BFU Detective!AU Chapter 2
TW: The reader is a murderer, and they and the boys are hunting a serial killer, so mentions of death.
Read it on AO3
“This place sure is… Woodsy.”
You could feel Shane and Ryan’s unimpressed stares burning into your back. You smiled anyway. You knew they secretly found you funny.
“Good eye. This place is pretty woodsy. It’s a forest. To be more specific, a forest that a body was found in this morning.” Ryan deadpanned. “Come on, we have some walking to do.”
You blinked, taking a moment to process. Out of all of the reasons you’d anticipated for this afternoon walk, that had been pretty far down the list. You figured Ryan was just taking a hike to stretch his legs- gotta stay fit, after all.
So had the killer struck again like you’d predicted? Or was this unrelated business that they had dragged you along for? I suppose they could still have other facets of their jobs they have to take care of. And they can’t exactly leave me alone at the hotel.
“So. A body, huh? You wanna give some more details on that, Ry guy?” You slammed the car door shut behind you and sprinted to catch up to Ryan’s head start. You didn’t worry much about leaving Shane behind to lock up. He had long legs, he would catch up just fine.
“In due time.” He kept his focus ahead, face wiped clean of emotion. Behind you, the easily distinguishable sound of boots in mud made itself apparent.
“Come on, Ryan. Stop with the weird ‘mysterious facade’ and tell us why we’re walking through the woods.” Shane’s voice was good natured, as usual, but you could easily see that Ryan was only growing more tense as he spoke.
“You got the same report I did this morning. How about you read it?” Ryan snapped, and you cringed. When you turned to see how Shane took it, he was already facing you, eyebrows raised and expression incredulous.
Ryan’s shoulders were tensed, and you could hear him mumbling under his breath. You sidestepped a bit until you and Shane were only a few inches away, walking in silent, concerned solidarity.
Beside you, Shane pulled out his phone. You momentarily debated whether or not to peek at his screen, but before you could decide, he passed it over to you.
On the screen was a brief but official police report, and you instantly knew that you probably weren’t supposed to see it. You also probably weren’t supposed to be heading to the crime scene, being a wanted criminal and enemy of the law and all, but alas.
You skimmed over the report, taking note of the rather graphic photos and descriptions. This time was less sloppy than the last, if only a little.
“Think it’s the same killer?” Shane asked, keeping his voice quiet enough to stay under Ryan’s radar, lest he go off again.
“Without a doubt.” You could already see the pattern beginning. You guessed the first kill had been an accident, although what type of accident you weren’t sure. Had they accidentally killed the victim in a fit of rage without realizing what they were doing? Or had it been more of a freak accident involving something sharp?
Either way, you deduced from the pictures that the killing blow had been a stab to the right lung. The same as today’s victim. An odd trademark to be sure, but definitely a trademark.
Shane didn’t question your answer, and you wondered if he picked up on the same thing you did. Probably. This is his job, after all. You’d be a little disappointed if he didn’t notice the obvious parallel between the deaths.
Shane tucked his phone back into his pocket, and you both turned your attention back to Ryan, who looked no less tense than he had before.
“Is it me, or is something up with him?” you whispered. Shane shrugged.
“I don’t know. He’s usually like this when we have to deal with bodies or messy crime scenes, but he does seem a bit worse today.”
From Shane’s tone, you gathered that ‘a bit worse’ meant ‘concerningly worse’. You were almost endeared by how much worry he seemed to have for his friend and partner, but you were a bit too distracted with avoiding tripping over debris and tree roots to really appreciate it.
For maybe half a mile, the three of you hiked in silence.
“Alright guys, wait here.” It was the first time Ryan had spoken since he’d flipped out, and you were surprised by how subdued he sounded.
You watched as he straightened, standing taller and more confidently. He didn’t even turn to face you and Shane, just marched into a clearing a few yards ahead.
“So. This is the place, huh?” you toed at the ground, attempting at casualty.
"Yup, our first stop on our way to catching a murderer."
"Besides me, you mean." You teased, going for a joke to lighten things.
"Yeah," Shane looked away, and you followed his example, practically able to taste the awkwardness that had suddenly risen like a fog, "besides you."
You and Shane stood in silence for a moment. Clearly, the joke missed.
How long is it gonna take Ryan to get the clear to bring Shane and I down? You thought, bitterly. Normally Shane was easy company. Not today, apparently.
