cheating and that she was in a loveless marriage. She was unhappy. She wanted to be happy. Have fun. Her husband would never know.

The images The Black Rose had sent of ‘himself’, however, were of course not him. She didn’t need to read the rest of the files to know they were likely catfish photos. For someone wanting to be discreet and cheat, it was unlikely Eleanor had thought to backwards image search anything she got. Ultimately, she found the first victim and it had been a cheating woman.

It didn’t take long for a clear pattern to arise which was that Henry had gone out of his way to match with and heavily engage with cheating men and women on dating sites. He had selected not just cheaters, but from what it seemed, cheaters whose partners had literally no idea and saw them as picturesque marriages. They were the people who would never think of their spouse as ‘that kind of person’. And it was the reason, she was sure, the phones were never found. You could scrub a phone but you’d find it all the same. Just as they had on the other phone they did get their hands on.

Meanwhile, at his desk, David had his eyes glued on Y/N with a sort of desperation. She had closed him out in a big way. Be it for her safety or his, it was unclear, but she had chosen a path of doing the rest of this alone. It didn’t mean David was going to stop his own search as he had been doing before, but it did mean he was even more worried.

There was a sort of fragility to Y/N, though not in any real negative way. He understood, though, that she was in a reckless mode. People did stupid things when they were scared and angry and she was both. Wasn’t he, though? The idea that Henry Best had been staring at her from across the table made his stomach turn. He pictured the smug look on the man’s face, the man who had managed to terrorize so many and so terribly so quickly. David wondered how he was even holding himself together. On the best days David had to be pulled back by the Captain for being so brash, and truthfully everyone had been surprised David hadn’t gone off to destroy some office by now. Maybe with another focus, David had a reason to keep his shit together.

Glancing down at his own computer, he decided to do the research he knew he could get away with, without being suspicious. He did, in fact, want to know if prints had come back from the box that had shipped the CD. Or where it had been purchased. He was tracking any movement of the stationary used in the letter in the box, down to the type of ink used. Henry was smart, but so was David. He grew up having to survive and now was no different.

What David didn’t see was the blank look on Y/N’s face. She had opened the other files, but had finally popped open a separate file. It was away from the others and was marked “ALPHA/OMEGA?” And was clear why. David would miss, in his own focus, the young agent grabbing her phone and keys, her bag, her jacket. She was leaving the rest behind because truly it didn’t matter.

Within moments she was out of the door, having closed the phone that had the information she needed on it. Starting the car as she made her way back to the hotel she had come from, her hair frazzled, tired, drained, she remembered that conversation years ago.

“Henry, do you want to talk about what happened with your wife, yet? You haven’t brought her up since we first spoke.” Her voice was calm and the man sitting across from her on the cream colored sofa in the lavish home looked relaxed. Cool. His disposition was far more put together and while he didn’t smile, she supposed one was there. It was unsettling.

Henry only shrugged before looking at the Special Agent assigned to work with him, a woman entrusted with getting through to a man none had been able to. Something about her had endeared her to him and he felt connected. Enough so to shake his head, “Mathilda? She was… well, the reason for all this, I suppose. Losing her killed a part of me. I suppose I was trying to get it back. We can’t do that, though. Can we, Agent?”

His eyes softened and she could tell he was speaking of loss, but he was withholding something, “You still haven’t told me why she left that night, Henry. I can’t force you to talk to me about it, and I know you’ve come a long way, but at some point you’re going to have to come to terms with what happened. And I hope you can do that with me,” her eyes were wide, gentle. She was feeling something so off but so… important. He was holding back, which so often men in grief do, but this felt purposeful. It felt intentional. That he was processing whatever it was on his own, and that was so much more dangerous.

Instead Henry smiled, widely this time, a genuine smile that felt like that of a serpent, “I promise to share with you everything, someday. You’ve saved my life, you know that? Not many would have spent the time you have with me.” And he meant it. Y/N had been picked, specially, to speak with Henry after the passing of his wife. A car accident was never easy, but reports and eyewitness accounts had all pointed to a fight before she ran out. Henry had held that close.

“Of course, Henry. I’m just happy you were able to open yourself up,” she was smiling. More naive at the time but not completely so. She had caught the way Henry connected to her. Looked at her, how he had cleaned up more than just himself and his home by her final visit, the follow-up that came after her initial ones. The one he had requested, informally that hadn’t been documented.

“For you? Anything.”

Getting out of the car, having driven more than her share at this point, Y/N got out. She had wanted to be somewhere public and had pulled up to a park in one of the major cities along the route that had taken her to New York City the first time. Lifting her phone to her ear, she waited a few rings, not hesitating as it was picked up, “I should have known the reason you didn’t want to tell me the first time why she had left the house so fast. I was so fucking stupid about it,” she was keeping her composure as best she could.

A chuckle on the other end made her wince, “Oh, my dear thing. I don’t blame you for not knowing. I mean besides, everyone thought it was the other way around, anyway. But we both know I would never betray the one I love. That’s not in my nature,” he smirked, one that was felt even through the phone.

Shaking her head she paced, walking down the dirt path, somewhat obstructed by trees, the air cool against her despite wearing her light coat, “I’m going to nail you for this, you know that? What you did was murder and I bet my life you didn’t start with that dozen in the church, did you?” Her voice was raising, trying to see if there was anyone around, suddenly acutely aware that she was fairly alone. Daylight didn’t make it less terrifying.

“If you do a single thing beside leave the park, Dodrick Park, if I can read signs correctly, I will ensure Detective Loki doesn’t leave the precinct alive. Understood?” His voice was cool as he spoke and she wanted suddenly to vomit.

Turning a few times, looking around, she tried to see if there was anyone near her. There were a few joggers a distance away, a man walking his dog, but no one close, “Not if I kill you first. You can’t be in two places at once. You’re not a god, despite what you want to think,” she scoffed.

It seemed to trigger something in Henry as he bit down on his tongue, taking a breath, “Now, we can’t have you making threats like that, can we? Rogue Detectives like David go down all the time, but Special Agents? Ones as distinguished as you? You’re special, Y/N. But don’t worry. You’ll see.”

A soft beep was heard as Y/N pulled the phone away, seeing she’d been hung up on. Around her she heard voices stop, not a sound except for the footsteps behind her. Turning sharply, her phone in her hand still, she could make out a figure about two hundred feet back, dressed in black. He was making her way towards her.

