Chapter Text
The first time, Kevin doesn’t see it happen.
“You gotta go, get the hell outta here. I’ve got this.”
As much as it frustrates him, he knows Jake’s right. Between the two of them, Jake is a trained officer with more experience, and Kevin being around would only hinder him. So, he nods and hurries over to the car.
Jake drawing his gun is the last thing Kevin sees before he presses the pedal and drives away. The focus needed to control a vehicle forces his worrying to the backburner, though his grip on the wheel doesn’t loosen.
Jake’s got this.
The safe house looks the same as it did when he first got escorted here, an ordinary house that blends in to the neighbourhood. Kevin should have never taken a step out of the front door. But the idea was tempting at the time and, in a messed-up way, the pros outweighed the cons.
Look where that’s gotten him now.
He unlocks the door methodically, locking it behind him though Kevin doubts that will matter. A gun can deal with the door in a matter of seconds.
A gun can do a lot in a matter of seconds.
Jake’s got this.
He sits at one of the safe spots in the house, away from the windows. Days ago, Jake stood opposite to him, describing another ridiculous Nicholas Cage movie. He had acted like a puppy then, all eager eyes and fast words, and Kevin thinks (knows) he will miss Jake when this is all over.
He definitely will miss him if he—
No, Jake’s got this.
He’s a good detective. Despite the no cop talk policy, though that has been modified slightly as the line between work and life blurs, Raymond sings high praise of Jake. High praise laced with his own annoyance at dealing with Jake’s antics, sure, but high praise nonetheless. That rarely happens. It certainly hasn’t happened before he got assigned to the ninety-ninth precinct.
The ninety-ninth precinct must have been called in. Even if they weren’t, Kevin doubts that would stop the crew from coming. They most certainly have arrived at the warehouse at this point.
It will be fine, Kevin thinks.
They will deal with Murphy swiftly, and Raymond and Jake will be let go after a check-up, and Kevin will apologise and kiss Raymond like they’re newlyweds again and hope to God Raymond will take him back even after everything that has happened. He and Raymond will then retire to their own bed and, even if both of them have a strict sleeping position, Kevin will embrace Raymond under the covers and listen to the steady beat of his heart, a resting 87BPM.
“It will be fine,” Kevin says to himself. He’s not religious, yet the words come out like a prayer. “It will be fine,” he says again.
He will return Jake’s movies with a promise of a get-together later because he has not seen Gone in Sixty Seconds and, while watching that kind of movie is below Kevin, watching Jake getting so excited, reciting dialogues and re-enacting the fight scenes from memory makes everything more bearable. Seeing Jake happy makes it so much more bearable. For all that he and Jake clash, Jake has grown on him with his persistent demand for attention.
It has to be fine. Kevin won’t allow — won’t accept — anything else.
Ah, but Jake hasn’t got this.
Amy’s eyes are bloodshot. She’s putting on a brave face, but the grieve is transparent, plastered all over. Jake has talked about Amy a lot, about how much he misses her. He mutters her name while sleeping.
Detective Boyle’s worse, his sobbing too loud in the silence, fat tears and snots rolling down flushed face. Every time he manages to look up, another garbled and pained moan tears its way from his throat, setting off another fit. His name has come up a lot too, Jake bemoaning the lack of his best friend in his life.
Sergeant Jeffords’ grip on his phone is so tight that Kevin can see the beginning of a crack on the screen. Rosa’s trying her best to hide it, but the way she’s holding herself is enough of a tell.
Even detective Hitchcock and Scully are silent.
“Hey Kevin.” And Gina’s familiar drawl feels wrong. Lacking.
Kevin focuses on her: Gina’s the most put together out of the bunch, but Kevin knows she’s teetering on an edge higher than anyone expects. And she will fall soon, but right now she’s looking at him with the same expectation.
They’re all looking at him.
Kevin wishes they would literally do anything else.
Jake hasn't got this.
He feels numb. He stumbles, and the only thing keeping him from collapsing is his iron tight grip on the door.
Jake hadn’t got this, Kevin corrects himself, because Jake is dead. Which means Raymond is also—
“I’m sorry,” Gina sighs, putting the final confirmation to his train of thought. She walks up the steps, slowly, until she’s standing right in front of him. “I’m so sorry, Kevin.”
“They—” Are Dead. Were Killed. Were Murdered.
He doesn’t dare finish the sentence, and Gina doesn’t need him to. She doesn’t need to pull him in for a hug either, but her arms are wrapped around his middle, a tentative grip. She shouldn’t be hugging him, Kevin vaguely thinks.
Gina shouldn’t be comforting him, not when he should be held accountable instead.
“Excuse me,” Kevin says, his voice a thin whisper. Gina doesn’t move an inch. He jerks away from the contact then, ignoring Gina’s expression as he takes a step back and slams the door shut, the resulting bang reminiscence of a gunshot.
Raymond is dead.
Raymond is dead and Kevin is alone in a safe house that he should have never left in the first place. Alone with the fact staring back at him, condemning him.
Murphy may have pressed the trigger, but Kevin lined up the shot.
He should have listened to Raymond. He should have never started a row in the first place. He should have said no to Jake. He should have stayed with Jake until the end. Then, suddenly, breaking through the regrets, his own voice:
You may not have a husband when all of this is over.
Kevin laughs loudly, hiccupping as tears run down his cheeks and drip down on the disguise that Jake has picked out. Had picked out.
He got what he wanted in the end, didn’t he? Two hours of alone time in a library, freedom from this safe house, not needing to see Jake ever again and a distinct lack of Raymond in his life.
Raymond is dead.
And Kevin is the one who killed him.
Humourless laughter trails off into unending sobs, even when he has no right to do that.
The second time, Kevin wakes up exhausted. He doesn’t remember falling asleep in the first place, nor does he remember falling asleep on a pillow with a blanket hastily thrown over him, but here he is, curled up and shivering despite the oppressive heat.
Someone, probably the ninety-ninth precinct because who else is there, really, must have moved him then, though the why is beyond Kevin.
The window blinds are drawn closed, leaving the room in a muted darkness that Kevin’s more than grateful for. He lets himself lay there for a moment, looking up at the ceiling and appreciating the silence that’s only occasionally disturbed by Jake’s muttering.
Oh.
A nightmare then. A vivid one at that. It’s the only logical explanation, seeing how Jake is still sleeping beside him, talking in his sleep and drooling from the corner of his mouth and, most importantly, alive.
He’s alive.
“Come out the coast…”
Or perhaps this is a dream, and Kevin will soon wake up to the reality where Jake and Raymond are no longer here.
“We’ll get together…”
He supposes it doesn’t matter which is which. What is important is that Jake’s here right now.
Jake shifts, turning to face Kevin. “Have a few laughs,” he finishes, giggling.
He looks younger, no forced awkward smile or badly hidden wariness. Kevin has never taken a moment to really look at Jake before. He’s already overwhelmed by his general presence and the constant pestering, that there is no need to add more Jake to his life. He realises he can’t recall Jake’s final expression before he went to confront Murphy; but then again, dream has a way of fading.
He is looking at Jake now though, committing every detail to his memory, burning the image into his brain forcefully, almost desperately, just in case…
Just in case.
“Kevin?”
He doesn’t jump, but it’s close. Hearing Jake sleep-talking is one thing, hearing Jake saying his name and actually addressing him is… After that, it’s... It’s a sudden feeling of vertigo but it helps his brain to properly register that yes, Jake’s alive which is more than good.
“I’m sorry if I woke you up,” Kevin whispers. “It’s early still. You should get some more sleep.”
Jake grumbles something under his breath, pauses to clear his throat and speaks with more clarity. “Why are you up?”
“It’s nothing you should concern yourself with,” Kevin insists. “Please, Jake. You need all the rest you can get.”
“Not like we do much in this house anyway,” Jake retorts.
Kevin doesn’t have anything to counter the point, so he doesn’t say anything. They honestly don’t do much besides watching those action movies that Jake has brought with him and wait for another day to pass. He has tried to keep busy, but nothing seems to stick.
They aren’t living so much as merely existing for the sake of existence, moving around the safe house like anaemic shades.
“What do you do for entertainment, Jake?”
“Me?” Jake squeaks, clearly surprised by his question, clearly not angry or showing any negative emotion at his prodding either. “Oh, you know, being cool and kicking ass. The usual, pfft. That’s me, baby.”
“You will not be surprised to find that I don’t believe a single word that you just said.”
“Au contraire,” Jake says, pronouncing the words in a way that makes Kevin wince. “I am very surprised that— Wait, does that honestly mean you don’t think I’m cool? Oh, come on!”
“I have seen you gorge yourself on...what are those things you’re always eating?”
“Pizza bagels?”
“No.”
“Pizza rolls?”
“No...”
“Pizza poppers?”
“No?”
“Pizzaritos?”
“No!”
“Pizza pockets?”
“That’s it!” Kevin says, stopping at the sudden feeling of déjà vu. The nightmare, he reminds himself. There was a back and forth at some point with Jake, maybe a few, maybe about pizza pockets, maybe something else. “You can’t honestly expect me to take you seriously after that and all of those Nicolas Cage movies. Not to mention your previous antics that Raymond has told me about.”
Jake’s giggle at him saying Nicolas Cage stops. “Oh,” he says. “Does Raymond... talk about me? Not that I care, of course. I don’t care about his opinion at all. Who cares what Raymond Holt thinks, right? Right. Glad we are in agreement, Kevin.”
It’s always too early to deal with Jake’s father problems, Kevin thinks. “He talks about the whole precinct, and your name always inevitably comes up at one point or another,” he answers, tired.
“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or an insult so I will take it as a compliment. You’re welcome, professor.”
“Doctor.”
“Doctor,” Jake amends. “Though between you and me, professor sounds way cooler. You know, like professor X, or professor Layten, or just The Professor. Oh, that gives me chills.”
“I… do not recognise anything you have listed. Is this another one of your pop culture references?”
Jake looks like Kevin has just insulted the ninety-ninth precinct to his face, which he had done at least one, he supposes.
“You don’t know professor Layten?” Jake asks, scandalised.
“I can’t say that I do, no.”
“Oh, I know what we’re doing when we finally get out of here,” Jake continues, getting more and more excited with every word. “You will love it, I swear. It's got smart puzzles and like, professor Layten is so fancy. He has a proper top hat and everything. Do you think I would look good in a top hat? Wait no, if anything I’d be the Luke to your Layten, minus the weird cap thing. And maybe the sweater…”
“I surmise that this is a puzzle game then?”
“It’s more than a puzzle game, you take that back!”
Kevin doesn’t, merely raising an eyebrow at Jake, which only launches him into a monologue about the game that has made him the detective that he is today. Normally Kevin will disengage from the conversation by now, having little interest in pretending to be listening much less actually taking in the words, but tonight he fights to be present and actually processing the impromptu presentation.
By the time Jake is finished with explaining the first game (there are a lot more,) that feeling of dread and guilt is forgotten, replaced by a sudden warmth and determination instead.
It will be fine, Kevin thinks. They will fine.
Kevin’s got this.
Raymond comes by at noon with some food and fruits. Even when he has come to terms that everything was but a bad dream, it still feels comforting to see Raymond alive and crawling on his belly into the living room. Kevin may have allowed himself to indulge in Raymond’s presence more so than usual, briefly forgetting the Damocles’ sword hanging above their relationship in favour of listening to the timber of his voice.
“Good oranges, nice and dry,” Raymond is saying, holding a piece up and inspecting it. “Not at all ripe.”
The sense of déjà vu hits him again, stronger this time and accompanied by a sudden sharp jolt of pain. He has heard that before, hasn’t he? Kevin could have sworn…
“Are you feeling alright, Kevin?” Raymond asks suddenly. “You’re gritting your teeth.”
It appears that he is. Kevin sighs, stopping himself from the annoying habit that he thought he’s moved on from. “Thank you for your concern,” he murmurs, “but it’s merely a minor headache. Certainly nothing for you to be worried about.”
The last part comes out more bitter than Kevin has intended. Are you feeling alright, as if Raymond isn’t the one who might die. Why is he worrying over Kevin when he’s the one who will lead to Raymond’s demise? He doesn’t deserve Ray—
No. He had not, did not and won’t do that.
It was a nightmare, Kevin reminds himself again. A too real nightmare that has plagued him ever since he has woken up, but a nightmare nonetheless. It was only a figment of his imagination. He wouldn’t have willingly done anything of the sort in real life. He won’t leave the safe house.
(Yet here he is, fighting with Raymond again.)
“Is that why you were up so early?” Jake slowly asks.
“Yes,” Kevin lies. “I had hoped that it would have gone away already.”
“Uuuuh, do you need anything? Aspirin, maybe? Amy always gives me aspirin, though I usually just sleep it out. Which is something you didn’t do. Last night. When, you know, when you woke up and—” Jake’s rambling now, his sentence getting more and more detached and grammatically incorrect the longer Raymond stares at the two of them.
His gaze burns.
“Jake,” Kevin cuts in. “I will be fine. Honestly, I’m more surprised that this hasn’t come sooner, considering the circumstances.”
Raymond sucks in a sharp breath.
“The circumstances? Ooooh, the circumstances. Cool cool cool cool cool,” Jake trails off. He looks between him and Raymond, before looking down at the floor. “Are you two…”
“It appears so, yes,” Raymond says. “I’m leaving.”
Kevin hasn’t got this, not at all.
No, it will be fine. Raymond will go back to the precinct, away from any danger and he will stay inside with Jake, away from any danger. No one’s going to get killed today.
He looks at the empty spot where Raymond was and takes a deep breath. “Jake, what else have we not watched in that box of yours?”
Jake doesn’t look as ecstatic as he is whenever he’s allowed to play a movie. If anything, he looks worried; the same annoyance spikes in Kevin again.
He manages not to snap this time, merely giving Jake a look that prompts him into playing Gone in Sixty Seconds without any additional questions asked. It’s horrible just like the rest of the movies he has watched, but it is 113 minutes of desperately needed distraction.
“Soooo, how was this one?” Jake asks when the credits’ finished rolling and his fanboying over Nicolas Cage has stopped. “Come on, you have to admit, it was amazing!”
“Frankly, I would prefer a car hitting me over watching this again,” Kevin replies. “The plot’s horrendous, the acting is subpar at best, and the action scenes are a literal headache. Wait, perhaps this is exactly what being hit with a car feels like.”
“Like you have just seen God and he’s Nic Cage?”
“Like I have been to Hell and back. The aspirin is in the medical cabinet, yes?”
“Yes— oh, a literal headache,” Jake chuckles. “I thought you finally got it, you know. When we use literal—”
“Using literal as a form of exaggeration is the most illogical thing anyone could do, full offense Jake.”
“You and your boring definitions.” Kevin levels Jake a look. “I can get you the aspirin if you want?”
“That... would be appreciated, yes. Thank you.”
He watches as Jake stands up, actually standing up in a way that would surely announce anyone looking through the window of his presence.
Yesterday Kevin would not have cared that much. Now, though: “Jake, you’re in view.”
“It’s fine,” Jake waves him off, scoffing. “We both know Captain Holt is dramatic. No one’s going to shoot me Kevin.”
“Still,” he hesitates. The nightmare flashes in his head again. “You never know, Murphy’s men might be lurking.”
“Mayhaps Kevin, but hey, if they are they would have stormed in instead of posing outside aiming their... and there are people outside.” Jake finishes his sentence frighteningly calm, a stark contrast to how fast he drops down on the floor, his own gun already pulled out and cocked. “Fuck. I take whatever I just said back. Kevin, you gotta go. Lock yourself in a room, barricade the damn thing.”
“Jake.”
“Quick, we don’t have much time until they decide it’s safe enough to kick the damn door down. Go!”
“It’s dangerous, you’re going to get—” Kevin swallows, clears his throat and doesn’t bother finishing that sentence.
“I’m a trained officer Kevin, being cool and kicking ass is part of my job,” Jake echoes the ridiculous phrase. “I’ve got this.”
Another flash of pain. Jake, saying the same thing under different circumstances, at a different time. No, today. No, that was the nightmare. He doesn’t have time for this right now.
“Fine,” Kevin grits out, in time with a sudden bang on the door and runs.
Loud noises behind him: footsteps, something crashing, guns being fired and Jake quoting Die Hard. “Yippee-Ki-Yay, Motherfucker!”
The window is wide enough, the frame not obstructing. Kevin risks a glance behind his back to see objects getting thrown around, but Jake’s nowhere in sight. They could have made a run for it from here, and he half-wants to charge back, grab Jake’s arm and get him out of there.
A stray bullet lodges itself into a painting opposite to him. Too close for comfort, too close, too close.
Kevin climbs out of the window, runs and doesn’t look back. Hours later he will be informed that Jake’s found bleeding out on the floor but there’s still a chance that they can save him. Raymond will allow him to lean on his shoulder in the hospital waiting room, but Kevin won’t do such a thing.
He should (would, will) have been the one on the table instead of Jake.
The hospital chair isn’t the most comfortable thing in the world to pass out on, but that doesn’t stop the tiredness from catching up to him.
The third time, Kevin doesn’t want to wake up. Not when he will have to deal with everything that has happened.
But his eyes flicker open anyway, thank God not needing to adjust to any bright light. The room is dark, quiet. Raymond must have moved him then.
Usually, Kevin would get out of bed right away. There’s no point in lingering here, not when he’s already awake.
Usually, Kevin doesn’t have to get up and look Raymond in the eyes and pretend that everything is fine between them. He doesn’t have another appointment at the precinct to give a better account of what happened (him leaving Jake behind to die, running until he can’t) and he doesn’t have to look at the ninety-ninth and pretend that it is fine either.
So, he lets himself lay there, looking up at the white ceiling and... their bedroom doesn’t have that particular stain in the corner, just visible enough to irritate. The safe house does.
The safe house.
He’s back in the safe house.
Where Jake got killed. Where Kevin left Jake to die. (There were unnecessary bruises and cuts and burns, they had drawn it out.)
Kevin wants to do… something, literally anything else so he doesn’t have to deal with this right now. Instead, his breathing picks up, faster and out of control.
Jake didn’t get killed here, he got tortured.
He had let Jake get tortured. Jake should still be here. Jack would still be here if it wasn’t for Kevin. Jake’s not here.
Jake’s not here.
And then suddenly Jake’s here, all over his personal place, concern etched into his face.
“Kevin! Oh fuck— what do I— Kevin, can you hear me? Ok, breathe with me, yeah?”
The dead don’t breathe, but Jake’s breathing loudly in front of him, long inhale and exhale. Jake’s dead, but Jake’s also here.
“You’re safe Kevin. We’re in the safe house, it’s Sunday the 18th— uhhh, fuck I should have paid more attention during, fuck! Kevin, just concentrate on my breathing, alright bud? In and out, and in and out. With me, come on.”
He’s in the safe house, it’s Sunday the 18th, and Jake’s not dead.
He’s in the safe house, it’s Sunday the 18th, and Jake’s alive.
“Ok, you’re doing great Kev,” Jake says. “It’s fine, it’s fine. Everything is fine.”
“Don’t call me Kev,” Kevin manages to utter out, his voice horribly hoarse and Jake chuckles. The dead don’t chuckle, don’t move, don’t blink and don’t talk and Jake’s…
Jake’s alive.
A nightmare then, his brain supplies when logicality settles back in.
Jake continues breathing loudly with him, and eventually the panic fades away too, leaving him strangely empty.
“Are you good now?” Jake asks.
Kevin nods, pauses, then shrugs instead.
“Do you... wanna talk about it?” Jake hesitantly continues. “Not that you have to of course, you don’t have to tell me everything, just... the offer is there if, you know, you want. No pressure though.”
“While I appreciate it, I will have to turn it down.” Not when the nightmare at hand is...what it is. Kevin sighs, dragging a hand down the length of his face and wiping away sweats and tears. “Thank you,” he adds, quiet.
“You’re welcome,” Jake smiles. “You would probably do the same thing for me anyway… Probably. Maybe. Actually, just forget what I just said, don’t worry about it.”
Kevin rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, of course I would.”
“You would? I mean, of course you would.” Jake clears his throat, turning away but not before Kevin sees a genuine smile on his face. “‘Course you would.”
“I’m sorry if I woke you up,” Kevin continues after a beat of silence. “It’s rather early enough as it is.”
“Nothing a cup of coffee can’t fix.”
“A very unhealthy way of looking at it.”
“So is staying cooped up,” Jake retorts.
Kevin hums. “You make a good point. Would you be interested in some coffee right now then?”
“Oh, would I?” Jake jumps out of the bed, or he would have done so if not for the blanket tangling around his feet. Instead, Kevin watches as Jake trips over everything and lands on the ground. “Everything is totes fine!” he yells, failing to get up. “I’m fine!”
“I’m sure you are,” Kevin says, grabbing Jake’s hand and pulling him up properly. “Be more careful next time.”
“Careful is my middle name,” Jake grins dopily. “Now, coffee, professor?”
“Doctor.”
“Doctor,” Jake amends. “Though between you and me, professor sounds way cooler. You know, like professor X, or professor Layten, or just The Professor. Oh, that gives me chills.”
A sudden throbbing pain, a sense of familiarity Kevin can’t quite put his finger on. It’s not uncommon, people getting his title wrong, but Jake getting his title wrong is a first. It should be a first, but has he really not done that before?
Kevin shakes his head lightly, focusing back on the conversation at hand. “Professor Layten?”
Why is that the detail he focuses on? More importantly, why does Kevin even know about this puzzle game?
“Oh? You play it too Kev?”
“I haven’t played it personally,” Kevin answers slowly, then adds. “However, a friend has told me about it. Only the first game though, not much beside that.”
“You have a friend who actually plays games instead of reading old boring stuff from the ye olde day?”
“It surprises me too,” he doesn’t lie. It was (is) a friend, right? “He said he’s a Luke.”
“Everyone would be Luke compared to you,” Jake says in that specific tone of his that makes Kevin frown. “You’re like, actually smart and whatnot, you know? Doctor Cozner over here, and me over there.”
Self-deprecation is not a good shade on Jake, Kevin has found.
“That doesn’t mean that you are not intelligent either,” Kevin counters. “Stop putting yourself down so much. It’s unbecoming and frankly, a little insulting.”
Jake splutters. “What? How is that insulting?”
“Insulting to yourself.”
“Oh.”
“Yes. Now, coffee?”
Jake answers him with another bright smile. His good mood is infectious, and eventually Kevin relaxes, taking a careful sip of his caffeinated drink. Jake’s beside him, animated as he tries to explain what Kevin needs to know without spoiling the content of the game, and most importantly, Jake’s alive and in good health.
Well, good is relative. Kevin doubts anyone who eats those pizza pockets is in good health. Thank God Raymond comes bearing fruit at noon, oranges that Kevin’s currently forcing Jake to eat.
“Keeevin!”
He rolls his eyes, finishes peeling the orange and separates it in half. “Jake,” Kevin chides softly.
Jake looks at the floor, but he does take his half so Kevin’s counting that as a win. “This tastes horrible,” he says after eating the first slice, though Kevin can tell Jake doesn't mean it.
“Good oranges, nice and dry,” Raymond counters. “Not at all ripe.”
Kevin looks down at his own plate to hide a grimace. The pain has been merely a dull sensation in the background all morning, but now it’s back with a vengeance that makes him feel disorientated. Hasn’t Raymond said that already, yesterday?
Was he here, yesterday?
No, Raymond wasn’t.
But the words from his mouth are so familiar, like Kevin has heard them before. In fact, he knows he has heard them before.
Deep breath, in and out. Raymond likes to describe his fruit, they have had oranges before, that must be it. He’s making a mountain out of a molehill.
“Are you feeling alright, Kevin?” Raymond asks, in time with another wave of pain washing over. Kevin bites back a groan.
“Headache, mostly. I must be coming down with something,” he grits out. “You’ll have to excuse me.”
Crawling is harder like this, but Kevin manages through blurred vision. The aspirin helps somewhat, not getting rid of it entirely but his head is clearer.
“Hey, you’re alright?” Evidently not clear enough to notice Jake has followed him. “Capt left early, saying he has meetings to get to at the precinct. That and paperwork, probably.”
“I can’t imagine the two of us would make good company for Raymond right now,” Kevin shrugs. “It’s understandable.”
“Still, leaving you without even saying goodbye,” Jake adds awkwardly, wincing. “Sorry. Anyway, you’re good, yeah?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? Cause with this and then, you know, last night… Well I guess that would be today early morning, but that’s not the point. Whatever.” Jake walks closer to him, a hand moving up then dropping uselessly to his side again. “Holt said he will pick some stuff up for you too. Medicine and whatnot.”
“Medicine and whatnot,” Kevin echoes. “How are you still alive?”
Jake shrugs. “Definitely luck. You wanna watch something later or do you wanna nap? Cause Gone in Sixty Seconds is like, totes awesome. It’s medicine to the soul, that’s what it is.”
“Did you come up just to ask if I want to watch another Nicolas Cage movie with you?”
“...Maaaaybe?”
Kevin stifles a sigh. Jake’s looking at him with those eyes that remind him of Cheddar when he wants his treat. God, he misses Cheddar.
“Fine,” Kevin gives in. “But keep the volume down.”
“Totes, noice,” Jake points at him with his index fingers and thumbs up, the rest curled back. Ah right, finger guns. “I will just be down then. Take your time Kev.”
“Kevin,” he corrects, rolling his eyes and stopping at the mirror. His reflection stares back, one that Kevin barely recognises. Since when do his eyes look so red, like he has been crying? “It’s Kevin, Jacob.”
Jake squeaks. “Jacob?!”
“If you’re so insistent in addressing me with the wrong name, it’s only fair that I retaliate,” he smirks. “Now, about that Nicolas Cage movie, Jacob?”
“Ok fine, I get it! Stop! It sounds like I’m in trouble.” Jake throws his hands up. “Is this how you teach too? Cause that’s just cruel.”
Kevin doesn’t answer. Jake laughs, then continues to laugh with delight while they watch Gone in Sixty Seconds. It’s not a good movie, but he had come to terms with that fact the moment Jake opened his mouth and described the plot to him. The acting is subpar and, even in a world where Nicolas Cage is as talented as Jake thinks, the acting won’t be able to save this movie from the horrendous writing.
“Are you sure you have not seen this?” Jake asks, gaping at him. “Kevin, have you seen a Nic Cage movie without me?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kevin scoffs. “Anyone who pays the slightest bit of attention can see the plot from a mile away. It’s predictable.”
“No, it’s not! I will have you know that I gasped several times watching this!”
“My original statement remains correct. Do you only watch this movie because Nicolas Cage is in this? And do you only actually pay attention when he’s on screen?”
“...Maybe.”
“That explains it then.”
“Rude,” Jake mutters. “Here I am, about to get up and make some popcorn for two since I like you so much, Kevin!”
Kevin watches with amusement as Jake’s rant get more dramatic, to the point where he is actually standing up and gesturing with his hands as if he’s addressing a full room. The amusement, however, lessens when Jake actually moves to the front of the window.
“Jake, you’re in view.”
“It’s fine.” It’s Jake’s turn to scoff now, waving away Kevin’s worry. “We both know Captain Holt is dramatic. No one’s going to shoot me Kevin.”
His head is pounding.
“Still,” Kevin hesitates. The nightmare flashes, some parts more detailed than others. “You never know, Murphy’s men might be lurking.”
“Mayhaps Kevin, but hey, if they are, they would have stormed in instead of posing outside aiming their... and there are people outside—"
Kevin surges up, ignoring how the sudden movement agitates the damn headache and pulls Jake down with him. His hands shake from where he’s holding onto Jake’s shirt. Jake’s hands are steady as he pulls out a gun from one of the cupboards. Has it been there the whole time?
“I take whatever I just said back,” Jake snaps. “Kevin, you gotta go. Lock yourself in a room, barricade the damn thing.”
“Jake.”
“Quick, we don’t have much time until they decide it’s safe enough to kick the damn door down. Go!”
“It’s dangerous, you’re going to get—” Kevin swallows, clears his throat and doesn’t bother finishing that sentence. “You don’t know how many there are.”
“I’m a trained officer Kevin, being cool and kicking ass is part of my job,” Jake tries to smile at him. It looks more like a grimace. “I got this.”
“I don’t doubt that for a moment,” Kevin lies, taking a hold of Jake’s wrist and pulling him along. The window can be climbed out of. He has never checked the windows. No, he has. He must have. “It’s safer this way.”
“...Alright,” Jake murmurs. “Stay down when you are out.”
Kevin does, crouching low. Moments later Jake joins him, making a shushing gesture. Seconds later, the silence is broken by the sound of the front door getting slammed open, then footsteps. Then voices.
“Are you sure they’re here?”
“You really gonna ask that after we seen the fucking cop at the window? That’s pure fucking confirmation, especially with Holt coming and going like that. Fucking fag.”
Kevin glances at Jake. His grip on the gun is knuckle white.
“After you failed to take the shot more like. Search the house.”
More footsteps, some getting further away, some going upstairs. Jake glances around and clears his throat softly. “We’re good,” he whispers, then begins moving, keeping his head down.
“Downstairs is clear!” the voice shouts, and Kevin nearly jumps. It’s so close, separated only by a wall, and he gulps.
Jake’s still moving.
Right, he can do this. Keep quiet, keep going, it will be fine.
“Well get up here and fucking help me then!”
Kevin follows until they’re at the front of the house and Jake holds his hand out. Stop, stay. He frowns, but does so as Jake continues toward one of the non-descriptive cars parked right outside of the safe house.
Jake picks up a rock and smashes the window, reaching through and wrenching the door open.
Kevin holds his breath, prays that the men in the house didn’t hear the sound of glass breaking and then the sound of the engine coming to life. It’s more wishful thinking than anything, but Jake’s waving him over and Kevin sprints.
“Get in!” Jake yells, his voice much louder than the rushed footsteps from the house. “Fuck, fuck fuck fuck.”
He’s barely seated, hasn’t even put on the seatbelt yet, and Jake’s already slamming the pedal and speeding off. The last thing on Kevin’s mind is to complain anyway, not after that narrow escape.
“Cool cool cool, this is totes fine!”
Kevin looks over. Jake doesn’t look so calm anymore, nor is he quiet. Kevin doubts he’s in a better state right now. He can feel his heart drumming against his ribcage. He’s either having a panic attack or an honest to God heart attack.
“Uh oh, we may have company—” Jake mutters, and Kevin looks at the mirror, catching sight of the rest of the cars. “Strap in.”
“You’re the one who’s not wearing a seatbelt.”
“Whatever!” A sharp left turn, the car almost tipping, Jake leaning with the momentum. “Fuck, are they still following?”
“Yes. Where are we heading?”
“Doesn’t matter, long as we lose them!” Jake shouts over the sound of the engine. He slams down on the pedal, accelerates past the speed limit. Kevin’s grip on the handle above the door gets tighter. “Keep an eye on them.”
“Getting closer, and they’re pulling out firearms.”
“Fuck.” A gunshot, and Kevin jumps. The mirror on his side cracks, a wisp of smoke coming from where the bullet has lodged itself in. Jake swears again. The car swerves left and right. “How mad would you be if I did something totally dangerous but also totally dope?”
“Very,” Kevin answers through gritted teeth. “Jacob, I swear to God, this isn’t a movie and you are not an action star.”
“Jacob again? Come on!” Jake throws him a lopsided grin. “I got this.”
A sudden throbbing pain around his temple.
Jake hasn’t got this.
Hasn’t?
“What do you want me to do?” Kevin asks, forcing the thought away. Now is definitely not the time.
“That’s the spirit. Take the wheel,” Jake says, taking both of his hands off and Kevin lurches forward to grab it before the car has the chance to crash. “Ok, you keep us going, I’m going to stop these motherfuckers from following.”
“This is a very bad idea,” Kevin says. It clearly falls on deaf ears, especially when Jake pulls out the gun again, checking the ammunition.
“I know!” Jake rolls the window down, leans out and aims. The loud bang reverberates inside Kevin’s skull, not helping the nauseating migraines that are coming in waves. “That’s a close one, damn.”
Jake ducks back in and seconds later another shot rings out, hitting the other side mirror. Too close, that was too close. He can’t lose Jake, not like this.
“This is a very bad idea,” Kevin says again.
“They’re going to shoot us down any moment now,” Jake counters. “Continuing driving won’t solve anything.”
“Getting shot won’t solve anything either.”
“I’m a police officer, Kevin. I know the risk. Turn left when I tell you to, and don’t stop.” Before Kevin can reply, Jake’s leaning out again, gun ready to fire. “Yippee-Ki-Yay, motherfucker. Now Kevin!”
He yanks on the wheel until it clunks to a stop, unable to turn any further. Jake must have slammed on the break at that moment because the car is drifting around, tires screeching against the pavement and then suddenly they are speeding headfirst into their chasers.
Another shot and Kevin watches as the windshield cracks and one of the cars turns out of control, sliding to a halt on the street and effectively blocking most of it. “Nice!”
“Yes, great shot detective. Now get in,” Kevin raises his voice. Jake, thank God, follows his words and gets seated inside again, rolling the window back up.
“Did you see that? God I was amazing,” Jake grins. “That’s one down, one to go.”
“Yes, and you better think of a plan that does not involve making yourself an open target! What were you thinking?” Jake freezes, his grin falters. Kevin sighs. “Please, take the wheel.”
He waits until Jake’s definitely gripping it properly before letting go, slumping back in his own seat. The headache fades, though a part of Kevin knows it will come back sooner or later.
“Sorry,” Jake mutters, breaking the silence. “I…”
“Jake, we can have this talk later. They’re coming back.”
“Oh, thank God. Saved by the criminals,” Jake breathes. He adjusts the rear-view mirror, nodding slightly. “Oh yeah, see it now.”
“They’re closing in.”
“I’m going as fast as I can already.”
A glance at the speed meter confirms that, and a glance backwards confirms that they’re about to make contact. Kevin swears, and swears again when the car lurches forward from being rammed into.
“Permission to be stupid again?” Jake asks.
“Since when do you ask for permission, and would my answer even matter?”
“Nope and nope! Take the wheel.”
Kevin stifles a sigh, taking control of the wheel again and letting Jake roll the window down. “Be careful.”
“When am I not?”
“Right now.”
“Point.” Jake leans out again, enough to aim properly and start shooting. Kevin would have watched Jake more closely if it weren’t for the constant ramming that threatens to crash their car to the side. “Oh boy.”
Returning bullets, some that fly past them and some that definitely hit the car. One that cracks the rear window.
One that breaks the rear window, flying forward and lodging itself to the windshield.
Kevin swerves the car left and right, at least trying to make them harder to hit. Every movement makes another loud impact sound as the car gets rammed again and again, making it harder for him to find a way out.
One that cracks the rear-view mirror, and then another and another.
“God that was close,” Jake mutters to himself, the words barely heard over the chaos.
One that shatters the rear-view mirror into pieces, flying past.
“Kevin, stop turning, just go straight!”
One that’s too close.
Kevin nods, not that Jake can see it.
Another one that’s lodged into the crimson red windshield, not that Kevin notices. Not when there’s an excruciating burning sensation that’s worse than any headache.
Blood doesn’t taste good, hot and uncomfortable with a metallic scent. Blood doesn't feel good, pouring down his back and sticking against his clothes.
“Kevin! Holy fuck—” Jake’s yelling, and then he feels himself getting pushed back to his own seat. “Kevin, come on, stay with me.”
That’s Jake beside him. He looks frantic, all colour draining from his complexion. Kevin wants to reassure him, but he feels frozen in his seat, unable to move, much less speak.
“Kevin? Can you hear me?”
Why is he not breathing properly? Why can’t he move? Everything around him is still moving and Kevin closes his eyes, relishing in the cold and calm darkness.
That feels good, better than whatever is happening right now.
“Come on Kev, don’t close your eyes on me,” Jake says. “Hey. Hey, Kevin, Capt— Raymond would not want you to go to sleep now, yeah? Oh fuck.”
“Jake,” he tries to say, gargling on the blood, his own blood.
His own—
Oh.
It appears that he has been shot.
That answers all of his questions then.
Jake chuckles. It isn’t a good chuckle, a conscious part of Kevin observes. The rest of him wants him to close his eyes again.
It’s biting cold.
“Come on, uh, Kevin! Talk to me about Raymond.”
Raymond, right. He… He’s not seeing him again.
He’s not going to see Raymond again.
He is not going to see Raymond because he is dying.
He doesn’t want to die.
He doesn’t want to just die… to become nothing, to fade into the blackness that’s invading his vision. He doesn’t want to leave Raymond alone. Oh God, he is going to leave Raymond to deal with his corpse.
Kevin puts his head down, or maybe it’s to the side, against the window, trying not to suffocate himself as blood and vomit threatens to block his mouth. “Could you tell Raymond that I apologise? And— And that I love him?”
“No no no, you’re going to stay conscious and do that yourself,” Jake whispers. “Kevin, come on, look at me. Focus.”
Kevin does, squinting at the silhouette of Jake, blurry and bright and looking between him and something in front, or upward of him.