Honestly, why did you have to remind him that you’re a serial killer? Great job, making things awkward.
“Alright.” You nearly jumped out of your skin, whipping your gaze up to see Ryan, tapping his foot impatiently and looking tired. “Come on, we only have a few minutes. They aren’t too keen on having another serial killer on the scene.” You felt the venom in Ryan’s tone at the word ‘killer’.
You bowed your head a bit, playing up your shame at being called a serial killer. In truth? You couldn’t bring yourself to dislike it. It was a bit exciting, really, having your hobby recognized, and by a lead detective nonetheless. Here he was, one of the highest authorities in town, and he had dubbed you practically untouchable. He’d gone so far as to ask for your help.
“Did you explain that I’m helping, or…?”
“No. I don’t need to explain myself.” A bit of pride filtered through Ryan’s tone, and you smiled. That was more like it, you’d take anything over his behavior earlier. Though, you could still see his fingers fidgeting uneasily with his shirt sleeves.
“Well, what do you say we give those other officers a bit of reassurance?” You peered over Ryan’s shoulder, taking note of how they quickly looked at anything but you. “They seem a bit antsy, don’t they?”
Ryan turned to take a look for himself. When he looked back to you, he remained silent, an eyebrow raised questioningly.
“I guess?”
“I mean, I’m a killer, you know? I’m dangerous and cunning,” you paused, allowing Shane to scoff and roll his eyes, before continuing, “and most of all, I’m unpredictable.”
“What are you getting at?” Ryan narrowed his eyes, half suspicion, half impatience. You could tell you had his attention.
“I’m just saying, I’m a bit of a wild card. And letting me roam around unrestrained? That’s a pretty risky move, Bergara.” You watched as Shane crossed his arms over his chest, annoyance written across his features. Get to the point.
“Please, either of us could tackle you to the ground at a moments notice.”
You pretended to inspect your nails, reveling in the way Ryan restlessly tapped his foot against the earth. You let them wait. “Yeah, you could,” you drawled, pausing yet again just to piss them off. “But they don’t know that.”
You watched as Shane and Ryan exchanged a look. You sighed.
“Ryan, I’m giving you a chance to look cool. Enhance your reputation? Indulge your ego? Are you getting me?” You waved your hands impatiently.
“Oh. So, you’re saying I should-”
“Cuff me! Yes!” You interrupted. “Make a big show of telling me to stay in line, maybe even push me around a little!”
Ryan and Shane shared yet another look. “Why would you want us to do that?” Shane asked, after a moment.
“Because it’ll be fun!”
In truth, you were just sick of Ryan being testy. The way you figured, looking tough in front of his colleagues couldn’t hurt his mood, and letting him cuff you and be bossy wouldn’t hurt you either. If you wanted to get away, you would, handcuffs or not.
However, that doesn’t matter, because Ryan quickly deems your answer to be honest. He gestures for Shane to give him his handcuffs, which he does without argument. During this exchange, you take a moment to look at how ruffled their clothes are. Amazing how quick they were to run off to a cheap motel with a criminal; they hadn’t even thought to bring spare clothes.
You turned your back to Ryan and compliantly positioned your hands, hearing the quiet ‘click’ of the cuffs and taking gleeful notice in how loose they were. How sweet of him.
And so, into the clearing you went. You did your best to look dispirited as the boys marched you under the caution tape surrounding the scene. Did they really need to use so much tape? You wondered, eyeing the nearly thirty foot wreath of yellow and black. You doubted many people hiked in this part of the woods. Then again, somebody must have, considering the body was fresh when it was discovered.
There were three police officers standing around the edges of the tape circle. Two of them seemed to be doing their best to avoid making eye contact with you, while the other couldn’t seem to look away. You threw your most intimidating glare his way, and did your best not to look smug when he immediately turned his focus to his shoes.
Ryan gave you a small push, and you took the hint, stumbling slightly on purpose and shuffling forward a bit faster.
“Keep moving!” he snarled. But there was an underlying eagerness in his tone. He was living for the rapt attention he was getting.
The officers refocused on you, eyes wide and attentive in reaction to Ryan’s boldness. You mellowed your voice as much as you could without it being obvious that you were faking, and answered him with a shaky, ‘yes sir’.
The police officers were flabbergasted, which you took to mean that you had been pretty convincing. After another few seconds of you shuffling closer to the crime scene, one of them spoke.
“Well, Officer Bergara-”
“Detective.”