Not hesitating now, Y/N turned sharply and began to run, away from her car and away from the man, towards whatever was before her. She was cursing the days she had avoided cardio and running, how she was wearing chucks that were not carrying her as fast as she could want but she was running none the less. Running towards what lay ahead. People, a quarter mile ahead, what felt like perhaps an eternity but if she could get to them…

The footsteps behind her were picking up as well, glancing back as she saw the man clearly in pursuit, suddenly increasing her speed. Her lungs were burning as she pushed herself forward with as much force as her weakened body could muster. So many nights she hadn’t slept. Her body cramped. Her mind exhausted. But she was pushing through. She would call David once she was around others. She would tell him he was right, she was being dumb, they would work together. She would tell him she was sorry.

And as her aching legs pulled her towards salvation, her breathing ragged and rough, burning from the stress and cold, her lungs aching, running towards humanity as a whole she reached out, bringing her phone in front of herself, knowing she was close enough now that-

At once she felt her feet suddenly tangled up in themselves, her body losing control of itself as she hit the ground hard, the phone falling from her hand as her head hit the ground, realizing she had tripped over something man-made, that hadn’t been there before. And as her head ached, throbbing, she took one final breath before a needle prick pinched her neck, “Get some rest, my rose.”

Nothing.

Chapter 12: At Last

By the time David had noticed the young woman was gone, it had been about an hour. He’d managed to get himself tangled into a lead regarding a fingerprint on one of the boxes sent over. A partial, but it had lead him to a factory outside of New York City, one of the only fingerprints they hadn’t been able to account for. The processing center had some security footage posted, and David had managed to get his hands on it. While he was waiting for it to upload to his own computer, he glanced up to the woman he knew would be furiously working-

Wait.

Turning from his computer entirely, David eyed the empty meeting room, the chair pushed back though the lights still on, her laptop open but with the screen black. Panic settled in his stomach but he tried to work through it, taking a breath before assuming the worst of the situation. She was probably in the bathroom, maybe making another cup of coffee. Both had been double fisting caffeine like it was going out of style and he imagined maybe that was it. Maybe her alarm had gone off to eat something.

David stood and strolled towards the bathrooms, a sense of foreboding settling in as he knocked at the door of the ladies’ room, knowing the precinct didn’t exactly have that many. But no answer. He was blinking hard now, repeatedly as his body tensed and he walked briskly towards the desk at the front, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, faded tattoos he still never regretted showing as he did, “Do you know where Special Agent Y/N went?”

The older officer, one who had his post by seniority, looked at David with a cocked eyebrow, “Figured you knew. That weird-ass fed bolted out of her with her things and took off.” A bored look fell on his face and David suddenly felt like the world was shattering open.

“You wanna repeat that, Officer? You wanna tell me why you don’t know where the Special Agent went?” His voice was raising and he was suddenly more than agitated. He was angry. This man who had settled for a life behind a desk was going to insult one of the most gifted and dedicated humans he’d ever worked with from the Bureau? All the while noting he had no idea where she went?

A few heads had turned now, watching as Detective Loki gripped at the counter, eyes focused like a shark as he waited for an answer, “Nothing? Why am I not shocked? I wish I was fucking surprised that some dipshit like you with no regard for anyone except your own lazy ass couldn’t ask someone where they were going. She has more brainpower in her pinky than you could ever dream of amassing in your entire life!”

Now he was shouting. But who was he shouting at? This cop, idiot that he was, truly wasn’t at fault and David knew it. He knew this man was not responsible for the two having just gotten into it, or that she had pushed herself away. The lazy idiot was not the reason he was having a level five panic attack in the precinct.

Pushing himself off the desk, Loki went to his own area and grabbed his keys and jacket as well, phone in hand as he dialed her number. It rang as he threw on his coat and walked into the cold, late afternoon air, fumbling with his keys as he wandered to his all-too-obvious police car.

Answer your fucking phone, Y/N. Pick it up.

It was fear that was bubbling inside him now and he felt as though he might be drowning in it, unable to get her on her cell. He couldn’t call Adrian anymore. That ship had sailed. He knew that as he slid into the car and started it up, aware that he was more alone now than he had been before. It would be too dangerous to call the FBI and ask them to get in touch with her, but he knew already something was wrong.

He was getting ready to call a fourth time when a text came up, an anonymous number that he knew already had no trace back, stating only “Dodrick Park”.

His hands were freezing as he took in a breath, watching the phone with a sort of terror and curiosity, considering that a sane man might not enter the name into their GPS. David Loki was not, at present time, a sane man, however. David Loki was beyond sanity as he pulled up Waze and typed it in.

The hour or so drive that it took to get to the park had seemed like an eternity, and immediately he knew something was off. It wasn’t an average park, and already there was a sign up that read “PARK CLOSED”. Fuck that sign.

It was the turn in to the lot that really made his stomach churn, able to see her rental parked perfectly between the white lines in the lot. His own parking job was not so spectacular, likely due to his frenzied behavior as he got out and ran over, placing a hand on the hood. It was cold, and the car looked as though it had been sitting there a while. Whatever that meant. At minimum it had been two hours, and that was two hours he couldn’t lose.

Hurrying down the dirt path that sinking feeling became heavier and he knew, somewhere deep down, what had happened. It had reminded him of being in the boys’ home when he was younger, around thirteen, when he fell in love for the first time. Her name was Samantha but made people call her Sam and she was everything. He’d see her from time to time running the same areas he did, sharing a cigarette once. He remembered showing up one day to the back of the dilapidated mall they’d meet at, seeing she wasn’t there. It was three days before she showed back up but she was different this time. That look of defiance, of fire, of everything, had seemed to vanish from her startling blue eyes. There was something broken now, taking the cigarette from his hand.

He was a kid, his first sketchy tattoo on the back of his hand, one she told him made him look stupid that he felt self conscious of. Now she was wordless as she took a drag and handed it back. When he asked where she’d been, he could see the bruises on her wrists, even as she tugged the sleeves of her hoodie down.

It was later he found out she’d been staying with her uncle for the past year, and how she had finally stood up to him. He had heard about the things he’d done, but that he worked for the church and everyone excused it. Everyone except David. He wasn’t David then. He was a different person, a child filled with rage forced to become an adult at the age of thirteen when he found her uncle and beat him senseless. It hadn’t fixed anything, he saw later. Hadn’t erased the damage and the pain. Not even time could do that. But David knew that there was punishment to be handed out and sometimes you had to do it after. Her uncle never touched her again.