“Uh, so how about that book huh? You know, the wolf thing? Not dances with wolves, obviously, but that time at the party. Bee wolf? Or hell, just talk to me about anything. Lecture me, come on Kev. You fucking love to lecture me, please—”
He’s going to die, isn’t he? The blood, the pain that feels like he has been gutted more than shot, the constant blaring loud noises around, everything…
Everything is fading — draining away too fast.
Raymond, he’s not going to see Raymond again. Or Martin, or Cheddar, any of his friends, or his parents. What did he last say to any of these people? Does Raymond know Kevin still loves him? Kevin hasn’t said that since forever. He is a horrible husband. Maybe he does deserve to die, but before that:
“Will you tell Raymond that I love him?” Kevin repeats himself. “Please?”
“He knows, God he knows that already. Kevin, come on, not like this.”
“Jake.”
Jake closes his mouth with a snap, looking away. Kevin has a feeling he won’t turn back this time.
“...I will,” Jake finally says.
Suddenly, death doesn’t feel that bad anymore.
“Thank you,” Kevin whispers.
“We haven’t even watched Captain Corelli's Mandolin yet,” Jake continues, trying to keep his tone light. “It’s super boring. You would have loved it, Kev.”
“A movie about a Mandolin?”
“Yeah. We can watch it. And hey, I still owe you some popcorn, right?”
“That sounds nice.”
Jake’s sudden sob somehow hurts far more than the actual bullet, Kevin thinks as he drifts off.
A number of patricians, one a very old man, are gathered in a
state room of the imperial palace. They are showing signs of
nervousness. FIRST PATRICIAN: Still no news. THE OLD PATRICIAN: None last night, none this morning. SECOND PATRICIAN: Three days without news. Strange indeed! THE OLD PATRICIAN: Our messengers go out, our
messengers return. And always
they shake their heads and say: “Nothing.” SECOND PATRICIAN: They’ve combed
the whole countryside. What more can be done? FIRST PATRICIAN: We can only wait. It’s no use meeting trouble halfway. Perhaps he’ll return as abruptly as he left us. THE OLD PATRICIAN: When I saw him leaving the palace, I noticed a queer look in
his eyes. FIRST PATRICIAN: Yes, so did I. In fact I asked him what was amiss. SECOND PATRICIAN: Did he answer? FIRST PATRICIAN: One word: “Nothing.” [A short silence. HELICON enters. He is munching onions.] I. Quantum Mechanics: Superpositions To reach the point I want to discuss, I must begin with a sketchy
review of quantum mechanics. I apologise to those of you who know this material already, perhaps
better than I do. But it will be an opinionated review: some of my opinions are eccentric. So there may be something in it even for those who are already experts. Quantum mechanics is, in a nutshell, the theory ofsuperpositions. To introduce
this concept, I begin with the standard account
of the
benzene ring–an account so well-entrenched in organic chemistry that it would probably survive
even if its quantum-mechanical foundation crumbled away beneath it.The benzene ring is a hexagon of carbon atoms, each with a hydrogen atom attached.Replace two adjacent hydrogens with two different substituents, so that we can unam-biguously number the sides of the hexagon. Two structures conform to the rules of valence:one with double bonds on the odd-numbered sides, another with double bonds on theeven-numbered sides (see Figure 1).The molecule reacts sometimes
as if it had one structure, sometimes as
if
it had the
other. Yet we do not think that a population of molecules is a mixture of the two structures.Neither do we think that each molecule oscillates rapidly between one structure and the other. Neither do we
think that the molecule has a betwixt-and-between structure–there is no such thing as a bond midway between double and single. Rather, we think that each molecule is in a superposition: a state objectively
indeterminate between the two structures. Objective indeterminacy is multiplicity: a cloud of
indeterminate extent, forinstance, is really many clouds, almost but
not quite identical to one another [Unger1980; Lewis 1999b].2Likewise a molecule with an objectively indeterminate structure is really two coexisting molecules, one with one structure and one with the other. (Or at anyrate, two things that are molecule-like except for from their coexistence with one another.)2The thesis that indeterminacy in nature is multiplicity Æts well with the thesis that indeterminacy in language's semantic indecision: there are many clouds, and we haven't decided just which
one to call `the cloud'. Nevertheless, the two are separable. Maybe instead `the cloud' refers to the entiremultiplicity; or maybe just one of
the many–but it is a secret which one–is a mighty referencemagnet, and so `the cloud' refers
to that one.Figure 14How Many Lives Has Schrodinger's Cat? These are again truisms. I shall again repeat that they are not interesting in themselves but in the consequences that can be deduced from them. I know another truism: it tells me that man is mortal. One
can nevertheless count the minds that have deduced the extreme conclusions from it. It is essential to consider as a constant point of reference in this essay the regular hiatus between what we fancy we know and what we really know, practical assent and simulated ignorance which allows us to live with ideas
which, if we truly put them to the test, ought to upset our whole life. Faced with this inextricable contradiction
of the mind, we shall fully grasp the divorce separating us
from our own creations. So long as the mind keeps silent in the motionless world of its hopes, everything is reflected and arranged in the unity of its nostalgia. But with its first move this world cracks and tumbles: an infinite number of shimmering fragments is offered to the
understanding. We must despair of ever reconstructing the familiar, calm surface which would give us
peace of heart. After
so many centuries of inquiries, so many abdications among thinkers, we are well
aware that this is true for all our knowledge. With the
exception of professional rationalists, today people despair of true knowledge. If the only significant history of human thought were to be written, it would have to be the history of its successive regrets and its impotences. Of whom and of what indeed can I say: “I know that!” This heart within me I can feel, and I judge that it exists. This world I can touch, and I likewise judge that it exists. There ends all my knowledge, and the rest is
construction.
For if I try to seize this self of which I feel sure, if I try to define and to summarize it, it is nothing but
water slipping through my fingers. I can sketch one by one all the aspects it is able to assume, all those likewise that have been attributed to it, this upbringing, this origin, this ardor or these silences, this nobility or
this vileness. But aspects cannot be added up. This very heart which is mine will forever remain indefinable to me. Between the certainty I have of my existence and the content I try to give to that assurance, the gap will never be filled. Forever I shall be a stranger to myself. In psychology as in logic, there are truths but no truth. We assume that we have a collection
of finite sets, !,'lJ, ...,Z, whose elements are denoted by xi (!, Yj ('lJ,..., zk (Z, etc., and that we have a joint probability distribution, P = P(xi'Yj,,,,,zk)' defined on the cartesian product of the sets, which represents the probability of the combined event xi'Yj"'" and zk' We then denote by X,Y, ... ,Z the random variables whose values are the elements of the sets !,'lJ, ...,Z, with probabilities given by P. 13 14 HUGH EVERETT, III For any subset Y, ... ,Z, of a set of random variables W,... ,X, Y, ...
,Z, with joint probability distribution P(wi"",Xj'Yk, ... ,ze), the marginal distribution, P(Yk, ... ,ze), is defined
to be: (1.1) P(Yk, ... ,ze) = l P(wi,,,,,Xj'Yk, ... ,ze) , i, ... ,j which represents the probability of the joint occurrence of Yk,... ,ze, with no restrictions upon the remaining variables. For any subset Y, ... ,Z of a set of random variables the conditional distribution, conditioned
upon the values W= wi""'X = Xj for any rewi"",Xj(y maining
subset W,... ,X, and denoted by P k, ... ,ze), is defined to be:! (1.2) which represents the probability of the joint event Y = Yk'''''Z = ze, conditioned by the fact that W,... ,X are known to have taken the values wi.... 'Xj. respectively. For any numerical valued function F(Yk'''' .ze). defined on the elements of the cartesian product of 'Y •...• Z. the expectation. denoted
by Exp [F], is defined to be: (1.3) Exp [F] l P(Yk.... ,ze) F(yk •...• ze) . k, ... ,e We note that if P(Yk'" .•ze) is a marginal distribution of some larger distribution P(wi •... 'Xj.
Yk' ... 'ze) then (1.4) Exp [F] l (l P(Wi'''''Xj'Yk, ••. 'Ze») F(Yk.... 'ze) k, ... ,e e,... ,j l P(wi"",Xj'Yk"",ze)F(yk"",ze)' i, ... ,j,k, ... ,e We regard it as undefined if P(wi, .... xj > = O. In this case P(wi, .... xj' Yk, ... ,ze> is necessarily zero also. THEORY OF THE UNIVERSAL WAVE FUNCTION 15 so that if we wish to compute Exp [F] with respect to some joint distribution it suffices to use any marginal distribution of the original distribution which contains at least those variables which occur in F. We shall also
occasionally be interested in conditional expectations, which we define as: (1.5) Exp wi, ... ,Xj [F] = l P wi, ... ,xj(Yk,... ,ze) F(Yk, ... ,ze) , k•.•.•e and we note the following easily verified rules for expectations: (1.6) Exp [Exp [F]] = Exp [F] • (1. 8) Exp [F+G] = Exp [F] + Exp [G] . We should like finally to comment upon the notion of independence. Two random variables X and Y with joint distribution P(xi' Yj) will be said to be
independent if
and only if P(xi' Yj) is
equal to P(xi) P(Yj) for all i,j. Similarly, the
groups
of random variables (U... V). (W... X),...• (Y... Z) will be called mutually
He’s in a room.
independent groups if and
only if P(ui, ,Vj' Wk,... ,xe, ... ,ym, ... ,zn) is always equal to P(ui, ... ,Vj) P(wk, ,xe).', P(Ym•... 'zn). Socrates’”Know thyself” has as much value as the “Be virtuous” of our confessionals. They reveal a nostalgia at the same time
as an ignorance. They
are
sterile exercises on great subjects. They are legitimate only in precisely so far as they are approximate.Picture the molecule as a double image, as if we drew the two structures on two transpar-encies and laid one over the other.Some
terminology. We call the resolutions of the indeterminacy–the superimposedimages–branchesof
the superposition. And we call a state which is not a superposition (oris, if you prefer, a degenerate one-branch superposition) asharpstate.We can say that each bond is in a superposition of double and single. But if we say justthat, we lose
information. The superpositions
of the individual bonds are entangled. Thatmeans that a double bond
on any odd side goes with double bonds on the other odd sides,and likewise a double bond on any even side goes with double bonds on the other evensides. Relative to a
double bond on side 1, we have one structure for the whole molecule;relative
to a single bond
on side
1 we have
another. No branch of the superposition for the whole molecule hybridizes the two structures, putting double bonds on sides 1, 3, and 4,say. Some superpositions are entangled with other superpositions distinct from themselves.Others are
unentangled,
though they may have parts which are entangled with
oneanother.3SECOND
PATRICIAN [in the same nervous tone]: It’s all very perturbing. FIRST PATRICIAN: Oh, come now! All young fellows are like that. THE OLD PATRICIAN: You’re right there. They take things hard. But time smooths everything out. SECOND PATRICIAN: Do you really think
so? THE OLD PATRICIAN: Of course. For one girl dead, a
dozen living ones. HELICON: Ah? So you think that there’s a girl behind it? FIRST PATRICIAN: What else should there be? Anyhow—thank goodness!—grief never lasts forever. Is any one of us here capable of mourning a loss for more than a year on end? SECOND PATRICIAN: Not I,
anyhow. FIRST PATRICIAN: No one can do that. THE OLD PATRICIAN: Life
would be intolerable if oneWhy should we believe in collapse? Recall our example of the photon, the half-silveredmirror, and the detector
atom. When one branch but not the other of the superposition ofundeØected photon versus deØected photon reached the detector atom, the atom in turnwent into a superposition of excited versus unexcited. That is what Schrodinger evolution predicts. Now replace the detector atom by a
macroscopic photon detector with a pointerthat can point to `yes' or to `no'. This time, Schrodinger evolution predicts that the pointerwill go into a superposition of pointing to `yes' versus pointing to `no'. Now, we never seeatoms, so we're in no position to tell whether they're in sharp states or not. But we do seethe pointer. When we do, we see that it's in a sharp state of pointing either to `yes' or to`no'. Or so it certainly appears. Unless this
appearance is an illusion–but soon we shallconsider hypotheses which say that it is exactly that–Schrodinger evolution must be interrupted at some point by collapse.Similarly in quantum tunnelling, when some of the total intensity goes to branches of a superposition that lie beyond a barrier, collapse can result in the particle appearing at a sharp location beyond the barrier. That is what we think happens in
radioactive decay, atleast if the
decay
is observed by means of a Geiger counter.When does collapse take place? There are many hypotheses on the market, and thus many versions of quantum mechanics. Unfortunately they are as near as makes no dif-ference empirically
equivalent. Our only hope of adjudicating
between them is to judge them on their inherent plausibility. Most of these hypotheses fall on a spectrum, startingwith those on which collapse takes place often and easily, and ending
with those on whichcollapse takes place only under very special conditions.6We begin, however, not with any of the hypotheses on our spectrum but with anempirically inadequate hypothesis. This
hypothesis says that superpositions are bornalready collapsed, or at least that all of them collapse extremely quickly. Immediately,or extremely soon, what we have is not a superposition but a sharp state, and which sharpstate
we have is a matter of chance. To see why this won't work, we need to say a little more about phase. Here is what we need to know. If two branches of an unentangled superposition diverge and then re-unite,5continued
same way upon other things they encounter.I distinguish such incomplete collapses
fromlocalizations(also known
as collapses with tails).
At least Kevin thinks he’s in a room. A very empty room.
Localizations
are chance
redistributions
of intensity in which not quite all the intensity, but onlythe lion's share of it, becomes concentrated within
a very small sphere, and in which the intensity of abranch never falls quite to zero. Localizations, like collapses, are indeterministic interruptions of
Schrodinger evolution; nevertheless, what I shall say later about the
deterministic We conclude this section by listing some useful formulas and inequalities which are easily proved: (3.5) 20 (3.7) HUGH
EVERETT, III
I...,U
,V, \ '" 1...,UV, ... \ + IU,V\ , I...,U,V, ,W,... \ '" I...,UV ... W,... \ + IU,v, ... ,W\ (comma removal) (3.8) I....U.VW, ... ! -I. ...UV,W, ... ! '" IU,v!-
IV,W\ (commutator) , (3.9) (3.10) (3.11) (3.12) (3.13)
(3.14) (3.15)
(3.
16) Ix\ '" 0 (definition of bracket with no commas) , I...,XXV, ... \ = I...,XV, ... \ (removal of repeated variable within a group) , I...,UV,VW, ... ! = 1...,UV,w, ... \-lv,w\- IV (removal of repeated variable in separate groups) , IX,X\ = - IX (self
correlation) , ... wj"" ...Wj'" IU,vw,x\ = IU,v,x\ , IU,W,X\"'wj", = IU,X(,Wj'" (removal of conditioned
variables) , Ixy,z\ ~ IX,z\ , Ixy,z\ ~ IX,z\ + IY,Z\ - IX,Y\ , IX,Y,z\ ~ IX,Y! + IX,z\ . Note that in the
above formulas any random variable W may be replaced by any group XY... Z and the relation holds true, since the set XY... Z may be regarded as the single random variable W, which takes its values in the cartesian product :t x 'lJ x ... x Z. 94. Generalization and
further properties of correlation Until now we have
been concerned only with finite probability
distributions, for which we have defined information and correlation.
There aren't any walls, just a floor, a white floor that goes on and on and on. It’s blinding
We shall now generalize the definition of correlation so as to be applicable
to joint probability distributions over arbitrary sets of
unrestricted cardinality. THEORY OF THE UNIVERSAL
WAVE FUNCTION 21 We first consider the effects of refinement
of a finite distribution. For example, we may discover that the event xi is actually the disjunction of several exclusive
events xt,...,xf, so that xi occurs if anyone of the xf occurs, i.e., the single event xi results from failing to distinguish
between the xi. The probability distribution which distinguishes between the xi will be called a refinement of the distribution which does not. In general, we shall say that a
distribution P' = p'(xi,...,'Yj') is a refinement of P = P(xi""'Yj) if ( ) (all i, ... ,j) . ~ , -
11
_v) P xi''
'''Yj = k P (xi ,...
,yj 11... V We now state an important theorem concerning the behavior of correlation under a refinement of a joint
probability distributions: (4.1) THEOREM 2
and glaring,
P' is a refinement of P =9!x, ...
,yl' ~ IX,
..
. ,YI so that
correlations never
decrease upon refinement of a distribution. (Proof in Appendix I, S3.) As an
example, suppose that we have a
continuous probability density P(x, y). By division of the
axes into a finite number of intervals, xi' Yj' we arrive at a finite joint distribution Pij' no-collapsehypothesis
on which Schrodinger evolution is never
interrupted
almost foreboding.
will apply equally to localizationhypotheses.
6The so-called `Bohm interpretation
of quantum mechanics' falls nowhere in this spectrum
.Although built to be empirically equivalent to quantum
mechanics, Bohmian mechanics is not a version of quantum mechanics at all. It is a rival theory, presenting a radically different account of the workings of nature. This account is weird, weirder than some of the versions of quantummechanics we shall consider, less weird than others. But it is weird in totally different ways. SeeAlbert [1992:
134 ff ].David Lewis7 they may be matched or mismatched in phase. If exactly matched, their intensities add (seeFigure 3A). To the extent that they are mismatched, they reinforce one another less or not at all (see Figure 3B). If they are exactly mismatched, and also equal in intensity, they cancel altogether. As a branch of a superposition goes forward from the point of diver-gence to the point of
re-uniting, its phase on arrival depends cyclically on how far Heidegger considers the human condition coldly and announces that that existence is humiliated. The only reality
is “anxiety” in the whole chain of beings. To the man lost in the world and its diversions this anxiety is a brief, fleeting fear. But if that fear becomes
conscious of itself, it becomes anguish, the perpetual climate of the lucid man “in whom existence is concentrated.” This professor of philosophy writes without trembling and in the most abstract language in the world that “the finite and limited character of human existence is more primordial than man himself.” His interest in Kant extends only to recognizing the restricted character of his “
pure
Reason.”
This is to coincide at the end of his
analyses that Consequently
we get interference phenomena, like the pattern in the well-knowntwo-slit experiment (see Figure 3C).7But if superpositions were born collapsed, or if theycollapsed before they had gone very far, there would be no matches or mismatches of phase, so there would be no interference phenomena. And interference phenomena are in fact observed.The tenable hypotheses in our spectrum disagree about whether or when
there aremacroscopic superpositions: superpositions involving enough
particles
in entangled states to constitute
some
macroscopic object. We can observe the interference phenomena
arising from microscopic
superpositions.
A feeling of nervousness, heavy and overwhelming. Why is he nervous?
We cannot observe interference phenomena arising frommacroscopic
superpositions. The reason is that if the macroscopic superposition develops new entanglements in the course of the experiment, the interference phenomena vanish(because the branches of an entangled superposition have no phases); and we cannot in practice isolate a macroscopic thing from its environment well enough
to prevent new entanglements [Albert
1992:
88ff ]. That is why hypotheses that
disagree only about macro-scopic
superpositions are, near enough, empirically equivalent.Take our example of the photon, the half-silvered mirror, and the macroscopic detector with
a pointer that points to `yes' or `no'. Suppose the photon has had time to reach thedetector, but the pointer has not yet been observed. One hypothesis (one out of several)says that so far we have had nothing but
Schrodinger evolution; the pointer is now in amacroscopic superposition of `yes' and `no', with equal intensities (but no phases, since the
7Imagine a row of counters above the two slits, and each one counting the particles that
reach it.
Theinterference pattern shown at the top of
Figure 3C is a pattern of counter readings.
Why is he worried?
How do the intensities of the branches of the
superposition translate into the pattern of counter readings?–Agood question, but
one that is
differently answered by different ones of the hypotheses we
shallconsider.Figure 38How Many Lives
Has Schrodinger's Cat?pointer has become entangled with its environment); collapse will take place when someone observes the pointer, not before. Another hypothesis says that collapse hasalready taken place; the pointer is already pointing either to `yes' or to `no', but we do not yet know which. Both these hypotheses make the same probabilistic prediction
about what will be seen when the pointer is observed: `yes' or `no' with equal probabilities. Both hypotheses
invite
the same mathematical
representation of the
pointer: a `mixture' of 50%`yes' and 50% `no' by integration of P(x, y) over the rectangle whose sides are the intervals xi
and Yj' and which represents the probability that X (Xi and Y (Yj" If we now subdivide the intervals, the
new distribution P' will be a
refinement
of P, and by Theorem 2 the correlation IX,YI computed from P' will never be
less than that computed from P. Theorem 2 is seen to be simply the mathematical verification of the intuitive notion that closer analysis of a situation in which quantities X and Yare dependent can never lessen the knowledge about Y which can be obtained from X. But that representation “the world
can no longer offer anything to the man
filled with
anguish.”
Why can’t he move?
This anxiety
seems to him so
much more important than all the categories in the world that he thinks and talks only of it. He enumerates its aspects: boredom when the ordinary man strives to quash
it in him and benumb it; terror when the mind contemplates death. He too does not separate consciousness from the
absurd.
The consciousness
of death is
the call of
anxiety
and
“existence
then delivers itself its own summons through the intermediary of consciousness.” It is the very voice of anguish and
it adjures existence “to return from its loss in the anonymous They.” For him, too, one must not sleep, but must keep alert until the consummation. He stands in this absurd world and points out its ephemeral character. He seeks his way amid
these ruins.it has travelled. is ambiguous. On the
Ærst hypothesis, the weights in the mixture are intensities of
coexisting actualities. On the second, they are probabilities of alternative possibilities. At this point, someone whose distaste for distinc-tions without any empirical difference outweighs his distaste for doublethink might insistthat the two hypotheses are not just empirically equivalent; they are one and the
samehypothesis. That would mean that collapse has somehow been conjured up out of Schrodinger evolution:
what has happened so far is nothing but FIRST PATRICIAN: Quite so. Take my
case. I lost my wife last year. I shed many tears, and then I forgot. Even now I feel a pang
of grief at times. But,
happily,
it doesn’t amount to much. THE OLD
PATRICIAN: Yes, Nature’s a great healer. [CHEREA enters.] FIRST PATRICIAN: Well …? CHEREA: Still
nothing. HELICON: Come, gentlemen! There’s no need for
consternation. FIRST PATRICIAN: I agree. HELICON: Worrying won’t mend matters—and it’s
lunchtime deterministic Schrodinger evolution and it is
indeterministic
collapse!
This is empiricism gone mad. Set
it aside.We should
not conØate empirically
equivalent hypotheses. Rather, we should be prepared to admit our
ignorance [Bell 1990; Albert and Feinberg 19
93: 81].The Ærst hypothesis on our spectrum says that there are no macroscopic superpositions.Any process that might have brought a macroscopic superposition into being brings aboutcollapse instead.
Why does it feel like he doesn’t belong here?
Like he’s sneaking around in an off limits part of the house that Father has specifically told him not to go in?
Macroscopic superpositions are born collapsed; microscopic
superposi-tions, in accordance with our
observations, are not.We can object
that
being
macroscopic is a matter of degree, collapse is all or nothing.There will have to be a law that collapse takes place when some arbitrary threshold is
crossed. This is somewhat
repugnant, though there are worse repugnancies to come.Our next hypothesis says that not only is the
outcome of a
collapse a matter of chance,but whether collapse takes place at all is too; and that the chances of collapse at any givenmoment are such that the more macroscopic
a superposition is, the less stable it is. Now we have matters
of degree on both sides of the collapse law, so we need no
arbitrary threshold.But if the
chances are right, the upshot will be
almost the same
as that of the previoushypothesis: microscopic superpositions are stable enough to
Æt our evidence
for theirexistence,
whereas macroscopic superpositions will in all
probability disappear very
quickly
could. THE OLD
PATRICIAN: That’s so. We mustn’t drop the prey for
the shadow. CHEREA: I don’t like the look of things. But all was going too
smoothly. As an emperor, he was
perfection’s self. SECOND PATRICIAN: Yes, exactly the emperor we wanted; conscientious and inexperienced. Independence means that the
random variables take on values
Time goes by so slowly. Even the seconds he’s counting feel longer, stretched out.
which are not influenced by the values of
other variables with respect to which they
are
independent.
That is, the conditional
distribution of one of two
independent variables, Y, conditioned upon the value xi for the other. is
independent of xi' so that
knowledge about one variable tells
nothing of
the other.
The fourth time, Kevin comes to… detached, for the lack of better words. Like he’s floating, not quite there, not quite in.
In the car, in the house, in the room— what?
And does it even matter, when it doesn’t even feel real?
It feels like nothing. No, he knows what nothing feels like already. This is not nothing. If anything, this is worse.
Kevin so desperately wants to feel anything other than that. He wants to wake up. He needs to wake up. He wants back in. Then suddenly he is, staring at someone else with dishevelled hair and skin that’s too pale, leaning over the sink, bloodshot eyes meeting his. He’s staring at himself, Kevin logically recognises, but…
That’s not him, reflected in the mirror. He doesn’t look like that.
A finger slowly traces over his nose, stopping at a faint spot over the bridge, pained to the touch. A scar, Kevin notes. He presses down harder, taking in the uncomfortable ache that grows worse the more force he applies, then stops, letting it fade away.
Then he presses down again, counting the seconds and his own breathing.
This feels real, this static sensation with every touch that runs through him. The someone in the mirror grimaces. He grimaces.
Kevin lifts his fingers, letting the ache fade away again, focusing on where it lingers behind his ear instead.
This is real. That is him.
It doesn’t explain the scarring on his face, rounded in shape, faint red in colour and definitely not there before...
Before what? He was in a car with Jake. They were being chased, shot at, pursued. And now he’s back in the safe house, which doesn’t make sense. It couldn’t have been a dream, because dreams couldn’t affect his actual physical body like this. It couldn’t have been real, because then why would he be back?
This doesn’t make any sense, Kevin repeats to himself. How can he be there, and then be back?
What day is it?
They have a clock, back in the bedroom. Kevin stumbles back, focusing on the glaring red digital light, taking in the 2:56 AM blinking at him and then the date at the corner: 18th of March. Sunday.
Jake comforting (comforted?) him, trying to get him to breathe, Sunday the 18th.
It’s not possible, Kevin thinks weakly. But he’s here with a scar where he had been (will be) shot and the lingering pain and memory of a yesterday (today) that is not.
“Kevin?”
He jumps, startled. Jake’s awake and looking at him with sleep in his eyes, his tone as confused as Kevin’s feeling.
(Jake muttering about Die Hard, Jake helping him breathe, Jake calling his name in the dark.)
“I’m sorry if I woke you up,” Kevin mutters, forcing himself to calm down. “Go back to sleep, Jake.”
“Only if you will.”
He does want to lay back and fall asleep, because maybe when he wakes up everything will be normal and sensible and logical again. Yet there’s a strange awareness in him that knows it won’t be and, stranger still, Kevin trusts that awareness wholeheartedly.
“You strike a hard deal.”
Jake chuckles. “I’m not letting you stay awake alone, come on. Who do you think I am?”
“Someone who needs all the rest he can get. You look terrible, detective,” the... Kevin doesn’t want to call it an affectionate nickname, but whatever it is, slips out.
“And you don’t look so bad yourself, professor,” Jake comments, thankfully not saying anything about the mark on his face.
Whether that’s because of the bad lighting or him just ignoring it is beyond Kevin.
“Doctor,” he corrects.
“Doctor,” Jake amends. “Though between you and me, professor sounds way cooler. You know, like professor X, or professor Layten, or just The Professor. Oh, that gives me chills.”
This time Kevin knows Jake has said that before. His head hurts, the injury from not-quite-yesterday forcefully reminding Kevin of its not-quite-existence. They have had this talk before, twice now. Two times that Kevin can remember at least.
How? And better yet, why?
“Layten?” Kevin asks, repeating a version of himself. Two versions of himself?
He needs to write all of this down, lest anything slips past. Just in case. If this is him going crazy, then he can blame it on the solitude and repetitiveness of this place, and if it’s not then... Kevin is sure it will come in handy.
It has come in handy.
The window can be climbed out of.
“Oh? You play it too, Kev?” Jake interrupts his train of thought, the surprise clear in his voice.
“I haven’t played it personally. However, a friend has told me about it.”
“You have a friend who actually plays games instead of reading old boring stuff from the ye old day?”
You told me about it, Kevin wants to say. And then a more belated realisation comes and does he really consider Jake a friend? “He said he’s a Luke,” he replies on autopilot.
Everyone would be Luke compared to you, a part of him whispers.
“Everyone would be Luke compared to you,” Jake echoes, word for word. “So, what has this friend told you? Where you two at?”
“Where are you two at, Jake. Would it kill you to use proper grammar?”
“Ugh, you and your grammar,” Jake makes air quotations with his fingers mockingly.
Kevin rolls his eyes. “Are you honestly planning to stay awake with me?” he asks instead of reprimanding Jake.
“Well yeah,” Jake scoffs like it’s obvious. Kevin supposes it is and he shouldn’t be surprised by how fast Jake has latched onto him, if only because there really isn’t anyone else to latch onto. “Plus, we still have so many movies to go through! This is like a sleepover, or I think so at least. Not that I have never been invited to a sleepover or anything.”
“Of course. Go down and choose a movie first then detective. I will follow you soon enough.”
Jake nods, his movements still sluggish. At this point Kevin’s more worried about Jake’s ability to walk down the stairs with how much he’s swaying right now, not even quite standing up just yet. “Be careful,” he adds.
“Careful is my middle name,” Jake replies. “Don’t keep me waiting yeah? Just sitting there is boring ay-eff.”
“It will only be a few minutes,” Kevin says, waving him off.
Jake gives him another indecipherable look before he shrugs and walks out. The stairs have a certain creakiness to them that echoes through the silence, and Kevin counts the steps, waiting until he knows Jake is fully downstairs before getting to work.
They have a pen here, somewhere along with some papers. Most of the pages are filled with doodles from Jake, some with Kevin’s own handwriting that marks his futile efforts of trying to teach Jake about the classics. Kevin fetches both, though he stills the split second before the pen actually touches paper.
Should he even write this? As far as he knows, things...reset, for the lack of a better word. The gun should still be in one of the cupboards downstairs, the aspirins are in the medical cabinet, his own body…
His own body to some degree.
It is still a bizarre concept to wrap his head around, but it’s the only concept he has. Kevin doesn’t dream, definitely not to that level of detail. Dreams don’t leave a physical scar on him and don’t predict the future (well, the not-quite future) either.
Deep breaths, now is not the time to panic.
He moves his sleeve up, and reluctantly marks down three lines.
And it has been three times, hasn’t it?
Jake and Raymond, Jake, and then himself.
Kevin’s stomach lurches. That has happened, and for some reason, he’s the only one who knows that has happened.
Raymond doesn’t know that Kevin signed his death sentence.
Jake doesn’t know that Kevin abandoned him not only once, but twice.
Oh.
Perhaps that’s why he’s the one reliving this then.
“Kevin! Do you want some coffee?” Jake’s sudden shout makes him jump, and Kevin quickly moves the sleeve back down. “Actually, don’t answer! I’ll make two anyway!”
Right, now is also not the time to pity himself.
Kevin stands up and walks out of the room, doublechecking that the tallies are indeed covered up before entering the kitchen. Jake has his back turned to the door, having not noticed Kevin’s presence in the kitchen. He takes a moment to really look at Jake then, glad to find the absence of that sluggish tiredness, thanks to the mere scent of coffee in the air.
Kevin has a feeling he will need a lot of it today. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he says. “Coffee?”
“Obviously. Well actually no, but since Captain doesn’t allow me to bring any energy drinks here.” Jake shrugs, turning over to look at him.
There’s still no reaction to the mark on his face. That makes no sense whatsoever, Kevin thinks.
“I support his decision on this matter.”
“You both worry too much. I swear, a can of Bang won’t kill me,” Jake says. “Anyway, you didn’t answer. Coffee or nah?”
He reaches for two cups, sliding them over to Jake. “Some can’t hurt. Please.”
“I thought you think that’s unhealthy, or whatever?”
“It is.”
“Alright, cool cool cool cool cool,” Jake mutters, filling them to the brim. “Sugar, Kev? Or do you like it black like Captain’s Holt’s soul?”
“Should I even be surprised that you know how my Raymond takes his coffee?”
“Noperoni! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I will dump all of this white goodness into my cup and ignore your judgemental look.”
“You have been doing a rather good job of that so far.”
Jake can only keep up the insulted look for so long before he breaks too, and it’s nice to hear Jake laughing so freely. Has Kevin really never heard that?
Well, his sense of humour has never matched with Jake’s and vice versa. Which is a shame, but Kevin supposes that means he will just have to enjoy this rare moment for all its worth.
Jake’s laughter fades out gradually and conversation picks up again, and for a moment Kevin lets himself relax as the back and forth sweeps him away from... all of that. Jake’s witty when he wants to be, and even if the jokes could use some improvements (title of your sex tape,) it’s amusing.
By noon, the headache has faded, a small blessing.
By noon, Raymond comes. He looks good, but then again, when does Raymond not? Maybe it’s because of what (had not, will not) happened but this time any irritation or anger melts away.
Kevin doesn’t want his last conversation with Raymond to be a petty fight, not when there are so many things — too many things — that haven't been said between them.
On the matter of unsaid things, Raymond hasn’t said anything about the mark either. He’s not ignoring it by any mean, Kevin notes, more like he doesn’t even notice that there’s a scar there.
That’s as logical of a conclusion as Kevin can make at this point. If the not-yesterday doesn’t exist, then his scar also doesn’t exist — Raymond would never ignore that kind of scarring on his face. He frets over the smallest things, honestly.
Or this is just a big hallucination. That would not surprise him either.
Kevin shakes his head, focusing back on the present. Raymond’s offering him an orange which he takes. Their hands brush and Kevin’s mesmerised, even though this has happened so many times before. He feels suddenly shy, as if this is the first time they’ve touched.
He busies himself with peeling the orange, taking his time then separating it into halves, one of which he gives to Jake with a look.
Jake chuckles. “Nooooope! The only oranges I’m eating is Orangina. Or well, I guess drinking. Oh, actually, I can freeze them into little popsicles! That counts as eating, right?”
“Jake. Eat your orange.”
“...Fine.”
Jake takes his half without more complaining and begins eating, nibbling on each piece before biting it in half to Kevin’s mild horror and amusement. He looks away, fidgeting with his own half for a moment before separating that too.
“Raymond?” he holds a quarter out.
Raymond blinks at him. There's a clear surprise on his face, before that melts into a soft fondness that Kevin doesn’t know he’s hoping for until it happens.
Their hands brush again when Raymond reaches out. “Thank you, Kevin.”
“It’s no problem.”
He eats his own part then, chewing and swallowing in silence with Raymond and Jake, enjoying the same thing in the same moment, savouring the tangy taste.
Good oranges, nice and dry, Kevin’s mind says without prompting.
“Good oranges, nice and dry,” Raymond says. “Not at all ripe.”
He had said it as a way to fill the silence in previous... attempts? He has never said it like this before. Despite everything, Kevin feels at peace, even knowing that an hour or two from now it will all change.
Kevin can tell Raymond about Murphy’s men. He won’t be able to explain how he knows, but Raymond would be paranoid enough to act on Kevin’s gut feeling. Except that right now there aren't any cars outside from what Kevin can see, and he will have to wait until they are here to say something.
Neither he nor Jake have any devices that can be used to make calls though. Kevin frowns.
“How is your schedule this afternoon, Raymond?”
“I have back-to-back meetings today at the One Police Plaza that will last for 4 hours estimated. After that I will be back at the precinct going over...whatever the team has managed to get done today.”
He knows this already. He also knows Jake has trackers all over himself.
“I hope it will go well.”
“Thank you for your consideration.”
“It’s no problem, but you’re welcome.”
Kevin nods, diverting his gaze to the window instead. It’s a nice day outside, not too sunny and, based on the light wind rustling the bushes, perfect for a walk outside. There’s still no car. “Have you made any progress regarding Murphy?”
“We have discovered a possible trace that detective Diaz and Boyle are working on, but other than that, no clear evidence pointing us to where he is,” Raymond answers. “I’m afraid you are still to remain here until further notice, Kevin.”
“I expect nothing less,” Kevin says. “Are there any chances that I can have my phone with me?”
“I have already explained this on the first day. Phones, and by extension, any electrical devices are easily traceable.”
“In case of an emergency, Raymond,” Kevin clarifies. “There’s no reliable nor viable way of contacting you if something were to happen.”
“If something were to happen,” Raymond echoes his words slowly with a clear tone of disbelief, bordering on a chuckle. Kevin can hear the left out as if. “I would be the first to know. There are cameras monitoring the safe house and at the clearest sign of aggression we will send people down. Your safety is top priority, Kevin.”
Top priority to Raymond, Kevin adds. The sentiment warms him, but that doesn’t change the fact that someone is not keeping watch 24/7, and someone was not keeping watch when Raymond was (will be) in his meetings.
The tracers are (were, would be) the only reason Raymond knows when he and Jake go out, and even that is unreliable.
“Still,” he sighs, turning back to look at Raymond. “I would feel safer knowing I can reach you if worst comes to worst.”
Raymond falters at his words, as expected. Normally Kevin wouldn’t do this, but it is what the situation’s calling for.
