[ribslit]

what if i just came back to writing on jim..... what if.....

[webbased]

I SWEAR TO GOD 𝚒 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 ; 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚝 —— combined film canon peter parker , written by zed.

[maleritualsa]

i  can’t  see  how  anything  lasting  nineteen  seconds  could  allow  for  sexual gratification.        ©

[ribslit]

EGOPATH

𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐒  after their initial break up,  holden had talked himself in circles trying to rationalize it.  it was the right decision.  not only that,  it was the only decision.  if he wants his research to stand on its own and his career to flourish,  he had to make personal sacrifices.  and the largest sacrifice was jim.  he told himself there wasn’t another way and looking back with the benefit of hindsight,  holden doesn’t see how he could have had both.  but he thinks,  he would’ve changed which one he picked if he given a second chance. 

it is hard not to remember jim’s cozy new york apartment when holden returns to his cramped,  one - bedroom, even now.  at the start of the decade,  he had moved back to wisconsin to live in the same home he had spent his teenage years.  he took care of his mother as her health withered.  he wrote three more books.  but when she passed away,  rather than stay in a big,  empty home  —  he sold it and moved to d.c.  those six years felt like an aberration.  

in d.c., his apartment is very similar to the one jim would remember him having.  one bedroom,  an office with several file cabinets and boxes lining the walls,  and a plump calico with a penchant for sleeping on his bookshelf.  it is a different apartment.  different files.  a different cat.  but everything is the same.  and holden can’t help but imagine how things would have changed if jim was still in his life.

❝ — the farm was too much space for me, ❞   he tells him.  as they get close enough to read the sign,  holden recognizes their destination before jim points it out.  the colorful sign and the smell of fresh food gives it away.   ❝ — in d.c. i can do good work again.  aclu.  mid - atlantic innocence project.  they do more for the conscious than sitting by the fire would, ❞   he offers with a smile. 

as jim speaks of his niece,  holden’s smile doesn’t falter.  he’s happy to hear jim has someone in his life  —  even if it is a relative.  finding jim still working as an investigator was bittersweet,  no matter how expected it was.   ❝ — i’m glad to reap the benefits from her tireless search, ❞   holden says as he follows jim into the small restaurant. 

IN MANY WAYS,        jim’s life now wasn’t that different from the one he’d had when holden had last been a part of it.  by the end of their relationship jim’s position within the department had improved significantly from when they’d first met,  though his refusal to take any promotion put in his path meant that he was often still laboring under superiors who’d rather have him making an arrest quota than just about anything else.

it wasn’t that that made him leave,  though.  he’d expected that,  gotten used to dodging certain questions and ducking out of the door when the captain strode in his direction.  no,  he’d left when he did because he simply wanted a break from the whole business.  then,  he wouldn’t have called himself disillusioned,  though looking back there was an element of that to it.  but he was tired.

“ that seems about right for you, ”  jim replies,  rather fondly.  he’s always thought that the public perception of holden was perhaps a bit warped,  a bit too focused on his oddities rather than what drove the man,  which as jim sees it has always been an unfailing drive to solve a problem.

“ i was a lecturer,  for a while, ”  jim says.  “ i thought about leaving the force permanently,  accepting a position as a professor. ”  at the time,  he’d given the idea serious thought.  he’d gotten the offer mere weeks before his 50th birthday.  he would’ve started that september,  thrust right into a new job.  it was tempting,  seriously tempting.  “ but in the end i came back.  worked the arson task force for a while,  which also felt like a good change of pace. ”

“ i’m glad you’re working that side of it these days, ”  he says,  after a small pause.  “ i’m not a stupid enough man to think i,  or any of us,  always get it right. ”  jim’s written three books on the subject,  more or less,  which did little to endear him to the force at large but certainly helped him sleep better at night.

jim reaches into his jacket pocket to pull out his glasses to read the menu sign behind the counter,  despite the fact that he knows he’s likely going to order the same thing he does almost every time.  his consideration ends up being mostly play-acting,  as he orders his usual again.  he waits for holden before he leads him back out to the patio to wait for their food.  it really is a beautiful day,  and the few trees on the block offer just enough cover to make it comfortable to sit out on the sidewalk.

[ribslit]

EGOPATH

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐀 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐓  in their relationship.  up until that point,  holden had been content with popping in every couple of weekends or calling,  last minute,  when he was going to be in the area.  they weren’t committed  —  they didn’t have a title for what they were.  just how holden wanted had wanted it.  but when jim flew across the country to be by his side after he was hospitalized  —  holden had to face the reality of his feelings. 

his recovery had been long.  getting back on his feet had been hard enough but accepting that he would never truly be the same as he was before was something much more difficult to stomach.  he had been so angry  —  angry with the fbi for putting him in that positon.  and it should’ve been easy to leave at that point and have a real relationship with jim but at the last minute,  holden had changed his mind.

as jim walks beside him while holden’s cane taps the cement,  he can’t help but think about those long nights in the hospital  —  laying awake,  starring at jim’s long limbs as he tried to sleep in a chair. 

❝ —  sure,  i’m only going to be here through the weekend though, ❞   holden has yet to tell him what brought him to san francisco to begin with but he thinks real life can wait a couple more minutes.  

holden cocks his head toward him as they walk.  though he relies on the cane more with age,  he’s more fluid with it than jim would remember him being.   ❝ — i’m in d.c., actually.  i moved back to milwaukee for a couple years to help my mom but when she passed,  i wanted to get back to what i knew. ❞

THINKING BACK ON IT,        jim had never been angry at holden for making his choice.  how could he have been ?  it was entirely expected.  he understood the logic behind it,  and he’d never have wanted holden to choose him grudgingly — he knew that resentment would’ve simmered under the surface and killed anything they could’ve had anyways.

had there been any way for holden to stay in his job and stay in a relationship,  a real relationship,  that would’ve been the option jim favored.  he thinks back to a few years ago seeing a tweet from the fbi during pride month — it turned his stomach.  it was all well and good to make a statement now,  but what about then,  when it had mattered so much more ? 

no,  he’d never been angry.  but he had been disappointed,  and that had hurt so much more.  anger helped to separate a person from the real emotion they were feeling.  but jim had to sit in his disappointment,  wallow in it.  if you asked him,  jim would say that holden hadn’t been a reason he left new york,  but that wasn’t quite true.  the end of it had left him with a bad taste in his mouth about the city.  and when he left,  he didn’t tell holden.

all of this is part of their past,  but to pretend it is all of their past would be wrong.  there had been many more good times than bad.  as jim walks alongside holden,  he finds himself far less bitter than he thought he might be.  the years since they’ve last seen each other has softened nearly all the wounds,  and jim’s had plenty since.  now,  he’s just honestly glad to see holden again.

