#cop!andrew

[softethan]

catch me if you can

cop!au | pt. 1

Detective Andrew Siwicki has been assigned a cold-case from 2008. But 9 months of tracking and chasing down leads hasn't been enough to catch the head of the illusive Watts crime family. That is, until his CI shows up in the precinct, beaten and bruised and in desperate need of saving.

Andrew plopped down in front of Shane, folders strewn across both of their desks, red lines and tape holding tentative sketches of probable hideouts together. His head rested against the ledge of the cool metal and he swore he heard Shane mumble an obscenity under his breath about the way Andrew smelled.

"Jesus, Siwicki, have you left the precinct since March?"

"I'm trying to—"

"Catch the bad guys, yeah, yeah. We've all heard it. Try telling that to someone who actually believes you're not a workaholic."

"I slept at home last night but I couldn't stop thinking about the CI they assigned to the case. No one can find him. It's like he dropped off the face of the earth." Andrew sighed and lifted his head up to eye Shane who held a bedazzled coffee cup in one hand and a chocolate croissant in the other.

"Watts is notoriously shady; he never stays in one place for more than a year. After he got caught and they slapped him with the house arrest he hasn't been one to be easily traceable." It was true. Garrett Watts didn't like to be associated with him family, especially after he'd been caught running drugs for them. But the deal the DA had made had been a good one, something he couldn't pass up, and despite his family's name, he wasn't too keen on serving jail time after giving up most of his family members' whereabouts.

"I just— fuck, I wish I could talk to him for even just a few hours. If I could find out where his dad is— Jesus, these people are better at hiding than fucking— I don't even know, fucking Escobar."

Ryland walked up halfway through Andrew's rant and pressed a swift kiss to Shane's hair.

"Watts again?"

Shane nodded and handed Ryland the cup and croissant.

"He's obsessed."

"He's in love," Ryland countered

"I'm going crazy," Andrew confirmed.

"Siwicki! Get in here," the Captain called from his office. Andrew's head popped up and he groaned when the sudden movement made his headache worse.

"Duty calls," he grumbled, grabbing a stack of papers and folders that probably weren't even the right ones but it was always good to look prepared when the captain called you in.

"Yes sir?" He answered, closing the door behind him.

"We have some news about Watts, but it's extremely confidential. Can you assure me Dawson and Adams won't hear about this the minute you step out of my office?" The Captain raised his eyebrows and folded his hands together on his desk.

Andrew nodded.

"My lips are sealed. Anything to break this case, Captain. I'm miserable."

"We need you to become Garrett Watts' official LAPD protection."

Andrew's mouth went dry and the sentence hung in the air.

"I'm sorry?"

"Last night, Watts was attacked by who we believe to be men his father paid to kill him. They beat him up, badly, and left him for dead in an empty parking garage near Calabasas. He called his original LAPD officer and he didn't answer. So, he called me. He'll be released in a week and until then, he'll be under strict surveillance. When he's released, he'll need to go to a safe house. We're assigning you to this position. Your partner and Adams will handle your additional case load but you'll begin working continuously with Watts to crack the final pieces of where his family is hidden."

Andrew started, mouth wide open, as the Captain talked.

"I know this sounds, daunting, I understand, but you know this case better than anyone, and Watts will trust you. I'd like for you to try your best to make him comfortable, but your first priority is to keep him safe and away from harm. We can't let what happened to Monson's CI happen again. We're already under too much scrutiny from LA headquarters."

"I'll do my best, sir," Andrew answered. He stood up and shuffled papers, but waited for the official dismissal.

"Oh, and Siwicki?"

"Yes?"

"I'd like to keep things under raps as best we can, so you'll be put on paid leave until you solve the case."

"But sir—"

"Andrew," the Captain took his glasses off slowly as he addressed Andrew informally. "We need all of our efforts pointed at the Watts, and we cannot do that if our best detective is 6 feet under."

Andrew sighed but nodded.

"Son, I'm doing this to keep you and the rest of the squad safe. If anyone, and I mean anyone, were to find out that Watts was in an LAPD safe house, the precinct would be a prime target for one of the largest crime families in the country. This— Siwicki, you and Watts are the key to cracking one of the biggest cases of your career, but I need you safe and sound to do that."