“Please?”
He keeps his gaze firmly on Raymond, watching every minute change in his outward expression and approximating every minute change inside his head.
“If it helps then I will get you a burner phone tomorrow.”
And Raymond breaks in all the wrong ways. This time Kevin knows no amount of heartstring pulling will get him anywhere closer to a phone, which is a shame. Then again, does he think it will be that easy?
“Thank you, dear,” Kevin says, pauses, then adds: “I love you.”
It feels good to say it and mean it, he thinks. Better still, were Kevin to die this time, he could rest easy with the knowledge that Raymond understands he still loves him. Kevin can tell that surprises Raymond too, his eyes having widened minutely.
“I love you too,” Raymond replies slowly, the words lingering, unfamiliar as he has not uttered the phrase once the past weeks. The sentiment is as intense as ever though, perhaps even more so. “Kevin, I apologise for how I have been acting regarding the situation. It was, and it is... rather drastic of me.”
“If I were in your situation, I would do the same.” Plus, it’s not so drastic a response after all, Kevin thinks, amused despite himself. He sobers up quickly. “I apologise for how I have been acting these past weeks too.”
“It’s understandable considering the circumstances.”
“So it is.”
The conversation fades into a comfortable silence, now that Kevin doesn’t have anything else that needs to be said. If this was their last conversation, it would be a good note to end on.
But it won’t be their last; Kevin will make sure of it.
He’s got this.
Oh, that’s where that comes from.
“I’m sorry to cut this short but unfortunately, it is now time for me to take my leave,” Raymond speaks up at some point. “Rest assured you will have a line of communication with me by tomorrow noon. Goodbye, Kevin. Peralta.”
“See ya, Capt,” Jake says, grinning ear to ear.
“Goodbye Raymond,” Kevin says, trying to ignore that day (today, but also not today anymore.) “Take care.”
He watches as Raymond crawls out, hearing the door click open and then close again, leaving Jake and him alone in the house.
They still have nearly two hours until the storm comes, maybe longer if Jake doesn’t get spotted. And even if he didn’t, chances are the goons would kick the door down anyway.
Two hours is a long time.
Kevin doesn’t know what to do. What could he even do?
“Soooooooo, are you in a good enough mood to watch Gone in 60 seconds? Please say yes, please say yes,” Jake starts beside him, already holding the DVD up.
Well, there’s always the movie. “You will play it if I say no anyway,” Kevin sighs.
“You know me too well! Make yourself comfortable, Kev.”
Kevin does, leaning back as Jake starts the movie that he has seen one too many times. But the movie gets Jake in a good mood: his eyes are practically glued to the screen and his grin gets wider every time Nicolas Cage is on screen, so he will put up with Gone in Sixty Second for another time.
Plus, with Jake distracted, Kevin can let his eyes stray wherever else he wants. For now, he glances out at the window.
“Randall Raines ... It's been a long time ...'though I do recall you as a man with style. You remember your old friend, Atley?” Jake echoes along with the actor on screen. Honestly, his memorisation skills are to die for.
…Bad word choice.
Kevin sighs, throwing a quick look at the screen just in time to see the phone blink.
“Excuse me one moment, Randall.”
Then there’s a view of a bloodied windshield that’s one degree of unrealistic based on what Kevin can recall. The sequence of event flashes; Jake taking a shot, the car sliding to a halt, that split second when they are (were, would be) close enough for the image to burn into his mind.
Did it look like that when he got shot? Did it paint the windshield in such vivid colour?
Will it?
“You bring this to me in this condition? Blood and guts all over it? You make me complicit? On my property? Who taught you how to think?”
Kevin hopes the dialogue on screen is interesting enough for Jake to not notice his sudden irregular breathing or him whipping his gaze back to the window.
“And worst of all: weren't there supposed to be two Hondas?”
Three cars pulling up, generic enough that it won’t draw any attention. Not Hondas, rather a Nissan, Chevrolet and Toyota.
He should tell Jake about this. It will certainly buy them time to decide the best course of action, whatever that may be.
But Kevin doesn’t have concrete proof that they are Murphy’s men. What he has is a series of fantastical events that, for all he knows, are a product of his mind. So, what if the colours of the cars coincide perfectly with his nightmare? It’s three colours and three models; the probability that he got a random assortment correct isn’t that low.
“No, no. You don't kill me, because you can't. You don't take your brother and run, because we'd find him. You don't go to the police, because we have friends there, too. You do nothing: except deal with me,” the character continues, Jake echoing the words in time.
It’s still early into the movie.
Nothing will happen before Jake stands up, and a part of Kevin hopes nothing will happen when Jake stands up.
Or better yet, Jake doesn’t stand up and get into view in the first place.
The movie ends, the credits roll and Jake stands up anyway, despite Kevin telling him not to.
“It’s fine,” Jake scoffs. “We both know Captain Holt is dramatic. No one’s going to shoot me Kevin.”
“Jake, I’m serious. Sit down.”
“Relax. And hey, if they are they would have stormed in instead of posing outside aiming their...and there are people outside—"
Kevin surges up, grabbing onto Jake’s shirt and pulling him down and away from view. His hands shake, the familiar surge of adrenaline engulfing him.
Jake’s hands are steady as he takes the gun from the cupboard, checking it over before nodding to himself. “I take whatever I just said back. Kevin, you gotta go. Lock yourself in a room, barricade the damn thing.”
“Jake.”
“Quick, we don’t have much time until they decide it’s safe enough to kick the damn door down. Go!”
“There are at least three of them, all armed with better guns. You won’t make it.” Kevin hisses.
“And you staying here won’t change those odds,” Jake raises his voice. It would almost be an angry shout if his tone wasn’t shaking. “Unless you have a better plan?”
“Calm down, keep quiet. The window can be climbed out of. We’re taking one of the cars.”
“I— Yeah, that’s definitely a better plan,” Jake chuckles weakly. “Ok. Ok, let’s do that then. Stay down when you are out, Kev.”
Kevin does, crouching low and moments later Jake joins him, giving him a nod. He nods back, counting the seconds in his head until the front door gets slammed open. Despite knowing it’s coming, he jumps anyway.
“Are you sure they’re here?”
“You really gonna ask that after we seen the fucking cop at the window? That’s pure fucking confirmation, especially with Holt coming and going like that. Fucking fag.”
Kevin glances at Jake. His grip on the gun is knuckle white.
“After you failed to take the shot more like. Search the house.”
More footsteps, and this time Kevin tries to listen to the individual beats. The stairs creak with two people walking up. There is definitely more than just one person downstairs.
“We’re clear,” Jake whispers beside him and Kevin nods again before moving after Jake, keeping his head down.
“Downstairs is clear!”
“Well get up here and fucking help me then!”
Kevin follows until they’re at the front of the house, stops and watches as Jake picks up a rock and smashes one of the windows.
The sound of glass breaking, the crack and crash and then the sound of the engine coming to life is definitely loud enough to notify someone (it had notified someone) and Kevin quickly sprints over without Jake needing to yell.
Even without Jake’s voice, he can still pick up on the rushed heavy footsteps from the house that fade away as Jake slams on the pedal and speeds off.
“Cool cool cool, this is totes fine!” Kevin looks over.
Jake doesn’t look so calm anymore, nor is he quiet. Kevin doesn’t have the heart to tell him to calm down, especially when he knows calm will be the furthest thing to feel in the upcoming minutes.
Outside the scenery flies past them, but not fast enough. It won’t be fast enough.
“Uh oh, we may have company—” Jake mutters, and Kevin doesn’t have to look in the mirror to see the other two cars catching up to them. “Strap in.”
“You’re the one who’s not wearing a seatbelt.”
“Whatever!” A sharp left turn, the car almost tipping, Jake leaning with the momentum. “Ok point taken, seatbelt good. Fuck, are they still following?”
“Yes. Where are we heading?”
“Doesn’t matter, long as we lose them!” Jake shouts over the sound of the engine revving. He slams down on the pedal, accelerating despite a rather alarming sound from the car. “Keep an eye on them.”
“Getting closer, and they’re pulling out firearms,” he replies automatically.
A gunshot.
“Fuck.”
The mirror on his side cracks, a wisp of smoke coming from where the bullet has lodged itself in.
Jake swears again. “How mad would you be if I did something totally dangerous but also totally dope?”
“Very,” Kevin answers honestly. This time he doesn’t bother with the scolding, not when time is of the essence. “What’s your plan?”
“Take the wheel,” Jake says, taking both of his hands off. Kevin lurches forward to grab it before the car has the chance to crash. “Ok, you keep us going, I’m going to stop these motherfuckers from following.”
It is the same then.
Jake rolls the window down, leans out and aims. The loud bang reverberates inside Kevin’s skull, his ears ringing. “That’s a close one, damn.”
Jake ducks back in and seconds later another shot rings out, hitting the other side mirror.
“Jake—”
“Turn left when I tell you to, and don’t stop.” Jake leans out again, not waiting for a confirmation, his gun up and ready to fire. “Yippee-Ki-Yay, motherfucker. Now, Kevin!”
He yanks on the wheel until it clunks to a stop, unable to turn any further as the car drifts around, going headfirst into their chasers. Another shot and Kevin watches as the windshield cracks, and one of the cars turns out of control, sliding to a halt on the street and effectively blocking most of it.
“Nice!”
“Get in,” Kevin raises his voice. Jake, thank God, follows his words and gets seated inside again.
“Did you see that? God I was amazing,” Jake grins. “That’s one down, one to go.”
“Yes, that was great,” Kevin sighs. His hold on the wheel gets tighter. “Get to my seat. You can aim better without needing to worry about the pedals.”
“Roger that!” The car slows down momentarily as Jake slides over to the seat without much struggle before speeding up again as Kevin takes control. “They’re coming back by the way.”
“Of course,” Kevin mutters. “Well, you know what to do I suppose.”
“You don’t sound too happy about that, but go off I guess.” Jake chuckles nervously, adjusting the rear-view mirror. “Oh yeah, I’m seeing it now. Oh, that’s a lot of guns.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah, well—” Jake leans out again. Whatever he’s saying next is barely audible from the wind and the violent rampant gunshots that keep going, and Kevin focuses back on the road instead.
Returning bullets, some that fly past them and some that definitely hit the car. One that cracks the rear window.
One that breaks the rear window, flying forward and lodging itself to the windshield.
The car is at top speed but even then, the distance between them is getting shorter.
One that cracks the rear-view mirror then another and another.
“God that was close,” Jake mutters when he leans back in to reload before immediately putting himself in the line of fire again.
One that shatters the rear-view mirror into pieces, flying past.
“Kevin, stop turning, just go straight!”
His first instinct is to follow Jake’s words, correcting the path and keeping the car going in a straight line. And Kevin almost does, the wheel already turning back to the original placement.
One that’s too close.
He swerves left last second, ignoring Jake’s sudden yelp.
The bullet lodges itself to the clear windshield instead, leaving a violent crack. And Kevin lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, nearly slumping against the wheel, would have done so if they weren’t still being pursued.
But they are still in a chase and the dashboard is blinking wildly out of the corner of his eye and that never means anything good. Kevin straightens up, looking at the signal properly and resists the actual urge to slump down again. “Jake! Get in!”
“What?”
“Get in.”
Jake quickly does, falling back onto his seat and looking both fired up and exhausted at the same time. “Alright, no need to get all teacher-student here. God that gives me high-school flashbacks,” he mutters. “Aaaanyway, what’s up? Cause we’re really in a clutch here bud—”
“The car might be stopping any moment now,” Kevin cuts in.
Jake’s mouth snaps closed with a click, opening before closing again. “What?”
“The car might be stopping any moment now, and we need a new plan.” Kevin shifts to the clutch pedal, pressing down. “Preferably in the next minute or two.”
“Cool cool cool cool— well actually, not cool at all,” Jake swears then swears again, cursed words getting more creative as the seconds pass. “Kevin, what?!”
“A bullet must have scraped the bottom of the car. I guess they were aiming for the tires, or maybe this was their intention, but the oil’s leaking and the car is not going to last.”
“Fuck,” Jake punctuates, summarising the situation up rather nicely. “Should we book it again? Sitting inside and waiting for them to just come by to drag us out won’t do anything.”
The car is slowing down, gradually so.
The rain of bullets shows no sign of stopping any time soon.
There are trees around them. Kevin isn’t sure how they got here, doesn’t even know the address of the safe house, but that doesn’t matter right now.
“Book it.”
Jake nods. “Alright then. Are we splitting up? You can take left, I’ll go right. It would divide them up. I can buy you some time.”
Kevin takes a breath, in and out. “That sounds good.”
“It doesn’t,” Jake shoots back easily and, in a blink of an eye, the door on his side is open wide. “But that’s all we got so… gotta go fast, right Kevin?”
Jake sounds so carefree there for a moment that Kevin’s almost fooled. He gives Jake one last look, his attention pulled by the bullets flying behind him.
“They’ll have to reload at some point. I’ll give you a count,” Jake continues. His legs are tapping against the floor.
“You need not worry about me, Jake. Worry about yourself.”
“Hmmmm, nah. It’s literally my job to worry about you,” Jake grins. “On the count of three just, run as fast as possible alright? With luck they will only graze you or, well, not hit you at all. Actually yeah, that sounds way better.”
“Jake, please.”
“Sorry. Anyway, they’re slowing down now so… three go!”
Kevin stops the car before it can stop itself, swings open his own door, turns and runs.
Runs, ignoring the sudden burn on his forearm.
Runs, trying to regulate his breathing even when his lungs feel too tight.
Being around the tall trees, weaving between the trunks helps his nerves somewhat.
Loud noises ring out behind him, followed by the telltale click of a gun getting reloaded, then bullets being fired again.
Keep running.
His legs ache, not from any wound. And then they burn, not violently so, merely a dull sensation that is barely distinguishable from everything else.
Kevin pushes through, even when his running is less running, more sprinting with a limp.
No, keep running. He has to. Jake has told him to keep on running. He can’t fail Jake as well.
The footsteps are getting closer; Kevin knows he’s beat on speed.
It’s only a matter of time before someone is grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him back. The pulling becomes pushing and Kevin falls forward, his hands stretching out on reflex to stop himself from colliding against the tree.
There’s that familiar click again. Without needing to turn back, he knows a gun is being pointed at his head. He gets told to turn back anyway and Kevin does, slowly with his hands up towards the sky until he’s looking down at the barrel of a handgun.
That’s too close for comfort.
For once, that’s also a good thing.
“Make one move and I will fucking kill you right here,” the man growls.
“I’ll cooperate,” Kevin says, keeping his eyes levelled with the gun just so he doesn’t have to look up to see his potential killer. “Don’t shoot. Please.”
The grip on the gun relaxes minutely, though the finger is still on the trigger, ready to press at any moment.
“I won’t if you behave, prof.”
“I will,” Kevin breathes out. “Please don’t-”
The man laughs, louder and louder like he has just recited The Wasps aloud instead of begging for his life.
Good.
Kevin moves his head to the side while his hands shoot out, pushing from different directions and falling into practiced movement, grabbing and twisting the gun until the barrel is pointing away while the other keeps a sloth grip on the wrist.
Laughter’s replaced with a pained howl from a broken trigger finger —
Kevin moves back quickly, putting distance between them, adjusting his stance and hold, then aims.
— and it quiets down until the cries from the other man are barely louder than the leaves in the wind. It’s not a good look, someone who has just pointed a gun at him now looking frightened and scared.
He aligns the sight, slowly increasing the pressure, keeping his focus.
Some birds fly away in the distance from the sound, his ears are ringing from the sound and the corpse makes no more sound.
Kevin doesn’t linger, quickly taking on a sprint as best as he can with the wound he has on his leg that he knows will flare up the moment the adrenaline fades away from his system. No, that’s not important right now.
Focus.
If one of them is chasing him, that means at least three are after Jake.
He’s got underestimated and lucky. With Jake, Kevin isn’t sure how that fight will turn out.
It’s not a long way back to the road (had he only gotten that far?) with the trees beginning to clear out and the cars moving into view. There are more weapons there. He’s still holding onto the handgun he got, his finger lazing along the side, pointing it straight down.
A better gun won’t make a difference, not in this case, but him waiting here will.
Kevin moves past the road to the other side. It also doesn’t take long for him to pick up noises, alarming ones at that.
Jake’s screaming.
Kevin speeds up as best as he can, taking advantage of the trees as cover.
Jake’s screaming and the sound is mixed with choked sobs.
There’s a body lying on the ground, bloodied around the chest area. He should be more worried about the fact that there’s a dead body there, but all Kevin can feel is a sense of relief that it is not Jake.
There are two others in the distance, too broad and short to be Jake’s silhouette. And then he does see Jake getting picked up, the two men walking in his direction and presumably back to the car.
It only takes a split second for him to duck behind another tree, trying to keep quiet as the noises get louder and louder, going from faint to intelligible.
“You sure this isn’t too much?”
“We just need to get the husband in good condition. This,” and there’s a mocking laughter. “Is just a nice bonus.”
An impact noise, almost a dull thud. Jake whimpers.
They’re ahead of him now, though still in the common 6ft range. Kevin raises his gun, lines up the sight and then the picture.
There’s a slight tremor in his hands.
Calm down. All that matters is putting the bullet where it matters. He’s wasting time.
Gently press.
One collapses like a puppet without strings. The other rushes toward Kevin.
Gently press.
That one collapses too, falling forward with the momentum. The body almost falls onto Kevin. Perhaps it would have if he'd taken the shot a few seconds later. Instead, it lays in front him, the outstretched arm almost touching his shoes.
And Kevin unloads the rest of the round until the gun makes a click instead of a bang, before throwing the gun away and scrambling quickly to where Jake is.
His heart lurches.
Jake looks horrible. The bright red blood pouring from his forehead catches Kevin’s eyes first, getting into his hair and down his swollen face. His neck, from what Kevin can see, is swelling too and, more worryingly, it’s laying in an unnatural way on the ground.
Kevin kneels down next to Jake, his hand almost touching but not wanting to risk anything by moving the body. “Jake? Can you hear me?”
Jake’s eyes flutter open, still responding to speech. His pupils though are uneven, one dilated whilst the other constricts. Kevin doesn’t have to take his wrist to know his heart rate is also slow right now.
“Jake?”
A wheeze answers him, one that goes on for too long. Jake’s mouth is gaping, wide open, almost like he’s trying to draw in a breath. It takes Kevin a second to realise that that is exactly what’s happening right now, and fuck.
The neck injury makes more sense now, though Kevin desperately doesn’t want to be right. But he can’t deny the slight discoloration of Jake’s skin, nor can he ignore the various visible areas that appear to be bruising.
Jake’s body is twitching.
And Kevin can only kneel there next to Jake, watching as he tries to breathe and knowing he won’t be able to do so.
He doesn’t count the seconds that pass. He doesn’t know how long Jake lays uselessly on the ground before the fight leaves his system, his body settling down. It’s not even him going unconscious, but rather a resigned acceptance covering his body like a sheet.
Kevin has never seen resigned acceptance from Jake before. There’s always something there, a fight in his light brown eyes that Kevin has grown used to during the safe house. Even in that hellmouth period, the glint has never gone out.
It’s a shade Kevin hates to see on Jake.
Jake’s left hand moves, him trying to raise it up. The silver band catches whatever sunlight that manages to reach them through the leaves, glinting.
His mouth is moving, slowly and shakily forming shapes. Kevin doesn’t need sound to know what Jake’s asking.
“I will,” he says simply.
Jake’s hand drops the moment he answers. The grateful smile that spreads across his face stays there even when his eyes close.
In the distance Kevin can hear the loud blaring siren. He should stand up now. He should notify anyone out there of their location.
He’s also so tired.
Kevin slumps against the closest tree, ignoring how every movement aggravates his own wounds.
Footsteps are getting louder, spread out as they try to cover ground.
When he sees people approaching, it’s like a switch that has been flipped; the last strand of consciousness slips away from him as well, and darkness embraces Kevin.
The fifth time, Kevin doesn’t open his eyes right away.
Being scared of opening one’s eyes is ridiculous, yet right now he’s feeling exactly that. Or perhaps he’s more scared of what he’ll see, and better yet, what he won’t see.
He doesn’t even know what he wants to see.
In the end Kevin forces himself to open them anyway, taking in the muted darkness that fades away as his eyes adjust.
The white ceiling greets him along with the ever persistent stain in the corner.
The safe house.
He’s in the safe house. Which means-
Kevin sits up, frantically looking to his left and there Jake is, still sleeping soundly beside him, the clear rhythmic rise and fall of his chest showing that he’s still breathing.
Jake’s actually breathing.
Jake’s alive.
There’s no horrible bruises and wounds on his neck and face, no blood mixed with dirt all smeared across and Kevin lets out a sigh of relief. There’s no signs of asphyxiation, no trouble breathing, just Jake laying there deep in his sleep. It’s just the clear white skin that catches the red light of the alarm clock.
Right, the alarm clock.
It blinks mockingly at him, the clear 18th of March, Sunday in the corner that says more than just the date of today.
It was Sunday the 18th.
Whatever relief he felt dissipates.
It is Sunday the 18th.
Kevin has half a mind to get out of bed, out of the bedroom quietly, stumbling (away from Jake) to the bathroom and locking the door behind him before reality crashes in.
Reality is both the right and wrong word to describe it.
He moves his sleeve up, staring down at the angry red line across his forearm that flares, sending a jolt of pain through him and then the three contrasting black lines and tries not to shut down.
It’s actual, it’s real.
His hand shakes as he grabs the nearest pen and marks down another line.
It’s his reality now. And isn’t that a thought?
Breathing is hard, and doing it quietly is harder. Kevin can’t help the gasping from slipping out even when his hands are covering his mouth, can’t stand it and can’t stand the building pressure on his forearm and his leg and can’t stand how loud his heart is beating in his chest.
He can’t do this.
He couldn't keep Jake alive last time either.
And suddenly Jake’s body is there in front of him, blood pooling around his head. He’s staring at Kevin with his uneven pupils, his mouth is moving but no sound comes out and something is threatening to spill out beside the tears.
He has (will, no, he won’t-) failed Jake.
Jake’s hand is moving up, moving toward him, pointing at him-
Kevin lurches forward, heaving and choking over the sink. His shoulders shake. And even when there’s nothing left something still pushes up and he coughs and retches and it’s still too much.
The room is spinning.
Room.
He’s in a room, he’s not in a forest.
He’s in a room, surrounded by four walls and not the tall trees.
There’s a shower in one corner of the room, a window with its blinds closed, a light that’s not on, and there’s no Jake. Jake is sleeping in the bedroom, in the safe house.
He’s in the safe house, it is still Sunday the 18th, too early in the morning. His name is Kevin Cozner, and he has not gone insane from getting locked up.
This is real. The marks on his arm say it’s real, the burn on his leg says it’s real, all the minor injuries he has say it’s real.
The pain fades somewhat, slowly turning into a dull background sensation.
He switches the water on, letting the sound fill the silence and wash away the mess. A splash of water to his face helps, and Kevin wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand.
It’s Sunday the 18th, and it will be Sunday the 18th tomorrow, and the day after that, and so on.
His grip on the sink loosens, getting feeling back in his knuckles.
Kevin doesn’t know how, but he doubts dwelling on the how would help him right now. He has more important things to do.
Like breathing for example, slowly, matching the count in his head until he doesn’t have to do it manually anymore. And then after that, keeping Jake and himself alive.
Both of those things should be so simple, yet right now he’s struggling with the former and Kevin knows he will be struggling with the latter when Murphy’s men come.
“Kevin?” He jumps at the sudden noise that’s followed closely by the knocking on the door. “Are you there pal?”
He has tried to be quiet, but apparently it’s not enough to not notify Jake. Kevin takes another breath and turns off the water. “Yes Jake, I am here. Now what is so urgent that you have to bother me in the bathroom?” he calls out, hoping that the snark there is enough to mask the shakiness in his voice.
“Can’t I just be worried for my best friend?”
“We’re not best friends. Acquaintances at best.” Jake’s chuckle is muffled. Kevin hates how his hands don’t shake as much anymore, how his chest doesn’t feel as tight as it is just by exchanging a few words with Jake.
It’s the re-enforcement that Jake’s here and alive, and he needs to keep Jake alive. That must be it.
“Are you planning to stay out there until I come out?”
“Dunno yet. Depends, are you going back to bed when you’re out?”
He could easily lie and say yes. “Most likely not.”
“Well that answers that then.”
“Go down first, I will follow you soon enough,” Kevin calls out. “Perhaps you can even set a movie up for us to watch if it isn’t too much of a bother.”
There’s a pregnant pause before Jake answers him. “You’re actually asking to watch a Nic Cage movie? What? Oh my god, who are you and what have you actually done to the real Kevin?”
That is a good question. Kevin looks up at the mirror, taking in the mess that’s staring back and sighs. “Don’t push it.”
“You can’t expect me not to when you just proclaimed your love for Nic Cage!”
“I tolerate seeing his face on screen the same way I’m tolerating you right now.”
“Again, ouch. Keep talking like that and we’re watching Con Air, sir.”
“Don’t.”
There’s another wheezing sound from Jake, the good kind, the happy laughing kind. “Well, don’t take too long yeah?” Kevin hears, and then he hears footsteps walking away from the door and then seconds later the stairs creak before that fades away too.
It’s strangely quiet now.
Kevin looks down at his arm again, a part of him hoping the red line from earlier is not there anymore.
It’s still there. The four black lines are still there.
He pulls his sleeve down, making sure it has covered everything up before walking downstairs, bypassing the living room entirely and going to the kitchen instead.
Jake’s there, just as Kevin guessed. His back is turned to the door, oblivious to Kevin’s presence. The heavy scent of coffee is in the air, just like the not quite yesterday.
“Coffee?” Kevin asks anyway.
“Obviously. Well actually no, but since Captain doesn’t allow me to bring any energy drinks here.” Jake shrugs.
“That makes a lot of sense.”
“Totes. You want some or nah?”
He reaches for two cups, sliding them over to Jake. “Some couldn’t hurt.”
“I thought you think that’s unhealthy, or whatever?”
“It is.”
“Alright, cool cool cool cool cool,” Jake mutters, filling them to the brim. “Sugar, Kev? Or do you like it black like Captain Holt’s soul?”
“Yes please.”
Jake looks momentarily surprised before he shrugs again. He slides Kevin the sugar while he opens the fridge and gets the milk. Soon enough his cup has a light brown colour, and Kevin takes a sip, humming. Jake’s still drinking when Kevin puts his cup down, or Kevin supposes he should call it chugging.
“I’m sorry for waking you up, by the way,” Kevin says.
When Jake puts the cup down it is empty and there’s a trace of coffee on his upper lip. “It’s fine,” Jake finally answers, making a move to go and refill his cup. “You didn’t wake me up.”
“Ah.” Kevin raises his cup up and takes another well-needed drink. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Jake shrugs. “Wouldn’t want to bother you with it. Really, it’s fine.”
He watches Jake for another second before looking away. “It wouldn’t be a bother. I offered, after all.”
“Well. Maybe after The Sorcerer's Apprentice,” Jake grins at him. “Oh come on, you know you love it.”
“I didn’t love it after the first second and third time, why do you think this time will be different?”
“I’m hoping you will develop Stockholm Syndrome to Nic Cage at some point.”
“I’m choosing the movie next time.”
Jake laughs, dragging him out of the kitchen and back on the couch. The Sorcerer's Apprentice is already set up and ready to play, and Kevin braces himself for another 109 minutes of horrible movie and Jake being excited about a horrible movie.
For once Jake actually likes the main character better than whoever Nicholas Cage plays in this one too, Dave. If Kevin has to guess, the very obvious awkwardness between Jake and Dave might be a selling point.
Yet Jake doesn’t recite any dialogue this time, there’s no miming along to the action on screen, nothing. He’s just sitting there next to Kevin, staring at the screen, and Kevin knows Jake’s not watching any of it.
“Oh my god...It was all a lie…” the movie plays, Dave speaks. “Who are you?”
The special effects take place, plasma bolts and slow motion with sparks and everything else. Usually Jake would be yelling along with Dave and then switching to yelling as Nicolas Cage, and Kevin would have to hide a smile at the ridiculous one man back and forth.
Instead Jake’s shaking.
“Dave, stop!”
Jake flinches. Jake's never flinched at this part before.
Dave’s underwater, his watch turning into a steel shackle that’s attached to a cinder block. His eyes go wide as the last bubbles of air jettison from his lungs and he is dragged down towards a blackness seemingly without end.
Kevin only hesitates for a second before he places a hand on Jake’s shoulder. Jake jumps, but his eyes don’t leave the screen. “Jake, calm down. Breathe with me.”
Dave’s reaching up, reaching toward the fading light and a hand snatches him and hoists him out of the water, throwing him to the floor against a lab console. And he’s coughing violently, catching his breath, looking up at Nicolas Cage standing over him.
Jake draws in a shaky breath. ”Sorry,” he stammers out, looking down at the floor. “I...Yeah, sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Kevin says. “Do you want to talk about it now?”
“I probably should,” Jake sighs. “Are you sure it won’t be a bother?”
“Again, I offered.”
Jake’s fidgeting with the strings of his hoodie. The floor must be very interesting for him to stare at it that long, that intensely. “You didn’t wake me up, I kinda- woke up from a nightmare. I was drowning.”
Oh. Kevin’s eyes widen in mute shock.
“I don’t even know how I got there in the first place, to be honest. I was just suddenly there, and my limbs were all rigid and I couldn’t control my hyperventilating and-” Jake’s voice goes up, unsteady, and he stops and tries to clear his throat. “It was black around me and I couldn’t see my hands underneath the water.”
Jake’s leaning toward him, and Kevin lets him. In a selfish way it helps him too, Jake’s a comforting weight that’s a high contrast from Kevin not letting himself even touch Jake after his eyes closed.
Why drowning, why that specifically?
He brings his hands up and hugs Jake. There’s the faintest sensation of something wet against his shoulder where Jake’s head is. Kevin elects to ignore that, even when it gets more pronounced.
“You can breathe now,” he says, to Jake, to himself. “In, hold and out. Breathe with me, alright?”
He can feel Jake nod and he can hear the shaky attempt. “I was never scared of water as a kid or anything,” Jake continues after a beat. “I don’t know why or where that even came from. But one minute I was underwater and the next I was awake and you weren’t there and the rest, well, you know…”
Jake doesn’t remember.
Yet in a cruel twist, he does. And out of all things it could’ve been, that just has to be what plagues Jake from the last cycle to this one.
Kevin wants to destroy something, to break glasses or tear out pages of a book he couldn’t care less about, to let his frustration out. Instead he holds Jake closer.
“Hey Kevin?” Jake’s voice is so small and muffled that Kevin barely catches a word. “Thanks.”
You would probably do the same thing for me anyway… probably.
“You’re welcome,” Kevin says.
They fall into a comfortable silence, one Kevin never thought would be possible with Jake around. At some point Jake leans back, looking anywhere but at him and the tip of his ears are red and Kevin can’t help a small bubbling laugh.
“Do you want to watch something else?” he asks, looking at the last line of the white credits.
Jake hums, picking up his cup, looking at it before placing it down again. “Weirdly enough, I don’t. Just, not up to it, I guess.”
“Now who are you and what have you actually done to the real Jake?” Kevin echoes. It has the desired effect when Jake gives a surprised laugh, shaking his head lightly.
“Shut up.”
“If that’s what you want, though being more polite about a request like that would not hurt anyone.”
Jake doesn’t reply. It’s fine by him, and Kevin takes the time to flip through the events of the previous loops, sorting through the ones he can remember. Raymond would come by, and if Jake could remember his death (as horrific as it is) he wonders if Raymond would actually bring a burner phone before Kevin could even ask by pushing him enough.
After that and a movie, Murphy’s men would come.
Kevin supposes he can lie to Jake, just say how he has seen those three cars multiple times in the past week parking exactly right there, conveniently giving them a view of the window. If they can’t do anything in the meantime, at least neither of them will be caught by surprise when something happens.
And if it does come to a car chase where every variable is up to the wind the moment his foot hits the pedal, then Kevin can only hope Jake has better aim than the goons.
“Actually,” Jake starts, cutting his train of thought off. “Can you just talk about whatever? Well, perhaps not whatever, I don’t need another session of talking about the dead people books. That is actually gonna put me to sleep, no offense.”
“None taken?” He looks around, his eyes stopping at a chess set. Kevin has never managed to convince Jake to try it before, and perhaps right now would be the time. “How up are you for a game of chess?”
“Kev, bud, I don’t play any chess whatsoever,” Jake points out, but he’s sitting up straighter and looking interested. “I don’t even know how pieces move.”
“I will give you a basic rundown, and we’ll see how you like it.”
“Alright then. Take it away, prof!”
The incorrect designation seems to be a constant. He wonders: if he corrected Jake right now would that launch them into another conversation about that one game Jake has a special connection with?
“It’s doctor,” Kevin tests, pulling the board out and setting up the pieces.
“Doctor,” Jake amends. He picks up a pawn, and with a quick look to Kevin’s side, copies the placement. “Though between you and me, professor sounds way cooler. You know, like professor X, or professor Layten, or just The Professor. Oh that gives me chills.”
“Layten?” Kevin prompts.
“Oh? You play it too Kev?” Jake asks, the surprise clear in his voice.
“I haven’t played it personally. However a friend has told me about it.”
“You have a friend who actually plays games instead of reading old boring stuff from the ye old day?”
As much as Kevin denies it, and joked about it earlier, Jake really is his friend. He knows better than to admit it right now though. “He said he’s a Luke.”
“Everyone would be Luke compared to you,” Jake says, just as expected. “Hey, since I’m chessing with you, do you want to play that together when we get out of this? Ya know, titting tatting.”
“I refuse to process your word choice and therefore your entire question,” Kevin says, smiling up at Jake. “Now, shall we start?”
Jake nods. Jake is also very good at chess once he knows which piece does what and how they move. Kevin supposes he’s not surprised: Jake is smart despite what some of his behaviours may imply.
“Check,” Jake grins triumphantly, leaning back on the couch.
“Good job,” Kevin says, and in a move, takes Jake’s rook and frees his king and also, “Checkmate.”
“What?! When did you- how did I not see that?” Jake stutters, looking at the board before rearranging the pieces himself. “Rematch! There’s no way I’m not winning at least one game.”
“I can always blindfold myself if that’s what you need to win.”
“One, rude. Two, I’m beating you fair and square and there’s nothing you can do about that,” Jake says, moving his pawn and starting the game. “Three, you’re definitely doing that after I win. I want to see blindfold chess.”
“Of course.”
When Raymond comes, Jake hasn’t won but he has come close one or two times. He looks surprised when he sees Jake hunching over the board, and Kevin thinks he looks more surprised when he sees the actual board itself.
Then he starts joining in, notifying Jake of his mishaps and ruining most of Kevin’s plans. When was the last time he and Raymond played anyway?
“Stalemate,” Raymond says, leaning back.
“You have always liked this particular endgame,” Kevin replies, pushing his king face down, a habit he has picked up from Jake. It does make a satisfying click. “Good thing the outcome of stalemates was standardised as a draw then.”
“What? No! Oh come on!” Jake throws his hands up, before folding them petulantly. “That is so not a draw.”
Kevin shrugs, moving the board and pieces up on the couch, clearing out some space. “Even if it wasn’t, that win would be between Raymond and you. I recall you saying you yourself would beat me.”
“Uggggh.” Jake leans back, staring at the ceiling for a moment before he bounces back. “Anyway, sorry about that Capt. Didn’t notice the time, and then poof, here you are. What’s up?”
“There is nothing up, Peralta. I am merely here to check on you two.”
“Awww, you do care.”
Raymond doesn’t reply, merely sitting down and pulling out a bag of oranges. He offers Kevin one.
He takes it, their hands brush, and even now, knowing that this has happened so many times before, Kevin is still mesmerised. He takes his time peeling the orange, separating it into halves and then one half into quarters.
One half he hands Jake with a look and a raised eyebrow. “Jake?”
“Oh- sure,” Jake says, taking it with slight hesitation. He separates it into pieces, picking one up and looking at it for a second before biting it in half. It is still amusing and at the same time horrible, Kevin thinks, looking away and offering Raymond the quarter.
Raymond blinks at him. There's a clear surprise on his face, and Kevin holds back a chuckle at the fact that this trip has been nothing but surprises after surprises for Raymond. His expression then melts into a soft fondness that Kevin was expecting but his heart still doesn’t know how to deal with even after years of being with Raymond.
Their hands brush again when Raymond reaches out. “Thank you, Kevin.”
“It’s no problem.”
Kevin eats his own part then, chewing and swallowing in silence with Raymond and Jake, enjoying the same thing in the same moment, savouring the tangy taste.
Good oranges, nice and dry, Kevin thinks, and a split second later Raymond says the words aloud.
“Good oranges, nice and dry. Not at all ripe.”
“They are,” Kevin agrees. Jake gives a vague hum, wiping away the juice with his hoodie sleeve. How he makes that much of a mess with half an orange is beyond Kevin. “How is your schedule this afternoon, Raymond?”