“ oh,  well,  whenever you have time, ”  jim says.  “ any night works for me. ”

he’s not sure why holden being in d.c. surprises him,  but it does.  he lets out a small chuckle.  “ somehow,  i thought you’d have ended up back on a farm,  writing your books next to a wood fire.  but i suppose you’re more of a city slicker than i ever gave you credit for. ”

jim gestures that they’ve arrived at the restaurant.  it’s barely more than a hole in the wall,  with room to stand and order and tables scattering the sidewalk turned patio in front.  jim holds the door for holden.

“ my niece hannah moved out here a few years back,  and she complained about the coffee at the station every time she stopped by,  so she made it her mission to find a decent place to grab lunch with me, ”  he says as they enter the small space.  “ and she found this,  which i have to say is far better than decent. ”

[ribslit]

JRBEV

Bev never sets the location for these transactions. For his, uh, specialized merchandise. Okay, let’s call it what it is: creepy serial killer memorabilia. Fake, creepy serial killer memorabilia (of his father’s). He leaves the meeting spot strictly to the buyer. What’s the alternative? Tell them to meet at his local diner? His apartment? Yeah right. That is horrifying. He doesn’t want these people knowing where he lives, let alone where he drinks his morning coffee.

He’s considered switching to dead drops. Sure. Any sane person would say that is the logical, safe choice (well, no, any sane person would simply not be doing this at all, in any capacity, safe or not). But he likes knowing who he’s giving these items to. He likes cataloguing their faces in his memory in case any of them do turn into some violent copycat so he can point them out in a line-up and be like that’s the man, officer.

He’s supposed to meet at some abandoned house. Sinister. But he agrees to it. Out of all the transactions he’s made (and he’s made a lot), none of the buyers have ever tried to harm him. They’re actually remarkably kind to him. Which is way worse. Who wants a serial killer fanatic to, you know, like you? What does that say about him? Nothing great. He’s not great. He knows that.

The front door to the abandoned house is on the floor, leaving the entrance empty and open. It looks like the door was kicked in recently, within the last couple weeks. Bev knows no one lives here, but it still feels so intrusive to just walk in. He knocks on what’s left of the moldy doorframe, shouts an experimental Hello? and waits for a response. Nothing.

Bev steps inside.

What greets him is total horror. Some animal’s organs have been yanked out of an incision in its stomach. The body is so mutilated he can’t tell what species it is. Whatever it is, its neck looks broken. No animal’s neck bends like that.

He begins to hyperventilate and tries taking controlled breaths to calm himself down. The smell of the blood and decay pulls through his nostrils with each deep inhale, and he nearly passes out from the overwhelming stench: his head feels fuzzy, his hearing feels distant like he has cotton in his ears, and his vision begins to go a blotchy white. He sits where he stood, arms and chest slumped forward feeling at once as light and unmovable as a rag doll. With his diminishing vision he sees pictures strewn about the floor. He swears those are pictures of his father. One of the pictures he recognizes. It’s a family photograph: his father, him, and his mother. It’s the picture the media latched onto during his father’s trials.

What the hell.

He calls the police. He probably sounds like an idiot on the phone. But what person ever sounds put together when you’re calling the police, right? And, really, there are more important things to be worrying about right now. Obviously. And he is.

He waits in the doorway (that he now has no qualms about hovering in because, hey, frankly, fuck that dead animal room) for some type of civil force to arrive.

DETECTIVE MEANS SOMETHING,        some of the time.  but almost as much of the time,  he is a cop like any other,  and that means that when he hears a radio call and he’s right around the corner,  he says he’ll take it.

it comes across the radio as some type of disturbance,  but that means almost less than nothing.  that could be a fight,  a dv situation,  or a neighbourhood kid with a spray-can.  there’s no real way to know what he’s about to walk into here,  and without a partner at the moment.

even so,  jim doesn’t feel too nervous,  which is possibly foolhardy.  from what he thinks he remembers of this neighbourhood,  it’s quiet.  his bet is currently on  ‘kid with a spray-can’.

he really is right around the corner  —  he makes it to the address in under ten minutes,  and soon enough he’s parking his car and stepping out.  with the full understanding that he doesn’t probably look like the image of a police officer,  he reaches into his pocket to pull out his badge.

whoever called this in was likely expecting a patrol car and a man in uniform,  rather than jim stepping out of his volvo in a dark green suit.  he’s been accused of looking more like a door-to-door salesman than a police officer,  so he has his badge in hand as he crosses the street.

he’d part of the way across the street before he spots him;  the pale and nervous-looking man standing near the doorway to the house.  he’s either the one who made the call,  or he’s been classed by the neighbours as being the disturbance.  he doesn’t appear homeless or drunk at first glance,  though,  and jim doesn’t peg him as the street-art type.  probably the caller,  then.