The woman who’d spoken looked taken aback. Ryan held his ground.
“Sorry, Detective Bergara. We’re going to head out and leave you to it.”
“Alright.”
She and the other two officers didn’t move, at first. They stood where they were and watched Ryan guide you forward, undeniably curious. You kept your head bowed and eyes forward. You stopped moving when you saw the remnants of blood.
“What are you waiting for? Isn’t it your lunch break, rookies?” Ryan tossed over his shoulder.
None of the other officers responded, but they didn’t really need to. Their feelings were written clearly across their faces, meekness and embarrassment being the most prominent. They ducked under the tape and made their exit, the woman who’d previously spoken leading the way, her steps quick and long in her rush to be away from the site.
“Damn, Detective B, that was pretty rude.”
“I can put you back in jail, you know.”
“Yeah, but you won’t.” You winked at him. You heard him scoff in response and grinned, flashing a look to Shane just to make sure he noticed Ryan’s change in demeanor, too.
Indeed, he did, because he was grinning right back at you, giving a sly thumbs up.
“Alright, hold still.” Ryan commanded, moving behind you. You froze, momentarily thrown off balance. What’s he doing?
Then, you heard a quiet ‘click’ and felt the weight of your handcuffs fall from your wrists, and, presumably, into Ryan’s palms.
A small thrill ran through you, and it took all you had to conceal your delight. Ryan could have simply kept you cuffed, there was no reason not to. In truth, it would’ve been wiser to do just that. But he had just loosed you as if it was nothing.
It wasn’t nothing.
The best part, truly, was that neither of them even realized how big of a deal this was. Shane was re-attaching his handcuffs to their place on his belt, and Ryan was preparedly unfolding an evidence baggy and pulling on his gloves. Neither of them was even bothering to give you a second glance. Both of them had their guard down.
Around a notorious killer.
Which was, now that you think about it, pretty stupid. As fun as it was to think of yourself as a cunning and smooth, sweet-talking criminal, you knew better than to think you were slick enough to gain this much of their trust this quickly. Any experienced detective, or officer, for that matter, should know better than to give the enemy the benefit of the doubt, especially when the ‘enemy’ has been known to kill people over Pop-Tarts.
You almost felt bad, honestly. If they continued to trust criminals this way, eventually they were going to get stabbed in the back.
You shook your head. You had a job to do right now, better to ponder Shane and Ryan’s stupidity later.
“So, fellas, just what are we going to do here? The body isn’t here anymore. All we really have to work with is some bloodsoaked leaves.” You gestured to your left, to some leaves, which were, as stated, rather bloody.
“The scene can hold just as many clues as the body itself. The local police are incompetant-”
“Hey!” Shane interrupted.
“-present company excluded.” Ryan continued, “So, it’s likely there’s something here they missed.”
“I don’t know, Ryan, It’s looking pretty barren.” Shane commented.
“I agree with the big guy. He can see everything from up there, and it doesn’t seem like there’s all that much catching his eye.”
You could see Ryan beginning to grow tense again, so you added, quickly, “But, maybe we can get some sort of clue from the location itself.”
That got his attention. Only, judging by how quick he was to open his mouth again, probably not for long.
“If you’re implying we should look for a pattern in where the bodies are being dropped off, forget it.” He deflated. “There’s only two victims, and there’s nothing in common location wise. Just random body dumps.”
“No matter what, there’s always a pattern of some sort.”
“What about with you? You never had an identifiable pattern.” Shane pointed out.
“Actually, I did. The one thing my victims all had in common was that they all pissed me off.”
Ryan and Shane both rolled their eyes.
“Can you be serious for a minute? People are dying!” Ryan ran a gloved hand through his hair exasperatedly. One look at Shane told you that he was beginning to side with the other man, too.
“I am being serious. Work with me here, alright? Uh, ok, what was the last guy’s name? Eric-something, right?” you snapped your fingers in an attempt to jog your memory.
“Eric Daly.”
“Good, ok. Where did Eric live?”
“Why does it matter? The victims aren’t related, we already checked. As far as we know, they’ve never met.” Shane said.
“That isn’t what I asked. I asked where he lived.”
Ryan reached for his phone, unlocking it and beginning to scroll.
“Don’t read me the address, take me there. We need a visual. While you’re at it, has this body been identified?”
Ryan nodded, beginning to scroll faster. “Yeah, her name was Ruth Bullock. Her wallet was still in her pocket, but there was no cash, just her ID and a credit card.”