“I have back-to-back meetings today at the One Police Plaza that will last for 4 hours estimated. After that I will be back at the precinct going over...whatever the team has managed to get done today.”
It’s still the same thing that Kevin already knows. Which is good, in a way, and horrible, in many other ways. “I hope it will go well.”
“Thank you for your consideration.”
“It’s no problem, but you’re welcome.” It is an interesting experience, repeating what you have already said and knowing what the reply will be. “Have you made any progress regarding Murphy?”
“We have discovered a possible trace that detective Diaz and Boyle are working on, but other than that, no clear evidence pointing us to where he is,” Raymond answers. “I’m afraid you are still to remain here until further notice, Kevin.”
“I expect nothing less.” He shifts, only glancing at the window once to check before looking back at Raymond. “Is there any chance that I can have my phone with me?”
“I have already explained this on the first day. Phones, and by extension, any electrical devices are easily traceable.”
“In case of an emergency, Raymond,” Kevin clarifies. “There’s no reliable nor viable way of contacting you if something were to happen.”
“If something were to happen,” Raymond echoes his words slowly with a clear tone of disbelief, bordering on a chuckle. Kevin can hear the left out as if. “I would be the first to know. There are cameras monitoring the safe house and at the clearest sign of aggression we will send people down. Your safety is top priority, Kevin.”
Hearing that said aloud warms him, but that doesn’t change the fact that things will go very wrong when Raymond’s in his meeting.
“Still,” he sighs. “I would feel safer knowing I can reach you if worst comes to worst.” Raymond falters at his words, though Kevin knows he won’t get what he wants. “Please?”
The least he can hope is this will pay off some day. It’s not like Kevin loses much trying this, it’s merely a short conversation.
“If it helps then I will get you a burner phone tomorrow.”
Some day. “Thank you, dear,” Kevin says, then adds. “I love you.”
Raymond freezes up like a deer in headlights.
“I love you too,” Raymond replies slowly, almost testing the words out on his tongue. “Kevin, I apologise for how I have been acting regarding the situation. It was, and it is... rather drastic of me.”
“If I were in your situation I would do the same.” He honestly would, Kevin muses. “I apologise for how I have been acting these past weeks too.”
“It’s understandable considering the circumstances.”
“So it is.”
The conversation fades into a comfortable silence, now that Kevin doesn’t have anything else that needs to be said.
“I’m sorry to cut this short but unfortunately, it is now time for me to take my leave,” Raymond speaks up at some point, and this time Kevin glances at the clock and remembers the time, just in case. “Rest assured you will have a line of communication with me by tomorrow noon. Goodbye, Kevin. Peralta.”
“See ya Capt,” Jake cheerfully says. Kevin doesn’t need to look at Jake to see a grin on his face right now.
“Goodbye Raymond,” Kevin says simply. “Take care.”
He watches as Raymond crawls out, hearing the door click open and then closed again, leaving Jake and him alone in the house.
They still have nearly two hours until Murphy's men make a move, maybe longer if Jake doesn’t get spotted. And even if he didn’t, chances are they would kick the door down anyway.
Two hours is a long time.
Kevin doesn’t know what to do besides wait until the cars arrive.
“Soooooooo, are you in a good enough mood to watch Gone in 60 seconds? Please say yes, please say yes,” Jake starts beside him, already holding the DVD up.
Well, there’s always the movie.
“Why not?”
“That’s- huh. I was expecting more of a struggle, to be honest,” Jake shrugs. “Well, either way, make yourself comfortable, Kev.”
Kevin does, leaning back as Jake starts the movie that he has seen one too many times. But the movie gets Jake in a good mood: his eyes are practically glued to the screen and his grin gets wider every time Nicolas Cage is on screen instead of freezing up like before.
He takes the time to look out of the window instead.
“Randall Raines ... It's been a long time ...'though I do recall you as a man with style. You remember your old friend, Atley?” Jake echoes along with the actor on screen.
Kevin hates how the dialogue is also starting to stick in his head. He sighs, looking at the screen just in time to see the phone blink.
“Excuse me one moment, Randall.”
Then there’s a view of a bloodied windshield that’s just off enough from reality from what Kevin can recall. He looks away again.
“You bring this to me in this condition? Blood and guts all over it? You make me complicit? On my property? Who taught you how to think? And worst of all: weren't there supposed to be two Hondas?”
Three cars pulling up, generic enough that they won’t draw any attention. Same brand, same colour, as expected.
“No, no. You don't kill me, because you can't. You don't take your brother and run, because we'd find him. You don't go to the police, because we have friends there, too. You do nothing: except deal with me,” the character continues, Jake continues.
It’s still early into the movie.
Kevin sighs, before tapping on Jake’s shoulder. “We’re being watched.”
“Excuse me what now?”
“Don’t be obvious,” Kevin says, waiting for Jake to nod before continuing. “There are three cars outside, opposite to that window. They have been in the same spot at the same time for the past week, just parked there and done nothing.”
“Oh,” Jake whispers. “Are you sure? It could be the neighbours, for all we know.”
“They are armed.”
Jake curses softly, looking away from the window. “That’s not good. What should we do? Raymond’s not checking the camera right now so there’s no way we can notify him. Damn, maybe you were onto something with the burner phone idea.”
“Jake.”
“Sorry. Do you think they will do something?”
Definitely, Kevin thinks. “Yes,” he says. “Which is why I’m notifying you about this. Don’t get into view.”
“I’m not that dumb.”
“Debatable. Literally, we can have a structural debate about it, though any debate against you is an automatic win.”
“Kevin.”
“Apologies. It has been a long few days.”
Kevin doesn’t mean for that to slip out, but Jake merely hums, nudging his shoulder. “I don’t blame you,” he says, and Kevin’s more than grateful that Jake took that sentence at face value. “Still, we need to think of a plan or something right about now, you know? Bad guys are literally at our door kinda situation.”
“They will storm through the door at some point,” Kevin says. “A lock won’t be a problem at all. Locks keep out honest people.”
How does he know that? That’s a detail he doesn’t remember experiencing, but he knows with a certain conviction, the same conviction he had with the fact that the window can be opened and the gun is in the cupboard, that it is right.
How many loops is he missing, exactly?
“Either way we’re fucked then,” Jake says. “Do you think all of them are gonna come in together?”
“They know there has to be someone else staying with me, a police officer, so chances are yes. Three cars, so at least three people, maybe more.”
Four people, three of which he shot.
“Those are not very good odds.”
Kevin shakes his head. “No, which is why we should try to avoid that situation. Wait for them to move to the front door then get out while we can through other ways. The cars would be left empty then.”
It doesn’t take much for Jake to catch on, and once he does he gasps. “Oh my god you’re actually suggesting we steal a car. Gone in sixty seconds!”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes,” Jake grins. “Ok, how are we getting out if they are at the front door? Cause as much as I love you Kev, I am not sprinting past at least three maniacs with guns.”
Kevin stifles a sigh. “The window in the room back there can be climbed out of. Grab your gun before we go, and hope for the best.”
“Done and deal,” Jake says. “You watch the movie, I can keep an eye out for any movement.”
“I would very much rather not, full offense Jake.”
The movie plays in the background anyway without anyone watching, and every now and then Kevin can hear the loud explosions and sound effects from the tv. He lets Jake take the window view, focusing on the clock instead and watching as the hands tick and spin.
The movie ends, and ten minutes later Jake nudges him. “You’re right, those guys are armed. And moving. Ok, let’s prepare to wrap this party up and let’s roll!”
And to Kevin’s...he isn’t sure what he’s feeling exactly, watching as Jake does a roll from the couch to the cupboard, badly enough that he nearly hits his head against the corner, but it’s nothing positive.
Someone’s knocking on the door, and Kevin grabs Jake’s arm and drags him to the window. It’s still a nice day outside, and he crouches down on reflex the moment his feet touch the grass outside. Jake lands next to him moments after, nodding at him and bringing a finger up to his lips.
Stay quiet, obviously.
Kevin doesn’t wait, just moves as quickly as he can. The front door should slam right about now, but he doesn’t pay any mind to that or the sound of people storming in or the voices in the house.
Jake’s still moving and Kevin follows until they’re at the front of the house. This time he doesn’t stop when Jake gives him the sign to, instead heading over to the other car.
If the car chase’s going to happen, the obvious solution would be to get rid of their cars. Kevin doubts the idea of scraping the bottom of the car would even occur to him if it weren’t for what happened.
He crouches down, picking up a nearby rock, and goes to town with it. It doesn’t take long before the oil spills down, and he quickly ditches and rushes over to Jake.
“Kevin!”
Or he would have if not for the sudden hold around his neck that presses backwards and another that pushes his head forward. The arms constrict, squeeze, and Kevin tries not to go with the momentum and lean back.
He presses his chin down instead, trying to drop down in a crouch. His hands move at the same time, one coming up and pulling down the hand choking him and the other shooting back, elbowing the groin.
There’s a sharp exhale behind him, and he pushes back at the face. A quick rotating movement has Kevin pressing against the goon’s shoulder, knocking him off balance, and he goes down with ease.
He stumbles away, turning and running to Jake’s car. It’s not that far away, and he’s so close and he’s falling down and he isn’t even aware that he’s the one screaming until a hand is clasped over his mouth and something is being injected at his shoulder muscle.
He sees Jake looking down at his body, and Kevin tries to tell him to press it and get out while he still can. Something must have gone through because Jake nods, and he’s suddenly alone with four others surrounding him.
Though he’s not that focused on that part. Not when his leg’s bleeding, though Kevin can’t quite pinpoint where exactly he has been shot.
There’s no pain to direct his attention to.
There are dialogues happening around him, but everything is muted. He’s being pulled, Kevin notes, both physically and in other ways.
Was it Ketamine? Or Benzodiazep- something?
Oh, he’s forgetting words now. That is not a good sign.
Unconsciousness takes his body within two minutes.
Kevin wakes up to water being splashed at his face, some getting into his mouth and he leans forward, coughing it out. Everything is blurry around him, not even the concrete floor he’s staring at is in focus and may even be spinning.
Everything is definitely spinning when he gets yanked up by the hair until Murphy’s looking directly at him with a satisfied grin on his face.
“Nice nap?”
If he wasn’t tied to a chair he would have punched the guy for all that has happened up until now. But he is tied to a wooden chair, the rope digging into his wrists and around his torso, so Kevin settles on a scowl.
“Not the best,” Kevin answers. Murphy laughs at him loudly, releasing his grip and walking back from Kevin. “Hello Murphy, what can I help you with today?”
“Polite and straight to the point. I like it.” Murphy still has a mocking grin stretched on his face as he pulls out a phone from his pocket. “You can help me by sitting there, looking pretty until Raymond comes. Then I’m going to kill you in front of him, let him watch you suffer then kill him too.”
“Very...dramatic of you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. This is just another day of business.” Murphy’s typing something into the phone, the beeping echoing off the warehouse they’re in. “Which, no hard feelings Kevin. I really didn’t want you to get involved, you know, but Raymond is really poking his nose around things he shouldn’t. And I can’t have that here.”
“He’s a police officer. I would be more surprised if he wasn’t doing that.”
“Point, point.” He walks over to Kevin, turning the phone to face him. Raymond’s phone number stares back. “Well, here is his chance to really get up close and personal with my work here. Think he’ll take it?”
“You and I both know the answer to that question,” he replies measurely. Murphy doesn’t say anything back, and Kevin’s more than happy to let the silence continue until Murphy’s hand shakes from holding the phone in the same position for too long.
He’s shaking too, whatever they gave him is wearing off and now Kevin can actually feel the pulsing burn at his ankle where the bullet had entered.
“Is that all you have to say?” Murphy finally prompts. “I literally just threatened to kill you and the love of your life, and this is how you’re reacting?”
He thinks he can see one of the goons holding back a chuckle.
“It’s the drug,” Kevin answers. “I don’t suppose you can give me more?”
“Sadly no. I need you to be awake for this.”
“You don’t, but you want to hear Raymond’s reaction to my voice.” Murphy shrugs, doesn’t bother denying his accusation. “Can you press call, my hands are unavailable at the moment.”
Their peanut gallery is definitely laughing now. At least someone is laughing, even if said someone are the people who have shot at him, killed him one time, drugged him a while ago and generally made his life a living hell.
“It would be my pleasure.”
The dial tones beep, and Kevin counts 3 seconds before Raymond picks up.
“Hello, this is Raymond Holt speaking.”
“Hello Raymond,” Kevin says. He hears a sharp intake of breath, and wonders if Jake has arrived at the precinct yet. He hopes Jake has. “This is your husband, Kevin Cozner. I am with your...fellow associate? Seamus Murphy, I believe is his full name.”
Murphy shoots him a look before moving the phone away and up to his ear. “Associate, god. Your husband’s a real joker, you know?”
Murphy has also turned the speaker off, and now Kevin has to sit there and listen to a one sided conversation. Never a good thing to listen to.
“He’ll be safe as long as you cooperate. No tricks like last time, you hear me?”
Tricks? Last time?
“8221 Oak Ridge Parkway. Come alone, don’t bring backup. The moment I see a cop that isn’t you around here, your husband’s dead.”
Kevin frowns, testing the rope around his wrists. His movement stops when Murphy turns back toward him, holding the phone out again. “Any last words? Just in case Ray Ray here doesn’t follow the rules?”
“He’s planning to kill us both in the end. Don’t come for me or alone.” Kevin’s positive that his answer is saying a lot of things about his state of mind, but right now, he couldn’t care less.
He doesn’t know what Raymond’s reply is since Murphy has quickly hung up the moment Kevin stops talking, maybe even before he finished his sentence. Murphy’s also looking at him with a raised eyebrow, a frown tugging at his lips.
“What was that?”
“My last words, as you so wonderfully called it,” Kevin shrugs. “What’s the surprised look for? I’m sure this isn’t the first time your hostage reacts like that.”
“I wasn’t expecting it from you.”
“Being stuck in a house for weeks on end does that to a person.” Being stuck in a day for who knows how long (definitely not him because apparently there are days that he doesn’t have any memory of) does that to a person. “Thank you very much for that, by the by.”
“You’re welcome.” Murphy crouches down until they’re at eye-level. Kevin rolls his eyes. “Do you think we should rough you up a bit before Raymond comes?”
“It won’t matter in the end, will it?”
Murphy sighs. “I suppose it won’t. But it would be very satisfying.”
He sees Murphy drawing his hand back, before a sharp pain at his stomach makes him want to double over. His head drops forward as his breath gets knocked out of him, and above him Murphy laughs.
Kevin’s starting to really hate that laugh.
“Feeling satisfied yet?” he asks after several deep inhales, trying to replenish the air that just suddenly left his body.
“Not yet, but we’re getting there. You never know how much you need a punching bag until you give it a try.”
“Big words for someone who can’t even make a proper fist.”
Murphy pauses. Or perhaps a better way to describe it would be him freezing up. The next breath from him is shaking, and he’s looking at Kevin strangely again, and some part of him wants to keep egging Murphy on despite the consequences. “I had higher expectations for someone who’s supposed to be the head of a crime family.”
“What did you just say to me?”
“I said what I said.”
“And what would a classics professor from Columbia know about making a proper fist?”
“I’m married to a police officer.”
“Touché,” Murphy mutters, shaking his head. “For a teacher you’re very good at discouraging people, you know that right?”
“I’m not in class right now if you haven’t noticed.”
“So you’re not,” Murphy sighs, snapping his fingers. Immediately a chair gets carried over, positioned right next to him, and Murphy sits down with his legs propped up on Kevin’s thighs. “What else has Raymond taught you? Some more self defence techniques?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. You can ask one of your friends there about it.” It’s the first time Kevin directly looks at the other four, and they are much bigger than he remembered them to be.
“I heard some complaining.”
“I don’t think you have any right to complain when someone you’re trying to capture fights back.”
“Fair enough.” Murphy sighs again, taking out the phone, turning it on, glancing at it once only to put it back in his pocket. “When do you figure Raymond will get here?”
“An hour or so more, maybe,” Kevin shrugs. “Depends if the precinct will let him go or not.”
“His precious precinct, right. You know, at first I was surprised that they are all such a tightly knit unit,” he continues. “But I suppose it makes sense. A captain that’s always looked down on, and his team of ragtag detectives. Do you think you will see all of them in an hour or so, Kevin?”
“Not all, no,” Kevin admits. “But I imagine there will be some familiar faces.”
“All coming to save you, how nice.”
“That’s more Raymond’s objective,” Kevin corrects. “The rest are here for you. Best of luck, I suppose.”
They lapse into a silence, one that's neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. It’s not quite a silence either, with all the background noises and whatnot, the tapping of shoes against concrete and the occasional grumbling that’s too far away for Kevin to make out any words, not that he cares.
The pain around his ankle flares, and when Kevin gives an experimental move, it sends a jarring blast of lightning into his brain. He grits his teeth, holding the gasp in.
Murphy notices. Of course he notices, he has been watching Kevin like a hawk throughout this, his gaze changing rapidly from one look to another but all of them have been intense. His leg lifts up before letting gravity pull it back down, pushing Kevin’s legs down and adding more pressure to the wound.
He won’t give Murphy the pleasure of hearing him scream, even when the pain ramps up to searing, blinding agony each time Murphy repeats his movement.
“This is a lot more fun than sitting in silence and waiting, you know?” Murphy asks, stilling his movement.
Kevin knows whatever he says will be accompanied by shaky gasps that stop him from saying anything properly. So he doesn’t, merely glaring at Murphy and wishing that looks could indeed kill.
Outside there’s a distinct loud noise of cars. Murphy gives Kevin a final smile before finally standing up. And of course he couldn’t leave Kevin alone for one minute.
Seconds later there’s a knife to his throat, not pressing in but merely laying there on the skin.
The sudden coldness is welcoming to say the least, though he could do with less reminders of the fact that one wrong move and his throat will be slit. The blood would get everywhere, and he doesn’t fancy looking like a victim in one of Jake’s bad action movies.
“Now, sit there and be nice and quiet alright?” Murphy whispers, close to his ear. Kevin shudders. “It will make it easier for both sides.”
He doesn’t nod or shake his head, seeing as the knife is still there. He doesn’t say aloud that Murphy probably can’t even kill him with this throat slitting business, doubts that Murphy’s good enough to be able to get to the vulnerable parts of the neck.
To the side the goons are moving again, some getting armed whilst others merely go outside. Only one of them returns with Raymond in tow.
Kevin hates the look Raymond has when his eyes flicker to him, and more specifically to the obvious knife at his throat. “Hello Seamus,” Raymond says slowly. Actually, everything he’s doing right now, moving and talking, is slow. Or perhaps a better word would be cautious. “Kevin.”
“Raymond. I see you came alone. And hopefully unarmed.”
“I am.”
Murphy laughs. “Like hell I’m going to trust that. Brian, pat him down.”
Ah, finally a name to a face. Kevin was getting tired of grouping those four together, at least now he knows who the one that chased after him in the forest is. He watches as Raymond gets patted down, and doesn’t know if he should be disappointed that Raymond doesn’t have any weapons on him at all or hope that he’s that good at concealing firearms.
“What do you want?” Raymond asks.
“I told you. You mess with my family, I mess with yours.” Kevin can’t see it, but he knows Murphy’s having that grin on his face again. “Here’s what's going to happen. You are going to let my boys here tie you down with no resistance, and maybe I will let your husband live.”
You won’t. He knows Murphy won’t, and by the look on Raymond’s face he knows it as well.
“Let him go, Seamus. This is between you and me.”
“Oh babe, you’re the one who crossed that line first.” Murphy presses down, and the blade breaks through skin. Compared to his ankle, it’s nothing.
Though Kevin doubts this is to cause him pain. This theatrical act is for Raymond and Raymond only, and he is merely a means to an end.
“Don’t-”
“Take. A. Seat.” Raymond grits his teeth, but he does follow the direction, sitting back on the uncomfortable wooden chair and letting Brian and the others tie him up. “Good boy. See, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?”
The blade hasn’t stopped cutting into him, getting deeper every second. He was right: blood is highly uncomfortable and it has already started to stain his collar, making a proper mess as it flows down.
Raymond’s jaw is clenched tight.
“Now that you are nice and secure, I’m going to let you make a choice.” Murphy removes the knife from his neck, cleaning the blade on his shirt as he continues. “We have your husband here, about to die one way or another… And we have your squad out there. Oh, don’t look so surprised, of course I know. Who do you think I am, some amateur? No no, I got eyes everywhere here Raymond. And I also got guns everywhere here.”
“Absolutely not.”
“You haven’t even heard my offer.”
“I don’t need to.”
Kevin has to admit, he doesn’t foresee the knife being jammed down into his shoulder where the blood was just being wiped off seconds before. The ankle had been a sudden burst of pain that Kevin luckily didn’t have to deal with for long before whatever drug they’d used got administered, the throat slitting was uncomfortable at best.
This is so much worse.
“KEVIN!”
“Are you gonna hear me out now, Raymond?”
If Kevin had more awareness of the situation around him, he would have noticed the rushing of footsteps outside.
“Yes! Yes, please, stop.”
He doesn’t, not when everything is ripping and tearing and he’s writhing in his seat, unable to do anything to alleviate it. It isn’t even the rope that’s stopping him, it’s the pain itself that prohibits anything else except being in pain.
“Kevin or your team?”
“Kevin.”
In the midst of it all, there’s another sensation, infinitesimal in the middle of this hell right now.
“No hesitation huh? I can respect that.”
And, just when the pain is at its worst, it dissipates, like fog off some terrible lake, taking what’s left of his consciousness with it. The last thing Kevin remembers through the haze is the sound of gunshots.
The sixth time, Kevin wakes up numb. A part of him knows it’s because of the drug that, for god knows why and how, has carried over. The rest of him blames it on the fact that he has failed yet again.
How did he make such a stupid mistake?
It doesn’t matter now, the past (not quite the past) is in the past. At least that’s what he’s trying to tell himself, even when Kevin knows that’s a blatant lie.
The past (not quite the past) is everything. And for every time he fails, consequences follow. If it was affecting just him Kevin wouldn’t mind that much, it’s nothing he doesn’t deserve, but Jake is being dragged into this mess in ways he doesn’t understand and that is crossing a line.
Jake’s still sleeping soundly behind him.
Kevin doesn’t expect that to last, but he gets out of the bed slowly and as quietly as possible anyway. It doesn’t hurt to let Jake get another few minutes of sleep, considering the long day ahead.
He goes to the bathroom, out of curiosity. The leftover drug is wearing off now, and he can feel the beginning of an ache creeping up his shoulder and down his leg. It’s not as intense, merely a mild pain that’s not too much that it’s distracting.
There is a mark on his shoulder, cleaner than expected. He could have sworn Murphy had twisted the damn thing once it pierced the skin, or that could have just been his writhing.
The ache gets more pronounced when he moves his arm up too high. It’s not limiting any movement, but Kevin can only count up to 30 or so seconds before his shoulder really complains and he has to drop his arm back down.
His ankle is faring better at least. There’s only a small point for the entry wound, and nothing on the other side. He can still put his weight on it, though Kevin makes a note to favour his right side, just in case.
It wouldn’t do if he couldn’t run, considering the last two loops.
Kevin sighs, turns the tap on and splashes some water on his face. He needs to be better this time, and that means not making any mistakes of the sort. No time wasting action.
“Kevin? Are you there pal?”
No time wasting action when Murphy’s men come that is. Right now though, when they’re still in the middle of the night, Kevin allows himself a few seconds of silence before answering. “Jake. What do you need so urgently that you have to bother me whilst I’m in here?”
“Can’t I just be worried for my best friend?”
“We’re not best friends,” Kevin replies, and doesn’t have it in himself to tag on the other remark. “And why are you up at this time too?”
Jake’s quiet for a minute.
Which means the last loop- oh no.
“Are you planning on going back to bed?” he asks.
Jake’s answer comes faster this time. “Probably not.”
“Why don’t you go downstairs and make yourself comfortable? I will be with you in a few minutes.”
“That sounds good, yeah. Don’t take too long, alright Kev?”
“Again, it will only be a few minutes.” He grabs a pen, moving his sleeve up and marking down another line that goes across the first four. He stares down at it for a moment before adding a question mark at the beginning.
That’s more accurate.
When Kevin swings open the door, Jake’s still there, leaning against the wall opposite to him. Last time he went straight to the kitchen to make coffee, now he looks up at Kevin with a tired smile and a small wave.
“I thought you would be more ecstatic at the chance of choosing and watching another Nicolas Cage movie,” Kevin says. Why are you still here?
Jake shrugs. “It’s always me that chooses the movie, so this time I figured I’d let you do it. But since you don’t know how to go through my amazing collection, can’t blame you on that, I will have to actually guide you through it. So you know, instead of going down first I can just wait for you and we can choose one together! You know?”
That answers his question.
“Come along then,” Kevin says, and Jake smiles, bouncing along behind him. “Do you want some coffee?”
“However long we’ve been here together and I’m offended that you even have to ask.”
“I’m making sure.”
“Well, yes. Some coffee would be nice.”
Kevin makes the coffee this time, waiting for the water to heat up as Jake gets the cups. The scent of coffee fills the air as soon as he pours the water in, and beside him Jake relaxes. It would be domestic if this wasn't the safe house that Kevin’s talking about here.
He reaches for the sugar, adds in the same amount Jake did for his cup and slides it over. By the time Kevin’s own cup is ready, Jake has already finished his first and is refilling for the second. Alarming, to say the least.
“Are you doing alright?” he ventures an ask, and Jake freezes up mid-way through his second cup.
He finishes it quickly, slamming the cup down with so much force that Kevin’s surprised it doesn’t break on impact. There’s a trace of coffee on his upper lip. “I am,” Jake lies.
Jake’s eyes are also getting teary.
“Obviously so,” Kevin says, putting his own cup down. “If you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t push. However, I’m here if you want to.”
“I had a dream where, I don’t know, I was, like, tied to a chair? You know one of those "would you rather" games, like you have to choose this and that and it’s always something really hard to choose from? Just pick one, A or B, would you rather watch Con Air or Die Hard for the rest of your life, or would you rather watch Face Off or Die Hard for the rest of your life, or would you rather only eat pancakes with butter and maple syrup but without the pancake part or pizza pockets, or would you rather act along Nic Cage or Bruce Willis, oh! Or would you rather your dad stayed with the family instead of walking out or that happening anyway but you don’t have any abandonment issues whatsoever at all, or would you rather he didn't leave at all! Would you rather not get attached to any authority figure in your life or would you rather be an actual good boyfriend to the only one you have actually gotten this serious with, actually I have a better one, would you rather shoot the one authority figure who actually means something to you beside having a little power over you, someone who genuinely helps you with your career and your life and you don’t even know who you would be today if it weren’t for him or would you rather shoot your fiancée, the one who actually gives a crap about you and loves you and you love her back even though she can’t stand your horrible diet and sleeping schedule and you can’t stand her because she’s such a bore in everything but you also love her so much that for some reason you’re actually loving that boredom and strictness and the binders and everything about her makes your life so much better!”
Jake’s out of breath by the time he’s done, breathing heavily. Not just from the long rant that Kevin barely caught a word of, but also from the tears streaming down his face that he’s desperately wiping away to no avail.
“Jake-”
He takes a shaky step back, away from Kevin. Jake’s hand is holding onto the kitchen counter now, his eyes are moving around wildly, looking anywhere but straight forward.
Jake looks like a terrified animal, cornered and trapped.
Kevin doesn’t hesitate, walking up (ignoring Jake’s flinch) and extending his arms. It’s merely an invitation, one that he doesn’t expect Jake to take but Jake all but collapses into him anyway, the sudden combined weight nearly sending him tumbling down.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-” Jake sobs, and the sound breaks Kevin’s heart. “I didn’t mean to, I swear-”
“Jake,” Kevin repeats his name, smaller this time. “It’s fine. Everything is fine,” he mutters into the crook of Jake’s neck, his hand moving up and threading through the messy curls. They're soft.
It doesn’t stop Jake’s mantra of “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’msorrysorry” and Kevin doesn’t know what else to do but to hold on tighter, saying empty comforting words that he doesn’t even believe himself.
“Calm down, come on. Breathe with me.”
Jake does, stuttered breaths that slowly even out until he’s not hyperventilating against Kevin’s shoulder anymore. The tears have stopped, if only because there are no tears left to cry. His grip on Kevin’s shirt has not relaxed at all though, not that he has any intention of letting Jake go right now.
“I’m sorry,” Jake mutters again. “Didn’t mean to just collapse on you like that- I know you probably shouldn’t be handling too heavy things. Or me. You don’t have to.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Still, I didn’t mean to...you definitely should not have had to go through that whole thing.”
“Stop apologising,” Kevin says simply. “Can you walk?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“A good one. I doubt you could support your own weight right now if I let go.”
Jake hums, looking down. “Stop being right all the time,” he says weakly with a chuckle.
Jake’s laughing again, that is good. He can deal with this. “No,” Kevin says. Jake gives another giggle, though Kevin doubts even Jake himself really knows what he’s laughing about. “Let’s get you seated down somewhere, alright? And I can make you something that is not coffee.”
“What- Keeeevin! Come on!”
“You have had more than enough already.” He gives Jake a stern look. Jake pouts, and with the bloodshot eyes and small traces of tears on his cheeks, it makes a very convincing picture. “Come on, living room. We can play one of your movies, and I will even make us some popcorn.”
“Oh... Well you should have led with that.”
“Of course,” he sighs, shifting his weight and making sure he can support Jake without aggravating his own not-quite-injury. The trip to the living room is short, and with a light push Jake falls on the couch with a small thump, glaring up at Kevin.
“It doesn’t even hurt,” Kevin says, rolling his eyes. “What do you want to watch?”
“Well, I did tell you I would let you choose a movie.”
“If it was up to me we would not be watching anything. So I’ll ask again: What do you want to watch?”
“...The Sorcerer's Apprentice.”
Same choice, Kevin thinks fondly, crouching down at the box and going through the horrible DVDs until he finds the movie. Any fond thoughts die off when he sees Nicolas Cage’s face on the cover staring back at him, and he takes a deep breath.
This is for Jake.
He sets everything up, tossing Jake the remote. The movie plays seconds later, the too familiar opening starting and Kevin sits down next to Jake, making himself comfortable.
“No popcorn?” Jake asks teasingly, leaning onto Kevin’s shoulder again.
“Not when we’re watching this for the fifth time, no.”
“Fourth, unless you have been sneaking off and watching this masterpiece without me,” Jake corrects.
Ah, right. Fifth for Kevin, counting the last loop. Fourth, as far as Jake’s concerned. “Keep telling yourself that.”
“You know you love it.”
“I know that I want to break the tv so we don’t have to watch anything you have brought here ever again.”
Jake doesn’t reply. Kevin looks down to see his attention span has all been directed to the actual movie, his eyes glued to the screen and not having any intention of moving soon.
There’s no reason for him to not settle down too, and so Kevin does, looking at the screen just in time to see Nicolas Cage’s character appearing. The movie’s horrible, he has seen this one too many times, and Jake’s Jake: reciting dialogue, acting out scenes like he has magical powers of his own, bouncing back surprisingly fast from whatever happened in the kitchen.
He didn’t catch a lot of Jake’s sudden, rapid-fire rambling, but the last part had gone on for long enough that he could get a full picture of what had happened.
Kevin forces his attention to focus on the tv before his train of thought takes him to choices that he hopes he will never have to make. There’s not much success in that either, and by the time the credits roll, Kevin knows who he will pick if his hand’s forced.
At least he thinks so.
“Sooooo, are you finally liking this?” Jake asks, stopping another rabbit hole diving session that Kevin’s sure he would have gone down if Jake had been a second later with his question.
“Rewatching something a billion times doesn’t make it magically better, Jake.”
“Damn.”
Kevin shrugs. “No. And the same rule still applies, we are not watching this again for the next three days.”
“That rule is the only reason you are not liking any of my stuff yet, Kevin.”
“That rule is the only reason I still have some of my sanity intact, Jake.” Jake’s shoulders shake with badly contained laughter, and Kevin refuses to comment on his own smile. Instead he reaches for the remote and turns the tv off. “No more Nicolas Cage for the next few hours either.”
“Oh come on! That’s too far now.”
“No.”
Jake blows raspberries at him. “What am I supposed to do then? Cause Kev, I am too hyped up from the coffee which, it was probably a bad idea to drink that much and sleeping was never an option. Nope, none at all.”
“Read a book.”
“You sound like my mom. Which, for once, is not a good thing, because books.”
“That explains so much about you and,” he looks Jake up and down. “Everything else.”
“What is that supposed to mean?!”
“You’re at least smart enough to answer that yourself.” Jake folds his hands and hunches his shoulders, pouting on the couch. “I honestly have no idea what you do to entertain yourself Jake, so don’t look to me for options.”
“I didn’t.”
“You literally asked a few seconds before.” Jake pouts harder. “Chess?”
“I don’t even know how to play chess, Kevin.”
“I can teach you how. It’s not that hard.”
Jake sits up straighter, thank God. He has such horrible posture, honestly. “Well… Maybe.”
Kevin sets up the board, putting the pieces into place. Jake shifts until he’s sitting opposite of Kevin, copying his movements and placing the white side down. And it might just be Kevin’s imagination, but Jake’s picking up on everything faster than the last time.
Actually, considering everything, he might not be imagining it either. And if that’s the case, then Kevin’s glad Jake got something more positive out of this.
“Check,” Jake grins triumphantly, leaning back on the couch.
“Good job,” Kevin compliments, and in a move, takes Jake’s rook and frees his king. “Checkmate.” He reaches over and knocks down Jake’s king with a light push.
“What?! When did you- how did I not see that?” Jake stutters, looking at the board before rearranging the pieces himself. “Rematch! There’s no way I’m not winning at least one game.”
“I can always blindfold myself if that’s what you need to win.”
“One, rude. Two, I’m beating you fair and square and there’s nothing you can do about that,” Jake says, moving his pawn and starting the game. “Three, you’re definitely doing that after I win. I want to see blindfold chess.”
“Of course.”
When Raymond comes, Jake hasn’t won but he has come rather close one or two times. He looks surprised at everything that is happening right now, and Kevin can’t blame him. Seeing Jake concentrated on a game of chess is not a common sight at the precinct, he imagines.
Raymond then starts joining in, as expected, notifying Jake of his mishaps and ruining some of Kevin’s plans. He still has the upper hand, and with a rook getting sacrificed and predictably pulling Jake’s attention to that part of the board, Kevin moves his queen and grins.
“Checkmate.”
“What? No! Oh come on!” Jake throws his hands up, before folding them petulantly. Again. Kevin’s getting used to this pouty side of Jake. “Capt, I thought you were smarter than this.”
“Being on the same team as you would naturally result in some drawbacks. I don’t blame him.”
“Uggggh.” Jake leans back, staring at the ceiling for a moment before he bounces back. “Anyway, sorry about that. Didn’t notice the time, and then poof, here you are. What’s up?”
“There is nothing up, Peralta. I am merely here to check on you two.”
“Awww, you do care.”
Raymond doesn’t reply, merely sitting down and pulling out a bag of oranges. He offers Kevin one.
He takes it, their hands brush. The contact is nice, even if it only lasts for a few seconds. Kevin takes his time peeling the orange, separating it into halves and then one half into quarters.
One half he hands to Jake with a look and a raised eyebrow. “Jake?”
“Oh- sure,” Jake says, taking it with slight hesitation. He separates it into pieces, picking one up and looking at it for a second before biting it in half. It is just horrible at this point, Kevin thinks, looking away and offering Raymond the quarter.
Raymond blinks at him. There's a clear surprise on his face, and again, Kevin can’t blame Raymond for feeling like that. His expression then melts into a soft fondness and Kevin smiles back.
Their hands brush again when Raymond reaches out. “Thank you, Kevin.”
“It’s no problem.”
Kevin eats his own part then, chewing and swallowing in silence with Raymond and Jake. The tangy taste is nice, he has to admit, but eating oranges for a straight six or more days...
Good oranges, nice and dry, Kevin thinks. On cue, Raymond says the words aloud.
“Good oranges, nice and dry. Not at all ripe.”
Jake gives a vague hum that Kevin’s inclined to agree with, wiping away the juice with his hoodie sleeve. How he makes that much of a mess with half an orange is beyond Kevin.
Around this time the small talk would start, when they’ve finished the oranges. He considers asking about Raymond’s day again, getting his hopes up only to hear the same information. Might as well skip it and get straight to the point. “Is there any chance that I could have my phone with me?”
“I have already explained this on the first day. Phones, and by extension, any electrical devices are easily traceable.”
“In case of an emergency, Raymond. There’s no reliable nor viable way of contacting you if something were to happen.”
“If something were to happen,” Raymond echoes his words slowly with a clear tone of disbelief, bordering on a chuckle. Kevin stifles a sigh, or maybe a chuckle. At this point Raymond’s statement is rather funny from his angle. “I would be the first to know. There are cameras monitoring the safe house and at the clearest sign of aggression we will send people down. Your safety is top priority, Kevin.”