Andrew nodded again, and turned to walk out of the office.

"Sir, can I ask— why was Watts kicked out of the family?"

The Captain rubbed his temples before he answered Andrew.

"Read your files, Siwicki."

| | |

"Are you going to tell me what your powwow with the Captain was about or do I just need to assume he was firing you for working too hard?" Shane signaled to the bartender for two more shots and watched as Andrew downed both of them. His face scrunched up, but he ordered another glass of something amber-colored and held it close to his chest.

"He's putting me on paid leave, to make sure I'm in 'top health' when Watts finally comes in and decides to talk," Andrew grumbled out. He didn't elaborate, and only popped a handful of peanuts into his mouth to chase the tequila down with.

Shane watched him carefully and sipped his own drink.

"You're lying. Your eyebrow did the thing. The thing it does when you're lying." Andrew hated having cops for best friends.

"I can't tell you why I'm really going on paid leave. The Captain swore me to secrecy and this is the one time I think I have to keep up my end of the deal."

The air was thick between the two of them and Shane nodded.

"So it's serious then. Your assignment?"

"Life or death for the squad," Andrew confessed.

"Are you going undercover?"

"Safehouse. For however long it takes." He didn't tell Shane that someone else would be with him, because he hadn't quite admitted that to himself either.

"When do you leave?"

"Monday."

[jemej3m]

Ok but how about the ‘married to the enemy’ au where there’s an emergency that calls for them to drop by Andrews place (who had a day off?) and Neil opens the door in his underwear and a shirt that is clearly Andrews and he’s like ‘hi?’ and acts all domestic and invites them in and shit

BRUH YOU CANT REKINDLE OLD FICS LIKE THIS

*

“This seems ill-advised,” Matt said. 

Kevin simply huffed. Andrew wasn’t feral. Besides, it was an emergency. The man had shut his phone off, as was totally permitted on explicitly prefaced days off (but was still baffling to Kevin, who picked up every call and always had his phone fully charged). 

“Renee wouldn’t agree with us intruding,” Dan agreed, hanging back a little. She was the one who’d suggested they bully their way into Andrew’s place in the first place. Kevin couldn’t believe she was the one backing out the easiest. 

“That’s why we didn’t tell her. You’re both stalling,” he told the couple, and rapped his fingers loudly on the door. 

It took thirty seconds for someone to answer: when the door swung open, Kevin regretted everything. 

Neil Hatford wasn’t much to look at, much like his husband. His hair was very clearly mussed from sleep - or something else - and he had quickly pulled on an old grey zip-up. That did nothing to hide the red-plaid boxer-briefs, or the t-shirt that was a little short on him and said: 

twins can’t mind read, so don’t even ask. 

“Oh,” Andrew’s husband, the Butcher of Baltimore’s son, said. “Er, hello?” 

“Hi,” Matt said, bolstering on like the man wasn’t in his pyjamas, or that he was clearly trying to keep back two cats from the doorway. “Andrew took an important case-file home that we need. Is he here?” 

“He’s just in the shower,” Neil said, stepping aside to let the three of them in. He and Kevin shared a glower as Kevin walked past. Kevin was still unable to get past the whole mobster thing, and Neil wasn’t exactly pleased about it. “Ignore the mess: we’re getting ready to move.” 

It wasn’t too messy: a few boxes were here and there on the table, some sealed, others filled with random things. None of them had labels, but rather, numbers. How they were supposed to remember what was what was beyond Kevin. 

Neil flicked a cat toy off the couch and directed them to sit down. “Tea?” 

“Sure,” Matt said, enthusiastic as the cats crowded his ankles. Neil smiled at him. “How have you been, Neil?” 

“Alright,” the man said, flicking on the kettle. Kevin inched his foot away as one of the felines tried to play with his shoe-laces. He was much more of a dog person. “I plan on dying in this house. I never want to move again.” 

“It’s a nightmare,” Dan agreed, settling into the well-worn cushions as she took in every facet of her surroundings. Her gaze lingered on the family photos, stacked on a shelf above the television. Her smile went all soft. 

Kevin scoffed. 

