His impressive capacity to remain calm simmered some of Cyrek’s agitation, remaining on edge as he took a seat after draping his coat over the back of it. His disposition of skepticism stayed stone-still, settling in the chair and tucking his hands into his lap, mismatched eyes meeting the detective’s with a challenging air to it. His double-studded eyebrow piercings through his left eyebrow would make the gaze intimidating to just about anyone else in the world, but this guy’s homicide. He’s seen shit worse than Cyrek can ever dream. He had no doubt seen cases that would make seeing Alice’s body under the white sheet at the morgue feel second-rate by comparison. The detective’s face was familiar, but he couldn’t put a finger on it. Extensive time had passed since he had set foot in the office, and until recently, he hadn’t really lived here in years. Cyrek knew how to keep his head down and avoid the police, avoid getting a record after the offense that landed him in here as a teenager. If he was supposed to remember this guy, it wasn’t coming to the forefront of his mind. On the other hand, if the detective remembered him from whatever he can’t place, the mismatched eyes would give him away. Nobody can forget a man with gorgeously unique eyes like that, one a deep chocolate and the other a striking, leafy green. “I don’t want anythin’,” Cyrek said firmly, gaze slipping to the file on his desk and reading the name upside down. Alice Pallas-Dexicos. One of the photos was peeking out of the papers and sparked a nauseous sensation of stomach acid churning inside of him. Keeping up the tough guy act was difficult when the memories he had sought to bury flashed behind his eyes.
A sad sigh almost escaped him the longer he lingered on it, starting to deflate, only to tense up all over again when the detective clarified why he was here. Immediately, the fire his brother seemed to vehemently admire burned in his eyes again, narrowing his gaze, spitting venomously, “Right now? What fuckin’ allegations and suspicions? Come the fuck on! Does Manchester have nothin’ better to do than run around pinnin’ the fuckin’ blame on family? That monster she was livin’ with wasn’t family, where the fuck is he? Don’t you fuckin’ sit here and tell me I’m a fuckin’ suspect when I saved her from that fuckin’ monster that was our birth father, put my ass on the line for that little girl, like HELL I’d lay a fuckin’ hand on her!” His temper got the best of him, willing himself to take a deep breath and let it fade, the bitter gaze steeling into the detective until they dropped to the file then, blinking back tears. This isn’t doing jack shit to make him look good. Reaching into the pockets of his jeans, he produced his wallet and flipped it open, removing a photograph and a piece of paper, flicking them onto the table carelessly. Sue him for sentimentality, carrying that picture of bottle-feeding his baby sister around, and never bothering to get rid of the paper that informed him of the grant of custody for Orion, considering it’s been four years since Orion’s been legal. “Look, I raised that fuckin’ baby. That’s– they might as well be my fuckin’ kids, man. Wouldn’t have given up bein’ some normal teenager if… they didn’t need me. Just… get on with it, show me the pictures, ask me your questions, I don’t care, I was in Milan the whole week of the timeline. I already lost my sister. I already buried her. I’m gonna fuckin’ puke if you show me the body again, but I’ll fuckin’ look at it if you want me to,” he murmured, setting his wallet aside on the desk and running a hand through his hair, rolling up his sleeves that exposed his scars and forcing the tension to leave his body, “Just… don’t call her ‘victim’ when you talk about her. She has– had a name. She had dreams.”
twelve years on the force and four as a detective, and nick learned long ago that lashing out is a way to mask pain. he’s done it himself in the past, but he doesn’t let his expression change at the words spat at him with enough venom to melt walls. it’s not unusual, he’s seen it before; in fathers demanding justice, mothers who break into the office to yell at them, family who try to break into a crime scene. it’s mostly the same with these people, but he can understand where the emotions come from, and he doesn’t deny that his own anger would rival the one portrayed before his eyes. the silence falls into the office once again and nick is grateful for the blinds being drawn or there’d be a whole audience by the window. he waits for a beat longer before digging around the drawers of the desk and places a box of tissues on the table before his eyes fall on the photo on the table. he oversteps his boundaries for a minute and picks up the photo an examines it, his professional demeanor slipping into a softer, more natural state for a second. no harm in being understanding, especially when the situation reminds nick of his own childhood in its own way. if his own brother hadn’t been there, there’s a fifty fifty chance someone else would sit in this chair, questioning cyrek. “ beautiful picture. ” it’s all he dares comment without letting his professional integrity suffer, and the once-over he gives the custody paper results in a tired sigh. he runs his hands over his face and leans back in his chair, scribbling something else on his pad, underlining it twice before crossing his arms over his chest, fingers casually tapping the unloaded sidearm under his arm.
“ that was eight ‘fuck’s in the beginning there. cursed more when you were younger. ” he mumbles under his breath and stares at his case file, reorganizing his question in his head. bringing up old meetings, or old cases, was not accepted, but it was worth mentioning. questioning was about trust, and the man obviously wasn’t keen on either the place, or the nypd representative sitting in the room. it didn’t take long to recognize people, not when they had quirks, or physical characteristics that stuck to his mind. and who could forget that surname? there had been some talk about it in the break room after the incident. he lets the recognition fade away while he mulls the information; there’s something rotten about this case to begin with and he doesn’t want to dwell on it, in case the gut feeling doesn’t go away and he screws up his job. “ the pictures aren’t the main focus here. you’ve seen them once, and those pictures will stay in your head whether you want it or not. ” personal experience resonates in the words and nick stops his steely stare and instead runs both his hands over his face and through his gelled-back hair. he takes a drink from his coffee and pokes a stray paper back into the file, then moves it tot he side of the desk, only leaving his notepad in reach. he places botch his palms flat on the cold surface of the desk, takes a deep breath, ans speaks, “ now let me make something absolutely clear here. i get you’re upset, and i get it. shit hurts, but your contribution today might help us get leads on this man, the monster that got way. you’ve heard the phrase, the innocent have nothing to hide? the attitude is not helping. do you want us to send the manchester police helpful information, or a report on you being uncooperative and giving them even more reason to turn you into a full-fledged suspect? do you want alice to receive the justice she deserves, or do you want to end up behind bars for what happened to her? then let me do my job and find the cause to these accusations, and get tot he bottom of your innocence, since that seems to be the case here. ”
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