“Still,” he says. “I would feel safer knowing I can reach you if worst comes to worst.” Raymond falters at his words, though Kevin knows he won’t get what he wants. “Please?”
“If it helps then I will get you a burner phone tomorrow.”
Some day. “Thank you, dear,” Kevin says, moving his gaze to the window now that that conversation has ended. He knows Murphy’s men won’t be here at this time, but he’s still impatient to see the familiar cars.
Something nags at the back of his brain. Ah. “I love you.”
He doesn’t see Raymond’s expression, but it’s hard to believe it has changed from before.
“I love you too,” Raymond replies slowly. “Kevin, I apologise for how I have been acting regarding the situation. It was, and it is... rather drastic of me.”
“If I were in your situation I would do the same,” Kevin says. “I apologise for how I have been acting these past weeks too.”
“It’s understandable considering the circumstances.”
“So it is.”
The conversation fades into a comfortable silence, now that Kevin’s sure he’s not forgetting to bring up anything.
It honestly is a nice day outside today. Not too sunny and based on the light wind rustling the bushes, perfect for a walk.
He wants to go for a walk.
“I’m sorry to cut this short but unfortunately, it is now time for me to take my leave,” Raymond speaks up at some point, right on time. “Rest assured you will have a line of communication with me by tomorrow noon. Goodbye, Kevin. Peralta.”
“See ya Capt,” Jake cheerfully says. Kevin also doesn’t need to look at Jake to know there’s a grin on his face right now.
“Goodbye Raymond,” Kevin says simply. “Take care.”
The telltale sound of the door clicking open before closing again announces Raymond’s departure, and then it’s just Jake and him alone in the house again. And in a few moments, Jake and him and a movie playing in the background. And in two hours, give or take...
Well, Kevin isn’t exactly looking forward to either of the events.
“Soooooooo, it has been long enough that I can start another movie, right? Please say yes, please say yes,” Jake starts beside him, holding Gone in Sixty Seconds up. Kevin doesn’t even know when Jake moved and grabbed the DVD.
“Yes.”
“That’s- huh. I was expecting more of a struggle, to be honest,” Jake shrugs. “Well, either way, make yourself comfortable, Kev.”
Kevin does, leaning back as Jake starts the movie that he has seen one too many times. But the movie gets Jake in a good mood: his eyes are practically glued to the screen and his grin gets wider every time Nicolas Cage is on screen, which is most of the time.
“Randall Raines ... It's been a long time ...'though I do I recall you as a man with style. You remember your old friend, Atley?” Jake echoes along with the actor on screen.
He’s definitely remembering the dialogue now. One of the worst things to have happened, and he is in a loop where death just keeps happening despite how much he wants to stop it.
“Excuse me one moment, Randall.”
There’s a view of a bloody windshield here, and a quick glance back at the screen confirms his memory. Kevin looks out again.
“You bring this to me in this condition? Blood and guts all over it? You make me complicit? On my property? Who taught you how to think? And worst of all: weren't there supposed to be two Hondas?”
Those three cars pull up, with the same brand and colour that Kevin’s starting to hate too.
“No, no. You don't kill me, because you can't. You don't take your brother and run, because we'd find him. You don't go to the police, because we have friends there, too. You do nothing: except deal with me,” the character continues, Jake continues.
Kevin taps on Jake’s shoulder, catching his attention and getting straight to the point. “We’re being watched.”
“Excuse me what now?”
“Don’t be obvious,” Kevin says, waiting for Jake to nod before continuing. “There are three cars outside, opposite to that window. They have been in the same spot at the same time for the past week, just parked there and done nothing.”
“Oh,” Jake whispers. “Are you sure? It could be the neighbours, for all we know.”
“They are armed.”
Jake curses softly, looking away from the window. “That’s not good. What should we do? Raymond’s not checking the camera right now so there’s no way we can notify him. Damn, maybe you were onto something with the burner phone idea.”
“Jake.”
“Sorry. Do you think they will do something?”
“Yes,” Kevin answers. “Which is why I’m notifying you about this. Don’t get into view.”
“I’m not that dumb,” Jake mutters. “Anyway, we need to think of a plan or something right about now, you know? Bad guys are literally at our door kinda situation. Do you think pretending that nobody’s home will work? Oh, don’t give me that look, it happened before and it worked, thank you very much.”
Kevin rolls his eyes. “They will storm through the door at some point,” he says. “Might try knocking at first, fooling us into letting them in freely, or they might shoot the lock.”
“We’re so fucked then,” Jake says. “Do you think all of them are gonna come in together?”
“They know there has to be someone else staying with me, a police officer, so chances are yes. Three cars, so at least three people, maybe more.”
“Those are not very good odds.”
Kevin shakes his head. “No, which is why we should try to avoid that situation. Wait for them to move to the front door then get out while we can through other ways. The cars would be left empty then.”
It doesn’t take much for Jake to catch on, and once he does he gasps. “Oh my god you’re actually suggesting we steal a car. Gone in sixty seconds!”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes,” Jake grins. “Ok, how are we getting out if they are at the front door? Cause as much as I love you Kev, I am not sprinting past at least three maniacs with guns.”
“The window in the room back there can be climbed out of,” he explains quickly. “Grab your gun before we go, and hope for the best.”
“Done and deal,” Jake says. “You watch the movie, I can keep an eye out for any movement.”
“No thanks.”
The movie plays in the background anyway, and every now and then Kevin can hear the loud explosions and sound effects from the tv that get louder and louder before fading out as the last scene plays.
Ten minutes later Jake nudges him. “You’re right, those guys are armed. And moving. Ok, let’s prepare to wrap this party up and let’s roll!”
Jake gets the gun with an elaborate roll.
Someone’s knocking on the door.
Kevin grabs Jake’s arm and drags him to the window. He crouches down the moment his feet touch the grass outside and moments later Jake lands next to him, nodding at him and bringing a finger up to his lips.
Stay quiet, obviously.
This time Kevin doesn’t wait, just moves as quickly as he can. The front door should slam right about now, but he doesn’t pay any mind to that or the sound of people storming in or the voices in the house.
Jake’s still moving and Kevin follows until they’re at the front of the house. He doesn’t stop when Jake gives him the sign to, tagging along to Jake’s chosen car. In a swift movement he takes Jake’s gun out of his hand, ignoring Jake’s yelp and taking aim.
Murphy’s men must have heard the noises at this point. The sheer volume from two shots in quick succession is enough to notify the whole neighbourhood of their location, not that Kevin cares at this point.
There’s that sign of oil leakage. If he’s lucky two of them won’t notice anything until it’s too late, taking themselves out of the chase at that point.
“Get in!” In the meantime Jake has gotten seated, the car ready to go and Kevin yanks open the door on his side and clambers in too. Jake slams on the pedals, and the sudden shift of speed pushes him back on his seat as they ride away from the house. “Fuck, fuck fuck fuck. Kevin what the fuck did you just do?”
He reaches for his seatbelt, pauses and lets his hand drop back to his side. It won’t matter, not when he will have to take the wheel sooner or later. “I eliminated a car from this chase. It won’t be in any working order for much longer.”
“Oh,” Jake says. “Well, warn a guy next time. And don’t just take a gun from me like that. It’s dangerous.”
“We are in a literal car chase.”
“And I don't trust you with a gun at all, no offense. Just, you know, civilians and all.”
Kevin bites back a response. Instead he glances at the mirror, and grimaces. “We have company. Getting closer, and they’re pulling out firearms.”
“Fuck. Gimme my gun back, then take the wheel.” He follows Jake’s order, watching as Jake rolls down the window on his side and doesn’t bother asking for the plan when he already knows what will happen. “Keep us going, yeah Kev?”
“Get shooting.”
“Roger that, prof.”
There’s the wrong designation. Now is not the time to elaborate on that point though, and he focuses his attention on steering the vehicle. His shoulder protests from the angle, and Kevin grits his teeth, forcing the ache to go away.
Bullets, firing at them. The mirror on his side cracks, and then the one on Jake’s side. The back of the car must be taking a lot of damage too, and he hopes the rear window will hold out for longer this time.
“Fuck that was close,” Jake mutters, ducking back in and reloading. “Kevin, you doing ok there?”
His shoulder flares up at Jake’s question, and Kevin shakes his head. “The sooner you end this, the better,” he says, gripping the wheel tighter, forcing the position. “Do be careful though.”
“When am I not?” Jake says. “Also, new plan. Turn left when I tell you to, and don’t stop.” There it is. Before Kevin can reply, Jake’s leaning out again, gun ready to fire. “Yippee-Ki-Yay, Motherfucker. Now Kevin.”
He yanks on the wheel until it clunks to a stop, unable to turn any further. Jake must have slammed on the break at that moment too as the car drifts around, the momentum pushing him to the side and straining his grip on the wheel.
Don’t let go don’t let go keep them on track-
They’re about to crash, a part of Kevin observes. He tries to turn the car just a few meters to the left, anything but a head on collision at this speed.
Anything but-
Kevin feels the force pushing him up and over, feels the impact of the windshield, the glass cracking and shattering into connected bits that bend and break and he feels the obliterating pain but he doesn’t-
He knows what he should be feeling. He doesn’t.
He hears something loud, maybe screaming, maybe someone here to help. Noises circulate in the background, but nothing’s clear.
And then silence.
The seventh time, Kevin jerks awake.
He’s back at the safe house, it’s dark around him, and everything hurts. His head, his neck, his shoulders. Contrasting that, everything below his chest is numb, not quite responding to his attempt at moving.
The car crash, Kevin reminds himself. The car crash that he caused simply because he couldn’t control the actual car itself.
His fault.
It’s his fault.
His fault that now Jake will have another memory of a car crash that he does not deserve to have.
Jake.
Kevin sits up slowly, noting how some of his movement control is returning as the seconds pass. The room is still dark, and he gives himself a second to adjust to the light setting.
The room is still dark.
No, it’s not. The edges of his vision say it’s not, catching sight of the natural light that’s vaguely shining through the blinds and the red light of the alarm clock.
Yet when he focuses his sight forward, it’s dark. No, it’s not even dark, it’s static, bad noise that shifts and changes but it’s also contained in a vague shape of a circle in the centre of his vision.
He moves his eyes around the room, and the circle follows, always in the centre. Sometimes the noises are even around the edges, pronounced and there. The darkness doesn’t help, and Kevin’s left with himself sitting there, knowing something is wrong with his vision and knowing there’s nothing that he can do about it.
Nothing besides dealing with it as best as he can.
He looks over to Jake, seeing that damn static circle that takes up most of Jake’s face and sighs. Kevin can still vaguely tell where Jake is, but any expression that he’s having right now is lost to the static. He moves his eyes, looking slightly below and to the left.
As usual, he’s still sleeping. Every now and then he shifts positions, not quite being able to settle down properly. Jake will wake up soon, Kevin knows, and he wonders what Jake's dream is this time.
Well, he still has a few minutes before the day starts. Some feeling has returned to his legs, and Kevin stands up slowly, navigating his way to the bathroom. The static poses a challenge, but practiced movement and muscle memory trumps in the end and he manages to lock the door behind him, turning on the light.
The brightness helps so much.
The static circle is clearer now, indeed taking up most of his vision. It gets worse closer to the middle, nearly opaque in the center. He can vaguely tell there’s something behind it right now with the bright light of the bathroom, but Kevin doubts that’s an option any place darker.
Even his peripheral vision has that same static, not as drastic but it’s there.
Kevin doesn’t bother looking at the mirror this time, even when he’s curious about what his eyes actually look like, or any other marks that have traveled over from the car crash. He just opens the cabinet, getting the aspirin and taking one dry.
After that comes the marking, making it 6 lines on his forearm.
And now Kevin waits, in this muted silence that’s neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. Jake should be here around now, even when Kevin wishes that he could actually get a good night's sleep, that both of them could get a good night's sleep actually. Out of all the possible times, it’s around 3 in the morning that he got thrown back here.
Kevin taps his foot, getting used to controlling it again. A tempo fills in the silence.
Tap. Tap. Tap tap. Tap.
Tap. Tap. Tap tap. Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap tap.
Tap.
Knock knock. There he is.
“Kevin?” Jake calls. “Are you there pal?”
He never thought he would be this glad to hear Jake’s voice, in all honesty. “Yes Jake, I am here. What do you want?”
“Just wondering. You weren’t there when I woke up, and I got a bit worried that you had just wandered off doing who knows what.”
“That sounds like something you would be more likely to do.”
“Not wrong. Still, you doing good?”
No, Kevin thinks to himself. He’s doing anything but good right now, but Jake doesn’t have to know it. Jake already has the vague memory of his death, Kevin doesn’t need to add more to the mess. “Yes. And how about you?”
“Huh?”
“You, for some reason, woke up at this time and decided that your next course of action should be to get up and find me despite knowing I will still be in the safe house instead of rolling back to sleep.”
“Damn, that’s good,” Jake says after a pause. “My amazing detective skills must be rubbing off on you, title of our sextape.”
“Please don’t ever say that ever again in my presence.”
He can hear Jake’s laughter through the door. It’s not a light sound. “No promises.”
“You’re dodging the question.”
“Damn, the sequel. You are good at this.”
Kevin shrugs, before realising Jake can’t actually see that right now. He walks to the door, unlocking and nudging it open.
Jake’s leaning on the wall, hands in his hoodie pocket. The light pours from the bathroom, illuminating enough of the corridor and enough of Jake that Kevin can actually see where he is. Further details though, facial expressions and so on, are lost to the static and Kevin sighs.
He knows he will have to deal with this, he has no other choice than to deal with this, but it doesn’t make this any less troublesome.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Kevin asks, straight to the point. There are only a few steps between them and Kevin quickly closes the distance, looking slightly below to see the frozen smile on Jake’s face.
“I-”
He takes Jake’s hand, pulling him along. “Come on. We can watch one of your movies if it will make you feel better.”
“That sounds good,” Jake says.
“Of course it does.”
“Rude.”
He fumbles with the staircase, holding onto the handrail tighter than necessary. Jake doesn’t comment on any of his missteps, though Kevin thinks it’s only because he’s too caught up with his own thoughts right now to notice.
“Here, lemme.” Jake reaches over, flipping on the switch and the light turns on. “Better?”
Oh, or he does notice. Kevin smiles despite himself, nodding slightly. “Better. Thank you.”
“No prob.”
“It’s problem, Jake. You don’t have to shorten a two-syllable word.”
“On the contrary, I do.”
Kevin never thought he would find people basically butchering English to be amusing, but here he is, hiding a chuckle at Jake’s antics. “Sit down,” he says, giving a light push and Jake collapses on the couch ungracefully so. “What do you want to watch?”
“Anything will do. I just wanna have my daily dose of Nic Cage, you know?”
“I wish I didn’t, but unfortunately I have known you for long enough to answer yes to that question. You get irritated if you don’t see his face in a 48 hours period.”
“No I do not,” Jake protests weakly.
“The first week in this safe house would like to politely disagree with you,” Kevin says, crouching down next to the box and searching for a movie. He flips through the choices, Face Off and Con Air and Ghost Rider before pausing at a name.
We haven’t even watched Captain Corelli's Mandolin yet. You would love it, even if it’s super boring.
He pushes that one back into the pile, and picks up The Wicker Man instead. Jake cheers, and Kevin puts it on before settling down next to Jake.
He doesn’t pay any attention to the movie as it plays, in part because it’s a movie he has seen too many times, in part because this time he can barely see the movie. Time flies, the credits roll and he belatedly realises that the past hour or so has had a distinct lack of Jake’s usual Nicolas Cage movie related antics.
Kevin looks over to see Jake sleeping on the couch, his head leaning back at an awkward angle that will surely cause a crick when he wakes up.
He gets up, carefully moves Jake until he’s lying comfortably on the couch. He immediately curls into himself, shivering slightly, and Kevin stifles a sigh at the prospect of walking up and down the stairs and not actually knowing where you’re stepping.
It’s harder even when it shouldn’t be. He doesn’t usually look at the steps when he uses the stairs, but now when he notices that fact it’s hard to forget it again. Carrying the blanket down makes it all the more worse.
Jake better appreciate this.
He drapes the blanket over Jake, making sure he’s properly covered. This close to Jake, Kevin can actually see the relaxed expression on his face that makes him look younger.
Too young to die.
There’s no guarantee that it will loop back. The last loop could have been, well, the last loop. They might have died in the car crash, or Jake might have survived with all the injuries and lived on.
Kevin might have been responsible for all that.
Who is he kidding? There is no might, he is directly responsible for this.
He crashed the car.
He pressed the trigger instead of just lining up the shot.
Kevin stumbles away from the sleeping figure of Jake. He finally has the chance to get some sleep, it wouldn’t do if Kevin woke him up again with his useless misplaced guilt and another crying episode.
He has already cried plenty for his mistakes. He doesn’t need another wasted hour. What he needs is some results, not just vague points that barely resemble a plan.
He is lucky to have the chance to do this again, to get it right, and Kevin has never been one to waste chances.
He has to get it right.
By the time Jake stirs awake, Kevin has nothing. No, he has pages after pages of scrawled out speculations and pointers that pose no use and an endless amount of frustration. At himself, at the situation, at Murphy. At everything.
“Kev?” Kevin jumps, quickly pausing his writing to turn and look at Jake. His hair is a mess, but he looks well rested. Which is good.
“I see you finally decided to wake up,” Kevin says.
Jake blinks, a hand coming up and wiping the sleep out of his eyes. “Yeah,” he says, yawning right after. “You should have woken me up.”
“You need sleep, Jake.”
“Still, didn’t mean to just leave you there. I wouldn’t have minded, you know, if you'd have slapped me awake or something. Though it seems like you have been busy.”
Kevin gathers up the stack of papers, cleaning up somewhat and making sure there isn’t a stray paper that Jake can pick up and read. “That I have. How was your sleep?”
“Good, good,” Jake answers. “Aww, this blanket definitely wasn’t here when I went to bed.”
“Brilliant observation skills.”
“Says you.”
“Yes.”
“...Thank you.”
It’s hard to tell if Jake’s thanking him for the blanket or the sarcastic compliment. Still, Kevin shrugs. “It’s nothing. You’re bringing that up though.”
“Fair.”
He takes advantage of the small time frame when Jake gathers the blanket, rushing upstairs, his footsteps thumping through the house to throw the papers into an unused drawer. The living room is back to its clean state from before, and he sits back on the couch, cracking his neck.
Having to be so close to the papers to actually read and write anything is horrible for his posture.
The stairs groan and creak, and Kevin looks over to see Jake again. Water drips down from his hair and face, some wetting the front of his shirt. He’s more awake, and definitely more energetic, not quite walking as he’s skipping and bouncing back to Kevin. “Hey!”
How is this Jake worse than Jake with two cups of coffee in his system? “Good morning, Jake.”
“Jesus, you deffo did not sleep at all huh?” Jake says, leaning down to look at him. “You look awful, Kevin.”
“Your bedside manners leave much to be desired,” Kevin replies, pushing Jake’s face away from his personal space.
“Just woke up. Brain mouth filter doesn’t work right now.”
“I’m surprised you even have one.”
“Now whose bedside manners are whatever it is you said?” Kevin sighs. Jake chuckles, sitting back down next to Kevin and leaning his head on his shoulder. “So, any plans for today?”
“You’re genuinely asking that.”
“Well, yeah. You know, like how last week you tried to teach me French or whatever? And before that we had another Nic Cage marathon. Or yesterday when we played chess! That was fun, don’t tell Amy I said that though.”
Kevin pauses. “I’m sorry, we did what yesterday?”
“Chess? You’re the one that taught me how to play, you can’t just turn around and say that you don’t remember anything!”
For Kevin, sure. For his not-quite-yesterday and his not-quite-the-day-before they played chess. But for Jake’s yesterday, Jake’s Saturday the 17th, Kevin can barely remember them doing anything together.
He can feel a headache approaching. “Right, of course,” Kevin mutters. “I’m sorry, it’s just that your playing skills are not something I would like to remember.”
“Oh come on! I almost beat you, twice!”
“I was playing it easy on you.”
“We’ll see about that,” Jake grumbles, standing up and returning with the set. “I’m not stopping until I win, you know?”
Kevin tries not to think too hard on this. He already knew things traveled through, but for it to be so livid that Jake thinks it actually happened yesterday? That’s new. “You can go first.”
“You’ll regret that choice,” Jake says.
When Raymond comes, Kevin certainly hasn’t regretted his choice. Like the last two days, Raymond looks surprised but in the end joins forces with Jake, this time making it a close tie. Kevin knows he should have lost during the endgame, but Jake didn’t notice his mishap and Raymond had sent him a smirk and hadn’t notified Jake of it at all.
He smiles back at Raymond. “Good game, you two,” Kevin says, putting the pieces away and clearing out some space. “No Jake, I’m not abbreviating such a short phrase, so don’t even ask.”
“I wasn’t- Well, ok fine, but still,” Jake giggles. “GG to you too. Which, hello Capt. You’re here early.”
“I’m not. I have arrived at exactly 12:30, as planned.”
“Oh. Well, time doesn’t matter anyway. Not in the safe house at least,” Jake throws him a lopsided grin that lacks the usual charm. “Anyway, what’s up with you?”
“There is nothing up, Peralta. I am merely here to check on you two.”
“Awww, you do care.”
Raymond doesn’t reply, merely sitting down and pulling out a bag of oranges. He offers Kevin one.
He accepts the offer, taking it and brushing Raymond’s hand in the process. Kevin takes his time peeling the orange, separating it into halves and then one half into quarters.
One half he hands Jake with a look and a raised eyebrow. “Jake?”
“Alright,” Jake says, taking it with slight hesitation. Even without looking, Kevin knows Jake’s separating it into pieces before biting them in half.
Kevin ignores the scene, instead offering Raymond the quarter. He can imagine the surprise-turned-to-fondness expression on Raymond’s face though it doesn’t mean that it’s any less frustrating not being able to see it. “Thank you, Kevin.”
“It’s no problem.”
Kevin eats his own part then, trying not to grimace so much at the taste that has turned bland after the consecutive seven days of eating oranges. If, no, When he somehow gets out, Kevin’s not touching any oranges for a while.
“Good oranges, nice and dry. Not at all ripe,” Raymond says.
Jake gives a vague hum, wiping away the juice with his hoodie sleeve. How he makes that much of a mess with half an orange that is dry is beyond Kevin.
All that aside, he has better things to be worried about than that. Kevin doesn’t dally around this time, getting straight to the point. “Is there any chance that I can have my phone with me?”
Raymond sighs. He looks like he has been anticipating this question for a while now. “I have already explained this on the first day. Phones, and by extension, any electrical devices are easily traceable.”
“In case of an emergency, Raymond. There’s no reliable nor viable way of contacting you if something were to happen.”
“If something were to happen,” Raymond echoes his words slowly with a clear tone of disbelief, bordering on a chuckle. Kevin wants to laugh at the irony. “I would be the first to know. There are cameras monitoring the safe house and at the clearest sign of aggression we will send people down. Your safety is top priority, Kevin.”
“Still,” he continues. “I would feel safer knowing I can reach you if worst comes to worst. Please?”
Raymond falters, then sighs. “If it helps then I will get you a burner phone tomorrow.”
“Thank you, dear,” Kevin says, letting himself lean back on the couch, looking up at the ceiling. Against the white background the static really does stand out.
He’s forgetting something.
Ah. “I love you.”
He doesn’t see Raymond’s expression, but it’s hard to believe he would react any differently from the last three times.
“I love you too,” Raymond replies slowly. “Kevin, I apologise for how I have been acting regarding the situation. It was, and it is... rather drastic of me.”
“It’s fine,” Kevin says. “I apologise for how I have been acting these past weeks too.”
“It’s understandable considering the circumstances.”
“So it is.”
And the conversation ends, just as Kevin remembers. Raymond should be leaving soon, not that Kevin wants him to. But at the same time, Raymond being here would increase the odds of him getting injured or worse, and balancing the survival act with Jake is hard enough as it is.
Also Raymond has his meetings. Ideally Kevin wouldn’t mind interrupting him when his and Jake’s lives are on the line, but right now they are still safe. They will be safe until Murphy’s men come, guns blazing.
“I’m sorry to cut this short but unfortunately, it is now time for me to take my leave,” Raymond speaks up at some point. He isn’t looking at the clock either, but Kevin imagines it to be exactly on time. “Rest assured you will have a line of communication with me by tomorrow noon. Goodbye, Kevin. Peralta.”
“See ya Capt.”
“Goodbye Raymond. Take care.”
The telltale sound of the door clicking open before closing again announces Raymond’s departure, and then it’s just Jake and him. Jake doesn’t miss a beat, already crawling to the box and ruffling through the choices.
“Soooooooo, it has been long enough that I can start another movie, right? Please say yes, please say yes,” Jake says, holding Gone in Sixty Seconds up. “Please please please-”
“Let's just get it over with.”
“That’s- huh. I was expecting more of a struggle, to be honest. A little lacking in excitement, gotta say,” Jake shrugs. “Well, either way, make yourself comfortable, Kev.”
Kevin does, leaning back as Jake starts the movie that he has seen one too many times. But the movie gets Jake in a good mood: his eyes are practically glued to the screen and his grin gets wider every time Nicolas Cage is on screen, which is most of the time.
Randall Raines ... It's been a long time ...'though I do I recall you as a man with style.
“Randall Raines ... It's been a long time ...'though I do I recall you as a man with style." Jake echoes along with the actor on screen. “You remember your old friend, Atley?”
God, he actually knows the exact beat of dialogue now.
“Excuse me one moment, Randall.”
There’s a view of a bloody windshield here. It’s not like Kevin can actually see it, or most of the screen, but he knows it’s there. He hates that he knows it’s there.
What has Jake done to him?
“You bring this to me in this condition? Blood and guts all over it? You make me complicit? On my property? Who taught you how to think? And worst of all: weren't there supposed to be two Hondas?”
Well, nothing as horrible as Brian and his gang (were, had) are about to do to both of them. He catches the three cars from the corner of his eye, and Kevin sits up straighter.
“No, no. You don't kill me, because you can't. You don't take your brother and run, because we'd find him. You don't go to the police, because we have friends there, too. You do nothing: except deal with me,” the character continues, Jake continues.
Kevin taps on Jake’s shoulder, catching his attention. “We’re being watched.”
“Excuse me what now?”
“Don’t be obvious,” Kevin says, waiting for Jake to nod before continuing. “There are three cars outside, opposite to that window. They have been in the same spot at the same time for the past week, just parked there and done nothing.”
“Oh,” Jake whispers. “Are you sure? It could be the neighbours, for all we know.”
“They are armed.”
“That’s not good,” Jake says, looking from the window to where one of the cameras is situated. “What should we do? Raymond’s not checking the camera right now so there’s no way we can notify him. Damn, maybe you were onto something with the burner phone idea.”
“Focus.”
“Sorry. Do you think they will do something?”
“Yes,” Kevin answers. “Which is why I’m notifying you about this. Don’t get into view.”
“I’m not that dumb,” Jake mutters. “Anyway, we need to think of a plan or something right about now, you know? Bad guys are literally at our door kinda situation. Do you think pretending that nobody’s home will work? Oh, don’t give me that look, it happened before and it worked, thank you very much.”
“They will storm through the door at some point,” Kevin says. “Might try knocking at first, fooling us into letting them in freely, or they might shoot the lock.”
“We’re so fucked then,” Jake says. “Do you think all of them are gonna come in together?”
“They know there has to be someone else staying with me, a police officer, so chances are yes. Three cars, so at least three people, maybe more.”
“Those are not very good odds.”
Kevin shakes his head. “No, which is why we should try to avoid that situation. Wait for them to move to the front door then get out while we can through other ways. The cars would be left empty then.”
It doesn’t take much for Jake to catch on, and once he does he gasps. “Oh my god you’re actually suggesting we steal a car. Gone in sixty seconds!”
“...Basically, yes.”
“Oh my god this is the greatest day of my life. Well, no since there's a very real threat that we’re going to die no big deal but still,” Jake grins. “Ok, how are we getting out if they are at the front door? Cause as much as I love you Kev, I am not sprinting past at least three maniacs with guns.”
“The window in the room back there can be climbed out of,” he explains quickly. “Grab your gun before we go, and hope for the best.”
“Done and deal,” Jake says. “You watch the movie, I can keep an eye out for any movement.”
“No thanks.”
The movie plays in the background anyway, and every now and then Kevin can hear the loud explosions and sound effects from the tv that get louder and louder before fading out as the last scene plays.
Ten minutes later Jake nudges him. “You’re right, those guys are armed. And moving. Ok, let’s prepare to wrap this party up and let’s roll!”
Kevin grabs Jake’s arm and drags him to the window. He crouches down the moment his feet touch the grass outside and moments later Jake lands next to him, bringing a finger up to his lips.
Kevin nods. They start moving, and he ignores the ruckus that’s happening inside the house. This is no time to worry about that. They’re at the front of the house in no time.
He doesn’t stop when Jake gives him the sign to, tagging along to Jake’s chosen car.
In a swift movement, Kevin takes Jake’s gun out of his hand and takes aim.
He doesn’t stop at one car, moving on quickly once the sign of oil spillage happens. It’s harder to aim at the exact part for the second one without moving too far away from Jake and risking getting drugged, but the least he can do is try.
“Kevin, get in!”
“Don’t go just yet,” Kevin says, getting seated on his side. “And move your head down. No, lower.”
Jake does just in time for the front door to open, giving him a clear view through the broken window. Kevin takes the shot.
“Kevin?”
“Go.”
Jake does, pressing on the pedal and they speed off and away. The safe house fades away in the distance, and Kevin counts the seconds, forcing his breathing to slow down.
“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck. Kevin what the fuck did you just do?”
He reaches for his seatbelt, making sure he’s strapped in before answering, “I eliminated at least a car and with luck, a person from this chase.”
“Oh,” Jake says. “Well, warn a guy next time. And don’t just take a gun from me like that. It’s dangerous.”
“We are in a literal car chase.”
“And I don't trust you with a gun at all, no offense. Just, you know, civilians and all.”
“We have company. Getting closer, and they’re pulling out firearms.” Kevin hands Jake the gun, reaching for the wheel before Jake has the chance to say anything. “Get shooting.”
“God you’re just full of amazing ideas today,” Jake says. “Whenever you need to switch just say so, alright?”
He doesn’t have the chance to question Jake about the statement before he has already leaned out, aiming. Kevin shifts his eyes to the road then, pauses, and right. He doesn’t actually need to ask questions when it’s clear that most of the road is behind the static.
He can still see some shapes, and his peripheral vision is still working, but in the center where a whole car could be hidden without him knowing…
Jake’s a good detective, Kevin thinks. And speaking of, Jake dodges in again, swearing softly under his breath before turning to him. “How you holding up?”
“I’m fine.”
“Vision problem doesn’t bother you?”
“I’m fine,” he repeats himself. “How is everything on your end?”
“Well, the good news is there is only one car. The bad news is there are a hell of a lot of people and guns in that car,” Jake answers. “I’m waiting until the bullets cool down a bit, or at least until they have to reload.”
“I see. Well, be careful.”
“That’s asking a lot from someone who’s about to lean out there again.”
“Smartass,” Kevin mutters. “Give me the gun. Your control over this car is much better than mine right now, and I’m sure I can score a lucky shot or two.”
Jake gives him a look, seemingly thinking over the options before shrugging. “Here. And don’t tell Capt I let you do this, he will have my ass if he finds out that I put you that close to danger.”
The optimism from Jake is, for what it’s worth, almost nice. “I’m putting myself there,” Kevin says. “Take the wheel.”
“Roger that prof.”
Kevin doesn’t reply to the misdesignation, adjusting his grip on the gun. He has seen Jake do this too many times now, leaning out with his head high and ready to face the rain of bullets. Now though, when he’s in Jake’s position, moving is suddenly harder.
This is ridiculous. He has died before, and so what if there’s no loop after this. At least Kevin can buy Jake a better chance of getting out of this.
He leans out, letting himself enjoy the wind blowing at his hair for one moment before raising his gun and hoping he’s aiming where he needs to.
Trying to hit the car when you’re not quite able to line up the sight and picture is not an ideal situation.
His eyes shift back and forth, moving the static circle around so he can at least see the car.
Their windshield spider-cracks, so whatever aim he had just then was good. Kevin presses the trigger again and again. There are still bullets firing at the car, at him, and it might just be his imagination but it seems like the rate of bullets is genuinely lowering. It’s definitely not as drastic as it was when Jake was out.
They don’t want to kill him outright, Kevin realises. And he grins then, taking aim with a sudden newfound confidence, and fires. Half, maybe two-thirds of his shots probably miss, not that he has any way to confirm that, but it’s better than nothing.
Of course, nothing good lasts forever. It takes him a second to notice the wet trail left behind them by their car, and Kevin only catches that when he has to look down to actually see where the other car is again.
He swears, getting back in the car and right on cue the dashboard blinks wildly in the corner of his vision.
“Kevin?”
“The car might be stopping any moment now,” Kevin cuts in quickly. “We don’t have long, maybe a minute or two more.”
Jake’s mouth snaps closed with a click, then it opens before closing again. “What?”
“The car might be stopping any moment now. We need a new plan.”
“Cool cool cool cool- well actually, not cool at all,” Jake swears then swears again, cursed words getting more creative as the seconds pass. “Kevin, what?!”
“A bullet scraped the bottom of the car,” he explains quickly. “The oil’s leaking and the car is not going to last. Shift to the clutch pedal please.”
“Fuck.” Jake follows his words. “Should we book it? Sitting inside and waiting for them to just come by to drag us out won’t do anything.”
The car is slowing down, gradually so.
The rain of bullets shows no signs of stopping any time soon.
There are trees around them. Kevin decides that he hates the sight of forests from now on.
“Book it.”
Jake nods. “Alright then. Split up or nah? You can take left, I’ll go right. It would divide them up. I can buy you some time.”
Splitting up means risking the chance of Jake getting killed and suffering a slow death again.
“No,” Kevin answers too quickly. “Even with your strategy I doubt that I can outrun one of them, much less more and you don’t have good odds of getting out either.”
“Well, what else do you suggest?”
“I-” Kevin trails off. “They want me alive. You don’t matter to them.”
“We’re about to die and still zero compliments from you.”
“I can draw them away, giving you the chance to get their car and speed to the precinct. Get some help.”
“Nope! Out of the question. I’m not letting you do that.”
“If you have a better plan then I’m all in.”
Jake groans, a hand coming up and messing through his hair. “It doesn’t- I’m not letting you walk into Murphy’s hands like that.”
The car is almost at a standstill at this point, and Kevin imagines the other car will be stopping behind them at a distance soon enough too. He relaxes his grip on the gun. “I’m not letting you get killed,” Kevin says. “Wait, I will try to see if I can get all of them away from here. I can’t buy a lot of time, so use it wisely.”
Jake lets his hands drop from the wheel to his side. He leans back on the seat, sighing. “Fine,” Jake mutters. Kevin pretends not to hear the shakiness in Jake’s voice. “Hey, Memphis? I'll see you, right?”
Kevin chuckles, reaches over and ruffles Jake's hair. His hand trails down, wiping the tears away from Jake’s cheek before drawing back. “You'll see me... Gone in sixty seconds.”
The car stops.
He swings open the door, getting out. There are three of them standing there, guns pointed at the car and Kevin grimaces.
Still, he walks forward, stopping when the guns are all focused on him instead.
“Well fucking well, took you long enough,” Brian says. “And where’s the detective?”
“You don’t need him,” Kevin says with as much confidence as he has, stepping forward slowly. “Also would you really risk more injuries for a pawn? Last time I checked there were four of you.”
“We only need to collect the husband,” one of them speaks up. “And well, the boss is already mad that they killed Trevor.”
That’s who he successfully shot then.
Kevin lets them talk, slowly approaching until Brian turns back and finally notices. The gun that was lowering in the middle of the talk straightens up and points at him again. “Your guy is right, you know? I heard finding a replacement is a lot of paperwork,” he says, not stopping his pace.
The gun is getting closer now, and Kevin stops when there’s barely a gap between him and the muzzle.
This close he can see more details, and right now, Brian hesitates. “No funny business and we’ll let the cop go.”
“Deal,” Kevin smiles, moving his hand and revealing the gun behind his back.
Brian’s eyes zero in on it, following it as he lets the gun drop from his grip onto the ground. And that moment is all Kevin needs to spring into action, grabbing and twisting the gun until the barrel is pointing away while the other keeps a sloth grip on the wrist.
Brian screams from his broken trigger finger, then screams no more when Kevin takes the shot that’s impossible to miss at such a close distance.
His ears ring, and when Kevin looks up the other two are aiming at him but they’re looking at the corpse on the ground.
Good.
He moves backward, firing another shot. The scream is barely discernible over the persistent ringing, but that’s all that’s needed to knock the other two out of their momentary stun.
Kevin takes off running into the forest, as fast as he can. Behind him footsteps follow, punctuated by the crushing of leaves and twigs under the weight.
He just needs to buy time for Jake to get out. He can do that.
Keep running.
A shot rings out, and Kevin knows the trees won’t keep him protected forever. At this point it’s merely not shoot to kill, but he knows everything else is fair game.