“ hello,  sir ? ”  he says as he takes his first steps up to the porch of the house.  he holds his badge out.   “ i’m detective jim james — did you call in a disturbance at this address ? ”

[ribslit]

EGOPATH

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐑𝐔𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄.  it is a nice way of saying he’ll be going back to a shit - show.  but it is strikingly appropriate.  when detective james says it,  holden’s airways thicken and his chest feels tight.  his knuckles stain white as he grips the edge of the desk he’s sitting on.  already,  he’s imaging going back to his cabin to find it in complete disarray  —  his papers scattered,  boxes emptied and overturned.  the officers would’ve tracked dirt and grime into the cabin  — scuffing the floor in the process.  and holden can only imagine what they would’ve left behind while turning over his cabin instead of finding his parents’ murderer.   

out his nose,  he breathes a heavy sigh.  his medication had been one of the few items he had been allowed to bring with him but he doesn’t dare reach for it now when he’s under the scrutiny of the detective’s prying eyes.  he swallows hard,  closing his eyes for a moment as he tries to focus on what the detective is telling him rather than the chaos which is waiting for him.

❝ —  a week  ?  ❞   holden’s expression falters.  brows crinkle and furrow as he shakes his head.  from the smell,  he knew they had been dead for a couple days but a week feels impossible.  knowing they were laying there,  lifeless,  while he was so close makes him feel incredibly alone.  holden pinches the bridge of his nose,   ❝ —  i uh  –  yes.  i saw them last sunday.  we had lunch together,  like we always do,  and i helped my dad fix the fence.  and then i went home.   ❞

he doesn’t tell detective james the weekly lunch was an agreement he had with his parents.  after the first book tour,  holden had locked himself in his cabin for nearly two months.  in exchange for privacy throughout the week,  holden agreed to drop in on sundays to spend time with his parents.  he thinks,  it was the only thing keeping him from becoming a complete hermit. 

holden’s head turns down as he looks at his hands,   ❝ —  i’m a writer.  i work at home.  i have everything i need in my cabin.  my parents mostly leave me to my work. ❞

the grip on his chest tightens.  holden bites the inside of his mouth just to focus on something other than the ache he feels.  he shakes his head again,  stammering,   ❝ —  i don’t remember anything else.  i’ve tried to focus on details but they aren’t there.  i got to the house.  i saw the blood.  i found them.  i called the police.  ❞  his arms wrap around himself,  fingers tight on his biceps,   ❝ —  at some point,  i washed the blood off of me.  i had to.  ❞

when he rolled his mother over, some of her blood was still tacky to the touch.  it covered his hands,  his clothes.  holden couldn’t think straight until he got the blood off of him.  ❝ —  i had to,  ❞   he repeats. 

THEY SAY THAT IF A MURDER ISN’T SOLVED        within  forty-eight  hours it is unlikely to be solved at all.  jim has never felt particularly attached to that adage,  found it to be rather defeatist,  but even he will not deny that the longer a case drags on the further away it can seem to slip.  jim was handed this interview,  and this case,  with the knowledge that it was solved.  his task was just to take it across the finish line.  he wondered how his superiors would feel if he came back to them with more questions than answers.

the longer he sits across from holden,  the more he hears,  he finds a sliver of doubt working its way into his mind.  there is so much that just doesn’t make sense to him here.  he can hear the other detectives,  pointing out that this is a brutal and senseless crime,  but he can’t reconcile the man here with the gruesome crime scene photos he’s left in his volvo. 

jim,  by matter of habit,  is a list-maker.  and so,  as he looks back down to his notebook,  he flips to a new page and makes a chart:  reasons ford did it,  reasons ford didn’t do it.  so far,  the two columns are fairly neck and neck.  he needs more information.

from holden’s timeline,  the blood he washed off himself was from moving the body,  not from the murder.  interesting.  well,  jim can play along.  with lies,  even well rehearsed ones,  they tend to fall apart once they’re pushed.  the more information you can get,  the more likely they are to trip themselves up.

“ do you think if you were at the house you could walk me through that day in more detail,  take me through your steps ? ”  jim asks. 

something makes him think that seeing holden’s reaction to the scene could be entirely telling.  if he’s lying,  jim feels seeing him there will give him the best indication,  the best chance to catch him up.  the possibility feels almost wrong to think,  but if holden is telling the truth — jim glances back down at his columns,  and then shuts his notebook.  his curiosity has been piqued,  but he doesn’t want to bias himself by entertaining the thought this early in the game.

[ribslit]

EGOPATH

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐍𝐄𝐑  gives him pause as they stand face to face in the hallway.  in their world,  it can have many meanings and connotations.  the word itself has been a shield for holden who could flippantly use it when mentioning jim with other members of law enforcement in earshot.  the longer he gives pause, however, the longer he realizes he’s been standing with a dumbfounded expression on his face.  holden ducks his head with a nod and a smile. 

it has been years.  when jim moved away,  holden should have picked up the phone and called him but he didn’t.  and by the time holden retired from the bureau,  it felt like too little, too late.  so it begs the question  —  what is he doing here now  ?  what does he expect to come out of a surprise drop in on one afternoon knowing he’ll be on the other side of the country again by week’s end.

❝ —  sounds perfect, ❞      he smiles as his palm curls around the handle of his cane.  in the years since he’s seen jim,  he’s come to rely on it more  —  rarely leaving the house without it.   ❝ —  if you have time for it, that is, ❞   he clarifies despite turning on his heel so he’s pointed toward the doors. 

as they step out onto the street together,  holden considers his questions for jim.  he’s spent years thinking of what he would say to him if he was given the chance.  in moments of frustration or desperation,  he’s thought about all the things he left unsaid and wished he had the chance to say something  —  like a heartfelt proclamation.  but there have been other times,  in small moments of elation,  that holden wished he had jim to turn to  —  just to share a smile with.  

but now,  as he stands with jim,  holden has nothing of worth to say for those lost moments.   ❝ —  are you living in the city  ? ❞   he asks him,  playing it safe with small talk,  ❝ —  i only ever hear about how expensive it is to live out here. ❞    

HE SIMPLY NODS,        throws in a quick smile.  of course he has time.  for holden,  he’ll make time.  as they step outside,  jim thinks that holden couldn’t have picked a better day to visit.  the day is bright and clear,  and the sunlight reflects off the glass-walled police station in dappled highlights along the sidewalk as they walk.

jim easily falls in step with holden,  matching his pace perfectly as a matter of habit,  despite his longer legs.  it harkens back to all of the walks they’ve taken before.  jim is reminded of the new york city streets;  of those pre-dawn hours where even downtown cleared out,  contrasted with the throngs of people on any given street mid-day.  and always,  he thinks of holden at his side.  holden keeping step,  forging ahead,  falling behind,  the pair of them all alone on a city block,  and stuck pressed together on the D-train back to jim’s apartment.