Four mugs of tea and a gentle scolding of the cats for trying to rip Dan’s trousers later, and Neil was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, talking amicably with both Dan and Matt. He’s zipped up the hoodie to hide the fact that the shirt was definitely not his, and also to obscure the red smudgings of emerging lovebites from view. His socks had cat-ears sewn into the hem. It was all ridiculously soft. Kevin’s scowl depended. 

The bedroom door opened and yielded Andrew, toweling his hair dry in sweats and a long-sleeve, pushed up to the elbows. At the presence of others, he immediately dropped his arms and tugged down his sleeves. 

“Well, isn’t this just nice,” he said, voice dangerously low. 

“All we need is the Lakes file,” Kevin said. “Then we’ll get out of your hair.”

Andrew glanced at Neil, who smiled serenely up at him. He turned his impassive gaze back to the trio on the couch and said “You’d better.” before turning on his heel and marching to another room that was presumably his office. Dan and Matt leapt up to follow him: Kevin did too but hesitated at the last moment, holding the warm cup of tea between taut fists. 

Neil looked up at him, arching an unimpressed brow. “Yes, Day?” 

“Sometimes I can’t decide if you or Andrew are the bigger idiot for thinking this would work out fine.” 

Neil hummed. “Sometimes I worry that it won’t. But it’s been fine thus far, hasn’t it?”

“If you hurt him, I won’t hesitate to have you thrown in prison and the key chucked down the drain,” Kevin warned. 

Neil snorted. “A shovel-talk. Andrew’s own twin wasn’t gutsy enough to try it. You’re an interesting one, Kevin Day. You know that my old boss still remembers you?” 

Kevin froze. 

“He said you were always the diligent one. I think he quite likes your style,” Neil said.

“I’m a cop. How on earth could he ‘like my style’?”

Neil shrugged. “The lord works in interesting ways. He let both of us go: his biggest investments. In that way we’re pretty similar, aren’t we?”

“I’m nothing like you,” Kevin retorted. 

Neil shrugged again. “You keep telling yourself that, Day.” He glanced to where the other three came out of Andrew’s study, Dan holding the file within her tight grasp.

“It was nice to see you,” Dan said, letting Matt link their arms. “You should hold a housewarming for the new place.” 

“We promise not to bother you like this again,” Matt insisted.

Andrew just grunted, eyes only for Neil and Kevin. 

“Bye,” Kevin said staunchly. Andrew huffed and vanished into the bedroom again. 

Neil lead them out, socked feet whisper-quiet on the wooden floorboards. He picked up both the cats to keep them running this time, and nodded the three of them goodbye with only a little bit of mischievous warmth in his eye. 

“He’ll win you over someday,” Matt grinned, jostling Kevin’s shoulder. “You can’t hold onto it forever.” 

Kevin merely scowled. 

*

lol kevin u weirdo, chillax bro

[jemej3m]

do we arrest him?

another excerpt from the ‘married to the enemy’ au because its silly and fun and i like writing it lol 

*

“With all due respect, Wilds,” Kevin said, “I’m going to say: no. Absolutely not.” 

The sargeant cocked her head, spinning the whisky around her shallow glass. “Because your opinion matters so greatly to me, Kevin.”

Andrew blocked out whatever response Kevin managed and the resulting argument between him, Sergeant Danielle Wilds and her husband Matthew Boyd: Renee looked on serenely, with a slightly amused curl to her lips, whilst Wymack ordered another gin and tonic. 

Andrew’s foot bounced. He was not anxious. He was never anxious. He was simply introducing his husband to his colleagues. It’d been years since they’d come together as a team. It was about time they’d met the mysterious Neil. 

It’s not like his face was recognisable or anything. It’s not like he’d been running the largest crime syndicate in Baltimore after his father’s death. Neil had inherited it after they’d gotten together, anyway. 

“Is Allison coming along?” Renee inquired, lightly, still ever-so-serene. His partner was a jumble of nonsensical loose ends, with a large scar on her jaw contradicting the collar done up to her throat and the silver cross hanging around her neck. It was why they’d gotten along so well in the first place, and why he’d invited her to witness his wedding. 