Jake must have gotten into their car at this point.
Keep running.
The sounds are getting closer, and from what he can hear, there is only one of them after him. Kevin hopes Jake doesn’t run into much trouble with the other guy. He hopes he hit somewhere vital.
Brian’s gun is in his hand, useless right now unless he manages to get into close enough distance to properly aim and fire. And this time he doubts they would let him get as near as he needs.
Another shot rings out. Some birds fly off in the distance.
Kevin makes a turn, running the opposite way. The moment he spots his chaser through the trees, he doubles over again, changing direction and repeating, trying to close the distance.
Eventually it’s close enough, and he presses the trigger. It takes three more shots for one bullet to hit, the screaming and collapsing happening a fraction of a second later. Kevin gets closer, firing a fourth shot just to make sure before turning on his heels and rushing back to the road.
Ideally he would return to see a broken down car and two bodies.
Kevin slows down once he sees the road, running turning into a light jog. Closer, he can see the other car still there, and he frowns.
That’s not good. He raises his gun, slowly approaching the scene.
Two cars and three bodies. One is Brian, still in the original spot where Kevin had shot him. One is the other goon, considerably bloodier than what one single bullet can cause.
One is Jake, sitting on the ground, leaning on the car.
Kevin rushes over, doesn’t stop at the blood that’s seeping through Jake’s shirt and hoodie. He kneels down next to Jake, zipping down the hoodie. “Jake? Can you hear me?”
Jake’s eyes flutter open before closing again. His head drops to one side before he makes a clear effort to right it again.
“Jake?”
Jake coughs, and Kevin rears backward from the blood that spatters onto him.
“Fuck,” Jake wheezes, a hand coming up and wiping some of the blood off his mouth. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Kevin says even though it’s not. He doesn’t know what to do with a gunshot wound, with the blood that’s still seeping out and the fact that it’s not just the blood loss that’s killing Jake.
His neck veins are huge. In theory, Kevin knows what’s wrong: blood getting backed up, reduced blood flow, Jake dying from the air building up inside and the lack of air from outside.
In practice, he’s useless.
“M’ dizzy,” Jake mutters, leaning forward and on his shoulder. “Sorry again.”
“You have nothing to apologise for,” Kevin says. “Just try to breathe with me, alright? You’ll be ok, just try. Do it with me.”
“Can’t-”
“No, no, no, no. You can't die. I just... Not now. Come on. Listen. You... You with all your stupid films and jokes! Come on! Come on.”
“Kev.” Jake’s raspy voice cuts through him like a knife. “Chill out, buddy. It’s fine.”
Something snaps inside him at the words, and what starts as a small chuckle that he tries to choke back turns into full blown laughter that Kevin just can’t stop. “It’s not,” he somehow manages to get out, his hands gripping Jake’s shoulders and pushing him back but not away. “You are going to die here again, and I will see you again today, and it’s anything but fine, Jake.”
“Kevin-”
“I don’t want to kill you again!”
Jake looks at him, the damn static blurry circle blocking whatever emotions he might be showing in his eyes or his smile and just about everything else that Kevin can’t see. His hand moves up, threading through Kevin’s hair before pulling him closer again and he’s just too tired to put up a fight.
He’s so tired.
His body is shaking.
He’s tired of the looping that he keeps on trying to find a way out of to no avail. It will all end with the white ceiling with that stain in the corner and the alarm clock that shows the same date for the whatever time he had woken up anyway.
Back again and again.
“Hey, hey,” Jake says. His voice is getting weaker. God, Jake is about to die and here Kevin is. He wants to pull away again, but at the same time he doesn’t. “Kevin, don’t cry. It’s alright-” he coughs. It’s a horrible sound, wet and ugly. “Well no, it’s not right now but it will be, yeah? God, why did you choose me to have a breakdown in front of out of all people?”
“Good question,” Kevin mutters. “I don’t usually do this, nor do I do this with someone who is about to die.”
“Jeez, talk about timing,” Jake jokes. “Is that my final diagnosis doc?” He nods. “Damn, I was hoping for something more positive. Or at least you know, a white lie wouldn’t hurt.”
“Like what you were saying a few seconds ago?”
“Yeah,” Jake says. “But hey, it helps, doesn’t it?”
“Perhaps,” Kevin says. “Do you want me to tell you that you’ll pull through? That the ambulance, if one is even coming, will make it here in time?”
“Nah. Do something else for me though? Tell Amy that I love her?”
“Tell Amy that you love her,” he says at the same time as Jake does, and Jake gives him a stunned look before he laughs.
And Kevin holds him close until the laughter fades out along with everything else. And even after that he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t let go when the exhaustion wears him down either.
The eighth time, Kevin wakes up slowly. There is no sudden jolt, nothing but the slow trickle of awareness that he’s back in the safe house again.
He opens his eyes, blinking up at the ceiling before turning his head over to Jake. He’s still sleeping, a small trickle of drool from his open mouth wetting the pillow, and every now and then he shifts before settling down again. The red light catches on Jake’s messy hair, and Kevin doesn’t bother looking at the alarm clock again.
Instead he buries his face in the pillow and closes his eyes.
He doesn’t sleep as much as just dozes, floating between wakefulness and a dreamy haze. He hears Jake move on occasion, hears him sleep talk too, Kevin thinks.
The sounds of quiet living morph, eventually, into what Kevin dreads: Shuddering half-breaths that makes him sit up and shift over to Jake, close but not quite touching.
He’s tossing and turning now, the blanket half thrown off from the jerky movements alone.
“Jake.” Kevin hesitates, not sure what to do with his hands. He wants to reach over, maybe shake Jake awake but he knows as well as anyone that that’s a bad idea. “Jake, wake up-”
Jake inhales sharply. His eyes fly open and he coughs and a part of Kevin expects blood to come out. It doesn’t, of course. It hasn’t happened yet, won’t happen- Now is not the time.
He needs to do something.
Raymond would have started talking, his voice an anchor for Kevin to hold on to, to not drift away again. But that’s between Raymond and him, not Jake and him.
He doesn’t know what to do.
It brings back some memories, him sitting there helpless, watching as Jake writhes and whimpers.
“K-Kevin?” Jake stutters out. “Where-”
“We’re in the safe house,” Kevin says slowly, pronouncing every word as clearly as he can. “it’s Sunday the 18th.”
“Oh,” Jake says. His chest is still moving at an irregular rhythm. “Oh.”
He looks lost and confused. He looks scared, rattled.
“It’s real,” Kevin adds. He barely believes his own words. “This is real.”
Jake chuckles in disbelief. “Sure.”
“Here, let me.” He gets closer, reaching out and giving Jake ample time to object. Instead he drags himself closer to Kevin, and he wraps his arms around Jake’s shoulder and Jake clings to him desperately so.
They stay in silence for a long time. The clock beeps at the top of the hour, and is it only 4 right now?
Jake remains so still that for a moment Kevin assumes that he’s drifted off, but then he stirs and says, “Sorry for waking you up.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s fine.”
“And, uh, thanks.”
“Why? I didn’t do anything.” It comes out more bitter than Kevin expected.
“For not just ignoring me, I guess,” Jake says. “For being here.”
Jake has woken up alone most of the loops before. A wave of guilt threatens to drown Kevin. “What do you usually do when this happens?” he asks.
“Not sure. I just kinda ride it off, I guess,” Jake hums. “It’s usually not that bad, really.”
“Doesn’t mean that it’s any less of a problem.” He hesitates, before asking, “Does this happen usually, Jake?”
“No?”
“Right.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“Am I right not to?”
Jake sighs, shaking his head. “Well, fine. Maybe. It’s fine.”
“It’s not.”
“I don’t want to bother you when I can deal with it fine,” Jake pushes on. “You never noticed anyway- Can we just move on? Let it be?”
“This-” has been happening frequently enough for Jake to consider it a norm. And Kevin has never, he didn’t know. “I’m sorry?”
“Ugh, now you’re saying sorry for stuff that you shouldn’t. Oh how the turntables.”
“Honestly. My apologies for never paying enough attention to know. That is,” he shrugs. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your responsibility. I know you don’t want to be here as much as I don’t want to be here.”
“No,” Kevin agrees. “Wake me up when these things happen again?”
“What? No way! You need your sleep Kev,” Jake argues. “Capt’s gonna have my ass if he finds out I’ve been fucking up your sleeping schedule.”
“Raymond’s going to have, in your words, your ass when he finds out about your predicament.”
“Sounds fake but ok.”
“He cares about you.”
“Oh,” Jake sounds choked up. “Well...that is. An interesting development.”
He gives Jake a pat on the back before letting go and moving back. “Are you planning on going back to sleep?”
“Probably, yeah.”
“Go to sleep then then.”
“Mmm’kay,” Jake mutters, laying back down. He curls into himself under the blanket, shifting before giving a satisfied hum. “Don’t go?”
“I will be here when you wake up. Now close your eyes, Jake.”
“Aight Kev.”
Kevin doesn’t bother correcting Jake, just sitting there until his breathing evens out. Outside the first rays of sunlight shine through the blinds. He keeps his steps light as he walks downstairs, gathering some paper and a pen before making his way to the bedroom again.
It wouldn’t do at all if he broke the not quite promise to Jake.
Another mark joins the tally on his arm, done fast just in case Jake wakes up again. Kevin doesn’t pay too much attention or time to look at it either, quickly moving the sleeve back down and making sure nothing is in sight.
He had accidentally slipped up and told Jake about the loop last time without even thinking about the consequences. Not this time, he thinks, writing down notes that alternate between French and some rudimentary Greek that Raymond has taught him.
The car chase is too much of a risk and there's no guarantee of a good result, but it seems like that’s the only possible route when they get out of the house. A chase on foot in this classic suburban neighbourhood is worse when he considers the physical difference, and hiding in the house is… he doubts that would end well for either of them.
It certainly didn’t end well for Jake.
He needs to make sure Jake gets out alive.
He also needs to make sure Raymond gets out alive.
They seem to be the thing that this loop is hinged on, or at least that’s Kevin’s best bet. What other explanation is there, really?
...He can always turn himself in.
No, that would lead to Raymond and the team storming the warehouse, and that is even more unpredictable than the car chase. Too many moving parts, too many risks.
Kevin sighs, crossing out another option and picking up the previous paper. The tree diagram is looking bleak.
Anything with the car chase is most likely a guaranteed loop around, and at this point the chances of them succeeding in the car chase are too small to even bother.
Anything with Murphy would be a guaranteed loop around too.
When Jake told him to run, he could've tried to help, he supposes, since Murphy’s men were least expecting it in that moment. Doing that in the future would be an option to consider then. Kevin makes a quick note of that, before going back to pen spinning with the occasional sighing.
“Kev?” Kevin quickly pauses his writing to turn and look at Jake. He looks better after 4 hours of sleep, according to a quick glance at the clock.
“Good morning.”
Jake blinks, a hand coming up and wiping the sleep out of his eyes. “Yeah, morn,” he says, yawning right after.
Kevin gathers up the papers, checking everything over and making sure Jake does not get a hold of any stray papers. “How was your sleep?”
“Good, good,” Jake answers. He pauses, his hand half-way in the air before a smile appears. “You didn’t have to stay, you know?”
“I do.”
“Definitely not getting choked up or anything, this doesn’t make me feel anything weird, I swear.”
“Of course.”
“Thank you.”
Kevin shrugs. “It’s fine. Do you want something to eat?”
“That sounds good, not gonna lie.”
“Go clean up. I will be downstairs when you’re done.”
Jake nods, getting up. He stumbles, and Kevin quickly stands up just in time to see him crashing down on the floor, the blanket tangled and pooled around him. “Everything is totes fine!” he yells, failing to get up. “I’m fine!”
“Of course,” Kevin says, grabbing Jake’s hand and pulling him up properly. “Be more careful next time.”
“Careful is my middle name,” Jake grins dopely.
“I mean it, Jake.”
“That’s Jake Careful Peralta to you, Kev.”
“Go.”
Jake gives him another smile before he walks out of the room, and moments later Kevin hears the sound of a door slamming shut. He gets out of the bed too, the stack of papers in hand.
The stairs groan and creak under his weight as he walks down. The same drawer he used last loop is empty, not that Kevin expects anything to be in it. He quickly deposits the papers in there and closes the drawer before heading to the kitchen.
Upstairs Kevin hears the sound of Jake singing badly that echoes throughout the house.
It’s not the same thing as the light Debussy playing from Raymond’s vinyl recorder, but somehow Kevin relaxes anyway. He washes his hands, gathering the needed ingredients and equipment before getting to work.
Eggs, milk, vanilla extract, flour, baking powder and sugar.
He’s carefully pouring the mixture in the pan when Jake gets down, his hair still wet. The hoodie is hastily thrown on, and Kevin thinks he sees some wet spots on the front of Jake’s shirt.
“Oh? You’re making those big pancakes again?” Jake asks, looking over Kevin's shoulder. “Yesssss.”
“Soufflé pancakes, Jake,” Kevin corrects. “Go get the plates, would you? And whatever else you want to have with these.”
“Roger that prof.”
He pours some water in, covering the pan up. Jake’s shuffling through the cupboards, pulling out some syrup that Kevin knows he will use way too much of. “What’s the occasion? You don’t usually like, make these.”
“Why not?” Kevin answers, removing the cover and turning the pancakes over. They’re looking good, and he adds some more water in, covers them again and gets started on cleaning everything else up. “Are you complaining?”
“No- Of course not! Those are like, one of my favs,” Jake replies. He slides the plates over and Kevin nods in thanks. “We still have butter, right? Or do you have to tell Capt to get more?”
“It’s in the fridge.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s no problem.” Kevin lifts the cover up, nodding to himself before carefully placing the pancakes out on the plates. Jake lights up, skipping over with a large grin on his face that makes Kevin smile just a bit too.
“God that’s- ok I know you have taught me how to make these already and like, I failed miserably, but god do I really want to actually be able to make these.”
“Practice makes perfect.”
“If by practice you mean burning the house down then yes.”
“Don’t be dramatic. You only triggered the fire alarm and made Raymond extremely worried.”
Jake shrugs. He cuts some butter, placing it on before drizzling some syrup on. “Still. For once I actually ate the pancake and not just, you know, the butter and syrup. That’s saying something.”
“About your health, yes,” Kevin says, accepting the syrup that Jake passes over. “Sometimes you worry me.”
“Not most of the time?”
“I only allow myself a specific time window to think about you.”
Jake doesn’t reply, busy with cutting into the pancake and enjoying the finished product right in the kitchen. Kevin shrugs, picking up the fork and knife and eating his breakfast too.
It’s good, as expected. Light, fluffy, just the right sweetness that he wants.
“God, thank you,” Jake says with his mouth open. Kevin grimaces, and Jake gives him an apologetic look and swallows before continuing. “Thanks for the breakfast.”
“You’re washing the dishes,” Kevin says. “And you’re welcome.”
“Fair enough,” Jake shrugs. “And after that?”
“Hmmm?”
“Like, what do you wanna do after this?” Jake reaches for the empty plates and utensils that Kevin gladly passes over. “Nic Cage maybe?”
“Depends. Which of his movies do you want to watch?”
“Oh- You’re actually agreeing. Well I don’t know, Ghost Rider?”
Kevin looks at the clock, nodding. The movie will end an hour before Raymond comes, and he supposes they will come up with something to kill the time. “Sure. I will get the movie set up.”
“Noice.”
Ghost Rider is, as Kevin remembers, a mediocre film. Jake likes it though, and so Kevin supposes he can sit through this and then later, Gone in Sixty Seconds.
Chess is so much better, Jake himself even suggests it. He knows the rules already, and Kevin doesn’t bother to focus on that fact, directing his attention to the chessboard instead. They alternate between black and white, though the result stays the same throughout: Jake getting close to winning before Kevin taking it away right before his very eyes.
“Checkmate,” Kevin says.
“Fuuuuuck,” Jake groans. “Rematch.”
“Maybe later. Raymond’s about to come.”
“Well, later then,” Jake agrees, clearing his pieces. Kevin follows suit, putting the set on the couch behind them just in time for the specific knock pattern on the door to ring out. “Ah, lemme get it.”
Kevin watches as Jake crawls away, returning minutes later with Raymond in tow. He also has some oranges with him, as expected, and he sighs and accepts one when it’s offered.
He takes his time peeling the orange, separating it into halves and then one half into quarters. One half he hands Jake with a look and a raised eyebrow. “Jake?”
“Hmm?”
“Oranges?”
“Oh- sure.” Kevin tosses the half over, Jake easily catching it. He leaves Jake be with his own...unique way of eating oranges, holding the quarter out to Raymond next.
The familiar scene plays: Raymond’s surprised expression that turns into a soft fondness, him reaching out, their hands brushing again. Kevin smiles down at his own small part of the orange, fidgeting with it for a moment before separating the pieces carefully and eating them.
It’s not bland. He can deal with a bland taste, but this is still tangy in the worst way possible.
“Good oranges, nice and dry. Not at all ripe,” Raymond says.
Kevin’s inclined to disagree. He doesn’t say that aloud of course, instead getting straight to the point. “Is there any chance that I can have my phone with me?”
He’s aware that this is a very sudden shift of topic. But Raymond just sighs at the question, not at all surprised that Kevin has asked. “I have already explained this on the first day. Phones, and by extension, any electrical devices are easily traceable.”
“In case of an emergency, Raymond. There’s no reliable nor viable way of contacting you if something were to happen.”
“If something were to happen,” Raymond echoes his words slowly with a clear tone of disbelief, bordering on a chuckle. Kevin thinks if he wasn’t risking death on a daily basis he would laugh at Raymond’s statement.
Actually, on second thought, he still would.
“I would be the first to know. There are cameras monitoring the safe house and at the clearest sign of aggression we will send people down. Your safety is top priority, Kevin.”
“Still,” he continues. “I would feel safer knowing I can reach you if worst comes to worst. Please?”
Raymond falters, then sighs. “If it helps then I will get you a burner phone tomorrow.”
“Thank you, dear,” Kevin says, letting himself lean backward on the couch, looking up at the ceiling. “I love you.”
He doesn’t see Raymond’s expression, but it’s hard to believe he would react any differently from the last four times.
“I love you too,” Raymond replies slowly. “Kevin, I apologise for how I have been acting regarding the situation. It was, and it is... rather drastic of me.”
“It’s fine,” he says. “I apologise for how I have been acting these past weeks too.”
“It’s understandable considering the circumstances.”
“So it is.”
And the conversation ends, fading into a comfortable silence. Or at least a comfortable silence for Raymond and Jake.
Even with more than two hours until Murphy’s men actually get here, there’s anticipation in the air. He’s restless, Kevin realises, his fingers tapping on the floor in a fast beat and his eyes darting to the window every now and then without him even wanting to.
Is this how Jake usually feels?
Probably.
When Raymond makes a move to leave, Kevin tries to stifle a sigh of relief. The last thing Kevin needs is Raymond being here when the fight breaks out, even if Raymond does have more experience with these matters.
He knows asking Raymond to stay here for the next two hours would be a futile effort anyway. He has his meetings, and Kevin has his half-baked plan that’s part of an even worse plan.
The door closes with a click that echoes through the safe house.
Jake doesn’t miss a beat, already crawling to the box and ruffling through the choices. Kevin watches on with part amusement, part dread. He will not pay any attention to the movie anyway, but it doesn’t make it any less horrible of an experience.
“Soooooooo, it has been long enough that I can start another movie, right? Please say yes, please say yes,” Jake says, holding Gone in Sixty Seconds up. “Please please please-”
“Alright.”
“That’s- huh. I was expecting more of a struggle, to be honest. A little lacking in excitement, gotta say,” Jake shrugs. “Well, either way, make yourself comfortable, Kev.”
Kevin does, leaning back as Jake starts the movie. Jake’s smile doesn’t leave his face as the movie progresses, and Kevin’s eyes flicker between Jake and the window. His leg bounces, another annoying habit that Kevin doesn’t think he can tell himself to stop doing right now.
It’s all the pent-up energy, that’s probably it.
“Randall Raines ... It's been a long time ...'though I do I recall you as a man with style." Jake echoes along with the actor on screen.
“You remember your old friend, Atley?” Kevin mutters, low enough that Jake doesn’t pick it up over the actual sound from the movie and his own recital.
“Excuse me one moment, Randall.”
There’s a view of a bloody windshield here, he remembers that. He also remembers that the cars should be pulling up very soon now.
“You bring this to me in this condition? Blood and guts all over it? You make me complicit? On my property? Who taught you how to think? And worst of all: weren't there supposed to be two Hondas?”
And there’s Brian and his friends. Kevin sits up straighter, stretching his arms up before letting them drop back down.
“No, no. You don't kill me, because you can't. You don't take your brother and run, because we'd find him. You don't go to the police, because we have friends there, too. You do nothing: except deal with me,” the character continues, Jake continues.
He taps on Jake’s shoulder. “We’re being watched.”
“Excuse me what now?”
“Don’t be obvious,” Kevin says. Jake nods, gesturing for him to go on. “There are three cars outside, opposite to that window. They have been in the same spot at the same time for the past week, just parked there and done nothing.”
“Oh,” Jake whispers. “Are you sure? It could be the neighbours, for all we know.”
“They are armed.”
“That’s not good,” Jake says, looking from the window to where one of the cameras is situated. “What should we do? Raymond’s not checking the camera right now so there’s no way we can notify him. Damn, maybe you were onto something with the burner phone idea.”
“Focus.”
“Sorry. Do you think they will do something?”
“Yes,” Kevin says. “Which is why I’m notifying you about this.”
“Ok, cool cool cool cool cool-” Jake mutters, clearing his throat. “Sorry, yes. Anyway, we need to think of a plan or something right about now, you know? Bad guys are literally at our door kinda situation. Do you think pretending that nobody’s home will work? Oh, don’t give me that look, it happened before and it worked, thank you very much.”
Kevin shakes his head. “It won’t this time.”
“We’re so fucked then,” Jake says. “Do you think all of them are gonna come in together?”
“They know there has to be someone else staying with me, a police officer, so chances are yes. Three cars, so at least three people, maybe more.”
“Those are not very good odds.”
“No,” he agrees and doesn’t add anything else.
“So we have no plan, we’re outnumbered and outgunned.” Jake brings a hand up and threads through his hair, cursing. “That’s- Ok, we still have some time before they move, or seems like it at least. Maybe I can think of something, and you can think of other things because you’re really smart, and we can have something!”
“That’s our best bet right now, so yes.”
“Okaaaay then.”
The movie plays in the background, and every now and then Kevin can hear the loud explosions and sound effects from the tv that get louder and louder before fading out as the last scene plays. Beside him Jake’s muttering, stray words and sentences that Kevin can barely string together into a sentence.
He shrugs, leaving Jake be until he sees movement from the car. “Do you have anything?” Kevin asks, despite already knowing the answer.
“No,” Jake admits through gritted teeth. “This is bad. Fuck. Ok, Kevin, you gotta go. Lock yourself in a room, barricade the damn thing, whatever. I will try to deal with them.”
“Jake-”
“It’s fine. Just go, you don’t have much time until-” a knock on the door interrupts Jake, and he swears again. “I got this. Go.”
“Be careful,” Kevin says, and quickly takes off to the open window. He counts the seconds until he hears the first gunshot, most likely to open the door, and gets out.
Behind him, Jake shouts, “Yippee-Ki-Yay, Motherfucker!”
Kevin runs. He doesn’t have time to waste, only pausing to check that all of them are in the safe house before getting to the car. A rock does quick work of the window and Kevin opens the door, seeing too many firearms in the backseat. That will do.
He grabs a handgun, checking for the ammunition and clicking the safety off. Then it’s turning back to the safe house, taking a deep breath before making a move.
At least all the pent-up energy is being used now. Kevin feels strangely relaxed with his hands around the gun, his trigger finger lying along the side of it. From here, through the window he can see one of the goons standing there, almost leaning against the glass.
It’s an easy target, and Kevin takes aim and presses the trigger.
The moment he does, he takes on a sprint around the house, back to the original window that he climbed out of. Every second counts, and Kevin hops back in, keeping low and carefully leaning over, taking a look at the living room.
Jake’s on the couch, his head hanging low. There’s a pool of blood that’s undoubtedly Jake’s on the ground, and his hands seem to be tied behind his back. Jake writhes in his seat, and Kevin can also see zip ties around his ankles.
Behind Jake is another one of them, so the other two must have sprinted out to investigate.
Kevin rushes until he’s at a good enough point to aim, and aim he does. Another press, his finger slowly increasing the pressure until the shot goes off and the man falls down with a scream.
He wants to sprint over to Jake right now.
He also knows there are two more, one of them already walking back into the house, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floor. Kevin ducks back down then, keeping quiet and waiting for his opportunity to fire.
“Fuck- he got Liam.” A voice, Brian’s voice, rings out. “Fucking smart ass. He must be around here somewhere then. Go check around.”
“Got it,” another voice answers, and the footsteps appear to be heading to where he is. Kevin curses in his head, readying the gun.
The moment he sees actual movement as opposed to just hearing it, Kevin springs into action. Two shots ring out, one that Kevin’s aware is from his gun and another that he can only assume comes from the other.
One shot hits, and Kevin doesn’t stay to watch the man crumble onto the ground, blood pouring from his face.
Brian having the pistol right up at Jake’s head stops him in his steps though. “Drop the fucking gun,” he says, looking him in the eyes. “Or the detective gets it.”
Jake whimpers. All that earns for him is the gun pressing at him harder, right at his temple.
“Ok,” Kevin says, crouching down slowly and putting his gun down. “Ok. Let’s calm down here.”
Brian grins at his more than useless attempt. “Kick it over.” The gun skits over to Brian, stopping right where his feet are.
“Let him go,” Kevin continues. “I’ll come willingly, just don’t hurt him.”
“What? Like this?” And Brian points his gun down and fires at Jake’s leg.
Jake screams. Kevin flinches, eyeing the blood seeping through the fabric. “Yes, like that,” he answers through gritted teeth.
“Turn the fuck around.” He does, and behind him Brian gives a chuckle. “Walk backward toward me. Follow his little gasp, yeah?”
Kevin moves slowly until Brian tells him to stop. He must be rather close to the both of them now, and it would not be easy but he could turn around and try to disarm Brian.
Jake makes a pained noise, a mix between a sob and a gasp.
And Kevin doesn’t resist Brian jamming the needle through his shirt at his shoulder. It works fast, whatever the drug he’s being given is and in an instant Kevin feels tired. Standing is more difficult than ever, even registering the room around him is proving to be a challenge.
“Good.” He thinks he hears Brian say, before the world around him slips into total darkness, unconsciousness claiming him.
Kevin wakes up to water being splashed at his face, some getting into his mouth, and he leans forward, coughing it out. He blinks, trying to focus his blurry vision until the concrete floor he’s staring at is actually recognisable as a concrete floor, even if it’s still spinning.
Murphy yanking him up by the hair until Kevin’s looking directly at the smug grin on his face definitely does not help with the latter.
“Nice nap?”
Kevin blinks a few more times, taking in Murphy’s face before shrugging. “Top five easily.”
Murphy looks surprised for a split second before he laughs at him loudly, releasing his grip and walking back from Kevin. Kevin takes the chance to look around the warehouse, taking everything in before looking back. “Hello Murphy, what can I help you with today?”
“Polite and straight to the point. I like it.” Murphy still has a mocking grin stretched on his face as he pulls out a phone from his pocket. “You can help me by sitting there, looking pretty until Raymond comes. Then I’m going to kill you in front of him, let him watch you suffer then kill him too.”
“As one does.”
“What can I say? It’s just another day of business.” Murphy’s typing something into his phone, the beeping echoing off the warehouse they’re in. “Which, no hard feelings Kevin. I really didn’t want you to get involved, you know, but Raymond is really poking his nose around things he shouldn’t be. And I can’t have that here.”
“He’s a police officer.”
“One that accepted my deal, and then screwed me over the moment I looked away.” He walks over to Kevin, turning the phone to face him. Kevin knows it shows Raymond’s phone number, but he’s more distracted by what Murphy has just said to actually read the digits.
“What deal?”
Murphy somehow looks even more gleeful. “He didn’t even tell you?”
“I know you’re after me because of Raymond, hence the safe house.”
“Ah, the classic information omitting. Go figure,” Murphy mutters, snapping his fingers. A chair gets dragged over, positioned opposite to Kevin and he sits down with his legs propped up on Kevin’s thighs. “What do you know about Peralta and Diaz’s little prison getaway?”
“They were framed, then released when the 99th precinct uncovered Hawkins’ role in all of this.”
“Oh come on, that’s the boring media version. What do you know, Kev?”
“Please don’t call me Kev.”
“You’re not in a position to tell me what to do or not to do.”
Well, Kevin has to give that point to Murphy. He is tied to a wooden chair, the rope digging into his wrists and around his torso and unfortunately, Murphy’s the one in charge. “I did not tell you what to do,” he corrects anyway. “I asked. Politely at that.”
“Well fair enough,” Murphy amends. ”What do you actually know, Kevin?”
“Just that,” he answers. “Raymond doesn’t usually talk about his work, and in return I usually don’t bring home Beowulf.”
“Sounds boring. You two just not talk about your work life? Like at all?”
“I don’t imagine you talking about your day as the head of a crime family to your significant other.”
Murphy’s smile lessens in its intensity. “Back to the topic. Your little precinct would not have been able to solve the case without a little tip from yours truly. Your husband accepted my helping hand.”
Kevin sighs. “A favour for a favour.”
“A favour for a favour,” Murphy nods.
“Did he not deliver?”
“No no, he got me my needed block party permit. He also fucked everything else up.” Murphy leans forward, and Kevin blinks at the sudden close distance. “Somehow his band of misfits got their hands on my nephew. Kyle’s too stupid to realise it of course, but he’s working in cahoots with the cops. And I don’t take kindly to people fucking with my business and family, Kevin.”
He hates to admit it, but Murphy has a point. That fact does not make the situation any better. “A favour for a favour, an eye for an eye.”
Murphy chuckles. “In a way. I have to paint an example, and I think you will look lovely in red.”
“Blood doesn’t feel that good when it’s everywhere,” Kevin says. “Especially my blood.”
“Like I said, nothing personal. You will have to put up with it, I'm afraid. But before that.” Murphy presses call on the phone, and the familiar dial tone beeps. His finger hovers above the phone before he puts it on speaker too.
Kevin counts 3 seconds before Raymond picks up.
“Hello, this is Raymond Holt speaking.”
“Hello Raymond,” Murphy says. He raises a finger to his lips, and Kevin nods. “How is it going?”
“Why are you calling me?”
“To talk, obviously. How’s Kevin?”
“Cut to the chase, Seamus.”
“Impatient,” Murphy tuts. “I have an offer to make, if you’re interested.”
“I’m not. Accepting an offer with you is what got us here in the first place,” Raymond says.
Murphy chuckles at his words, looking up at Kevin with a raised eyebrow. “No no, you fucking with me is what got us here. But like I said, my door’s always open if you want to do business. And it is very open right now.”
“No.”
“You’re not even going to hear what I have to say? Rude, Raymond.”
“You don’t have anything that I need.”
“I have Kevin.”
Raymond’s sharp intake of breath is audible through the phone. He and Murphy sit there for at least a minute of silence before Raymond continues. “Kevin is at an undisclosed location, safe.”
Murphy moves the phone closer to him. “No, no I’m not Raymond,” Kevin says tiredly.
The silence stretches out even more after his words.
“What’s your offer?”
“You coming here, alone. No backup, no weapon, nothing,” Murphy says. “If I see any of your precious cops with you, Kevin’s a goner. The moment I think you’re scheming, Kevin’s a goner. I said this once and I will say it again, Raymond, don’t you even think about screwing with me.”
“And what do I get?”
“The chance of seeing Kevin alive. Me possibly letting your husband go, who knows?”
“When and where?” Raymond asks.
“Don’t ask stupid questions. I know you’re tracking the phone as we speak. And as for the when.” Murphy looks at him. He’s grinning that infuriating grin again. “You can take your sweet sweet time getting here, as long as you want. Just know that I will be spending that time with your husband.”
“Don’t-”
“Worried, Raymond?” Murphy cuts in. “I think you have better things to concentrate on right now. Say, dropping by the safe house, for example.”
Fuck. “Jake?” Kevin asks.
Murphy nods, speaking aloud again. “Your detective is probably bleeding out at this moment, so better hurry.”
Murphy ends the call, sliding the phone back into his pocket. He leans back on his chair, arms behind his head. “Don’t look so worried. Your detective will be fine.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No, I don’t, but it’s not like you can do anything about it right now,” he shrugs. “Any shot is a lethal shot. You would know that yourself, wouldn’t you?”
“I would,” Kevin chuckles. Of course Murphy isn’t referring to the time Kevin died, or the multiple times Jake has died but it doesn’t make it any less hilarious. “I’m sorry for killing off your team. In my defense, well, it was in self-defense so.”
“There are always risks in this line of work,” Murphy slowly says. He’s regarding Kevin with a new look in his eyes, and Kevin can’t exactly blame him. It’s not every day that he admits to murder with such ease. “I can’t exactly blame you for taking the shot. I’m more surprised by the fact that you knew how to even hold a gun.”
“I’m married to a police officer.”
“Touché.”
They lapse into a silence, one that's neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. Murphy occasionally takes out his phone to do whatever he does, but most of the time he’s looking at Kevin. His intense gaze burns.
Kevin shifts in his seat, focusing his attention to somewhere else other than Murphy.
Brian is leaning on one of the walls, tapping his foot on the floor. At the moment Kevin can only see him, but he doesn’t doubt that Murphy has more men with him, scattered around this warehouse, not in sight.
He hopes Raymond comes with backup. Well, Raymond did come with backup last time, and Kevin suspects that Jake’s injury will only spur the precinct into more direct action.
Eventually he runs out of things to look at, and his neck is complaining from the awkward angle he’s holding it at so Kevin sighs, turning back to look at Murphy again.
For someone who’s the head of the most brutal crime family in New York and the reason for the worst two months (and repeated days) of Kevin’s life, he doesn’t look like much of a threat right now. He’s focused on his phone again, typing something down with a concentrated look on his face.
When Murphy looks up, he seems surprised at Kevin watching him. “What?”
Kevin shrugs. “How are you?” he asks, just to see Murphy look even more baffled. It’s a better look than the smug grinning, he decides.
“Good,” Murphy answers hesitantly. “And you?”
“You’re asking your hostage who’s tied to a chair and who you will probably kill in a bit?”
“You’re the one who asked your captor and possible killer first.”
“Well, I’ve been better,” Kevin says. Murphy gives a small chuckle, putting his phone away and leaning forward to Kevin again.
“You’re awfully relaxed for someone in your position,” he says. Or asks, Kevin supposes. There’s a question there somewhere.
“Once I’m here it’s not like I can do much else,” Kevin says. “Me trying to escape would be a futile effort, far as I’m concerned.”
“Smart.”
“I didn’t get my doctorate out of luck.”
“That’s book smarts, not street smarts,” Murphy points out. “I can name you people with higher education that are hopeless in these kinds of things. People you would know, at least some of them.”
“Some people just don’t have any shred of common sense.”
“And most people don’t know how to shoot a gun. What does that make you, Kevin?”
“Someone with common sense who knows how to handle a gun?” he answers blandly.
Murphy laughs. Good to know that he’s amusing someone. “You know, it will be a shame when I slit your throat in front of Raymond. You don’t seem like someone I’d want to kill.”
“Don’t then,” Kevin says, even if he knows chances are Murphy will not change his mind. But at this point, anything is worth a shot.
“Won’t be that easy, I’m afraid,” Murphy makes a move to stand up. He starts circling Kevin, almost predatory in a way. “Maybe you can put on a better show in front of Raymond.”
He turns his head, seeing Brian jog outside. Raymond must have arrived then.
“Now now, that’s nothing for you to be focusing on right now,” Murphy says. Seconds later there’s a knife to his throat, not pressing in but merely laying there on the skin. “Behave. It will make it easier for both sides.”
He doesn’t nod or shake his head, seeing as the knife is still there. “If I behave, would you try to not get too much blood on my clothing?” Kevin asks. “It’s very uncomfortable.”
“How do you- well, nevermind. And no promises.”
He can hear more activities happening around him now, rapid footsteps being the most prominent sound out of all of them. And before he knows it, Brian is walking back with Raymond in tow.
Kevin hates the look Raymond has when his eyes flicker to him, and more specifically to the obvious knife at his throat. It’s not a rational hate, he knows Raymond’s scared for both of their lives right now and worrying is a natural response, but still.
“Hello Seamus,” Raymond says cautiously. “Kevin.”
“Raymond. I see you came alone. And hopefully unarmed.”
“I am.”
Murphy laughs. “Like hell I’m going to trust that. Brian, pat him down.”
Kevin watches as Raymond gets patted down, still not quite sure about whether or not Raymond actually has any weapons with him. He’s not sure about what happened after he got stabbed in general, really.
“What do you want?” Raymond asks.