“ i do, ”  jim says.  “ and it is.  my place here is about the same size as my place in brooklyn was,  though the view’s a bit nicer. ”  he pauses,  thinking for a moment before he continues.  “ if you have time,  you’re welcome to come by for dinner some night. ”  he doesn’t want to push,  just to put it out there.  lay the option out.

“ what about you ? ”  he asks.  “ where are you living these days ? ”

[ribslit]

EGOPATH

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐉𝐈𝐌 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐀,  he took any chance they had at rekindling their relationship with him.  up until that point,  holden had been naively hopeful they would eventually work things out.  the trip to new york city from quantico was routine enough  —  he continued to see jim with some frequency long after they formally broke things off. he fooled himself into thinking jim would always be there and they would get a second chance.  —  that he would get a second chance. 

but the move forced holden to admit, the unraveling of their relationship had been his doing.  it had been his refusal to put his job and research on the line for a chance at a happy life with jim.  it had been an impossible decision and holden couldn’t blame jim for not wanting to wait around for the possibility that maybe someday they’d be able to be together openly.  

it had been impossible but perfectly reasonable at the time  —  now,  looking back,  holden just feels like a coward.  what does he have to show for a life of a resolute bachelor  ?   volumes of pioneering but polarizing research,  a new book to publish every year since retirement,  and finally,  the long - coveted,  esteemed title of expert. 

he had stopped keeping tabs on jim after he moved to san francisco.  it no longer felt like a romantic gesture and more of the habit of one of the men he spent his career studying.  he wasn’t privy to jim’s life anymore.  yet,  he here is  —  showing up to his workplace without warning,  after years of no contact.   

when holden sees him,  it hits him how long it has been since they’ve seen each other.  he thinks, the last time jim saw him,  his hair had still been salt - and - pepper,  not yet fading completely to white.  and when jim pulls him into a hug,  he responds by wrapping his arms around him after a moment’s pause.  even when they part,  jim’s hand is still on his arm and holden doesn’t think to shake him off. 

❝ —  so do you, jim, ❞   holden compliments,  unable to tear his eyes from his face.   ❝ —  sorry to pull you away if you were busy.  i’m only going to be in town for a couple days so i thought i’d — drop in,  ❞   the words are more revealing than he’d care to admit.  it had been an impulsive move,  something the holden jim knew so well would’ve done.  holden supposes,  things haven’t changed all that much after all. 

A GLANCE AT HIS WATCH TELLS HIM        that he has time yet.  he lets his hand linger a moment longer on holden’s arm before he releases him.  “ no,  no,  not too busy, ”   jim replies as he pulls his cellphone from his jacket pocket.  “ just going to let my partner know i’m heading out for a bit. ”  he shoots off the text and tucks his phone back away.

jim shuffles to the side,  a bit closer to holden,  as a few officers push on passed them into the station.  he glances around them.  “ do you want to go somewhere ?  coffee,  or lunch ? ”  jim offers.  “ there’s a great mexican restaurant around the corner that has some vegetarian options,  if you’re hungry. ” 

he wants a chance to catch up with holden,  away from the station.  he’d take holden back up to his desk but he doesn’t want the chance of a distraction to pull his focus.

he’s sure they have a lot to talk about.  even if they keep it strictly professional,  jim’s fallen off from following holden’s career in the last few years,  and he’s sure they could fill an afternoon of conversation with nothing but that.  not that jim has nothing to say about his own work.  he has never been the type to sit around and twiddle his thumbs,  and in the years since he last regularly spoke to holden he’s kept busy.

it struck him only recently that he’s been at this for nearly forty years,  give or take a few breaks.  and while he’d like to say that age hasn’t changed him that significantly,  he does often find himself playing the part of mentor now.  it doesn’t make him uncomfortable,  exactly,  but it still catches him off-guard. in some ways,  he feels he’ll never really get used to it.

[ribslit]

EGOPATH

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐘  jump out of him when holden received the files.  he thinks,  there could be any number of inspector jameses in san francisco.  but as he poured over the documents,  he should have pieced it together sooner.  the diligent handiwork is obvious to him in hindsight after he spots a familiar signature on an evidence log.  

every step of this trip has been doused in familiarity.  when holden first walked through the steel doors of  𝐒𝐀𝐍 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍,  it was striking how little had changed.  decades ago,  he had walked the same halls to listen and learn from his subjects.  it still smells the same.  today,  he’s been tasked to provide his opinion on an inmate as the date of his parole hearing swiftly approaches. 

after serving a decade on a felony murder charge, patrick leary could be released.  admittedly,  holden had not heard of the case before he was contacted by the parole board. and even after learning the details,  he did not know what a firestorm he would be walking into.  the case was a hotbed for controversy since the start.   

before inciting a fire which claimed the life of one firefighter, leary had been a petty arsonist known the police for nuisance fires  —  dumpsters, old cars, and garbage.  he claimed it was one of these fires which simply got out of control,  engulfing a vacant warehouse.  during the interview,  leary seemed still to be plagued with guilt that someone died in a fire he set  —  he was apologetic and remorseful  —  everything a parole board wants to hear. 

but that was not the part which interested holden.  throughout their interview, leary offered little understanding about his compulsion to set fires in the first place leaving holden struggling to say if he’ll offend again once he’s out of the structured world of prison.  he has a night to think on it before he has to give his opinion to the board. 

the decision to visit jim at the station made itself on the ride from the prison. if holden were being honest,  he’d admit it was made the connection between inspector james and the police reports.  there is no convenient excuse  –  no files for him to return nor questions he needs to ask about the investigation.  before he can consider if jim is even going to want to see him,  holden asks if he’s available.  as he waits for jim to be called,  holden weighs the option of bolting. 

it has been years since he’s seen jim.  longer since he’s been able to refer to him with any variance of belonging.  breaking up had been bad but tapering off had been even worse.  holden twists his gold watch on his wrist as he considers leaving as the seconds drag.  

but when the door finally does open,  holden lifts his head and has to stifle a chuckle when he sees him.   ❝ —  i knew you were never going to retire,  ❞  he says with a smile as he leans off of the brick and mortar.   |  @ribslit·  ! 