Towards the end of the path he could see a phone, face up with a crack on the screen. He didn’t need to be a forensics expect to know that the phone was hers and that it was only going to have her prints. He knew whatever was on it, whatever was there, would be wiped. Her coordinates changed. There was no way to backwards trace her. But he lifted it none the less and watched it light up, the screen with the FBI logo on it, warning of unauthorized use. Frowning, he pocketed it, rage filling his body.

He was going to scream, even as the day faded he was going to scream to the heavens above and curse the god he had thought couldn’t hurt him more than he had already been hurt. He had spent his life alone and he had dedicated himself to doing what he perceived as the right thing. And so had she, really. This woman who had saved lives, changed the world. She had done good and was leaving a legacy. So why take her? Why do any of this?

He missed the first call that went off in his pocket, eyes blinking hard and fast as he turned in circles, as though he might see something, anything, to alert him. But the second time it went off he held it to his head, “Detective Loki,” he said, as calmly as he could.

“Detective! It’s so strange, hearing your voice directly. It is a relief, though. You sound as I imagined. Not as frantic as I suspect you are, however,” the voice was cool, enough that he felt a shiver of both rage and fear as he gripped the phone tighter.

“Best, you son of a bitch. Where is she? Where is she?!” His voice raised and he was yelling, veins in his head pulsing as he screamed at the man he couldn’t touch.

A soft laugh was on the other end, “Resting. She’s had quite the week, wouldn’t you agree? Has a habit of working herself to the bone. All the best do, don’t they?”

Loki’s nostrils flared as he gripped his fist, “When I get my hands on you-”

“You’ll… what? Pummel me? Not everything in this world is corrected by fists and a gun, Detective. The Special Agent knew that. Knows that, I should say. She’s still with us. But I think it’s time we formally introduce ourselves, don’t you? Such a long time coming. I’ll warn you with the usual spiel. Come alone, or don’t come at all. I may not be willing to kill her quite yet, but I can move her with ease. She sleeps so peacefully, wouldn’t you agree?”

David’s phone ‘dinged’ softly, pulling it away as he saw the same text number pop up, an image attached this time. It was her, eyes closed, sitting up in a church pew with her hands bound together on her lap with rope, head down, slumped against the old, dark brown bench. Her sweater was still clean and draped around her form, though her jeans were a bit dirty. There was a visible wound on her head but overall she looked… ok.

Bringing the phone back to his head he shook it, “If you hurt her, I’ll kill you. I don’t care. I’ll find you.”

A laugh echoed, a truly amused laugh, “What, are you Liam Neeson now? Is this a movie where you’re the hero crashing through the doors to save the day? Detective, you know better than that. And unfortunately, so does Y/N now. You know, for a woman versed in forensic sciences she truly let things get the better of her. I suppose love makes you do stupid things,” there was a tinge of something David couldn’t quite discern in his voice. Not bitterness, but something else. Something tragic.

“I’m going to send you a location. I expect you to meet me there, 11pm. Hopefully we can consider it neutral ground,” he smirked, one felt through the phone.

Abruptly the call ended and a GPS location came up on David’s phone. Not an address, but coordinates. The man was playing by David’s rules with this one, a neutral ground with neutral location coordinates. Clearly it would be a church of sorts, the pew had shown that one to be true, and as David looked at the sky he could see the clouds rolling in, a dark grey color beginning to obscure the dying light left, even at the end of a bitter winter. It wasn’t cold enough for snow, though David thought it fitting it should rain.

His entire body was shaking as he made his way back to his car, panicked at the idea of this woman, alone, with a man who knew her so very well. Who knew David. Who had picked her, hadn’t he? And as David slid into his car he began to cry for the first time in years, sobbing over the woman he barely knew and the life he had wanted so badly. David cried not because he was sad, or thought she might be dead, but because he knew that deep down, this was on him.

--

When Y/N woke, she was groggy. Well, that was one word for it. The world around her felt out of sorts and was spinning sideways. Her neck and head ached as she winced, sitting up leaning her head backwards staring at the ceiling of wherever she was, trying to orient herself. The FBI had trained her to work in situations like this. She had to focus.

A hand raised, or attempted to, to brush back her hair. She felt the bindings tight around her wrists and struggled at them for a brief moment before sighing. Instead, she worked to look around, focusing on the dimly lit area. It was a church, which hadn’t surprised her, but the size of it did. This was not an abandoned church like the rest of them but it was empty none the less. She was in the middle, towards the front, the podium lit up and the crucifix clear and large behind it. Candles were lit all around and the air felt still, though cold.

It was empty and she was trying to focus, even with the throbbing pain in her head and the dosing agent working its way out of her system, her body regaining itself. Sitting up straight she felt her ankles tied as well, though the rest of her body was not. Whoever had tied her up (Henry Best), had done so with the intent to keep her still but not immobilize her. He… trusted her. Not fully, but he trusted her.

“I was hoping you’d wake soon. We have so much to talk about before Detective Loki shows up,” Henry’s voice echoed in the place meant to be a sanctuary but had suddenly become something more sinister, watching as he strolled to where she sat, taking a place next to her. He was dressed well, a white button-up shirt and grey vest over it, black tie tucked under it with black slacks and perfectly polished shoes. He looked ready.

She coughed, shaking her head as she focused herself, “I have nothing to talk to you about, Henry. We both know you’re not well. I’m not sure what you think a conversation with me, tied up, is going to do.”

Henry turned to her, a look of compassion she didn’t exactly like, in his eyes. He reached out and brushed back her hair, the woman not flinching, refusing to give him that satisfaction, “I’m quite well. And I want to talk to you about why you, of all people are here. See, I think it’s fate that brought us back together. Showed me we’re meant to be. Do you understand?” He smiled.

Without thinking she did recoil, confusion on her features, “I’m here because you murdered twelve people. What the fuck do you think, this is a house call?”

He smiled pushing his body off the wooden pew and standing, walking past her towards the aisle, a red carpet going down it, softening his steps, “I saved twelve people. I corrected the behavior of the other twelve. Their partners didn’t deserve what had been done, we both know that. And so I stopped it before they could get hurt.”

She glared, almost snarling, “Cool motive, still murder,” she quipped a Jake Peralta line at him, aware of where he was going with this, “You can’t just take lives and decide you’ve done the right thing. People make mistakes. Who are you to judge them for it?”

It was becoming abundantly clear what was going on. And she didn’t like it. She didn’t like that he was telling her his story and that David was coming. She wanted to warn him to stay away and keep him safe. This was her problem, wasn’t it? But why had he picked David?