“I told you. You mess with my family, I mess with yours.” Kevin can’t see it, but he knows Murphy’s having that grin on his face again. “Here’s what's going to happen. You are going to let my boys here tie you down with no resistance, and maybe I will let your husband live.”
“Let him go, Seamus. This is between you and me.”
“Oh babe, you’re the one who crossed that line first.” Murphy presses down, and the blade breaks through skin. Kevin holds still, letting Murphy have his theatrical act. “Take. A. Seat.”
Raymond grits his teeth, but he does follow the direction, sitting back on the uncomfortable wooden chair and letting Brian tie him up. “Good boy. See, that wasn’t so hard, now was it?”
The blade hasn’t stopped cutting into him, getting deeper every second. Kevin frowns at the flow of blood trailing down from the cut.
Raymond’s jaw is clenched tight.
“Now that you are nice and secure, I have another offer to make.” Murphy removes the knife from his neck, cleaning the blade on his shirt as he continues. “We have your husband here, about to die one way or another… And we have your squad out there. Oh, don’t look so surprised, of course I know. Who do you think I am, some amateur? No no, I got eyes everywhere here Raymond. And I also got guns everywhere here.”
“Absolutely not.”
“That’s what you said earlier too, and here we are. So maybe you should rethink your answer before saying stupid things aloud.”
Raymond’s eyes are darting around the warehouse before he looks slightly above Kevin, and he assumes he’s looking straight at Murphy. “What’s your offer this time around then?”
“Kevin or your team. You get to pick who will get out of here alive, and of course that’s not including you,” Murphy says. “Think of it as your last dying wish. I’m feeling generous today.”
“And what if I don’t take the offer?”
Murphy sighs, stopping his movement with the knife and just letting it rest on Kevin’s shoulder. “Well, everyone dies.”
And he brings his knife up, and this time Kevin knows to try and avoid the stab. With all his strength, he leans to the left and the chair gives, going down with him. Murphy goes down with his own momentum as well, and the knife digs itself into one of the legs.
Murphy’s half leaning down now, his other hand has shot out to keep him somewhat above and away from the floor. It’s a good angle for Kevin to see Murphy’s shocked face before the sound of gunshots from outside begins.
“Well then,” Murphy mutters, stumbling back up and straightening his leather jacket. “Everyone dies, it is.”
And Kevin watches as Murphy pulls out his gun, pointing it at Raymond and firing, unloading the gun until the screaming stops too. There’s the sound of reloading followed in quick succession, and then he’s looking down at the barrel.
“Sorry, but I can’t leave you alive either,” Murphy says. “You’re too good, you see?”
There’s pain, and then there’s nothing.
The ninth time, Kevin wakes up.
There’s nothing besides the white ceiling with the specific stain in the corner that greets him, and Kevin blinks a few times, getting used to the darkness around him.
It’s not quite darkness to be fair: there’s the natural light shining through some gaps in the blinds and then there’s the alarm clock with its red hue that will surely be displaying Sunday the 18th, exact time unknown.
He couldn’t care less about finding that out right now.
Instead Kevin rolls over, seeing Jake still sleeping soundly beside him and decides that he will just try to do that too. If it’s anything like the last loop, and it should be, then whenever Jake has one of his less than pleasant dreams/flashbacks he will make just enough noise to wake Kevin up.
Then what comes next, comes next Kevin supposes.
He buries his face into the pillow, closes his eyes and tries to drift off.
And strangely enough, Kevin doesn't get woken up by whimpers or cries or anything of the same variety. The clock beeps in a constant loud rhythm, and it takes his sleep muddled brain a moment to realise that that’s the usual alarm clock that he set on Saturday the 17th.
It’s 10 in the morning then. This alarm is more for Jake than anything, though once or twice during his stay he has let himself sleep in later than usual.
Kevin opens his eyes, closing them right away when the sunlight assaults his eyes. Out of all the places in the room, the stray light through the window just has to be shining straight at his eyes, huh?
He brings his hand up, blocking the light, and tries opening his eyes again. It’s better this time and Kevin stifles a yawn.
Beside him the alarm clock’s still blaring. He reaches over and turns it off, plunging the room back to its original quietness that’s occasionally disturbed by Jake’s muttering.
Jake’s still not up, despite the loud noises that must have been going on for at least a minute. Kevin debates shaking him up and maybe making something for the both of them to eat before dropping his hand back down to his side at the last moment.
They’re not in a hurry to go anywhere just yet. And plus, Jake deserves a nice sleep.
It’s nice to know that there isn’t anything from the last loop that got transferred over this time.
Kevin gets out of bed, careful not to wake Jake. He closes the door softly behind him, navigating to the bathroom and locking the door.
Another tally mark, and then the rest of his morning routine. And maybe a shower.
That sounds good.
The hot water, near burning, feels good. It doesn’t take long for the steam to fog up the glasses, and Kevin lets out a sigh. He looks down, stopping at the red marks around his chest that he has come to recognise as bullet wounds from the previous loops.
Murphy did not hold back then. Kevin can see at least 4 marks, one in particular that’s right where his heart is.
It’s a good policy though, shooting until you’re sure your target is dead. Kevin should do that more often. At the very least it could save Jake another suffocating death.
Kevin shakes his head. That’s a few days (but not quite) ago, and there’s certainly no reason for him to think back on it again. He finishes his shower, turning the water off and drying himself.
The tally has not faded, remarkably so. There’s only the newest addition that has been washed off and Kevin retraces the line before getting dressed, making sure the sleeve has covered up any and all tallies and the collar is high enough to hide the red line across his neck at least until it fades.
The morning is going strangely well, he muses. Jake’s still asleep when Kevin checks on him, and Kevin thinks that as much as he wants Jake to sleep in, he’s drawing the line at 11.
Which gives him plenty of time to get started on a late breakfast. He has already made pancakes for the not-quite yesterday, so something different that Jake still likes then.
15 minutes later the sliced bread is in the oven and Kevin’s adding some citrus into his custard in the form of the zest from one lemon and a splash of bourbon. He whisks the custard until it’s ready, just in time for the bread to finish in the oven.
From there it’s just dunking the bread in, making sure both sides are nicely soaked through. The stovetop is ready, his butter already sizzling, and Kevin gets into the rhythm of frying the toasts, letting the finished ones rest in the oven before starting over again until he has enough for both of them.
It’s a quarter to eleven when Jake stumbles down. His hair is still wet, the hoodie is hastily thrown on and he looks well rested. A rare sight for Kevin to see, really.
“Morning,” Jake mutters, walking over and looking down at the almost finished plate of French toast. “Oh- woaaaah. So that’s where the smell came from.”
“Can you get the butter and maple syrup?”
“Why yes I can.”
Kevin puts the last two slices on the plate, Jake tops his stack with a large cut of butter and drowns his plate in syrup before passing it over to Kevin.
He has probably made his plate too sweet too, but well, Kevin can enjoy this every now and then. Especially when he knows what will happen during the afternoon.
“God, thank you,” Jake says with his mouth open, pauses, swallowing properly before continuing talking. “Sorry- Still, thanks for the breakfast.”
“You’re welcome.” Kevin takes the last bite of his French toast, enjoying the taste and putting the fork and knife down. “You’re doing the dishes.”
“Fair enough,” Jake shrugs. “And after that?”
“Your choice.”
“I’m literally giving you a chance to not watch Nic Cage as another thank you, Kevin.”
It’s a sweet gesture in a way, Kevin muses, shrugging. “We can watch a Nicolas Cage movie,” he says.
Jake blinks at him once, twice. His mouth’s open, forming letters but no sound comes out and then he closes it with a click, before opening it again. “I’m sorry what was that?”
“Don’t make me repeat it.”
“You want to watch Nic Cage with me!”
“I tolerate it because you like watching it,” Kevin replies. “Go put a movie on before I change my mind.”
Jake grins at him. “Roger that prof.”
He sits down on the couch, and next to him Jake has already started National Treasure. It’s a horrible film that goes on for too long, in Kevin’s opinion. To be fair his opinion is this film should not exist at all, but Jake has said that it’s not a valid opinion to have on National Treasure so who is he to know?
It is longer than Kevin remembers though, or maybe it’s because they started later in the morning. When Raymond knocks on the door the movie is only about to end, and Jake presses pause at an unfortunate close shot of Nicolas Cage to get the door.
Kevin sighs, turning the tv off entirely and making himself comfortable on the ground. The sofa is soft to lean on, at least.
When Raymond walks in in his usual outfit that Kevin’s too familiar with, holding a bag of oranges with him, Kevin allows a small smile to make its way across his face.
After seeing Raymond get shot by Murphy in such a cold, ruthless way, it’s nice to see Raymond actually looking good.
Except that he does not look that good upon closer inspection. He’s tired, slightly leaning back and Kevin knows that doesn’t happen except for when Raymond has just pulled an all nighter, too focused on solving a case to go to bed.
Even his blinking is at an irregular rhythm, eyes fluttering shut for too long before forcing himself to open them again, to stay awake.
Kevin shares a look with Jake, noting how Jake has already come to the same conclusion if his worried look is anything to go by. But Raymond doesn’t say anything about it, merely offering the oranges that he has brought with him.
He accepts one, giving Jake a look that spurs him into action and makes him accept the other with minimal grumbling about Orangina. Kevin takes his time peeling it, separating it in half only this time and offering one half back to Raymond.
Raymond blinks at him. There's a clear surprise on his face that melts into a soft fondness.
Their hands brush again when Raymond reaches out. “Thank you, Kevin.”
“It’s no problem.”
Kevin eats his own part then, chewing and swallowing in silence with Raymond and Jake.
Good oranges, nice and dry, Kevin thinks and privately disagrees with the statement the moment it pops into his mind.
“Good oranges, nice and dry. Not at all ripe,” Raymond says aloud.
Jake gives a vague hum that sounds like agreement. Kevin merely nods at his words, putting his half-finished half orange down.
He’s about to ask Raymond about the burner phone when Raymond beats him to it. “Kevin,” he starts, his hand slipping into the pocket of his jacket, ruffling around.
“Yes dear?”
Raymond, to Kevin’s surprise and barely hidden delight, pulls out a flip phone. It’s a small one, an old one and he knows that Raymond’s holding a burner phone in his hand.
“Woah Capt, I thought you said no electronic devices?” Jake asks, leaning forward. “And where did you get that from? Did you rob a museum or something?”
“This is an exception,” Raymond says, sliding it over to Kevin. “After some thinking, I have decided that a TracFone would not be a high risk for you two to have as an emergency contact.”
“TracFone?”
“Burner phone, Peralta.”
“Ah. Well you could have just said so instead of whatever fancy jargon you were using.”
Raymond sighs. “Focus. This is, and I stress, for emergency calls only. I trust that you have my phone number memorised already, but just in case,” he glances at Jake. “It is saved here.”
“Sounds good,” Jake says. “Oh, we can do that cool thing where we talk on the phone and then just throw it away!”
“Emergency, Peralta. Which part of that explanation did you not catch?”
“Jeez, I was just joking. I know, I know.”
Kevin tunes out the banter, holding the phone in his hand, flipping it open. Raymond’s number is indeed saved in the contacts, and Kevin hums.
Raymond most likely got to this point from Kevin’s constant talk every loop that he can remember. But he knows it’s also something else, and when Kevin looks up at Raymond, their eyes meet like Raymond has been staring at him for a while too.
It’s a familiar, too familiar emotion, and Kevin sighs.
He moves over, his hand reaching out, hooking under Raymond’s collar to tug him closer. Jake makes a squealing noise in the background when he presses a small kiss to Raymond’s forehead, then the bridge of his nose, his cheek and the corner of his mouth.
“Thank you,” Kevin says.
Raymond draws a shuddering breath. “You’re welcome.”
“You didn’t get a good night's sleep at all, did you?”
“I can’t hide anything from you,” Raymond says, diverting his eyes away. Kevin sighs again, pressing a chaste kiss to Raymond’s lips.
“No,” Kevin chuckles. “Try to go to bed earlier tonight? It will be fine, I promise.”
He doesn’t know that, of course, doesn’t know how, would Raymond even die today. But it’s a good enough reassurance for Raymond, and for now that’s all that matters.
“I will.”
Kevin nods, satisfied. He moves back to his seat, deliberately ignoring Jake almost crying and plays with the phone again.
This is uncharted territory now. He can call Raymond when the cars first get here, and from there it’s just trying to survive long enough for help to arrive. He can do that.
Perhaps another car chase is in order if worst comes to worst then.
“I’m sorry to cut this short but unfortunately, it is now time for me to take my leave,” Raymond speaks up at some point, stopping his train of thought. “Goodbye, Kevin. Peralta.”
“See ya Capt,” Jake cheerfully says.
“Goodbye Raymond,” Kevin says simply. “Take care.”
The telltale sound of the door clicking open before closing again announces Raymond’s departure, and then it’s just Jake and him alone in the house again. And in a few moments, Jake and him and a movie playing in the background. And in two hours, give or take...
The burner phone will come in handy.
“Soooooooo, can we finish the film and then start Gone in Sixty Seconds next? Please?” Jake starts beside him, holding Gone in Sixty Seconds up. Kevin doesn’t even know when Jake moved and grabbed the DVD.
“Alright.”
“That’s- huh. I was expecting more of a struggle, to be honest,” Jake shrugs. “Well, either way, make yourself comfortable, Kev.”
Kevin does, leaning back as Jake presses play on National Treasure, the last few scenes playing before he puts Gone in Sixty Seconds in.
“Randall Raines ... It's been a long time ...'though I do I recall you as a man with style. You remember your old friend, Atley?” Jake echoes along with the actor on screen.
The offset from finishing National Treasure means that the cars have arrived at this line of dialogue instead. Kevin shifts, tapping on Jake’s shoulder and catching his attention.
“Excuse me one moment, Randall,” the movie plays.
“Excuse me one moment, Kev,” Jake mutters, clearly enamored by what’s playing.
Kevin sighs, getting straight to the point. “We’re being watched.”
“Excuse me what now?”
“Don’t be obvious,” Kevin says, waiting for Jake to nod before continuing. “There are three cars outside, opposite to that window. They have been in the same spot at the same time for the past week, just parked there and done nothing.”
“Oh,” Jake whispers. “Are you sure? It could be the neighbours, for all we know.”
“They are armed.”
“Fuck,” Jake says. “Where’s the phone?”
Kevin hands Jake the burner, watching as he flips it open and types in Raymond’s number. So he does have it memorised.
Jake brings the phone to his ears, and Kevin counts 3 seconds before the call starts. The sound is loud enough that he can catch Raymond’s side of the conversation.
“Hey Caaaaptain Holt,” Jake says.
“Peralta, let me repeat my point. You only use this for emergencies.”
“Why do you just assume that- well nevermind. Listen, Murphy’s men are outside. Yes I’m sure, hell, it’s Kevin that saw it first so you know.”
“Have they made any move?”
“No, they’re just kinda parking their cars there. But I think they will rush the house fast, so you know, some help would be appreciated.”
“Ok. Stay put, call me if you have any more updates. Help is coming,” Raymond says.
“Ok. See you in, well, see you whenever you get here. Bye,” Jake says, ending the call. “Well, you heard the captain. Stay in and hope for the best, as one does.”
Kevin nods, tries not to fidget in his seat. It will be a while until Brian and his gang move, hopefully long enough for the force to actually get here in time.
They have ample time, really. Kevin would be more surprised if they didn’t get here in time.
The movie plays on. Jake’s eyes are glued to Nicolas Cage. Kevin keeps his eyes firmly on the clock, counting the seconds.
They didn’t come here in time. Jake nudges at him. “You’re right, those guys are armed. And moving. And Dadtain is not here yet-”
Kevin tries to not be surprised, merely making a mental note of this new fact. Murphy’s men have also moved earlier than expected, and he wonders what caused the change this time. Merely calling Raymond can not have that big of an impact, a whole 20 minutes headstart for the enemy, right?
“The window can be climbed out of. Get your gun and the phone, we’re moving,” Kevin says quickly.
Jake nods, doing just that.
Someone knocks on the door, and Kevin grabs Jake’s wrist and runs. Hopping the window is easy, and he moves immediately, knowing Jake’s following him right behind.
They have all entered the house when he reaches the front, and at this point Jake’s smart enough to catch on to the plan. He gives Kevin the sign to stay put, and he rolls his eyes.
Of course he doesn’t stop when Jake tells him to, instead tagging along to Jake’s chosen car.
From there it’s easy, too easy to take Jake’s gun out of his hand and take aim. Kevin doesn’t stop at one car, moving on quickly once the sign of oil spillage happens.
“Kevin, get in!”
“Don’t go just yet,” Kevin says, getting seated on his side. “And move your head down. No, lower.”
Jake does just in time for the front door to open, giving him a clear view through the broken window. Kevin fires, knowing he has gotten at least one of them and nods. “Alright, drive.”
Jake does, pressing on the pedal and they speed off and away. The safe house fades away in the distance, and Kevin counts the seconds, forcing his breathing to slow down. Raymond’s aware of this now, so they just have to stall for long enough.
“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck. Kevin what the fuck did you just do?”
“Give me the phone.”
“No- you can’t just take a gun like that,” Jake’s still going, and Kevin sighs. He passes the gun back.
“You’re right. I should have asked first,” Kevin says. “My apologies.”
“It’s-” Jake takes a deep breath, in and out. “Fine. Just, don’t do that again.”
Kevin chuckles. “Of course,” he lies. “Now can I please have the phone? We need to call Raymond, just in case he still doesn’t have any clue about what’s going on.”
Jake tosses him the phone from his pocket. Kevin presses on the contact, and this time Raymond picks up faster.
“Hello Raymond, this is your husband Kevin,” he starts.
“Kevin? What seems to be the problem now? I was assured that the police had dealt with Murphy’s men.”
“Nothing has been dealt with, Raymond.”
“But-”
Jake curses. “Murphy has men in the NYPD, of course he would fuck with the call and everything.”
Kevin relays what Jake has said. Raymond sighs, “Of course. Can you put Jake on?”
“Can it wait? Cause I’m- yep, we’re being chased right now. And they’re pulling out guns.” The mirror on his side cracks, a wisp of smoke coming from where the bullet has lodged itself in. Jake swears again. “Yep.”
“Head to the precinct. I’m calling sergeant Jeffords now.”
The line goes dead. Kevin puts the phone down just in time to see more bullets fly by them, some hitting the back of the car.
“Can I borrow your gun, Jake?” Kevin asks.
Jake gives him a look, sighing. “Be careful.”
“They won’t shoot me. Murphy wants me alive,” Kevin says, rolling the window down. “Keep driving.”
“You can shoot and not kill someone,” Jake says.
Any shot is a lethal shot.
Kevin doesn’t reply, leaning outside and letting himself enjoy the wind blowing at his hair for one moment before raising his gun and aiming.
Their windshield spider-cracks as Kevin presses the trigger again and again, trying to break through the glass the whole way.
There are still bullets firing at the car, but not at him, and Kevin grins.
As long as they don’t break the car before the NYPD comes, Jake and him will be good. In the meantime, Kevin keeps shooting, his smile growing wider with every shot. His hands are perfectly still even when Kevin knows another version of him would be shaking like a leaf right now.
Gently press, bang. Gently press, bang. Gently press-
The sudden loud siren interrupts his flow, and Kevin has never been happier to see the red and blue lights flashing on the street. The cars are approaching, and Kevin quickly ducks back in the car.
“Oh finally,” Jake mutters.
“Took them long enough,” Kevin says, locking the safety and placing the gun back down.
He adjusts the rearview mirror, watching as the police cars get closer, and then everyone slowing down as Murphy’s men stop the car in the middle of the street. The mirror doesn’t offer him a good enough view, but he can see enough to tell what’s happening.
They don’t put up a fight, letting the police cuff them and escort them to a van that’s parked a few feet away. It’s rather anticlimactic, Kevin thinks, watching the capturing process.
It's only after the van has driven away that he lets himself slump back into his seat. Jake does the same, although there’s a satisfied smile on his face.
They've made it.
Kevin can’t believe it. It’s almost too good to be true.
He was expecting a hysterical reaction, maybe laughing, maybe crying but instead there’s just a strange calmness that washes over his mind and body. And at the same time, it’s a cocktail of emotions- god he wants a drink.
He deserves a drink after all of this, really.
“Kevin?”
Right, Jake is still here. And later Kevin will also have to talk to the officers in charge, procedure and paperwork and all of that that needs to be dealt with. There’s still so much to be done.
For now though, he draws another shaky breath, enjoying this moment of well-deserved victory. “Sorry,” Kevin says.
“No no, it’s fine- I know it’s weird,” Jake starts, patting Kevin’s back. “This must be your first time in one of these. Honestly, just let the emotions run their course.”
Kevin holds back an inappropriate giggle at Jake’s comforting words. This must be your first time, god. “I’ll be fine,” he says, reaching for the handle and opening the door.
“I know,” Jake hesitates, but he copies Kevin’s movement, getting out of the car too. “Just, take it easy, you know?”
He nods. He thinks Jake’s giving him another concerned look, but right now he’s not focused on Jake. Not when they’re merely a short distance away from the yellow tape that has been put up, marking the parameter.
Kevin half wants to approach the area, just to see the car, maybe to admire the crack on the windshield. Jake, on the other hand, sprints over with no second thought, and he watches as Jake all but tackles Amy down in his attempt to hug her.
The rest of the 99th surrounds Jake quickly, and Kevin loses sight of his detective just that easily in the midst of people. It’s nice, Kevin thinks, this little reunion.
It’s nice to see Jake back where he belongs with his make-shift family, to see him happy.
“Kevin.”
Now Kevin realises that one person is missing from the group hug that’s happening. He wonders how long Raymond has been standing there, right next to him. “Raymond,” Kevin acknowledges, turning over and looking at him, taking in the more than ruffled appearance. “I’m sorry for interrupting your meeting.”
“Out of everything, that’s what you're focused on?” Raymond asks. He looks alarmed now, and it doesn’t mix well with the already worried look he has.
Kevin shrugs, leaning into the crook of Raymond’s neck, sighing. Raymond’s arms immediately move, wrapping around Kevin and embracing him.
Raymond’s shaking.
He’s so tired, too tired to deal with anything, but Kevin hugs him back anyway. His finger traces patterns and words onto Raymond’s back in a way that he knows will calm Raymond down.
He’s crying too, for no good reason. Tears are just flowing down his cheeks, and his vision blurs.
Reality is settling in now, Kevin realises through the haze. Reality of a tomorrow. So he can’t say it’s for no good reason anymore, because he’s still here, Raymond’s still here and Jake’s still here.
That’s a good reason to cry, he thinks, hugging Raymond harder.
“Let’s get you home,” he thinks he hears Raymond say at some point. It sounds off. There is something else behind the simple statement, a hidden truth of sorts but he’s just too tired to care so Kevin nods mutely.
His eyelids are getting heavy, independent of any oncoming death or drug. Kevin’s actually looking forward to a good sleep now, in his own bed, perhaps with Raymond by his side.
“Of course I will be,” Raymond says. He must have said his thoughts aloud then, and that usually only happens when he’s on the edge of passing out. “Yes, it does.”
“Shush,” Kevin half-heartedly mutters. “Stop replying to my subconscious thoughts.”
Raymond chuckles. “Close your eyes. I’m here,” he says, and Kevin nods again, letting himself drift off but not away, not with Raymond anchoring him right now.
Notes:
So, that was a whole ass fic huh? Tbh I was not expecting for it to get that out of hand when I first started this, but self control machine broke and here we are.
We, being me, you the amazing reader who decided to click on this and then finished it, and who I hope enjoyed that not so little read and my amazing beta without whom this fic would not be what it is, Leaf. She put up with way too much (my writing at 3am, the absolute tense fuckery, my general rambling) throughout all of this so just, massive props to her rly.
Also a special message from Leaf: Fuck the specific line of "Good oranges, nice and dry. Not at all ripe."
(Also also we are including Nic Cage who plays the largest role in this fic, the absolute MVP that he is. I now know too much about his movies and whether that is a good or a bad thing is to be determined, but it's for the greater good.)
If you’ve been following me on tumblr, you’ve probably heard of a Writer’s Commentary version of this. I can’t post it yet, seeing how it’s not all finished so in the meantime, have some brief rambling: Any additional questions you might have, you can wait for a day or two or just head on over to my tumblr @onemilisec :D I post things about my writing and sometimes I post art, sometimes.
Anyway, on with the short-ish ramble.
Starting with some fun car chase things! Writing action scenes has always been hard, writing car chase scenes is a new level of fuck you. Again, a thank you to my beta (and her taxi driver) for letting me know that oh yeah you fuck with the bottom of the car and it will just not go and to shift to clutch when that does happen or else you will just stop instantly instead of slowly decelerating. And if there's anything you should learn from the car chase, it's that you should wear your seatbelt.
Now, the most notable thing that happened during the car chase is, well, Kevin getting shot through the head. It was also interesting, writing near death and then actual death experience.
I definitely pulled from several sources of other people's experiences, so it was a nice mix matching at the end. And then after that, Kevin.... I'm not quite sure what word to use, but he visits a place (pending name the waiting room.)
Now, I can't actually look up people's death experiences (well, there are people who are dead for a bit and then come back, but shhh) so I figured coma is the next best thing to go for. And this really stood out as an experience out of the ones I read, so cheers Reddit.
After that we have the concept of injury lingering! I see your “I wake up from every loop well rested and perfectly fine” and I raise you “your actions have consequences, both body and memory wise.” The perfect recipe for whump and the perfect opportunity for me to pull up specific medical infos while discarding some others (hence the selective medical accuracy tag. On that note I’m sorry to anyone who actually knows these things, but at the same time, not so much. Selective.)
I would love to go more into it, but I’m anything but qualified to, sooooo¬¬¬
This author note is also getting way too long, so I think I’m going to wrap this up here. As a final parting note: once again, thank you for giving this a chance and finishing this not-so-light read. I hope you like it, and until next time :)
Verschränkung, highstakesrussianroulette, Rhinoceritis, and Caligon as well as 6 guests left kudos on this work!
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This fic both feels long and short at the same time! Great work :3c
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Your fic reads very good! But if you want my opinion...all that's a bit boring yk
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Well that was a fun read.
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And it's about to get more fun... or more depressing, depends on who you ask.
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Definitely more depressing. That Angst with a Happy Ending tag definitely does not apply to the rest of the fic.
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Well, that's debateable. Either way, it's best to (kinda) inform you what on what you're getting into. So!
Remember the notes at the start? Yeah, it's mainly there for the second portion of this fic. There will be: suicide, substance usage and substance abuse, violence that is not graphic enough to earn an E rating as well as discussion of reality, some metaphysics and also some philosophical shit that got sprinkled in. So if you're the type that get bothered by these, take the loop 9 happy ending and have a good day friend :)
And one last big change: remember that Angst with a Happy Ending tag? Yeah, as said, it's more like Angst with an Open-for-Interpretation Ending kinda fic now.
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Basically it's just a heavier read. If you are up for it, then I will see you at the end :)
Have fun o/
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The tenth time, Kevin wakes up relaxed.
The room is a muted darkness around him with almost little to no light, but from what he can see through half-lidded eyes, some silvery light has still somehow found its way in, creeping through the window blinds.
It’s slightly cold, and Kevin snuggles closer into his pillow, sighing.
His brain is still fuzzy, not quite working just yet. Usually Kevin hates that, but right now he embraces the lightness he’s feeling, never before knowing how comfortable the sensation is.
Eventually the high loses its novelty, and Kevin shifts, turning until he’s lying straight on his back, stretching slightly. His shoulders and back make a few noises, the tension from god knows how many actual days melting away slowly and surely.
It’s Monday the 19th.
He hates Monday: his students are always so tired, especially the ones he has for the first period too early in the morning and Kevin can’t say that he blames them.
Then when he was in the safe house, Monday lost its meaning, and the only way Kevin could even tell which day was which was based on Raymond’s visiting schedule. Even that was shuffled up every month as a precaution.
Right now though, Kevin loves it, loves the feeling of a new day that wakes him up in a way no cup of coffee shared with Jake could.
His hand moves up, wiping the sleep from his eyes and Kevin lets his vision get used to the darkness until he can vaguely see the white ceiling with-
What?
No.
No no no.
That doesn’t make sense-
Kevin shoves that dawning realization, that growing horror, as far down as he can. It doesn't go far, sticking in his throat and he wants to-
The clock beeps softly, and the sound is somehow too loud, deafeningly loud. Or is that his heart that’s beating too fast in his chest? Whatever it is, it’s too much, too sudden.
He can’t do this. He doesn’t want to. He got everything correct.
“Come out the coast. We’ll get together…”
Kevin shoves his fist in his mouth, biting down until his fingers hurt from where the teeth are digging in, trying to stop the sobs from breaking out. The roaring in his ears is subsiding, and now he can hear Jake shifting and talking in his sleep and he can’t-
“Have a few laughs,” Jake finishes, giggling.
It’s too much. He craves for it to stop, craves for the nothingness and the silence and the peace and anything else but here-
Kevin has half the mind to at least be quiet as he gets out of bed, though it’s hard to say if he actually succeeds in that regard. He doesn’t know how he does not break into a mad dash downstairs, his steps measured if not too slow. He’s swaying, and Kevin grabs onto the handrail, near slumping against it.
His legs are carrying him somewhere. No, Kevin knows where they- where he’s going and soon enough he’s kneeling on the floor, breathing heavily.
He fumbles with the cupboard, trying to control his shaking hands enough to wrench the correct drawer open.
And then they don’t shake anymore, not when they’re wrapped around the gun, his trigger finger finding its way to the side of the gun with such ease that it feels like he’s meant to do this.
Sobbing is a considerably harder task to do when the barrel is in his mouth, forcing it wide open until his jaw aches.
Kevin straightens up, breathing through his nose. There’s silence around him now, and if he focuses he can hear the wind blowing outside or the footsteps from upstairs.
But it’s not the right kind of quiet.
It’ll be fine, he thinks. He just has to listen to one last ear-splitting, piercing noise before he can get the silence that he needs.
His finger moves to the trigger, and Kevin gently presses down.
The not-eleventh time, Kevin wakes up confused.
He usually doesn’t wake up in the middle of the night, at… 2:24 AM according to the alarm clock that’s casting red light on Jake’s sleeping face. There’s no apparent reason for this either, and though the light headache might be responsible, that’s still a reach.
He can barely feel the ache, really.
So Kevin shrugs, rolling back to his side and shifting closer to his pillow, making himself comfortable. Sleep comes back easily, and soon enough he drifts off to the background noise of Jake’s shifting and mumbling.
The next time Kevin wakes up, it’s at a more reasonable time. A stray ray of sunlight has managed to find its way inside through the blinds, shining right into his eyes.
He brings his hand up, blocking the annoyance off.
The clock displays 8:30 AM this time, Sunday the 18th. Kevin lets himself lay there for a moment, enjoying the silence before he makes a move to get up. Jake’s still sleeping, and he makes a point to keep the noise down as he walks out, closing the door gently behind him.
Kevin goes through his morning routine on autopilot with the nagging sensation that he’s forgetting something. Which is ridiculous: he’s in the safe house, has been in here for over 2 months, there’s nothing to remember. If anything there’s too much to forget, like all the movies he’s watched, or just the general experience of this hellmouth.
It’s 9 when Jake stumbles downstairs, murmuring a good morning in Kevin’s direction. Minutes later Jake drops himself on the sofa next to him, a bowl of cereal in hand and a spoon in another.
Kevin doesn’t pay much mind to Jake, minding his own business which happens to be trying to recall the Iliad word for word. He really should have bought a few books with him to the safe house.
He could have asked Raymond to bring him a selection from their library.
Could have, of course.
He stops his attempt at remembering the Iliad when it’s clear that all of his lines of thinking will just lead down the unpleasant route that is Raymond. Some days Kevin really just wants to turn his brain off, to at least pretend that he doesn’t have all the time in the world to ponder things he tries not to think about too much, like the cruel existence of life or the slow deterioration of his and Raymond’s relationship.
“Jake, a movie, if you wouldn’t mind?”
Jake looks at him, the spoon still in his mouth. He swallows quickly, giving Kevin a big grin that’s almost convincing enough to hide the concern in his eyes before scrambling to his Nicolas Cage collection, flipping through the DVDs.
Soon enough the silence of the safe house is replaced with the opening scene of Snake Eye, and Kevin lets the horrible writing and acting distract him for however long this disaster of a movie is. Jake seems glad to be watching Nicolas Cage again though, the only positive thing that’s happening in this hellmouth right now.
Jake’s in the middle of saying another line by Nicolas Cage when someone knocks on the door.
Well, Kevin says someone, but the correct knocking pattern clearly indicates that it’s Raymond. Suddenly Snake Eye is a much better movie, one that he would love to continue without any interruptions.
“I’ll get it,” Jake mutters, crawling to the entrance. Kevin sighs, reaching for the remote and turning the tv off before getting comfortable.
The carpeted floor feels wrong with every touch. He sits there anyway, staring at the black screen, at his reflection that’s staring back and barely acknowledging Raymond when he and Jake return.
Raymond offers both of them some oranges. He holds one out in Kevin’s direction, waiting for god knows how long before dropping his hand back down. He merely leaves the bag of oranges in the middle, and it isn’t until then that Kevin reaches out to get one for himself and toss one over to Jake.
It’s a nice tangy taste, he thinks, popping another piece into his mouth.
“Good oranges, nice and dry,” Raymond says, holding a piece up and inspecting it. “Not at all ripe.”
“Fascinating,” Kevin mutters. And once he starts, the words just keep coming out. “My orange is beginning to rot. That happens when you leave an orange sitting around for too long and refuse to even let that orange go to a library for two hours so it can feel like a real orange again.”
It’s such a bad way of putting it. The writer in Kevin is screaming, but even that is drowned out by Raymond’s look at him.
“You know what really causes an orange to go bad?” he asks, and doesn’t wait for an answer, continuing right away. “Getting shot. Have you seen what a bullet does to an orange?”
“I shot a watermelon once. It’s exactly what you want it to be,” Jake unnecessarily adds, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “I miss Amy.”
“You think I enjoy doing this? I assure you, I do not. I’m simply trying to keep my husband alive.”
Maybe it’s the conversation itself, maybe it’s Raymond’s tone of voice, maybe it’s the title - my husband - that snaps something in Kevin. “Well,” he starts. “You may not have a husband when all of this is over.”
“You’re not going to die, Kevin,” Raymond says matter-of-factly, misunderstanding his point entirely. Isn’t that what all of their conversations have been though, misunderstandings on top of misunderstandings?
“That’s… not what I meant.” He looks at Raymond, watching his reaction in real-time.
It’s exactly what Kevin wants it to be.
He regrets starting this fight immediately.
Raymond puts the plate down. “I’m leaving,” he says. “This is an absurd conversation and you’re being ridiculous.”
Kevin watches as Raymond crawls out of the room. Moments later the sound of the door opening echoes through the silence, followed quickly by it closing.
Beside him Jake lets out a breath. He shifts, turning over to Kevin. “You know what? Screw this,” Jake says. “We need a break. I’m a cop, I can protect us. We’re going to the library!”
His first reaction is to agree with Jake’s ridiculous plan. He does need a break, and the library sounds like heaven compared to everything else that’s happening around him right now.
And Kevin almost says yes.
Instead something nags at him, clawing at his mind instantly.
“You heard Raymond,” Kevin sighs, turning away to avoid looking at whatever Jake’s reaction might be. “Let’s just...finish one of your movies.”
Jake’s quiet for too long. Kevin pretends to not know what's bothering Jake.
Instead he leans back, closing his eyes, letting his mind drift away just for a moment, until he’s needed again.
Well, that rarely happens in this safe house anyway. Raymond can just leave him here like- no, stop. Kevin counts the seconds, syncing up his breathing to a rhythm and letting that be his focus instead of, well.
In the background, the movie continues, Jake obviously having caved in.
And in the background, someone knocks on the door.
Kevin opens his eyes, sitting up straighter and exchanging a look with Jake. It’s not the correct pattern, not obviously so. It’s too close to be a coincidence, and if it weren’t for the last three beats falling out of line, he would have assumed that it’s Raymond again.
Jake brings a finger to his lips, in a shushing movement. Kevin nods.
He watches as Jake walks to one of the cupboards, opening the drawer and pulling out a gun. He checks the ammunition, nodding to himself before slowly making his way to the door.
Kevin doesn’t know what he expects Jake to do, but it’s certainly not standing right next to the door, waiting. The knocking persists on for several more minutes.
It quiets down. Then there’s that distinct and more precise sound of metal turning, and from where he sits he can see the handle inching up and down before turning down all the way, almost too easy.
The door opens, and Jake fires.
It happens too fast for Kevin to properly register the inbetween, but what he knows is the final result: Jake’s blood spattering on the wall as his body slides down, and one of Murphy’s men pointing a gun at Kevin’s head, between his eyes while the others get sent to check the house over.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t dare to, and then belatedly Kevin realises that even if he wanted to, he couldn’t. Fear paralyses him, holding him still in place.
“Don’t play any fucking funny tricks.” He moves the gun even closer and closer still until Kevin can feel the coldness of the barrel against his skin. “Or else you’ll end up like that cop over there. Understood?”