Shane stepped closer and cleared his throat to get your attention.
“First of all, take it easy.” He gave you a pointed look. You chose not to let it discourage you; you were on a roll right now. “Second, you don’t find it odd that the killer left her credit card?”
“Not at all. Credit cards can be tracked.” You said.
“Alright, I’ve got both of the addresses. You wanna get going now?” Ryan asked, to which you promptly nodded.
“Whoa, whoa. Why? Did we just hike out here for nothing?” Shane positioned his hands on his hips like a mother scolding a toddler.
“I guess so, yeah. There’s nothing useful to the case here, and if there was, the other officers probably picked it up. Unless you feel like there’s something else we need to do here?”
You mimicked his action, and stepped towards him, chest puffed and an eyebrow raised dramatically in mock-challenge. Shane yielded, huffing dramatically and shaking his head.
“No, I guess not.” He looked to Ryan.
“How far is the first victim’s place?”
“Probably about a half hour. It shouldn’t be too hard to find, though. I’m pretty sure it’s just down the road from my apartment.”
“Eh, still. Just GPS it to be safe.” Shane commented.
You nodded your approval, and surveyed the scene one more time. Nothing caught your eye, and you almost felt disappointed. Where was the fun, piece-it-all-together mystery? One of the best parts of mystery movies and novels is the big reveal, after all. Where the protagonist figures it all out right after it seems all is lost. But you can’t piece it all together if there aren’t any clues.
Stop pretending this is a movie. This is real life, there isn’t always a big reveal. You never had one, after all, you scolded yourself.
“You coming?”
You twisted around, and tried to cover up how startled you were. You need to focus.
Shane was a good few hundred yards away, and Ryan wasn’t far behind. Ryan looked from Shane, to you, and back, and you took the hint, leaping into a sprint to catch up with them. You slowed upon reaching Ryan’s side, taking a few seconds to catch your breath.
When you turned to address Ryan, he was already looking at you, the corner of his mouth quirked down in what you assumed was worry. After a moment, he spoke.
“Are you… alright?” he spared a glance back at the clearing, as if he would see whatever it was you’d been staring off at.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” You took a deep breath, and exhaled it, allowing your shoulders to relax. “See? I’m chill. As the kids would say, I’m-”
“Don’t,” he warned.
“Gucci.”
“Goddamn it.”
But you didn’t miss his muted chuckle, or the humored look in his eye. So, you consider your awful use of slang worth it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Purple carpet and yellow walls? Maybe this guy deserved to get murdered.”
You raised one of your hands expectantly, and weren’t surprised in the slightest when Shane high fived you. The man had too much taste not to.
Getting in had been a bit of a challenge. Ryan wasn’t in any mood to go to the police station and ask for the keys, but, it seemed, he also wasn’t in the mood to try your idea to get in. You didn’t really know why. The guy was dead, what difference would a smashed window on his house make?
In the end it didn’t matter, because Ryan, being his detective self, had a lockpick kit in his car. He made semi-quick work of getting everyone inside, although looking at the decor, you almost wished he had left his kit at the hotel.
“Oh my god, Ryan! You have to come see this!” Shane cackled. You were near enough to see that it was a decorative throw pillow. On it was a rather cartoony rendition of a ghost, and, while you thought it was cute and fitting to the almost-autumn season, you didn’t quite understand the significance.
Ryan brushed past you, clearly curious as to Shane’s find, and immediately deflated.
“Oh, fuck you!” he laughed.
“Wait, I don’t get the joke?” Shane and Ryan turned to you, quickly catching onto your puzzlement.
“Little Ry guy here believes in ghosties.” Shane explained, patting Ryan’s shoulder mockingly.
“Only because they’re real! Honestly, the fact that you don’t believe in them is just-” Ryan began heatedly, before you cut him off.
“Whoa there, fellas. Ghost stories later, murder stories now. Look around for anything that might signify he was threatened, or something. Evidence that someone had a grudge against this guy.”
“And if we don’t find anything, what? We wasted a day and broke into a house for no reason?” Shane asked. “Not that I’m against that, I love some good, old fashioned breaking and entering. But I’m just saying, the longer we take to solve this, the more victims there’ll be.”
“Well, if we don’t find anything here, we go to the next victim’s house. And believe me, I’m aware of the stakes.”
“But do you care?” Shane asked, his tone goading.