Sliding his hands into his pockets Henry stared at the podium with a sort of admiration, “These people had made promises. Sworn to love the other. Sworn to God Himself that they would love none else. And yet… they slipped and fell with so much ease it’s disgusting.”

Remembering details of the wreck Mathilda was in, she spoke softly, “Mathilda wasn’t wearing her ring the night she was in the wreck, was she?” It wasn’t an accusation per se, but more a question she already had the answer to.

His face remained stoic, “I had asked her where it was. Not because I had spent a small fortune on it, of course, but because it was what she meant to me. I thought to myself, ‘How could you lose your promise?’ And yet… she had. She had left it on the nightstand of another man. You know how I know that?”

He turned to face her, though she knew, “You fucking chipped her ring? Her wedding ring? Jesus Christ, Henry. You’ve got to be kidding me. Of course she cheated. Why wouldn’t she? You were stalking you own wife!” She shouted, her own bias of the opposite sex suddenly clouding her professional one.

Turning his body he came at her with alarming speed, hands gripping the back of both benches, “Clearly for good reason! Come now, Y/N, you must have read it on my face. Trust issues, right? A man like myself sees everything. I’m everywhere. I am a literal god despite what you may think,” he scoffed at her.

She had always thought the church represented fidelity. And it did. But it was the idea that he controlled the fidelity. He could see it. Use it. He was everywhere. He had heard her listening to Peter Gabriel and he had thought it a romantic gesture to let her know he had been close enough to share her most painful of memories. He had tried to show her, in so many ways, that he was in control. And while she knew now that her being here had been a coincidence, it didn’t help his god complex in any way.

“How many more people did you kill before those in the church?” She asked quietly, no longer trying to fight the binds around her wrists and ankles.

He shrugged, standing up and adjusting his clothing, “I lost count. I suppose it doesn’t quite matter. Accidents happen all the time, and if my friends were connecting with the wrong types, I erased them. Mathilda had fallen with some shady individuals in her time. Friends who tried to encourage her that I was a poor influence. They didn’t need to remain.”

Y/N winced as she realized his body count had been ever accumulating. He was good at what he did and to a degree that made him terribly lethal. She supposed being of wealth and good standing left him under the radar, and car accidents where the vehicle report went missing happened from time to time.

Looking down, she frowned, “But why David? Why now?”

Taking a seat next to her again, Henry placed a hand on hers, “Because it’s time. He needs to provide his pound of flesh and it worked so perfectly. I had planned this to go on for some time, but you? Oh, my darling,” he slowly rolled up the sleeve of her sweater, Y/N beginning to panic now as she struggled, frustrated at how awkwardly strong he was, “You have helped speed this process up. And I am forever grateful for it.”

Gripping her arm hard, he withdrew a syringe from his pocket, Y/N fighting hard as she tried to move away, to get back, squirming as she shouted, echoing into the empty church where no one would hear her, not even God. He found the vein with ease that came with practice and plunged it, the clear liquid moving in fast as he whispered, “You’ll want to save your breath, my rose. It’s going to become much harder to breathe soon.”

___

He wasn’t afraid of loving her. He was afraid of loving her too much. He was afraid of what it meant to fall for someone and melt at their touch, to see them and feel your heart in your throat. He was afraid of losing something that wasn’t ever his but maybe it could be. He was afraid that happiness had always truly been an illusion and the last week could be taken. He understood now, truly, what Keller Dover had felt the day he almost killed Alex Jones. He understood it in his bones rather than just something of fiction and bad dreams.

His knuckles were white as he drove, the coordinates in his phone, uncaring of the rain that was coming down in sheets. His eyes were narrowed and he had that gnawing pain in his gut that told him the worst had already happened. He wondered what he’d do if he found her. How he’d react. What he’d say. Who he’d kill.

The car went faster than the recommended speed limit of 60, not that he cared. He had given the coordinates of a church fifty miles outside Conyers and David was furious. A Catholic Church. A reminder of what the man truly wanted and how badly he wanted to hurt David. But David wasn’t afraid of Henry Best hurting him. He was terrified of Henry Best hurting her. Wouldn’t that destroy him, though? Two birds and one stone.

He was afraid of loving her so much that it had killed her. And god help any man or woman alive that touched her.

He pulled up to the church, a large parking lot completely empty and devoid of anyone that could help. That could be there. He knew Henry had paid off anyone who would be present and had made sure to privatise his time. His gun was strapped to his holster and David exited the car, his jacket not protecting him from the rain that was coming down, the cold air striking through him as he walked to the large wooden doors.

He paused but briefly, wondering what he’d see inside. He had a flash of Henry Best over her dead body, or perhaps she’d be there alone. Maybe she’d be standing over him, making some snide comment about not needing help and how it’d taken him long enough. He couldn’t wait outside forever though, and Detective David Loki pushed open the heavy doors with all the strength he could muster, hoping it wasn’t too late.

Chapter 13: Not All Ends Are Happy

When David was first training at the Academy, he had found out the hard way he needed to find a way to control his temper. He was older than the other cadets, and while not by a lot, enough that he stood out. With his tattoos and his tics, he had found himself a target. In his youth he had made up for vulnerability by fighting against it, but as an adult hoping to work as an officer he needed to find a way to work with it. Patience had been a virtue he never learned growing up but understood that he needed if he was to go anywhere with the police. And this time? This time he wanted it more than anything and he was willing to do what he had to. He was willing to take the hits and punches, the verbal jabs and hits, the words that stung and bit. He knew it would push him further. Make him stronger.

But now? David felt fear pulsing in his body as he stepped inside, water dripping off his body, black work boots that were slightly off-kilter on the otherwise properly-dressed man, shimmering in the candlelight from the rain. His heart was pounding in his throat, he could taste his own desperation and tried to remember that he had to be focused. He had a task, and for once that meant not thinking as he had before. He was trained to take down killers, but Henry Best was something so much worse.

There was no one he could see inside the dimly-lit church. Wait…

Squinting, he could see a slumped body towards the front, recognizing the outline faintly as he felt himself go cold, running down the aisle almost silently against the padded flooring, arriving at the side of the Special Agent, eyes lidded as she breathed hard, labored, “Took you… long enough…” she wheezed out the words, her body feeling like a ragdoll as she tried to take him in.