HE HADN’T MADE THE MOVE BACK TO CALIFORNIA LIGHTLY.        his life was in new york city,  his family,  his friends,  coworkers,  career  —  and yet,  when he’d really sat down to think over his future,  he knew he didn’t want to stay there forever.  and if he was going to be anywhere else,  it was always going to be san francisco.

he had thought about holden over the years.  any time he’d been back east he’d been tempted to look him up,  to call him.  at least a few times a year jim would suddenly see something that reminded him of holden.  a copy of one of his books,  or he’d overhear a coworker namedropping.  “ i was friends with him, ”  jim had said once.  the coworker had glanced over perfunctorily,  obviously frustrated to have been interrupted.  jim had left it at that.

back at home,  the glow of his laptop lighting his face,  jim would browse through the internet search results.  there was the wikipedia article,  the links to his books,  the blogs praising or tearing down his work.  and then,  when jim got tired of reading second-hand accounts of a man he used to know like the back of his hand,  he’d shut the computer and go to sleep,  and by the morning thoughts of holden would be pushed aside in favor of coffee and breakfast and work.

when he is told someone is asking after him,  jim has no assumptions.  the most likely scenario is a witness,  someone he had given his card to at some point.  second after that was that his niece hannah has decided to stop by.  jim checks his phone as he walks down the stairs towards the entrance.  there are no new messages,  and hannah is usually pretty good about giving him a heads-up.  jim could never have guessed who would be standing there when he looks up from his phone.

seeing holden right there in front of him is almost surreal.  jim blinks at him for a moment before his expression of surprise shifts into a smile and he closes the space between them to pull holden in for a hug.  when he moves back he keeps a hand on holden’s arm,  as if scared that if he lets go of him he’ll vanish like an apparition.  this is the very definition of a pleasant surprise. 

“ they’re going to have to fire me to keep me away, ”  jim replies easily.  “ christ,  holden.  i  —  i’m glad to see you.  you look good. ”  though the statement is simple,  there is so much more behind it.  it’s like every time he sees him  —  jim always forgets just how much he misses holden until he sees him again,  and then it hits him like a wave.

[ribslit]

EGOPATH

𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐘  to put off personal relationships when he’s focused on work.  with the way he’s been on-the-go,  holden hasn’t had time to catch his breath much less go on a date.  after debbie, he thought if he focused on work  —  on expanding their research, solving cases, and combating his anxiety then he wouldn’t be lonely anymore.  but every now and then,  he’d share a fleeting moment with a stranger and holden would catch himself thinking  —  maybe.

he smiles above his cup of tea as he clutches it close.   ❝ — you noticed that,  huh  ? ❞  holden isn’t sure which is worse:  saying he had panicked when the waiter suggested it for the table and agreed or to say he didn’t know it was going to be.  instead,  he just shrugs loosely,   ❝ — i was happy with the cheese. ❞

when jim takes off his jacket,  holden can’t help but watch him.  he could blame it on jim taking up the majority of his line of sight but holden doesn’t divert his gaze either.  his mind wanders to what they could be like together  —  jim would understand the high pressure nature of his work and likewise,  holden would understand his.  with how often he finds himself in new york for consults and conferences, it wouldn’t be too bad to carry on something with jim.  it would be nice to be with someone he doesn’t need to sanitize his work for.  

their food is set in front of them,  pulling holden away from his train of thought.  despite his refusal,  his meal comes with a side of sausage which holden wordlessly pushes across the table in jim’s direction.  

jim smiles at holden’s admission and he takes special notice of his reaction.  ❝ — i don’t believe that, ❞    he teases as he takes his fork and knife in hand to cut his french toast,   ❝ — a guy like you ?  i’m sure you get asked all the time. ❞

THERE IS NO STOPPING THE        warm feeling that spreads through jim’s chest as he sits across from holden.  jim is often fleetingly attracted to people,  a quick crush that fades within minutes or hours,  often once he begins to actually talk to them.  with holden,  the opposite is happening.  the more he hears him speak,  the stronger the pull gets.

jim laughs lightly.  “ i may have been drunk,  inappropriately so,  but i’d like to think i would’ve been able to notice something so obvious even so, ”  he says.  no need to mention that,  as he’d gotten drunker,  his thoughts had slipped from the case at hand and his own past traumas to focusing more or less exclusively on holden.

the memories filter back to him as he thinks on it:  the bright-white of holden’s shirt against his lapel,  the feeling of his hand against jim’s back as they left the restaurant,  and,  as he remembers in a flash,  the smell of holden,  so close to him in the cab.

last night and this morning have bled together somewhat,  a mess of jim embarrassing himself and holden through it all never complaining,  never making him leave,  never telling him to shut up.  jim’s made far better first impressions that ended far worse for him.  in some ways it makes him feel emboldened;  given that during their first day together jim had nearly cried,  gotten drunk,  passed out in holden’s hotel room,  and then attempted to sneak out before getting caught,  things can really only go up from here.

jim has a sizeable bite of the proffered sausage in his mouth when holden replies to him,  and he has to work to keep himself from inhaling it as he laughs at holden's suggestion.  he chases it down with coffee. 

“ you might be surprised, ”  jim says.  “ i think people prefer men who can actually get through a conversation without putting their foot in their mouth,  and as you saw last night,  i’m not exactly suave. ”  he shrugs,  then gestures to holden. 