You opened your mouth, ready to lay it on him, when Ryan quite literally stepped between you.
“Shane, enough. We were joking around just a few seconds ago. Things are tense, I get it, but let’s save the fighting for when we’re not breaking the law.”
Shane visibly relaxed, sighing quietly and looking away. You were surprised at how quick he was to obey, he’d, seemingly, been ready to throw down just a minute ago. Still, you weren’t complaining, this was much better. He absentmindedly picked at the ghost pillow, and Ryan stepped aside.
“Come on, keep looking around. If you find anything, let me know.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You found nothing. Nothing of importance, at least. The second victim’s apartment was equally as barren of evidence, and it seemed, as far as you could tell, that neither of them had ever met each other, which shut down that potential connection before it could even be proposed. Until someone close to the victims came forward with any possible clues, there really wasn’t all that much that could be done.
Discouraged, you and the boys headed back to the hotel, stopping for Burger King on the way and eating in silence in the car.
By the time you made it back to the hotel, the sun had gone down and you were exhausted.
You collapsed onto the shitty mattress, knowing you’d wake up with an aching back and not managing to care. You were out almost instantly, your eyes falling shut and your mind shutting down. The last thing you saw was the burning red numbers of the alarm clock and the bedside table, imprinting 10:12 P.M. on the inside of your eyelids. You dream of nothing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You wake to the same sight you fell asleep to; the glow of red numbers. 2:29 A.M. It seems much harsher now than it had earlier; more of an angry glare than the gentle illumination it had been. You’re still tired, and after a moment, you press your head back into the cheap and flat expanse of your pillow. Shane is fast asleep and snoring on the equally small and shitty bed on the other side of the night stand, and you’re more than content to let the sound lull you back to sleep.
Only, you can’t.
Something is wrong, and to be quite frank, it’s annoying as hell.
Sleeping under these conditions is already difficult, but once you fall asleep, you should be able to stay that way until morning. Whatever it is that’s keeping you up is a pain in the ass.
You take a moment to work up the energy to open your eyes, caught in the purgatory between sleep and consciousness. When you finally pry your eyes open and scan the room, it’s apparent what was wrong, and perhaps what had woken you up in the first place. Ryan was gone.
His cot of blankets was scattered all over the floor, and really, what a shitty thing to just leave laying there. Shane or you could trip on your way to the bathroom if you weren’t looking where you were going. How inconsiderate.
Still, in a way, it makes things seem even more wrong. He must have left in a hurry, and saying you weren’t curious as to why would be a blatant lie.
You scooch your way to the edge of the bed, and creep out of the room,stopping only to grab a room key. You pass the front desk, where the attendant hardly spares you a glance, focused intently on a rerun of some baseball game playing on an outdated and low quality TV on the wall.
As you step out into the parking lot, you begin to wish you’d bothered to put your shoes on. The asphalt is cool to match the changing of seasons, and you don’t doubt that it’s littered with glass by the way it sparkles in the weak light of the half moon. Still, you step forward, turning every which way in hopes that you’ll spot Ryan.
And you do.
You just barely see him, hunched over and sitting on the concrete of the sidewalk. He’s on the side of the parking lot with the fewest cars, and from the looks of him, he’s far from alright.
You take a hesitant step towards him, but stop almost instantly when a car speeds down the road, headlights flashing in the corner of your eye. You turn slowly to look. No other cars follow, and the air stills again.
I could go. I don’t have to stay here.
You’re almost floored by the fact that this is the first time the thought has occured to you. It’s true; despite your agreement, you don’t have to stay here. The living arrangements were less than exemplary, and the only reason you had agreed to help was due to the promise of freedom. But you could just go now, there was nothing stopping you. And who’s to say that they would keep their end of the bargain anyway?
You turn to face Ryan again, and watch as a visible shudder runs through him. Another car races past behind you, and you make up your mind.
You take a few more careful steps in Ryan’s direction, mindful of the obvious broken bottles, and manage to not step on any glass. Which, in truth, is quite the accomplishment.
You get close enough to see that he’s shaking, and you feel your heart drop at the sight. Jeez, what happened?
“Ryan.” Your voice is too loud, practically echoing through the parking lot. Ryan jolts, and you cringe. “Sorry.”
By now, he’s turned to face you, and your heart sinks even lower at dark circles beneath his eyes, and at just how disheveled he looked. This wasn’t the effect of having just climbed out of bed; this was distress in its purest form.