Detective David Loki had been her type from the moment she saw him. It was strange, because she didn’t know that until she looked at him. It wasn’t the tattoos, or that ‘cold edge’ he had, but it was his eyes. Sharp, piercing blue. Eyes that hooked you without thinking. It was the way he turned his head to focus, paying attention and absorbing every detail. He was precise and he was focused. He pushed back his hair, always with his right hand, always the same way. When he was upset, it was both hands, even if a few pieces fell back by his face, like they had now. It was the way he spoke only when he had the words needed and never with filler. He was her type because he was everything she had wanted for herself and had hoped the world saw from her. She knew him.

He fidgeted with her bindings on her wrist, tugging at them hard, frustrated as they weren’t letting go, “Are you OK to get up? I can get us out of here,” he looked frazzled, hair wet and eyes no longer soft or focused, but rather ragged and frantic. He was terrified. He was five years old, unsure what his future held, scared of what it meant to be somewhere new. He was vulnerable.

She had wanted to tell him Henry was behind him, though that was taken care of with the click of the revolver as Henry kept a steady hand, standing tall as he looked down at the man, “Detective. Perhaps you should take a seat. Get comfortable. I’m afraid time is of the essence. My little formula is better in small doses, though Y/N here got somewhat of a larger one, isn’t that right?”

He smiled, tilting his head to the side, unable to see the look of pure rage on David’s features as he held his hands out, Y/N looking up with effort, “Fuck you,” she whispered the words. Breathing felt like a new task, a strenuous one, knowing she had to conserve her breath. He had injected her with the liquid form of the chemical agent he’d used at the church, and she knew he wasn’t lying about time. Even through her clouded view of the world she understood her time was limited. She supposed David’s was also.

Henry ‘tsked’ her and tapped at David to stand, who did, turning to face Henry who had a grin, “Such a foul mouth on that one. I wonder if she tastes sweet despite that bitterness, don’t you? Oh, that’s right! You already know, don’t you, Detective? I’m surprised. Mixing business and pleasure.”

David was pure anger, fists clenched as he considered the possibility of jumping at the man before him. His own badge and gun were at his waist, and he thought perhaps he could grab it in time, “Don’t fucking talk about her.”

Henry grinned, motioning with his pistol as though he knew what David was thinking, “Drop the weapons on the ground, take a seat in the pew in front of our darling Agent, won’t you?”

The world was blurry, as far as Y/N could tell. Voices were speaking and she could make out David dropping his gun to the ground, taking a seat in front of the woman he had unfortunately fallen completely in love with. She could tell he was turning his head, though stopped with a shout by Henry who muttered… something, before aiming the gun at her. It was the same one that had taken Adrian’s life and she knew that. But he was acting recklessly now. Something had triggered him further and she wasn’t sure what. Logic had fallen out of her brain when the chemical entered her body.

She had been given doses of poisons and toxins in her time in the academy, always as a sort of preparation for field work. They taught you what to do when you had been injured or how to focus your breathing if that became stifled. It was sort of ironic now that she was using her breathing practices, sitting in an empty church. She was remembering the sandbag on her chest, held down against the mats in the gym, being told she would have to find a way to keep breathing and not panic. She would have to find a way to keep her body alive. Y/N remembered the pain of the bag on her chest and how she wanted to fight against it but couldn’t. Well, she could have, but it would have meant failure and she refused. The weight pressed on her and in a strange way she was reminded of the loss of her sister in that moment, feeling as though she couldn’t breathe. Gasping for breath. Fighting for it.

Now she was tied, poorly at that, her body limp and her breath soft. It was hard to focus when the man you were willing to take a bullet for was sitting before you.

“Do you know how my wife died, Detective Loki?” Henry walked before him, still in the aisle as he looked at the detective who had rage in his eyes, “She died years ago, Y/N there was the one to console me once she passed. But… do you know how she died?”

David knew this was a trick. The question was a trap and he was going to walk into it one way or another. This was the Temple of Doom and that ball was going to roll, “Car accident. She went through a red and a semi took her out,” he spoke callously, uncaring of what this man felt. In reality, David had felt badly for whatever woman Henry Best had hooked his claws into, and was learning more, knowing that Y/N had been the one to speak with him after.

Gripping the silver pistol, twitching slightly, he smirked, “Not how I would have described it, but yes. She was killed while driving a car. Do you know what happened to the driver of the semi-truck that hit her?”

Y/N’s heart began to race, despite the chemicals in her body, beginning to understand where this was going, knowing what would have to happen. What she might have to do.

But David had no idea, even as Henry continued, “Turns out truck drivers often misuse amphetamines to keep themselves awake and on the road. A bit too much and an overdose doesn’t look suspicious at all. No one questioned it. No real loss, though. A man with no family, no life to speak of. The world doesn’t miss those people,” Henry tossed out the words haphazardly, speaking, of course, to David. A man without a home. Without a family. With only a name and what’s in a name?

Turning, he held the gun still, knowing that David knew he couldn’t just kill him. There was more to this story, and if he died, there was a lot left behind that would make David look guilty. That would make Y/N look guilty. He was a professional. Sloppy, but a professional.

“You know what I found on my wife’s phone after she died? I found text messages, Detective Loki. Not just any. Damning ones. Ones that explained why she wasn’t wearing her wedding ring,” he smiled, the smile of a deranged man as he turned back, “she was texting another man. An affair. He lived miles away, though. Miles. Can you believe it?”
He laughed a little and Y/N felt herself suddenly filling with adrenaline, working to lift that metaphorical sandbag off her chest. She began fumbling, as best she could, with the bindings. It was dark in her pew and Henry was completely focused on David.

But a lightbulb had gone off in David’s head, remembering the morning he woke up and found a ring on the ceramic sink in his bathroom, the one that looked like it was worth more than his entire yearly salary. He remembered picking it up and trying to text the woman he had slept with, the woman who had told him nothing except her name. He had sent her a few messages, telling her she left something. He didn’t pride himself on being a homewrecker but he hadn’t known she was married. Even after finding out, he didn’t quite care. Not the way he wanted to. They’d slept together a half-dozen times and she had always insisted on being at his place. Now he knew why.

David shook his head, “I didn’t know she was married. Henry, I barely remember her fucking name!”

The butt of the gun came down hard against Detective Loki’s skull, hitting the side of his head with force. He yelped out, almost falling against the pew as he winced, “Wrong answer, Detective. You fucked my wife. She had a name. Mathilda Best. And I was the only one on the planet who deserved her. And you took her from me!”