“ on the other hand,  you seem to be pretty put together,  and you're an fbi agent ?  if you told me you’d left a trail of broken hearts behind you i wouldn’t be surprised. ”

[egopath]

IS IT POSSIBLE THAT YOU’RE UPSET BECAUSE THE ARTICLE DIDN’T MENTION YOU?  HOLDEN FORD OF NETFLIX’S MINDHUNTER. PROFILED BY KELSEY.

[ribslit]

HISBLINDERS

𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐈-𝟗𝟓 𝐍, 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁, 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐃.  he grips the steering wheel until it aches up his arms.  the sun’s moving behind the horizon.  bright points of orange slowly dimming ; fingers of red that fade into blue-blackness.  

he feels a deep-seated hatred for himself, and he wishes he could’ve been a better husband, a husband with an ordinary job, to support his ordinary family.  less destructive.  someone who wouldn’t neglect his wife and child.     

when he realizes he’s breathing like he’d been running —— he snaps to calm.  

the sun is gone now.  no more red in the sky.  bill is adrift, different.  loose joints and wavy muscles.  his skin doesn’t feel like his own, so he glances in the review mirror.  bill looks awful, objectively, and is unsure how long he’s been on the driving.  

a particularly ugly stretch of highway leads bill to believe he’s in maryland.  after another twenty miles, he fills up his tank and keeps going.  

every so often, bill thinks about nancy and his heart starts to pound behind his ears.  hatred and embarrassment radiate off him like heat.  goddamn nancy.  pretty as a picture, likely moved into an apartment she signed under his nose.  lying bitch ! 

just before midnight, bill reaches new york city and pulls off-ramp in brooklyn.  looking for a motel, bill finds a small bar ; local, neighborhood-oriented, and when he pulls up to the side, he notes its only semi-crowded.  

he swings wide open the door of the bar, and took his first real deep breath in hours.  his nerves are fried.  he needs to sit and drink a beer.  

blue smoke leads bill to the far, far end of the bar.  but he’s not alone, another man has already claimed the space.  maybe they can sit in a strange semi-companionable silence together.   

❝   do you mind ? ❞  bill asks, rapping his knuckles against the bar top for a drink.   ❝  i won’t be here long.  ❞

@ribslit·  

JIM TRIES NOT TO BE THE TYPE TO MIRE IN HIS OWN WOES.        not that he’s necessarily an optimist,  either.  an optimist assumes things will work out.  jim rarely does.  instead,  his reaction is to square off against whatever is troubling him and accept that he’ll have to simply push through it until the job is done.  that’s been harder as of late.

new york seems to be starting to heal in some ways,  and yet the crime rate is still staggering.  jim had really believed that things were about to change,  but if it’s not one thing,  it’s another.  today,  as for much of the last week,  jim had spent most of his day at the emanuel celler federal building testifying in a murder trial,  one he has a sinking feeling they are going to lose.

jim had left the courthouse and returned to the station with every intention of settling in and getting a head-start on the paperwork he had been neglecting since the trial began,  but after hours of going over the same documents,  jim looks up from his typewriter to realize the sun has set,  the bullpen has all but cleared out,  and he’s barely made a dent in his work.  it’s time to call it a night.  at home he shucks his jacket off and makes himself a quick dinner,  an improvised paella he eats directly out of the pan while standing in front of his desk,  staring down the photographs pinned above it.

from above and below he can hear the other families in the apartments settling in for the night,  but he feels more restless than ever.  he leaves the pan in the sink and grabs his wallet and keys,  setting out into the night.  it’s later than he’d assumed,  and the streets are quiet.  a slight breeze moves the tall trees that line his block,  mostly maple and ash,  casting long,  feathered shadows in the dim glow of the streetlights.

he walks straight,  no particular destination in mind,  until he can tell that he's gone beyond his immediate neighborhood.  the area is beginning to seem more commercial,  less residential.  restaurants,  cafés,  shops,  and bars begin to appear.  jim looks at his wrist only to find that he left his watch at home with his jacket.  he considers heading back,  then stops.  the walk has helped some,  but not enough.

if he's being perfectly honest with himself,  it's not just his professional life that has been a mess lately.  his sister has been out of the city for months now,  touring through the southern states.  not that he begrudges her that — he's immensely proud — but he misses her.  she is his confidante,  the person he tells everything to,  the person who would understand when he rambled on about work,  and about ——  he pushes the name from his mind and makes a decision,  heading into the nearest bar.

he ends up at the end of the bar,  ordering a beer.  when he bartender comes back to ask if he'd like another,  jim gets halfway through a  ‘yes’  before changing his mind and his order to gin.  he sips his way through one glass,  and then a second.  it slows him a bit,  calms everything,  but it also seems to open up old wounds;  he finds his thoughts running circles around themselves,  and he doesn’t even notice the stranger approaching him until he speaks.  jim glances over at him,  and gives a nod,  and most of a shrug.

“ by all means, ”  he says.  jim isn’t normally the type for small-talk.  maybe it’s the gin,  making him less hesitant.  maybe it’s a desperate desire to get out of his own head for a few minutes.  whatever it is,  after a short pause he goes on with:  “ long day ? ”

[ribslit]

EGOPATH

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐀 𝐁𝐀𝐆 𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐆  when it is placed in front of him.  holden lets it soak in the hot water for a moment before dipping the bag three times and placing it aside on his plate.  it is surreal to think now he’s sat across from a man he only met a day before to help with a case and tonight,  holden will be back in virginia in his own bed.  and tomorrow,  he may be put on a plane again.  he wonders what ted would say if he asked to spend another night in new york.  this was supposed to be a quick consultation but holden could probably make a case to stay.

but that would be too revealing.  holden has already told jim about his flight and his tight schedule.  if he were to diverge from it now,  he would show his hand completely.  when jim reaches for his sleeve,  holden wonders if he can feel his pulse threatening to break through his skin.  even through his jacket,  holden can feel the warmth his hand emits.  and as soon as their skin brushes at the wrist,  jim pulls his hand back.  he wants to chase it  —  grab his hand in his own and set it on the table.  but holden clenches his fist instead.

back in virginia,  holden will have dozens of cases to review.  he will have calls on consults to return.  he most likely won’t sleep tonight without having spent hours pouring himself into a new case.  but holden can juggle being pulled in multiple directions.  right now though,  he wishes he were able to stop time to spend a little bit longer with this enigmatic, haunted, beautiful man in a diner where no one is paying them any mind.