A few steps closer, and you find yourself sitting down gingerly beside him. He’s still looking at you in silence.
“Uh, how long have you been out here?” the additional question of ‘and why?’ goes unsaid, but you can tell he catches it.
“Don’t worry about it.” His voice is hoarse, and you’re hit with an icy shock as you realize that he’s been crying.
“Too late. I’m worried.” You try to chuckle, but your words had come out much more wobbly than you intended, not humorous enough and far too genuine for your liking.
He gives you a weak smile, and you do your best to return it.
“I feel kinda stupid right now, to be honest.” He admits.
You tilt your head, silently urging him to go on.
He takes a deep breath, and when he exhales, his breath is subtly visible. It’s colder out than you thought.
“It was just a nightmare. I don’t know why it rattled me so much, but-” he clenches his jaw and clips his sentence abruptly.
His voice is strained and muted, raw with emotion, and you feel a pang of sympathy for him. You begin to open your mouth to ask him for more details, but he shakes his head, and you obey.
Things are quiet for a bit, after that; a merciful silence for both of you. Somewhere nearby, a cricket chirps, and if things weren’t so somber, you’d laugh at the timing.
“How do you do it?”
You flinch at how harsh the sudden noise is in contrast to the stillness of the night air, but you’re over it quickly, attention moving to how intently he’s looking at you. You play dumb.
“Do what?”
“You know.” His voice is pitiful, a defeated croak. “Kill people.” He adds, but you know he’s aware you understood perfectly well the first time.
“Usually with a knife?” Now isn’t the time for jokes, and you know it, you know it, you know it. But by now it’s second nature, and you aren’t in the mood to try and fight it.
“Why?”
That’s a damn good question. Why do you do it?
Maybe just because you can. Maybe simply because it’s just so easy to do it. So easy to slip away from the scene, away from the bright and flashy blue and red lights. Maybe you like the chase of it, the feeling of being pursued by the very best, and still always being one step ahead.
Maybe you like the attention; seeing your face on national TV, knowing you have to be oh-so-careful or else you could be recognized, but being careless anyways just so you can continue to outrun everyone else. Continue to be the best at the worst possible thing.
Maybe it’s just your nature. Maybe you were born ruined. Maybe you’re just a sick fuck and always have been. It could really be as simple as that.
You say none of this.
Ryan’s looking at you, but you’re staring down at the faded white paint lines of the parking lot, just to have something to focus on.
When you do respond, it’s not an answer to his question.
“The nightmare isn’t the only thing bothering you, is it?”
He looks a bit stunned, so you give him a minute, before repeating yourself.
“No. I guess not.” It’s his turn to pretend the parking lot has something interesting to offer, and you smile bitterly, wondering if his train of thought is anywhere as serious as yours had been a moment ago.
In the face of silence, you decide to keep talking, nerves rising and forcing words out of you.
“You’ve been weird all day today. You’re irritable and fidgety and snappy. What is it about this case that has you so bothered? I mean, you do this for a living, you can’t always be like this.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
You weren’t expecting him to give the admission so freely, but you don’t miss the tension that leaves him after saying it, so rather than teasing him, you stay quiet and let him speak.
“Something is different about this case. It’s sticking with me, and,” he huffs out a breath humorlessly, “It’s fucking awful.”
He goes on, “I can’t get it out of my head. It isn’t just a passion for solving the case. I have to. I have to get this over with, or I’m going to lose my mind. My skin has just been fucking crawling since that first victim.”
You’re dumbfounded. You honestly hadn’t expected him to spill it all like that. Which isn’t to say you were disappointed that he had, but- damn.
“Then I guess we’d better get on it, huh?” the words came out on their own, and you mentally cursed yourself for not saying something better. Something more comforting, or really anything besides a shittily timed joke.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
In the midst of the awkwardness, you stand, brushing pebbles and bits of gravel from your legs, and offering Ryan a hand to help him up. He takes it wordlessly.
“I’m- I think I’m gonna go in now. Go back to sleep if I can manage, with ol’ officer Shane’s snoring.” You look to the sickly orange light leaking through the doors to the lobby, and move to begin the walk back to the room.
Ryan stops you, though, gripping your forearm and stilling you with ease.
It’s no secret that the two of you have spent most of today purposefully and obviously avoiding eye contact with one another. But Ryan takes that effort and shoves it now, eyes fixed on your own and brimming with intensity. At this angle, the moonlight hits his face nicely, making his eyes look less like their deep brown and more of a light tan, almost unnatural. But nice, nonetheless.