He was shouting now, lifting his hand up and hammering down the butt again against his face, hitting his cheek hard, Detective Loki yelling as Henry grabbed his arm, yanking him up and pulling him onto the floor where David fell hard, wincing, blood trickling down his head and face. Y/N would have screamed, could she have, feeling herself panicking, struggling with the rope that was done so fucking poorly because he knew, in his mind, she was his. And she would be until her last breath.

“Get up!” Henry shouted, his words echoing through the church as David winced, Henry reeling back and landing a kick into David’s stomach, not once but twice. David collapsed hard, yelling out as he reached for the leg that had kicked him, “touch me and I’ll shoot you David. I swear to god. No more roses, I will end your life here and now. Get up.”

He stood back, gun raised as he watched David struggle to his feet, afraid to look back at the woman whose eyes had suddenly gotten wider. Instead, he followed Henry up to the podium, “You’re fucking crazy, you know that?”

Another wrong answer. Henry lifted the gun and let off a shot, hitting David in his right arm. His good arm. He yelled this time as he stumbled, anger across Henry’s features. Rage. Empty rage. He was a house on fire, empty, but burning. There was nothing inside of him as he kicked David to the floor, at the front of the church, the stage, the lights shining down on the two of them.

Sneering, Henry kept a close hand on his gun, “I thought I could finally get my revenge with you being tagged on the case. Of course, I had to leave other names too. Can’t be too conspicuous. But when my darling, my dear Special Agent Y/L/N was called in, I knew it was perfect. I knew the second I saw you clinging to her like she might save your life, like she might actually care about someone like you, I knew. But she was meant for me. She was brought back into my life, and there was no way on this earth I was going to let you take her from me,” he glared, kneeling against the wounded Detective’s chest.

Pain roared through David and he considered that he might finally be done. He had thought it fitting that his death be in a church, where all his other wounds had been. He wondered what it would have been like to stand up and grab Y/N, to take her out of the church. He had thought about how different things could have been in a different life. A different world.

Henry held the gun against David’s head, smiling now, a true smile that could only come from a man born evil and born broken. A man that could never blame his upbringing or his parents. A man who would be the posterchild of what evil looked like. He smiled as he whispered, “I will take my love with me. And as the last breath leaves her body, with her in my arms, she will be mine. I will have saved her.”

--

Slumped in the chair, Y/N could only watch the two go at it. Maybe if she had been more ‘with it’ she could have paid more attention, but she knew this was her chance. David had chided her for being unprepared, and arguably she was. But not for things like this. She took her strength and began to fidget with the pocket of her jeans, the front, where he wouldn’t have placed his hands, where no gun would fit, trying not to tire herself as she moved. But every breath hurt. It ached. Her body was almost limp and she was terrified, trying to remove the item from her pocket, “I can’t…” she whispered out meekly.

“You can. You will.”

The voice was familiar and it was good. It was warm. It was important. It was her childhood and her innocence. It was her power and her strength. It was her sister, hands on her shoulders, lips close to her ear,

“You will reach into your pocket and you’ll grab it. You’ll use it. You will get your sorry fucking ass out of this pew and you’ll keep moving forward. Not because David’s up there. Not because Henry is up there. But because you have to do this. You don’t need someone to save you, to give you purpose.”

“But what if I’m like him? He said-”

“Bullshit what that psycho said. You are Special Agent Y/F/N Y/L/N and you will get the fuck up out of this pew because the only way you’re similar is that you’re both driven. But you’re driven by life. You’re my sister, and you’re the stronger fucking person in the world right now. So do something about it.”

With a sort of strength she didn’t know she had, Y/N reached into her pocket and grabbed the PAM pen, stabbing it into her stomach where it could penetrate with ease, feeling the medicine flowing through her. It wasn’t going to save her life entirely, but it would keep her alive just long enough. Just long enough to do what needed to be done.

Standing, silently, she took a deep breath, eyes focused as she saw the two men at the podium, hardly hesitating as she reached down to where David had dropped his gun and snatching it up. She walked softly, effortlessly to the stage, stepping up as she heard the final words from Henry, “I will have saved her.”

Lifting the gun, her wrists bound, not that it mattered, she glared, “I am no princess and I need no saving. Kind Regards this, you motherfucker,” she had watched the gun fall from Henry’s hand, shocked, though only able to get up as she let off two shots to his chest, knocking him back and to the ground.

At once the strength she did have left her body, the gun toppling out of her now weak grasp, stumbling to the floor. David was able to get up as though nothing had happened, rushing to where she was, lying on the floor, breathing labored again. He grabbed his phone from his pocket as he pulled her to him, making the call for backup, cradling her in his arms.

A weak cough left her lips as she felt his warmth, shaking slightly, her breathing sharp and painful, knowing there wasn’t much time left. He had dosed her heavily and the PAM had been enough to kick her into gear, “Guess I’m… not such a… bad shot?” She smiled at David who brushed away her hair.

He looked broken now, more than he had before, “Perfect shot. Got to kill Henry Best. Sort of wish I could have. Stole my thunder there, beautiful,” he smiled at her, feeling her heart beat slowing, holding back his pain.

She smirked softly, “You’ll get your moment in the sun. Just… stay with… me a bit… ok?” Her breathing was weakening, no longer a sandbag on her chest but something more. Something else. But it was OK. She knew it was. Even as she looked up at those perfect blue eyes that had brought her to life before she had died she knew it would be ok, closing her eyes as she felt herself go limp in his arms. It was OK now.

And I, don't stay awake for too long
Don't go to bed
I'll make a cup of coffee for your head
I'll get you up and going out of bed [Song: death bed, Powfu, beabadoobe]
______

For the next two days, Detective David Loki was immovable. Even after they had patched his arm and told him to get rest, he had refused. He was glued to the bed of the woman he had only just met but who he knew so well. He saw a part of himself in her, in the way she was confident and carefree, how she walked with her arms swaying, a sort of soft smile on her features despite the knowledge that could break a person. Her spirit was powerful and she was everything he had wished he could be.

The doctors had told him the lack of oxygen and damage to her nervous system meant she might not actually make it out of the coma. If she hadn’t brought the PAM, she would have been dead for sure. So would David, though. And he had stayed at her bed, ever watchful, ever diligent. It was his new post and it was not one he would be relieved from.

By the end of the second day, the sun had begun to die down, nurses offering David food having given up on telling him to go home. He sat on the soft green chair by her bed that had his imprint in it now, feeling his eyes getting heavy. Leaning back he pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily, his right arm still in a sling from the bullet that had gone straight through, thankfully.