Which was where, consequently, she had met Allison Reynolds, Neil’s right-hand woman. 

Andrew shot her a glare before looking back to the doorway. Where was he? Punctuality wasn’t his forte, but fifteen minutes late to something Andrew had insisted he shouldn’t be late to was stretching it. Had something happened? Had the Bearcats finally grown their little claws and lashed out at Neil? Was he dead in a ditch somewhere? 

“Hi,” came a familiar voice, breathless. Andrew glanced over his other shoulder to see Neil, grinning and red-cheeked. He must have run. Understanding Andrew’s apprehension, he chanced a kiss on Andrew’s cheek. “Came in through the back.”

Of course he had this particular divebar in his pocket. It was one of Andrew’s regular hangouts: he would have this place fortified to the very last screw. 

Allison gave Renee a little wink, waving her manicured nails like a manic pixie. Andrew took Neil’s wrist under the table and gave it a light squeeze before turning back to his colleagues. 

Kevin was going purple, mouth hanging open like a gaping fish. 

“So,” Dan said, voice strained slightly. “This is Neil.”

“My husband,” Andrew confirmed. “Yes.” 

“Did you know about this?” Matt hissed into Renee’s ear, not at all subtle. She simply smiled her glittering smile in response. 

“Jesus Christ,” Wymack mumbled into his glass, downing the whole thing. 

“Nice to finally meet you all,” Neil said, placidly. “This is my friend, Allison. I hope it was alright to bring her along.” Allison’s grin was mischievous.

Kevin allowed a strangled noise to escape his mouth. 

“We’ve only got one seat,” Matt said, bewildered. 

“That’s alright,” Neil shrugged, offering it to Allison and leaning against Andrew’s thigh instead. Andrew let his arm loop around Neil’s waist, steadying him. 

Kevin slowly looked Neil up and down, left to right, trying to comprehend how the fuck did I end up having drinks with the mob boss I’ve been chasing down for years -

“I can get the table another round?” Neil offered. 

“That’d be very kind of you, Neil.” Renee said, calmly. 

“Renee -” Dan managed. 

“Beer?” Neil inquired, nodding to Matt. He arched an eyebrow at Kevin. “A bottle of vodka?”

“Are you serious?” Kevin exploded. “Are you serious? The one person who has evaded me for the entirety of my detective career is sitting on my colleague’s lap and offering me a drink when he probably has knives in his pockets and a dead man’s skull in his backpack -” he paused to take a trembling inhale, hands clutching the edge of the table. 

“Well, I’m not really sitting on Andrew’s lap,” Neil snorted. “I only have one knife on me, and it’s most certainly not in my pocket: how impractical.” He jostled Allison’s shoulder. “Do you have a skull in your backpack? Because I didn’t bring a backpack.” 

“I wouldn’t be caught dead with a backpack,” Allison responded snootily, putting her little handbag on the table. “How tasteless.” Neil laughed. 

Andrew pulled him closer. 

“I’ll have a clean bitters, Neil,” Renee said, breaking the silence. “If that’s alright.”

“Copying me?” 

Renee smiled. “Perhaps. Though I’ve yet to find somewhere that does virgin margaritas as well as you do.”

“You’ll just have to come over for dinner again.”

“Do we arrest him?” Matt whispered into his wife’s ear. 

“I have no clue,” Dan responded. 

“I’ve been meaning to give you a recipe I found for a healthy pastabake,” Renee suggested, ignoring Andrew’s glare. “I’ve given Andrew leftovers for lunch and he didn’t even notice the difference.”

“That’s a relief,” Neil grinned. “It’s like bathing a cat.” He jostled Andrew’s shoulder. “Retiring means I get to cook more: you’d better watch out.”

“What the fuck,” Kevin whispered.

“Don’t burn the kitchen down,” Andrew said sullenly. 

“Retiring?” Matt echoed, weakly. “I didn’t think you could retire from -”

“I, too, have recently decided to follow my passions,” Allison said, airily. “I’m thinking of starting a fashion line. Perhaps a boutique.”

“That’s amazing,” Renee said, a hint of relief in her tone. Andrew knew she’d been holding out on Allison for her to move on from her morally grey loyalties onto something more palpable. “I’m sure you will be successful.”