His hair is messy and flopping down into his face a bit, and if you weren’t so on edge over his sudden serious attitude, you would make fun of him for it.
As it was, you remained where you were, his arm still holding you in place, and his stare still locked on you.
You could tell he wanted to communicate something to you, something important, and you remained unspeaking, waiting.
Finally, he slid his hand off your arm, exhaling and slumping over a bit. He looked almost pained, and for a second you were gripped by the urge to change your mind; to leave.
Spoiler: you don’t.
“Are… are you okay?”
He nods, and when he lifts his head again, he looks just as tired as before, but in much better spirits. “Sorry, I’m just tired.”
“Well, uh. I’m gonna go in now, if you’ll let me.” He laughs, finally, and you feel a genuine smile capture your lips. Things are gonna be okay.
“I’ll be in in a while. I just need to think for a bit.”
You nod understandingly, and begin the trek back to the room, content to go back to bed and maybe talk more about everything in the morning.
As you reached for the door handle, expecting and anticipating the wave of warm air the (rickety, but efficient) furnace would provide, you heard a yell of your name.
Facing Ryan once more, you cocked your head, both amused and weary.
For a minute, it seemed like there was meaning in his tone. A type of plead in his eyes. You waited.
“Uh, earlier.” He’s lowered his voice from his initial yell. Shitty hotels aren’t the type of environment where loud noises past midnight are encouraged.
“Yeah?”
He hesitated.
“You, uh. You called Shane an officer.”
“Yes, I did. He kinda is one.”
“No, not really. He- while he’s working with me, he’s considered a detective, too. Just so you know. So he’s Detective Madej, not Officer Madej.”
“Good to know. I’ll keep that in mind.”
With that, you enter the building.
You know better than to think that was what he was planning to say. He chickened out of whatever it was, that much was obvious. But now you were curious. Not curious enough to let it keep you up any longer, but definitely curious.
But hey, now you know that you had been calling Shane by the wrong title. Not that you particularly care, of course, but still; you learn something new everyday.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When Ryan comes inside nearly an hour later, he finds that you’ve not only used one of the hotel issued towels to hold the door open (which is both courtious and idiotic, he thinks, because while he did forget to grab a key in his rush for fresh air and space, anyone could have come into the room), but you’ve also rearranged his nest of blankets on the floor; whether for his benefit or yours, he isn’t sure, but he’s grateful nonetheless.
Shane is snoring peacefully, with his face buried in his pillow and his feet dangling off the bed. Ryan smiles fondly at the near-giant, and moves towards the other bed, stepping lightly in hopes to avoid creaky spots on the worn floor.
You’re tangled in the generic hotel-issued blankets, fingers clenched tightly around the fringe, and your face relaxed. In your sleep, you give a quiet hum, and roll over, keeping the blankets held tightly against you.
This is creepy; watching your friends sleep is creepy, Ryan thinks, turning away. He doesn’t linger on just when you went from being a detainee to a friend in his mind. He doesn’t think about it. It’s not important, it’s not it’s not it’s not.
With a sigh, he turns back to his cot and settles in. He idly wishes to himself that Shane had left the TV on for ambient noise, but as it was, he fell asleep quickly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She’s afraid. She’s terrified, and it shows, because this is the type of terror that you can’t hide. The kind of overtaking fear that makes the concept of even attempting to seem collected pointless.
She screams. Quite a lot actually, but it’s nothing duct tape won’t fix, and it won’t last much longer.
Ruth Bullock was going to die. Whether she had seconds or minutes or hours left, she had no clue. But she knew it. She knew it the second the steps on the gravel behind her had sped up, and she was right.
At 5:44 A.M, she is killed. A fatal puncture to her right lung.
At 6:17 A.M, her body is left at a randomly chosen spot in a nearby forest.
At 7:48 A.M, a young woman hiking with her dog on her day off stumbles upon Ruth’s body.
By 8:32, the scene is taped off and swarming with police. An email has been sent to the case detectives.
Detective Ryan Bergara deals with bodies, with murder, with chasing killers in his day to day life. He is highly regarded in his profession.
But something is different this time.
Something is wrong. Something is wrong. Something is wrong. Something is wrong. Something is wrong. Something is wrong. Som
Ryan wakes in a cold sweat.