Sleep might finally come, he had thought to himself, having kept watch over her solidly, even with his own pain. He needed her back in the way he needed oxygen, food, water… he needed her to function. And he hated it.

A deep sigh let out as he heard her voice, “Coming from the person who was injected with a deadly chemical compound… you look like shit, Detective.”

His eyes were wide now, looking over at the bed as he shot up, taking her hand as he looked down at her, smiling stupidly, “Yeah, well I got shot which is on par with getting drugged and poisoned.”

She smirked, looking up at him, her eyes tired but otherwise looking pretty OK, “No way. That shit is terrible. And you look like garbage.” She lifted a hand, reaching up to the man by her bed, brushing her fingertips against his face before pressing her palm on his cheek. All at once his tics stopped, his blinking slowing as he melted into her touch, “But hot garbage, you know? Like. The garbage you keep. Or… something…”

He chuckled as he held her hand against his face with his good hand, “You’re pretty cute when no one else is watching, you know,” he smiled at the woman who had done more than change his life, but had saved so many.

“Sh… don’t tell anyone. Don’t want anyone getting any ideas, David.” She smiled up at him.

In that moment he felt complete. The world had almost shattered and he knew there was more to come, but as he leaned down, pressing his lips against hers, he felt whole again.

Chapter 14: Epilogue [Finale]

Y/N had healed well, all things considered. They both had. They all had. David had waited until she was getting ready to discharge from the hospital, the one they had flown her to in DC for her full recovery, where all her things had been brought. Where she was waiting to be done. Where her home was not far and where her photo of her sister hung on the wall, the one she was going to move to the living room.

When he told her, she had vomited. All her work to keep down food had been for nought, as she tossed her eggs and toast into the trash when David told her they had kept Henry alive. The only saving grace in all of it had been his complete lack of hubris. He had kept his own phone on him, and with the one Adrian had kept as well, had been easy to pin it. All the lawyers on the planet didn’t matter with a dozen murders and two attempted ones, one at a federal agent, you didn’t always get out easy. David reassured her he had gotten life without possibility. It was no supermax facility, but he was locked away across the country.

The idea of a trial wasn’t so taxing. No, she was reassured as she held David’s hand as he took her out, telling her he was driving her home. And he did. In a silly little sedan that he was too tall for, that he was awkward as hell in. A black car that he kept yelling “shit” as he tried to turn down the ridiculous side streets of DC to find her apartment that had been wiped clean of any possibility of an intrusion. He had guided her form, the one that had lost some weight being inside, up the stairs as she shoved him off, “I can fucking walk, you know,” she had grumbled while David stepped back and smiled at her.

Stepping inside had been a breath of fresh air. The windows along the back wall, facing out towards the street, felt nice as the day showered its light in. Hardwood floors were clean, surfaces a bit dusty but she would blame being gone so much. Coming to an empty home was always hard, but with David behind her she wasn’t alone.

She put a bag down, the one with her clothes and items that hadn’t been taken in for evidence, by the door, her personal cellphone returned to her. David stepped in and closed the door, locking it on habit as he stepped to where she was, “You’ve got a nice place. Guess they pay well,” he smirked.

Grinning, she shook her head, turning to face him as she stepped forward, her hands sliding over his ribs and around to his back. In turn, he slid his hands around her waist, resting his forehead on hers, so grateful to finally have his own moment with the woman who had changed his life. Who had shown him what strength meant and who he had thought he was never good enough to hold. She had given him everything, whether she meant to or not, “Not well enough after that debacle,” she scoffed.

David chuckled, ducking his head down and nestling his face into her neck, against her skin, his rough stubble feeling comforting. His breath was warm as he inhaled her, a soft kiss against her skin as he rested for just a moment before speaking, “I don’t want to go back to Conyers,” he said softly, his heart pounding in his chest.

In truth, it had been a moment Y/N had been dreading. She had been sure enough not to ever get attached in her time spent elsewhere. She had cops she still texted, sure, or precincts that felt they owed her one. She never left the place as “that damn agent” but usually as “the one who gave a shit”. It was a good reputation to have. All things considered.

She held tighter to him, her face resting soft by his head, the man buried in her neck as though he didn’t want to leave because he didn’t. Closing her eyes she sighed, “We both knew it would happen, David. You have a life in Conyers. It’s where you live.”

It was long ago she had promised herself two things: One, not to ever change her life for someone else, and two, not to ever demand someone else change their life for her. She had stuck by that. Even if it meant flying out to her sister’s grave she imagined her sister yelling at her for not following her dreams if she had stayed close to home. Or her parents. Or the one guy in the academy who had talked about proposing someday if she’d move back with him in Texas, where he was stationed. She had refused. Turned out he wound up marrying and divorcing already out there.

He pulled away abruptly, though not letting go, looking down at her as he blinked a few times, frowning, “I don’t have a life in Conyers. You’re wrong. It may be where I live, but it’s not where my life is. It’s you.”

The moment was frozen and etched in time as he raised a hand, cupping her cheek gently, looking down at her and those eyes he could never forget as she stared back into his blue ones that weren’t quite so cold anymore, “David…” she whispered, only briefly as he leaned in, taking her in for a kiss. It was deep, wonderful. Perfect. It was safe, inside her home, inside their home. Inside the home he would move into after a few fitful weeks dealing with the transfer process and coming to terms with his own hiding. It was a kiss with the woman he would find himself waiting for on weeks where she was out, where he told himself she was fine. Because she was. It was a kiss with the man she had adored, even as he allowed himself to settle into some kind of comfort in a home they shared. It was a kiss with a man who had saved her life not because he had given her a shot of some kind, but because he had shown her what it meant to open her life again.

David had transferred to DC without a problem and had been tasked on missing persons cases. He was good at it, god knew. He took with him a reputation of being damn good at his job and no one here cared about his tattoos or his name that didn’t quite fit. No one here did. It was comforting.

And Y/N had attended Adrian’s funeral, as had many. She had spoken of a man with a heart that didn’t always make sense but tried very hard to. She went to a tattoo parlor by herself and had gotten a ladybug tattoo, small but noticeable, on her shoulder. Very cliche. But she liked it and she had learned fuck what anyone else thought, really.

She went on to speak at Henry’s trial where she had told David orange was a wonderful color on him and that khaki would be even better. Henry had eyed her, those days in the courtroom, and she had stared back defiantly, no longer afraid. She stood effortlessly and spoke calmly of what he had done, of what she had seen, and brought her notes she had saved of her conversation years ago. It was a damning case and he was all but written off by his own company, men who wanted his position and were happy to crucify him.