❝ — i wanted to do something nice for you, ❞  he tells him but it is not the whole truth.  holden also wanted jim to be impressed by him.  he’s not sure it worked but it seems a moot point now. 

when the waitress returns,  holden takes a sip from his tea to quell his nerves.  he hasn’t touched his medication the entire time he’s been in new york but he knows better than to think he’s built up any kind of immunity.  and with the way he’s hanging on jim’s every word,  he knows anything can happen. 

the question comes to him as a surprise if only because he often asks the same to suspects  —  for completely different reasons.   ❝ — nope, ❞   he answers with a shake of his head but quickly follows up with,   ❝ — i’m not seeing anyone right now.  being on the road so much;  it can be hard to meet people.  ❞

FOR SOMEONE WHO HAS BEEN LIVING INDEPENDENTLY SINCE 17,        jim often finds himself somewhat uncomfortable with these kinds of gestures.  he’s so used to be going dutch,  or to being the one who pays,  and he’s always preferred to take care of himself.  

there have been some exceptions:  he more or less let pete and his family take care of him for the month that he spent recovering after the cumberland attack,  and when his sister got her first advance check for her record,  she came to his house with three bottles of cristal in a beer cooler,  and who would say no to that ?

it’s part of the reason he wants to take holden out to dinner the next time he’s in new york.  he’ll feel less odd about having been treated so well if he can pay some of it back,  but as holden speaks he finds himself not being as bothered as he usually is.  jim will still offer to cover breakfast whenever the meal ends,  but he’s not going to say no if,  in the future,  holden offers to ply him with overpriced meat and wine.

“ well,  you have good taste, ”  jim says.  “ though — i’m curious why you’d pick charcuterie if you don’t like meat.  i mean,  i was happy to eat it for you,  but i feel like that would a disappointing meal on your end. ”

jim shrugs out of his jacket and folds it on the booth next to him,  unbuttoning his sleeves and rolling the cuffs to his elbows.  he’s starting to feel a bit warm,  and he can’t tell if it’s just the sunshine or if it’s more psychosomatic.  either way,  he feels more comfortable eating like this.

he nods along as holden replies,  and quickly takes a gulp from his coffee when he feels that he might be about to smile too broadly at the news that holden is single.  “ that makes good sense, ”  he says after his pause,  setting his mug back on the table but keeping his hands around it.  just in case.  

“ i’ve found that work can often get in the way of a social life,  and then to add traveling into that equation — most days i don’t even have to leave brooklyn,  and i’ve only been on one date since i started the job. ”

[ribslit]

EGOPATH

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐋 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌  stifles as detective james steps into the space.  the room is not meant for two people.  there is one bed,  one desk,  one sink, and enough single - use soap for one person.  holden lingers at the edge of the desk as his fingers twitch at his sides.  his thumb rubs the outer edge of his pointer finger raw.  still,  holden wordlessly allows him to sit with a nod of his head.

his jaw pulls still as the detective gives him an inexact answer to his question.  holden doesn’t like staying in the hotel. waiting for his cabin to be released has put his life on hold.  how is he meant to plan his parents’ funeral like this  ?  holden’s arms cross over his chest as he supplies,   ❝  i understand.  do let me know when i can go home. ❞  it comes out as more of a demand rather than asking for a favor.

as he lifts to sit on the edge of the desk,  holden adds,  ❝ —  i hope they’re being careful.  i don’t want to go back to a mess.  ❞

he folds his hands in his lap,  though continues to fiddle with them.  after the release of his novel,  holden had participated in interviews at the urging of his agent.  if holden had it his way,  he would have put the book out to exist on its own merit without any comment from him  —  but as his agent explained,  that’s just not how things are done.  and as the novel grew in popularity,  he was asked for more interviews until he finally was able to slink back into obscurity. 

this is different but it feels the same.  it is obligatory. though it is not the iron grip of his publishers which have put him in the room with detective james but the crushing weight of due process.  holden just wants it to be over.  he wants to go home.  he wants to be able to bury his parents and disappear again.

his thumbnail glides into the bed of his pointer nail.  holden swallows before he starts to recount what he already told the previous officers,   ❝ —  i have lunch with my parents on sundays. 10:45.  i try to be at the house when they get home from church but when i got to the house,  their car was already there.  ❞

looking up from his clasped hands,  holden watches the detective.   ❝ —  i let myself inside.  the house was quiet which wasn’t normal.  mom likes to play records while she cooks.  and uh – the smell.  ❞   as soon as he opened the door,  he had been confronted by the stench.  holden had covered his nose and mouth with his hand as he passed through the kitchen. 

❝ —  i knew something was wrong before i saw the blood.  there was blood everywhere. on the floor, the wall, the ceiling.  in the sink.  i  – i followed it up the stairs which was where i found my dad.  at the top of the stairs.  i went past him to their room and found my mom on the floor,  ❞    holden looks back to his hands,   ❝ —  i must have touched her.  the officers said i moved the body.  i don’t remember.  but i called the police after that and waited for them to arrive.   ❞

JIM SETTLES ONTO THE END OF THE BED,        his notebook in his hands,  pen at the ready.  hearing holden’s comment about a mess jim’s lips press into a tight line.  in his notebook,  he scratches out the question mark and underlines  ‘fastidious’.

he would like to tell holden that the investigators will have done everything in their power to keep the space as it was,  but the promise would be an empty one.  jim knows what holden will return to.  every surface,  overturned.  bloodstains intact,  but swiped-through for typing.  walls shedding their lightning fingerprint powder slowly like soot,  the black dust settling in-between floorboards,  into fibers.  jim has no idea how overturned holden’s own space will be,  but he suspects that it will be a mess.

he’s sure his expression says as much when he meets holden’s gaze again.  “ unfortunately this whole process is rather disruptive, ”  jim says,  which is burying the lede,  but he doesn’t know how much he wants to say just yet.

jim listens as holden runs through the timeline,  making notes as he goes,  and jots a few questions to ask when he thinks holden has finished up.  his natural tendency is to interject,  but he wants to get as clear a version of holden’s timeline as is possible.  once he seems to have finished,  jim looks over his notes,  and then back to holden.