“What the fuck,” Kevin repeated, a little louder. 

“Matt, Dan,” Neil grinned. “Andrew told me you’re adopting. That’s brilliant.” 

“Yes,” Matt said, bewildered. “We’ve been fostering a little girl for a few years now: the papers have finally come through.”

“Maybe I could be a stay-at-home dad,” Neil wondered aloud, leaning his head on Andrew’s shoulder. “We could foster, Drew. We’ve got a spare room.”

“You can barely keep the cats alive,” Andrew muttered, shoving his hand into the backpocket of Neil’s jeans as a warning. Neil grinned into his shoulder. 

“You have cats?” Dan responded, airily. 

“Yes,” Neil nodded gravely. “Andrew’s cousin named them. Sir Fat Cat McCatterson and King Fluffkins.” 

Andrew watched as Dan and Matt’s resolve began to falter, the smiles at his husband’s ridiculousness beginning to crack open. Even Wymack had kept his attention on the table, intrigued. 

As Neil took down drink orders and Allison shuffled her chair closer to Renee, Andrew knew that everything would turn out alright. Neil was just as Andrew had reluctantly described him: a human disaster with a quick-witted tongue and a brilliant grin. Not just a mobster. Not just Nathan Wesninski’s son.

“What the fuck!” Kevin spluttered, but everyone ignored him. 

*

send me more prompts for this au lmao its so silly

[jemej3m]

a really bad (good) blind date

OKAY - there will be other parts to this i promise

*

Andrew was exhausted.

There were many reasons for that fact: he was halfway through his final year of the police academy, his brother had been broken up with (again) and had moved back in to live with Andrew (again) and Nicky had set him up for an evening out with a man he didn’t know (again). 

It was the last time Andrew would put up with these sordid blind date fiascos. Nicky insisted that he didn’t want Andrew to be lonely around the holiday season, and that it’d be perfect timing to have a significant other on Valentine’s Day, and had been extremely resistant to Andrew’s refusals. 

This one would be the last. He’d get a good night’s rest over the winter break, ignore Nicky’s pestering and continue on with life as normal when the half-yearly examinations finally ended. 

He hadn’t even bothered changing out of the jeans and sweater he’d been ambling around the house in all morning, merely shaving and spritzing on cologne to give a false sense that he’d put effort in. 

He wish Nicky had let them meet up in a club. It was much easier to preface a one-night-stand with little talking, dancing and a glass of whisky. He usually wouldn’t even bother taking them home, seeing as he knew the staff access code to the lounge at Eden’s Twilight.

Instead, he shuffled in through the doors of a restaurant, where the lights were just low enough that hopefully this guy wouldn’t see the shadows under his eyes, the sallowness of his skin. Maybe Andrew should just be his usual, sullen self, end the date early and go home and sleep. 

The thought of dealing with Nicky’s blatant look of disappointment when he inevitably heard of Andrew’s less than amicable behaviour was worse than the idea of talking to a cute guy (Nicky’s taste wasn’t bad). A worser fate than death would be Betsy’s eventual involvement, if Nicky thought Andrew wasn’t being social enough. His first-therapist-adoptive-mother-saviour-figure had a monopoly on Andrew’s tolerance of others, whether he liked it or not.  

He took a table, not seeing anyone with the alleged red hair, blue eyes or leather satchel - Nicky said he never went anywhere without it. That had been odd enough to pique Andrew’s curiosity, but not really in a good way. 

He took his place at the table and busied himself with a menu, even though he’d already elected what he’d eat prior to arriving. The few moments to himself allowed him to centre himself, readying for whatever bullshit his cousin had signed him up for this time. 

He supposed that no amount of time would have allowed him to anticipate what he was dealt, as the man who he was to have dinner with collapsed into the chair opposite. His hair was wild, auburn curls and a freshly buzzed undercut matching expressive brows and awfully long lashes - of which framed the clearest blues Andrew had ever seen. His freckles were like constellations across his cheeks. 

“Sorry I’m late,” he managed, swinging the leather satchel across the back of the chair. His buttons were askew but he hadn’t seemed to notice. It allowed Andrew to see the flush that ran down his neck and the hint of a puckered scar on his collarbone. 