But at the end of the day, two years after it all happened, after David had moved in and they had settled slowly but surely into a routine, she knew she was in love. She had known when she saw him and she had known still even now. David had learned what a home and a life meant and he knew he would never stop at keeping either of them safe.

____

David had been working overtime this week, a week where his fiancee was out of town for what was promised to be a three-day assignment, and of course was proving to be. But he hated free time and he was happy to pull a few extra shifts.

The shooting that took place had been sudden, and it had been intense. A man who was robbing a small convenience store at gunpoint had been taken by surprise by the silent alarm that was hit. It had resulted in David showing up, having been on patrol in the area, and helping take the man down. It had seemed all too easy, watching the rookie mistakes made by a nervous man with a weapon, the type he didn’t ever experience in Conyers but had seen here.

When he finally did get a shot in, firing into the man robbing the place, it had knocked him back and the gun out of his hands. David had rushed in to make sure everyone was ok, only stopping as he heard the man cough, instinctively calling for a medic. He knelt down, the man dressed in tattered denim with scraggly brown hair by his shoulders and a patchy beard, the man bleeding out as he looked up at David, “You know-” he coughed, blood coming up as he composed himself, “you know what he said?”

David felt his heart like a hammer in his chest, frozen with no real idea as to why, “Shut the fuck up, you’ll be lucky if the EMTs get here in time, I’m taking your ass to prison,” he muttered, working to try and stop the bleeding.

But to his surprise the man shoved his hand away, “He said if I died, he promised he’d take care of my family. And he said-” he coughed a few times before smirking, “he said to tell you ‘kind regards’,” the man spurted out.

David watched as he coughed more, jumping back up as the man appeared to die, blood on his hands now as he looked down, hearing words he hadn’t heard in a long time. Years.

Instinctively he wiped his hands and got out his phone, calling the woman he loved more than anything in this world who he needed.

Two rings that felt like a lifetime before a groggy voice answered, “Mm… David? You OK?” Of course she wasn’t angry. She didn’t have that piece to her. Not with David. Knowing their own past.

He sighed heavily, shaking his head, “Yeah I- nothing, it’s fine. Just had a bad situation out here. You doing ok?” He breathed heavily, stepping out of the way as the EMTs did arrive, as other cops showed up.

She winced, groggy, “Yeah, I’m fine. You really miss me that much? It’s only been a few days,” she chuckled a little into the phone.

“Like I said, just a bad case. I’ll let you get back to sleep. I love you,” he spoke the words confidently, deciding that it was just some asshole scaring him. Maybe some idiot who read the news. Maybe he misheard the man.

But she wasn’t done, “The flowers were sweet, by the way. Glad it wasn’t roses,” she smiled through the phone, sitting up in bed. She had flicked on the light in her cheap hotel room, looking at the lilacs on her table, a small little gesture she had known only David would send.

“The flowers?” He felt himself falling now. Tumbling. Spiraling towards the ground.

And now she was as well as she stood, walking to them as she shook, “The florist said there was no note, but that they’d been sent by someone who loved me dearly,” he could hear her fear and he knew. He didn’t have to see it or her. He didn’t need her to Skype. He didn’t need a photo.

As she reached in, seeing a small piece of paper, she pulled it out, unfolding it and reading it into the phone, “Kind regards, Agent.”

Chapter 15: Missing Drabble

Summary:

I wrote this years ago, meant to go before the chapter in the precinct when she gets the package. It was always so beautiful to me, a melancholy ache I felt encapsulated the reader. Broken hearts happen to everyone and love is always fragile.

Also, consider this your warning the sequel is well on its way.

She closes her eyes as she slips in her sleek, elegant bluetooth earbuds. A tap to the touch-sensitive pieces and they alert her the connection to her phone. Her personal one. The one she keeps at the hotel when she’s at the Conyers Police Station.

The music is already playing and at once her body is elsewhere, gone from the stiff, white sheets that seem eerily clean, gone from the mattress that has cradled many bodies and many hearts, broken and unbroken. And as the lyrics slip through and dance in her body, she dreams without even being asleep.

 

Of course, Heroes by Peter Gabriel plays and she at once sees the room painted a shade of blue not dark enough to be called navy, but one her sister had insisted was cobalt. White Christmas lights hang from the ceiling, the only source of illumination in the room. She’s on the floor, the black rug cushioning her form as she listens to the song coming from the stereo larger than any nowadays.

Two speakers. A six-CD changer. Two cassette holders. And Peter Gabriel is on loop.
Her clothes, stiff as the blanket in the hotel she’s forgetting, hang on a form that she wonders the fragility of. They’re black, all except the bright purple socks she wore to piss off her mother. They’ll fight later. But she’s seventeen and she’s angry. She’s furious. She’s crying and sobbing while staying still and staring at the ceiling of a room she now hates because her sister loved it and put up those lights. She’s letting tears fall and destroy her makeup that she knew would never last anyway. It lasted longer than she expected it to.

Though nothing will keep us together

Her sister had been twenty-two. Twenty-two and immortal in a way only a twenty-two year old is. Was. Could ever be. But immortality comes at a cost, and you pay it when you drive eighty-five in a fifty. You pay it in full when your tire pops and you lose control of a car, the police say, could have kept her safe if only she’d been going the speed limit.

Then we could be heroes, just for one day

The song plays, loud, drowning out the sobs of her mother in the next room. The song plays and she’s sitting with her sister as they shove chips in their faces and laugh, the song plays as she tears her sweater (or was it Y/N’s?) from her sister’s hands, thusly tearing it in half. Her heart, she thinks, has been torn the same.

It hurts less, she thinks, to remember a memory of a memory. She remembers being seventeen and dying briefly when her parents opened the door of her room, their faces plastered with something akin to death itself. They are faces she sees when she talks to victims families. They are faces she knows because murder is murder and death is death. She thinks remembering her memory is easier somehow. That she doesn’t have to relive losing the piece of her heart she had never considered could ever disappear.

But we could be safer, just for one day

The music plays and she thinks Peter Gabriel must have always known. He crafted the song for her and her sister. He sang it to her on that cold night in March when she found out that the world is a fragile place and life is guaranteed to no one, even the living. He sings it to her now as she remembers a memory and forgets she’s in Conyers, awake at three in the morning, trying to see her smile one more time.

Just for one day.