He gulps. “I’ll cooperate,” Kevin manages to choke out. He tries not to think about Jake’s corpse laying there.
His traitorous brain decides to hone on what visible parts of Jake he can see, and the rest are left up to his imagination.
Have you seen what a bullet does to an orange?
They won’t keep him at the safe house. Which means Kevin will have to be moved at some point, and that means going through the main entrance and in however long he can look at Raymond’s face and answer yes to his question.
If he will ever see Raymond again, that is.
Kevin doesn’t know whether to be grateful that one of them has injected something into him, a sedative of sorts that will surely knock him out. He hates being in the unknown, but at the same time he just won’t have to think about anything, and he’s feeling more and more tired as the seconds pass and…
Kevin wakes up to water being splashed at his face, some getting into his mouth and he leans forward, coughing it out. Everything is blurry around him, not even the concrete floor he’s staring at is in focus and may even be spinning.
Everything is definitely spinning when he gets yanked up by the hair until Murphy’s looking directly at him with a satisfied grin on his face.
“Nice nap?” The rope digs into his wrists and his body as Kevin tries to move away from the grip, and Murphy gives a mocking laugh, letting him go. “Oh come on, you know resistance won’t do you any good, right? Aren’t you supposed to be smart?”
He stills his movement. Murphy smiles, patting his head.
“That’s better, isn’t it?”
“What do you want?” he manages to get out, and Murphy tuts at him.
“Where’re your manners?” he asks, pulling out a phone from his pocket and typing something into it.
“Gone the moment you drugged me.”
“Stop being so dramatic, it wasn’t even dangerous. The worst thing that can happen is you getting stuck in dreamland longer than expected, and honestly? I wish I had told them to up the amount.”
Kevin scoffs, turning his gaze away and looking around the warehouse instead. “What do you want?” he repeats.
Murphy sighs. “I want you to shut up, before I make you shut up. One more unprompted word and I’m putting a bullet through you.”
Kevin snaps his mouth closed. Murphy presses down on his phone, bringing it up to his ear and waiting.
“Hello Raymond,” Kevin hears. “How is it going?”
Murphy’s looking at him with a smirk as he continues to speak into the phone. “To talk, obviously. How’s Kevin?”
An entire one-sided conversation between Murphy and Raymond plays out, and Kevin wants to be anywhere else but here.
“Impatient. I have an offer to make, if you’re interested,” Murphy says, then chuckles. “No no, you fucking with me is what got us here. But like I said, my door’s always open if you want to do business. And it is very open right now.”
Kevin tests the rope that’s tying his wrists together right now. It burns and cuts into his skin with any movement, and he frowns.
“You’re not even going to hear what I have to say? Rude, Raymond.”
Murphy walks closer to him, leaning down until they’re at eye level.
“I have Kevin.”
Raymond’s sharp intake of breath is audible through the phone at this close a distance. Then Kevin can only assume that Raymond has fallen quiet as Murphy keeps staring at him with that infuriating grin of his.
Then Murphy moves the phone closer to him, prompting him to speak.
“Hello Raymond,” Kevin follows the unspoken order. His voice shakes, and he takes a deep breath, hoping that will help somewhat.
The silence stretches out even more after his words. Murphy brings the phone back up, tapping his feet against the concrete floor. “You coming here, alone. No backup, no weapon, nothing,” he says. “If I see any of your precious cops with you, Kevin’s a goner. The moment I think you’re scheming, Kevin’s a goner. I said this once and I will say it again, Raymond, don’t you even think about screwing with me.”
Murphy ends the call, rolling his eyes and slipping the phone back in his pocket. Kevin watches as he gestures something to the goons standing around the warehouse, before Murphy walks out of the warehouse, leaving him alone.
Kevin takes the time to take an actual proper look around the warehouse. There are three men that he can see, leaning against the wall. One of them he recognises as the one holding a gun to his head.
Beside that, the warehouse is bare. There’s nothing, absolutely nothing to focus on.
And there’s nothing that he can do besides wait for… for something. He doesn’t have a clue about what might happen next, and Kevin hates that.
An hour or so later by his count, maybe give or take a few minutes, Murphy walks back with a grin on his face. He looks happier, considerably so compared to the last time Kevin saw him.
There’s another set of footsteps following behind Murphy.
Raymond walks in, and Kevin bites the inside of his cheek to keep from making any sounds, doesn’t want to give any obvious outward reaction, not when Murphy has stopped walking, now standing behind him with a hand in his hair again.
Murphy pulls his head back, and then seconds later there’s a knife to his throat.
Kevin holds his breath, trying not to panic.
“What do you want?” Raymond asks, straight to the point.
“I told you. You mess with my family, I mess with yours.” Kevin can’t see it, but he knows Murphy’s having that grin on his face again. “Here’s what's going to happen. You are going to let my boys here tie you down with no resistance, and maybe I will let your husband live.”
“Let him go, Seamus. This is between you and me.”
“You’re the one who crossed that line first.” Murphy presses down, and the blade breaks through skin. Kevin hisses at the sudden jolt of pain. “Take. A. Seat.”
There’s the sound of a chair scraping against the floor, and Kevin can only assume that Raymond’s following Murphy’s order. “Good boy. See, that wasn’t so hard, now was it?”
The blade hasn’t stopped cutting into him, getting deeper every second. Realistically, Kevin knows the chances of him actually dying from this and this alone are not that high.
The fact is simply not registering. His hands are shaking, the rope’s the only thing stopping it from getting worse.
“Now that you are nice and secure, I have another offer to make.” Murphy removes the knife from his neck, cleaning the blade on his shirt as he continues. “We have your husband here, about to die one way or another… And we have your squad out there. Oh, don’t look so surprised, of course I know. Who do you think I am, some amateur? No no, I got eyes everywhere here Raymond. And I also got guns everywhere here.”
“Absolutely not,” Raymond immediately replies.
“Is that so?” Murphy asks. And before he even knows what’s happening, before his brain catches up to the current events that are happening, before everything, there’s pain.
“KEVIN!”
“Are you gonna hear me out now, Raymond?”
If Kevin had more awareness of the situation around him, he would have noticed the rushing of footsteps outside.
“Yes! Yes, please, stop.”
He doesn’t, not when everything is ripping and tearing and he’s writhing in his seat, unable to do anything to alleviate it. It isn’t even the rope that’s stopping him, it’s the pain itself that prohibits anything else except being in pain.
“Stop, huh?”
There’s something else too, something smooth and cold against his temple.
And then there’s no more pain.
The eleventh time, Kevin doesn’t think he will wake up.
At least, not right away, not so fast, so suddenly. One second he was kneeling in the living room, a gun down his throat, the absolute feeling of euphoria that came with pressing the trigger hugging him close —
Kevin was expecting nothingness after that.
— But the next second here he is, laying on his back. The white ceiling with that stain stares back at him, mocking him, and Kevin almost wants to scream. Almost.
Instead of the nothingness that he craves (or maybe not so much anymore) it’s resignation that sets in. He can’t tell which he prefers at this point.
Kevin gets up.
His movement is stiff, his actions have a certain delay to it. He supposes that it’s fair, something had to give after he put a bullet through his head after all. Kevin can deal with it for however long it decides to linger.
Not that long, he finds. By the time he makes it downstairs, there’s almost nothing left but the constant ache at the back of his head, reminding him of the failed attempt.
Kevin shrugs on a jacket, pauses, goes back and goes through the pockets until he finds Jake’s wallet. A tracker is in there, he knows, but something in him just couldn’t care less about it at the moment.
Something in him just simply couldn’t care less about anything at all, really. What’s the point? He tried, he failed, and now Kevin’s just too tired to care to try again. Instead he stuffs the wallet in his pocket and opens the door.
He has a few hours before anyone even thinks about checking the tracker’s location. Two months (and a bonus...eleven? twelve? days for him) has surely changed them both, but Kevin’s confident about Raymond’s sleeping schedule. There is plenty of time until the sun rises, enough for him to ditch the wallet somewhere and get far enough away from it.
It’s cold outside.
It feels good outside. He can see the sky for once, the moon and stars mixed with the heavy air traffic of New York. Kevin gives himself a moment to just enjoy the fresh air, enjoy the night sky until his neck complains from leaning back.
From there it’s easy to wave down a cab. Kevin gives the first address that comes to mind, Columbia, and the driver steps on the pedal without any additional questions. The car ride is silent, and for that he’s grateful.
He leans against the window, watching the scenery blur together as the taxi takes him through New York. For a moment he contemplates just leaving the wallet in the car, that would surely throw Raymond for a loop, but he stops himself at the last minute. The driver definitely doesn’t deserve that.
Kevin takes out all the bills, rolls down the window and throws the wallet out.
It takes longer than he thought, getting to the university. He pays the fee easily, closing the door and watching as the taxi speeds off, leaving him alone in front of the gates.
After two months of being stuck in the safe house, and days of being stuck in the same day, the taste of freedom is almost a foreign concept. Now there’s nothing stopping him from enjoying the night for all it's worth before he gets captured or found.
Whichever comes first, really.
Before all of that though, he needs a drink.
His steps bring him to a small bar, one Kevin doesn’t go to that often but Vivian loves, which means he gets dragged here against his will every now and then. There are not that many people inside right now, just enough that the background talking is the right level of quiet, mixing with the background tune.
He walks up to the bar. The service is fast, and minutes later he’s seated in a comfortable seat, a Blood and Sand in his hand. The drink goes down smoothly, sweet enough for his taste and Kevin lets out a satisfied sigh.
God, he did need that. He really did.
The background tune continues on loop, lulling him into a relaxed state of mind that is rare these not-days. Kevin figures he can just relax here for the next hour or so, or at least until he’s pleasantly buzzed from the alcohol.
The note of the scotch shines through more at his second sip. Scotch doesn’t sound like a bad option either, and well, he has time and money to burn.
When Kevin places his order, he doesn’t expect for Murphy to waltz up next to him, asking for the same.
“Hello Kevin,” he says. The bartender places the two glasses of whiskies down, and Murphy picks his glass up.
At this point he really is not surprised that Murphy has somehow found him first. “Murphy,” Kevin greets easily. He smiles at the bartender as they place the last part of his order down, a glass of water with a small straw, saying a quick thank you. “Come on, let’s get seated.”
“After you,” Murphy says, allowing him to lead them back to his original table. He makes himself comfortable next to Kevin, holding his glass up and lightly swirling the contents inside.
“Do you want some?” Kevin asks.
“Water?”
“With your whisky, yes.”
Murphy blinks at him. “If I wanted it like that I would have just gotten ice.”
“No, nothing like that,” Kevin says, bringing the water up and taking a quick sip. Still, not hot or cold, that’s good. “It will be fun.”
He uses the straw to carefully add a few drops of water in his glass. Murphy mutters something beside him, before he too holds up his glass to Kevin. “Why not?” he says, and Kevin gives him a smile, doing the same thing.
“Slainte,” he cheers, holding his glass out. Murphy echoes, clinking their glasses together.
The liquor burns, packing a certain punch that’s exactly what Kevin needs right now. The normal drink is aggressive enough already, but with the added water it hits hard. There’s the leftover clingy feeling on his tongue as Kevin swallows, the whisky going down and warming him up.
Beside him Murphy coughs, violently so.
Kevin can’t help a chuckle, reaching over and patting Murphy on the back until he’s not hacking his lungs out anymore.
“You sure that was just water?” he gasps out, putting his glass back on the table. “That did not feel like that was just water.”
“Have you honestly never done that before?” Kevin asks, amused. Murphy shakes his head. “It was just water, yes.”
“Fucking hell.”
“Surprising what just a few drops of water can do, don’t you think?”
“Sure,” Murphy says, clearing his throat. “Also surprising that you’re out here at this hour. Actually I’m just surprised that you’re out in general.”
“And how did you know that I’m out and I’m here?”
“One of my people spotted you getting out of a cab.”
“At this hour, in Columbia?”
“There’s a thing going on right now. I’m glad you didn’t walk in there, actually, or you wouldn’t be here, injury-free.”
Kevin doesn’t bother asking what the thing Murphy might be talking about is. “Fair enough,” he shrugs, taking another sip, holding it there longer this time. It walks that line between unpleasant and pleasurable, the peppery taste that’s not overly done that it’s overly spiky. “So, what can I help you with?”
Murphy chuckles. “You’re awfully calm for someone in your position right now,” he points out.
It helps when this is at least your eleventh time waking up on the same Sunday the 18th, Kevin thinks. It helps when nothing really matters, not when the day will repeat itself despite his best efforts.
“I figure panicking wouldn’t do me any good,” he says simply.
“Smart.”
“Thank you.”
Murphy picks up his glass, looking at it with more caution this time. “So, what did you do with this, exactly?”
He’s avoiding the original question, deflecting and making small talk. That part is obvious. Now, why Murphy is doing this has a less obvious answer, but it’s also an answer that Kevin has no intention of trying to find out. “With the drink?”
“Yeah, sure. I’m curious.”
“There are some things that are water soluble here and there are other things that aren't water soluble, like oil.” Kevin holds up the glass. “This one, there's a lot of carbon and so there's a lot of oil. You add water, all the things that are water soluble are absorbed and all the things that aren’t try to escape the chemical reaction by going to the top of the glass.”
“Huh.”
“Interesting, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Murphy hums. “You know a lot about this.”
“I like looking into things,” Kevin answers. “If the reason you’re here is to kidnap me, do you mind waiting until I finish this?”
“Take your time.”
He doesn’t know how long he sits there, slowly sipping on the whisky but it seems like it’s too long, considering the fact that Murphy’s letting him run on borrowed time right now. He’s still typing away on his phone when Kevin puts the empty cup down and leisurely stretches his arms.
“Murphy?” Murphy jumps, startled, and Kevin feels slightly guilty for knocking him out of whatever productive state he had found himself in. “Time for that kidnapping plan of yours.”
“You’re done?”
“Yeah. That and the bar’s almost closing. Best to get a move on,” Kevin answers.
Murphy nods, standing up and slipping his phone in his pocket. “Alright. I assume that you will cooperate and won’t put up a fight?”
Kevin shakes his head, pulling out some bills.
“Don’t worry. I’ve paid already.”
“Oh, in that case, thank you. You really didn’t have to,” Kevin says. “So, Ketamine? Benzodiazepines?”
“What?”
“You’re going to drug me, aren’t you?”
Murphy pauses. He’s staring at Kevin again. “You know a lot,” he partly repeats himself.
Kevin wonders if Murphy’s referring to the fact that he knows he’s going to get drugged or the fact that he knows about drugs in general. “Hard not to when you got really pushed into studying medicine by your mom who’s a surgeon,” he says, going with the second option. “Come on. You can at least walk me to the car before knocking me dead on my feet.”
That seems to knock Murphy out of his haze, and he nods slightly, hurrying over. Kevin lets an amused smile show as he falls into step with Murphy, the two of them walking through the streets.
The sun hasn’t risen yet, Kevin notes with surprise. It will soon: he can see strokes of red and yellow in the horizon but right now it’s that weird moment inbetween where nothing feels quite real.
Well, none of his days that still technically count as just one day feel real. He doesn’t feel real sometimes.
Kevin shakes his head, stopping his thoughts and focusing on where Murphy’s taking him to instead. They stop in front of a white Rolls-Royce, Murphy pulling out his keys and motioning for Kevin to get into the other side.
He follows the direction, getting seated and strapping the seatbelt in.
Murphy hums, turning the key. The car comes alive, rumbling slightly. “So,” he starts, turning over to look at Kevin.
“So?” Kevin prompts.
“You are still cooperating with everything so far.”
“A brilliant observation, really.”
“You know what I meant,” Murphy says. ”You have had plenty of chances to run.”
Why, Murphy’s asking. Why not? He settles on a shrug instead, leaning back against the soft seat of the car. “And you’ve had plenty of chances to capture me,” he shoots back. “You didn’t have to wait, didn’t even have to talk to me.”
“I didn’t,” Murphy agrees. He doesn’t seem to want to elaborate or continue the conversation, and Kevin gladly accepts the silence.
For the first few minutes of the ride, that is. Murphy keeps mumbling under his breath, numbers and statistics that are definitely not for Kevin’s ears and his kidnapper (can he even call Murphy that when Kevin went willingly?) seems stressed.
Well, Kevin knows he’s stressed.
Maybe it’s the alcohol in his system, maybe it’s the curiosity that’s slowly becoming the main reason as to why he’s doing things, that gets Kevin to do something about it.
“Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?”
The sheer surprise on Murphy’s face that quickly replaces the furrowed eyebrows from earlier almost makes Kevin giggle. It reminds him of not-days ago when Raymond walked in on him and Jake playing chess. “What?”
Kevin repeats the question, enjoying the surprise for however long it lasts. He doesn’t know if Murphy will simply brush him off and go back to his thinking or if he will actually answer, and that suddenly makes it all the more interesting. The unknown is interesting.
Murphy’s eyebrows furrow again. For a moment he really thinks Murphy’s lost to the statistics, but then he asks, “Are we counting dead people?”
“Why not?” Kevin hums. “Who do you have in mind?”
“Julius Caesar,” Murphy eventually answers.
It’s a good answer, Kevin muses, making a note of the reply even if it’s just throwaway information. Maybe he can find a good use for it in the next loop. “Why?”
“I have always found him to be fascinating. And what about you?”
“Homer.”
“Who?”
“He wrote the Iliad and the Odyssey, to name a few,” Kevin clarifies. “I really just want to confirm some things about him.”
Murphy makes an understanding noise. “Right, classics professor.”
“Guilty as charged,” Kevin says. “Would you like to be famous? In what way?”
“What is this, 20 questions?” Murphy asks back. “Do you always talk to people who threaten your life and your husband’s?”
“I try not to make a habit of it,” Kevin answers. “And it can be 20 questions if you want. We can go back to the silence too if you want that. Honestly, you’re the one in charge here right now.”
Murphy keeps his eyes on the road. His fingers tap against the wheel as he continues to take Kevin to...where’s the warehouse again? Oak Ridge Parkway, isn’t it? “I do want to be famous, in the NY crime scene.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Kevin asks, amused. “Aren’t you already famous? What is it, the most brutal crime family in New York?”
“That’s how the cops are describing us now?” Murphy asks. “I guess in that way, I am. But I’m not like Jordan’s level of famous, or I guess in that case, infamous.”
“Jordan?”
“Ah, right. You wouldn’t know.”
“Explain then. We have plenty of time before we get to the warehouse.”
Murphy pauses. “And how do you know that?”
“Lucky guess that you just so happened to confirm for me,” Kevin replies smoothly. “It’s always a warehouse or a secret abandoned building, the list of cliché kidnapping locations goes on and on.”
“That is fair, I guess,” he mutters. “Jordan unofficially has control over everything that you can think of here. And not just here, god knows how far she has managed to branch out during the last few months.”
“Impressive. And you want the control?”
“I’ve worked my whole life off, and will continue to do so to get there. So yes.”
Dramatic, Kevin thinks. But also understandable for Murphy. “I’d say good luck, but you know.”
Murphy chuckles. “And you? Do you want to be famous?”
“In certain circles, sure. Being known for my research and my essays, for whatever contribution I make.”
“Not famous as in having your book be hailed a classic famous?”
“I’m not that good on that front, no. And while that idea has its merit, I would rather not. Many other people deserve that more than me.”
“Right, right,” Murphy says. “Why are you asking me these?”
“Bored,” Kevin says. “We both have time to kill, and you seem like you need it. Before making a phone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? If so, why?”
“If I’m talking to someone important, yes. What do you mean I seem like I need it?”
“You look like you need a distraction. Well, I suppose this whole thing: kidnapping me, threatening Raymond counts as a distraction too, but right now you’re just driving.”
He’s been staring at Murphy instead of looking outside, and right now Kevin watches as Murphy licks his lips, the tapping of his fingers increasing in speed. “Am I always that easy to read or is this just you?”
“In this case, it’s you.” In other cases that Kevin remembers, Murphy has been good at keeping his thoughts close to his chest, not showing anything. Well, he definitely shows that gleeful sadistic side when he gets to fuck around, but other than that.
He shudders at the memory of the intense look Murphy had directed (will direct) at him when he was tied to the chair.
“I see,” Murphy replies evenly. “And what about you?”
“What’s what about me?”
“The phone call question.”
That’s as close as Murphy’s going to get with agreeing to the fact that he really does need the distraction, which is fine by Kevin, really. “I don’t rehearse as much as I used to. What would constitute a perfect day for you?”
“A day off without me having to worry about keeping everything running. It has certainly been a while since that happened,” Murphy sighs. “You?”
A good book, a good cup of tea, the perfect lighting conditions. Cheddar asleep by his legs as he flips through the pages, marking down details. Brahm’s playing in the background. Raymond’s next to him, sharing the silence.
Simpler times, Kevin thinks. “Monday the 19th,” Kevin answers. “Tomorrow sounds good.”
“Is that an anniversary or something?”
“Not really, no. It’s just tomorrow.”
“I see,” Murphy hums. Kevin knows that Murphy doesn’t see it at all. “If Raymond plays his cards right, you won’t die here today, you know?”
Murphy definitely doesn’t see it at all. “That’s hardly in my control, now is it?”
“But it is though. Raymond will listen to you, I imagine. He has already gone through the trouble of hiding you away in that little safe house.”
“Maybe,” Kevin gives in, just so they don’t have to continue that talk. He will worry about it when it happens. “When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?”
“When I drove over to pick you up. The radio late at night has some good songs.”
“And to someone else?”
Murphy shrugs. “Do you think I look like the type to sing to someone?”
“You can’t judge that kind of thing based on looks. I’ve seen worse people than you singing songs to others.”
“I somehow doubt that.”
“Which part?” Kevin asks. Murphy laughs softly. “Sing something for me?” he continues.
This time he really has caught Murphy off guard. Kevin would be more amused if he wasn’t more worried about the fact that the driver should not be looking like a deer caught in the headlights, especially when he’s also in the car.
He does not want another crash, thank you very much.
“I-”
“Apologies, that was too much to ask. Forget I did,” Kevin quickly corrects himself. “I didn’t mean to overstep anything.”
“You didn’t,” Murphy breathes out. “On the other hand, you are just full of surprises, aren’t you? In my personal experience, hostage situations don't turn out like this.”
“First time for everything,” Kevin says. First time that his kidnapping is going this way, even if this is the whatever time he has repeated this day.
Murphy hums again. It’s no longer his fingers that are tapping against the wheel in quick succession, rather Kevin sees specifically and purposefully spaced out hand formations that remind him of playing chords on the piano.
“My knees went out,” Murphy starts, his voice low with a gruff edge to it. The accent that Kevin has never actually managed to place the origins of is still there, just maybe not as pronounced. “The ground rushed in. The grass went dark and dizzy.”
He leans back on his seat, making himself comfortable.
“I did not stir, I did not dream. I did not dare to dare…I did not dare.”
The seat is really soft, Kevin notes. He’s tired, not from the looping this time. From waking up at around 2 and deciding the next best thing to do is to go to a bar and get drunk, and then getting into a car with Murphy to go to this warehouse.
“The sunlight died and the ground got damp. I thought to pray to something,” Murphy sings, his voice slowly getting louder with every word, like he’s getting more comfortable, more into a rhythm that Kevin doesn’t know about. “I did not pray, I did not call out. I did not care to care...I did not care.”
Kevin’s eyes slip closed despite him forcing them to stay open.
He vaguely hears Murphy continuing, “You went and found my eyes again, in the fire light on the low,” and part of him really wants to stay awake until at least the end of the song. “I turn and find ten more like me,
each one with his own song
and you carefully
humming along
the stars came out
the sky made room
my heart dissolved to sugar
i did not breathe
i could not breathe
i did not move from there, love
i will not move from here
you went and found my eyes again, in the fire light on the low
i turn and find ten more like me
each one with his own song
and you carefully
humming along.”
Someone’s shaking him awake. Kevin blinks groggily, stifling a yawn.
“Was it that bad?” Murphy asks.
Right, the song. “Oh. Sorry about that,” Kevin says.
“It’s fine.”
He can’t tell if Murphy actually means what he said or not. “You have a good voice,” he adds. “Shame I didn’t get to hear the rest of it.”
Murphy laughs. It’s not mocking, or at least the mocking is not directed at him. “Of course.” Before Kevin can object, Murphy’s already continuing. “We’re here. And from here I will need to tie you up. Precautions and all.”
“Right. Wrists behind my back?”
“If you don’t mind.”
“Let me get out of the car first, and you can get the rope in the meantime.” Kevin opens the door, stepping out and taking in the scenery, or lack of in this case. The warehouse looks horrible.
He moves his wrists back, shifting around to find a nice position that won't make his shoulders complain. By the time he hears footsteps approaching, Kevin has settled on a nice pose.
The rope touches his skin, looping around. Kevin doesn’t flinch, just letting Murphy do his job. “All done.”
He gives a light tug, finding the rope not as tight as he thought it would be. Interesting. “So, shall we?” Kevin asks.
Murphy walks to the warehouse as his answer, and Kevin quickly follows.
It’s the same setting that Kevin has seen many times before, so he doesn’t bother taking a look around the place again. He does see Brian and his friends leaning against the wall though, one of them looking up when Murphy whistles.
Instantly there’s a chair quickly placed in the center of the warehouse, and Murphy gives Kevin a push on his shoulder. Kevin scowls slightly, nearly tripping without his hands to balance everything. He walks over, sitting down and letting the goon tie him down to the chair, frowning at the uncomfortable feeling.
He misses the bar already. The seats there were a lot softer.
Murphy pulls out his phone again, wasting no time and now Kevin knows what he’s typing into it. He counts the usual 3 seconds before Raymond picks up.
“Hello, this is Raymond Holt speaking.”
“Hello Raymond,” Murphy says. He walks closer to Kevin, leaning on the chair as he continues. “How is it going?”
“Why are you calling me?”
“To talk, obviously. How’s Kevin?”
“Cut to the chase, Seamus.”
“Impatient,” Murphy tuts. “I have an offer to make, if you’re interested.”
“I'm not. Accepting an offer with you is what got us here in the first place,” Raymond says.
Murphy chuckles at his words. “No no, you fucking with me is what got us here. But like I said, my door’s always open if you want to do business. And it is very open right now.”
“No.”
“You’re not even going to hear what I have to say? Rude, Raymond.”
“You don’t have anything that I need.”
“I have Kevin.”
Raymond’s sharp intake of breath is audible. Kevin waits, tapping his foot against the concrete floor as time flies by. “You’re lying,” Raymond says simply, almost desperately. He has definitely found the wallet that Kevin ditched then.
Murphy moves the phone closer to him, prompting him to speak.
“Hello, Raymond,” Kevin complies.
The silence stretches out even more after his words.
“What’s your offer?”
“You coming here, alone. No backup, no weapon, nothing,” Murphy says. “And Raymond. I said this once and I will say it again, don’t you even think about screwing with me. If you do, well… Kevin will be the one paying for your mistake. And I’m sure you would not want that.”
“And what do I get?”
“The chance of seeing Kevin alive. Me letting your husband go, who knows?”
“When and where?” Raymond asks.
“Don’t ask stupid questions. I know you’re tracking the phone as we speak. And as for the when.” Murphy looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “You can take your sweet sweet time getting here, as long as you want. Just know that I will be spending that time with your husband.”
“Don’t hurt him-”
“Be here fast then,” Murphy cuts in before ending the call. Throughout that the guy has gotten another chair out, opposite to Kevin and Murphy sits down, leaning back with his arms behind his head. His legs are propped up on Kevin’s thighs. “That was fun.”
“You have an interesting definition of fun,” Kevin replies.
“What can I say?” Murphy shrugs. “You learn to like it. Comes with the job.”
“Of course,” Kevin says. “Next you’ll say torturing people is also fun.”
“I would not go so far as to call it torture, but you have to admit, the power rush is addicting.”
He imagines himself in Murphy’s place, holding a knife to someone’s throat, just letting it lay there without necessarily breaking through the skin. He imagines himself making someone choose between their significant other and their family.
He remembers him holding a gun to Brian’s head, remembers how comfortable he felt holding it.
Kevin shudders again, shaking the thought away. “Perhaps,” he replies.
Murphy doesn’t say anything more to the topic and they lapse into a silence, one that's neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. Murphy occasionally takes out his phone to do whatever he does, but most of the time he’s looking at Kevin.
His intense gaze burns.
Kevin meets the look head-on.
“Say,” Murphy says, almost out of the blue if Kevin wasn’t also watching and seeing him fidget in his seat. “You never answered the question.”
“Which one?”
“The singing one.”
Kevin shrugs. “To myself, in the cab to Columbia. To Jake, at some point in the safe house,” he says. “How long has it been since you called Raymond?”
“Around 20 minutes. Why?”
“It will be a while more before he gets here, I imagine. If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or body of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you want?”
“Is this how you’re killing the time now?”
“Why not?”
“Body,” Murphy says. “Where are you getting these questions?”
“It’s from a study years ago that interested Raymond,” Kevin says. “And personally, I’d choose mind. Do you have a secret hunch about how you’ll die?”
“Two to the body one to the head,” Murphy answers easily without missing a beat. “You?”
“A round to the chest.” He smiles at Murphy. He wonders if his smile is coming across as sardonic right now. “I won’t hold it against you.”
“It’s nothing personal,” Murphy says. “But yes, that’s fair. Do you really think you will die here?”
“Most likely, yes. Do you really think Raymond will follow the deal?”
“No, that’s why I have more than four people here,” Murphy gestures vaguely to the rest of the warehouse. “Aren’t you afraid?”
“I used to be. Now? Not so much.”
“What gives?”
Kevin shrugs. “You wouldn’t believe me. I’m not asking for you to either.”
“Does it really matter?”
“I suppose not. The thing is, Murphy, nothing really matters.” He leans forward, and once again wonders what expression he's wearing that gets Murphy to lean back in apprehension. “You’re not afraid of death when death merely brings you back to the start of the day, Sunday the 18th.”
“What?”
Kevin laughs. “You don’t believe me,” he says matter-of-factly. “I don’t blame you for that either. It’s hard to take any of the words I said seriously.”
“I- What?” Murphy repeats himself.
“I’m not insane. Ask Brian or Trevor or Liam and… Yeah I have to admit, I really never actually got to know who the fourth one is.”
“Anthony,” Murphy distractedly fills in. “How- You- That’s impossible.”
“I literally just listed off your henchmen’s names,” Kevin continues. “I can tell you about your plan to dramatically slit my throat in front of Raymond before offering him another deal as you stab me in the shoulder too, if you want.”
“That’s how you knew about everything before this.”
There’s literally no point in denying anything at this point, so Kevin nods. “Yes.”
Murphy slumps back in his seat. He stares at Kevin, or maybe he’s just staring into space. Kevin can hear the cogs and gears turning as he tries to process this new fact, and he leaves Murphy alone to think everything over.
“...How many times have you been here?” His voice is strained.
“Enough to know how well it will end for me.” Kevin cocks his head, humming before continuing. “To be honest, I’m just telling you this so I can ask you to make my death, you know, painless. Nothing really matters but some things stay with you.”
“Explain.”
“When I woke up from a car crash everything hurt like hell and my vision was partially low. When I got shot the scar always stayed for a while. I could barely raise my hand up for over a minute because someone stabbed me in the shoulder.”
Murphy- well, he’s definitely confused and intrigued and maybe even a bit scared. Overwhelmed, actually, would be a good word to describe him. “You’re telling me this,” he starts slowly, testing the words out. “You’re telling me this so you can ask me to help you kill yourself.”
“In a way, sure.” Kevin gives him a grin with no humour behind it. “I’ve found that a bullet through the head only leaves a slight ache that has mostly faded by now.”
Murphy doesn't so much respond as he just blankly nods.
Overwhelmed is definitely the right word to describe him. He crosses and uncrosses his legs, shifting uncomfortably in his seat and now that Kevin’s staring at him, he finds Murphy’s eyes darting around, refusing to even look in his direction.
“No.” His tone is monotonous. “No, I’m not going to kill you-”
“You were going to anyway,” Kevin cuts in easily. Too easily, too calmly. “Don’t act high and mighty now. You knew what your plan was, walking into the bar with a syringe filled with anesthesia to be jammed into my neck or shoulder or wherever.”
“Shut up.”
“You planned to kill me in front of Raymond, make him watch me suffer and die, and then kill him too. Sorry, I suppose I should say plan.”
“Shut up!”
Kevin’s smile widens. “What’s the difference? Where is the difference, Murphy? Does a few hours of talking with me change your mind that easily? What happened to the most brutal crime family in New York, to finding certain activities fun, to quote you?”
Murphy’s right, the power rush is addicting.
“It’s different and you know it,” Murphy grits out. “Shut up, Kevin, before I make you.”
“You have no problem saying that, but when I ask you to put a single bullet through my head you hesitate.”
It almost compares to the high of losing control, of sitting there tied to a chair with a gun pointing directly at his head, right between his eyes. Of knowing you’re that close to death.
Despite describing it as a high, right now he feels calm.
Kevin leans forward until the barrel touches his forehead.
“Shut me up then. I know you have it in you, it will just be so easy. I imagine this isn’t the first time someone's asked you to end it all, torture makes people say a lot of things just to end the pain.”
“You’re mad-”
“I’m perfectly in my right mind.”
Murphy draws a breath. “Ask me again,” he says.
“Would you be so kind as to shoot me?”
The twelfth time, Kevin wakes up with a headache.
Murphy took the shot. A small smile makes its way across his face at that as he lays there for a moment, enjoying the muted darkness in the room that’s occasionally interrupted by the flashing red light of the alarm clock.
The satisfaction covers him like a blanket, and the smile stays there as Kevin gets up, making a point to be quiet lest he rouses Jake.
Jacket, wallet, check.
Kevin pushes the door open, whistling a tune as he steps out and closes the door behind him. His mind is already flipping through what he wants to do today, hesitating between spending the whole day at the library rolling dice and picking random books based on the inferior DDC system or renting a car and driving to wherever, long as it’s not NYC. Connecticut maybe, it has been some time since he visited a friend, despite the rather short commute.
It doesn’t even have to be a visiting trip either. A trip with no purpose sounds, well, equally as amazing and appealing. He has more than enough money to rent a decent car, or he can just wait until Raymond goes to work to swing by the house and take his own.
Before that though, he has to get away from here first. Kevin waves a cab down, rattling off the address to Columbia before pausing. Going there would mean Murphy finding him, and he doesn’t know if he wants to deal with that today.
“Actually no, Prospect Park please,” Kevin corrects, taking out the bills from the wallet. He will throw it out when they’ve traveled for a long enough time, but for now he simply holds it in his hand, enjoying the texture.
The driver, the same person from last loop Kevin notes, nods. They’re a fast driver, and the scenery outside blurs together into coloured blobs that he watches if only because he has nothing better to do right now.
After around thirty minutes of driving, Kevin rolls the window down and ditches the wallet. Around an hour and thirty minutes after that, the car stops. He pays the fees, getting out and closing the door behind him.
The taxi speeds off, leaving him alone at one of the entrances that’s closed right now. Perhaps he can just spend the day here too, walking around, watching the birds and visiting the various historical landmarks, gardens, and museums they have here.
That sounds good. It has been a while since he’s even come here.
It’s not hard to find another way in that’s not locked, and soon enough he’s walking down a random path, not really caring where it will lead him. It’s not like anything is open at this hour anyway, or Kevin at least thinks so.
The trees and the rustling of leaves keep him company well enough. Some ducks are paddling across the lake when he gets there, and Kevin sits down under one of the trees.
Beside nature moving around him, all is still.
It’s quiet.
He doesn’t realise he has dozed off until he wakes up to sunlight shining at him. The inky black water from before now catches the light, shimmering yellow and blue greeting him when Kevin opens his eyes.
Some ducks are walking just a few feet away from him. He looks at them for a moment before standing up, dusting off the dirt. His movement doesn’t phase them, and they merely watch as Kevin walks away from the lake.
It’s calm.
Bird watching has not lost its charm. Most of the morning is spent scouting the park, exploring the grounds again. It really has been too long since he visited the place.
He was right: it is a nice day to go out for a walk.
It’s relaxing.
He thinks about dropping by the museum or the botanic garden. Instead Kevin gets seated on a bench, the leaves doing a decent job of keeping the sunlight from shining directly down at him.
It’s a light lunch, a sandwich with a bottle of water that doesn’t cost that much. Around him people are milling around, enjoying their time here.
It’s peaceful.
He remembers a picnic with Raymond here. It could not have been that long ago, but when he thinks about anything before the safe house, it feels like it's been forever.
The sky’s not its bright blue anymore, rather shifting to orange and red as the sun sets. He’s back at the lake again, watching the ducks.
It’s boring.
He has had a nice day, a good day. There’s been no Murphy and no NYPD, no kidnapping attempt or gunfight. He’s worn out from doing nothing.
And Kevin knows going to the library or renting a car to drive down to, he doesn’t know, Philadelphia or something would give him that same dragged out feeling.
It’s so boring, Kevin thinks as he feels sleep taking him.
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