A gunshot wound. 

Interesting, he thought. 

“Should we order?” the man asked. 

“I’m Andrew,” he said, pointedly. 

“Oh, right,” he ducked his head with a grimace. “I’m - Neil.” 

Andrew shrugged. “You can have a few minutes, if you’d like.”

Neil didn’t need time. He must have come prepared, as Andrew had. He took note of a few things as they ordered - he was health-conscious, only having a salmon dish and salad - he didn’t drink, not even the lightest champagne the place had to offer - and that he had the most elegant fingers. For some strange reason, Andrew could envision him spinning Andrew’s knives deftly. 

“So,” Neil started, awkward. “What do normal people talk about on dates?”

Andrew arched an eyebrow. 

Neil cleared his throat. “That wasn’t a testament of you being - abnormal - I’ve just never done something like this before, a friend put me up to it - I mean, I’m sure you’re interesting -” 

“It’s alright,” Andrew cut in, because Neil was truly digging himself a sufficient grave. “You should tell me three things you’ve never told anyone.” 

Neil blinked. “Why?”

Andrew shrugged. “Why not? I’ll give you one: I’m afraid of heights.”

“Cockroaches,” Neil echoed, cocking his head to the side. “You’ve never told anyone you’re afraid of heights?”

“What use does that information have?”

“Why can I have it, then?”

Andrew wanted to hear more of this petulant, argumentative tone that Neil had gradually developed. “Must everything have a reason?”

“Of course not,” Neil tapped a lithe finger on the rim of his glass. “But most things - or people - do. That’s what they tell themselves, at least.”

“Profound,” Andrew acknowledged, tipping their glasses together. 

Neil wasn’t uninteresting. There was something underneath those ocean eyes.

Neil liked maths - he’d gone out of state to study for a few years, in Virginia - and cats and took the strawberry from Andrew’s dessert because he hated sweets but would eat fruit any day. He’d also clipped the lip of a waiter who’d expressed irritation that they asked for a split bill, finding the other waiter who’d served them to give the nicer girl a fiver tip. 

It was an odd balance, Andrew observed, between real facets of ‘Neil’ escaping and a formulated restraint, clearly years in the making. Andrew couldn’t believe how late it’d gotten by the time they’d left. Even the way Neil smoked was baffling, holding the light by his chin and looking out into the dimly lit street that stretched out before them. 

“How’d you get roped into this, anyway?” Neil inquired.

Andrew shrugged. “My cousin likes to mess with my life. How does Nicky know your friend, anyway?”

“I think they might’ve had an economics class together in college, and decided they shared a passion for exuberance and high-heels,” Neil chuckled, taking a slow drag. “Allison always said Nicky Nights were the most fun she’d ever had.”

“Allison,” Andrew considered. He wasn’t really familiar with the name. 

“I should probably be heading off,” Neil said, idly checking a watch. He wore a watch. It didn’t look cheap, either. “Have to deal with - family mess.” The way he said family mess had Andrew practically in stitches with intrigue. There was simply nothing simple about Neil, nothing Andrew could put together without time and patience. He simply nodded, watching cars drive past as Neil leant off the wall. 

He’d already written his number on the receipt: fingers hooked into Neil’s sleeve, he spun the young man around, just before he could waltz off to his nice car and drive on home. 

“Here,” he said offhandedly, ignoring the way his heart skipped and leaped. 

Neil took the number slowly, tucking it into his pocket. 

“I’m going to be a bit touch-and-go for a little while,” he said. “Family’s back in town and all. But I’ll text you,” he rolled his lips into his mouth as his cheeks went red. “I will text you.”

Andrew waved him off. “I don’t care what you do.”

Neil’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Okay. I’ll see you later, Andrew.”

Andrew watched as Neil walked away, arriving at a sleek black car that ought to be keyed in a city like Baltimore. Before he set off, he leaned into the passenger seat, rummaging for something. 

Just as Andrew was thinking I didn’t even get his last name, he noticed an odd glinting of something from within Neil’s car. Something reflecting the streetlight, almost into his eyes.