“ just to be sure,  mr ford, ”  he says.  “ when you say ‘sunday’ you mean sunday just past,  when you called the police ? ”  jim had only skimmed the interview notes.  bodies dead a week,  and holden claimed to have found them after all that time.  he knows this was touched on,  but he wants to see how holden explains it himself.  “ do you often go all week without seeing your parents ? ”

holden is intelligent,  obviously.  apparently a writer of some variety.  the name seemed familiar to jim when the case first came in,  but he’s yet to look up the title of holden’s book.  the point is that someone like holden would make up a better story.  maybe in the pressure of the interrogation room,  he could panic,  but here ?  in his hotel room ?  unless he’s decided to stick with his initial version of events out of fear…  jim thinks on this,  and opens his mouth again.

“ in cases like this,  where what has happened is so awful,  it’s not unusual for people to remember things more clearly over time, ”  jim says kindly.  he considers reaching out to lay a hand on holden’s arm,  as he has with others he’s interviewed.  but those have mostly been victims,  and he doesn’t know what holden’s reaction would be,  so his hands remain on his notebook.  “ if you find yourself remembering something different,  or in more detail,  than what you told the first set of officers,  feel free to tell me.  we just want the clearest picture of what happened. ”

[ribslit]

jim’s borough park,  brooklyn apt.  ——  1 bed,  1 bath,  hardwood floors,  2 blocks from the d-train on 55th street.  heat and hot water included.  $450/mo.  4th-floor walkup.  this is a spacious one-bedroom apartment in a well maintained pre-war building.  pets allowed on a case-by-case basis.

[ribslit]

EGOPATH

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒  returns with their drinks,  holden tries to make himself busy with looking over the menu but all of his attempts are thwarted by jim sliding a business card across the table.  his personal phone number is written on the back and that would be enough to twist holden’s stomach into knots but he follows up with the promise of dinner.  his jaw drops,  not enough to split his lips,  but so much that his expression softens.  the entire morning holden had been agonizing over what jim would think if he caught wind of holden’s growing infatuation of him but now  —  jim might return his feelings.

he takes the business card with two hands as though it is something precious.  as he tucks it into the breast pocket of his suit,  he nods his head,   ❝ — i’d really like that,  jim. ❞   the offer has holden reviewing every interaction they’ve shared in a new light,   ❝ — you can pick the place next time, too. ❞

when the waitress comes back to their table to take their order,  holden picks the first thing he sees. french toast.  the waitress asks for his preference of bacon or sausage to which he declines both.  as he tucks the menu away,  he glances up at jim.  

it as though he’s seeing him for the first time again  —  not in a sweaty,  smoke - filled bullpen,  not on the murky,  muddy riverside,  and not in the neon lights of manhattan at night.  this time,  he’s seeing jim in the early morning sun.  the light catches his hair and his smile is easy and loose.  it is a far cry from the red - rimmed eyes he had spent the evening looking into. 

❝ — all the time, ❞    holden answers with a soft shake of his head,   ❝ — i’ve been thinking about subletting my apartment considering i’m never really there.  i’m sure by the time i get back to the office,  they’ll have another assignment on deck for me. ❞   though he tries to sound energetic and proud about his work,  there’s resentment in his voice.  if he could,  he’d stay another night in new york. 

JIM TAKES THE COFFEE WITH A NOD        of thanks to the waitress,  and gulps down a few sips black until the volume is such that he can dump in the amount of milk he tends to take in his coffee.  he stacks the three glass creamer pots he leaves empty in a small pyramid once he’s done,  if only to keep his hands occupied while holden replies.

he finally looks back at holden,  and takes another sip of his coffee.  a small pause.  he smiles behind the mug,  hearing holden say his name.  he likes it,  and the rest of the sentiment that surrounds it.  that is a soundbite he’s sure he’ll replay over again in his head.  jim sets the coffee down and lets his hands rest on the table.  “ i’m glad, ”  he says.  “ and,  hey,  there was nothing wrong with the place you picked.  a bit rich for my blood under usual circumstances, ”

it’s easy here,  in the morning light,  in the relative anonymity of the restaurant booth.  that’s something jim’s always loved about the city.  it’s selfish to assume that anyone is ever watching.  no one cares.   so he doesn’t feel too bad when he reaches across the table to catch hold of holden's arm.

“ it was nice,  though,  that you picked it, ”  he says,  and his thumb brushes against the cuff of holden’s jacket,  just above his wrist.  reassuring.  exploratory.  it’s jim’s left arm,  the window-side arm.  he doubts if the other diners could see,  but also doesn’t care that much.  even so,  he releases the fabric fairly quickly,  lets his arm come back to rest on his side of the table.

just in time,  too,  as their waitress returns.  jim turns to her,  all confidence and smiles,  and orders an omelette.  every one of these places does an omelette.  he gets it with wheat toast,  and sausage.  as she walks away he turns his attention back to holden,  and takes another sip of his coffee.  the sun is coming in through the window properly now,  warming his side.

“ that must be hard, ”  jim says.  “ being away so much.  your girlfriend doesn’t mind ? ”  it comes out slightly more pointedly than he’d intended.  selfishly,  jim hopes for a certain answer,  even while he chides himself for that.  if holden has a girlfriend,  a wife,  what have you,  that’s good,  if he's happy.   all jim can hope is that the sentiment comes across as casual,  conversational.