In the compartment of the door was a knife-handle, a cleaver blade attached. It was so carelessly thrown into the door shelf that it seemed to (still?) have a few mild specks of something red across its spine.

Andrew let his cigarette fall to the ground, shoving his hands into his pockets as Neil glanced over his shoulder to give Andrew another one of his little smiles, something Andrew wanted to hold and cherish in spite of the probable weapon left in the passenger seat’s door. As the car skidded away, Andrew remained utterly still, the amalgamation of emotions swirling within his usually void-like chest cavity. 

how was the date???????????? Nicky texted. 

bad, Andrew responded. Because - in spite of everything, the awkwardness, the lack of punctuality, the gunshot scar, the probably bloodied knife in his car - Andrew wanted to see him again. In spite of everything, it had been a good evening. 

oh well! Nicky sent back, with a cheerful smiley face and a bunch of needless xoxo’s. Andrew’s phone buzzed twice as another text came through - this time from an unknown number.

hi this is neil’s number - figured i would text at the traffic light before i lost this receipt :D

Fuck it, Andrew thought. 

*

hi neil. this is andrew.

*

tadaaaa

blind date!! also, neil, dont leave bloody cleavers in the passenger seat door, you dumbass 

[jemej3m]

losing your wedding ring and other hostage situation things

im having way too much fun, you will have to pry this au from my cold, dead hands 

two birds, one stone, lets GO

(tw for: violence, hostage situations, mention of recreational drugs, a bit of swearing, neil being a mouthy ass mf, mild stabbings)

*

Andrew had been having such a good day. 

Those were rare to come by: some form of disaster usually appeared, if not by mid-morning, then by lunch. A perp that was too handsy; an elderly woman shouting tireless angst at Andrew over not being able to find her precious, street-rat looking cat; a stack of overdue paperwork from the nightshift fuckers who were the worst people to exist ever. 

No: instead, Neil had woken him up with a tray of hot coffee, chocolate croissants and strawberries for their anniversary celebration (not that either of them had mentioned it), kissed the crumbs away from the corner of his mouth and lead Andrew into the shower with that damned smile of his. 

He’d driven Andrew to work (something about Allison holding down the fort), which meant Andrew didn’t have to commute and deal with the general public, or figure out where to park for half an hour. It was coming dangerously close to their rule of ‘don’t talk about work’, but Andrew couldn’t complain when Kevin had been too busy to scrutinise him upon entry to the bullpen. 

He and Renee had cracked a decent case, a burly dealer with a ‘Nittany Lions’ emblem tattooed across her collarbone had been shut away for being the primary distributor of a lethal strain of methamphetamine, and there hadn’t been a queue in his favourite subway corner store at lunch time. 

Wymack had stuck his head out of his office at about half-past two, with a quirk to his eyebrows. “They’re requesting backup at a shootout situation, up north. Change out.”

Andrew, who had just been getting slightly bored signing neighbourly complain forms, took this in his stride. Renee smiled at him as they left, always knowing more than Andrew ever let on. He hated being known at first, but years with Neil had tempered that discomfort, and having someone who knew what he needed when he couldn’t express it wasn’t half bad. 

He cut over Kevin’s music in the patrol car and let the windows down, siren tolling. There were no deaths on the scene as of yet - and Andrew had a feeling there would be none. 

It seemed as though there was where his good luck had run out for the day. 

Upon exiting the car, protocols had been adhered to, blocks were canvassed, civilians were removed, and Andrew found himself squatting behind a crumbling brick wall, Dan and Matt ahead of him, Kevin and Renee behind him. 

Dan looked around the doorway, signalled clear, and so they skirted into the small courtyard. The house in question had been the location for the shooting: how Andrew and the rest of his team had found themselves in the infiltration force was another issue entirely. 

“Sargeant, everything’s gone quiet, what’s happening?” Wymack demanded. 

“House is looking clear -” a distinct thud and Dan’s disgruntled “Oof!” had Andrew drawing out his gun once more. 

“Guns down,” came a strained voice, stepping out from behind the door with a gun held to Dan’s head. He had a ski-mask on. “Everyone put your guns down, or she dies.”

For fuck’s sake, Andrew thought, slowly crouching down and putting up his hands. Matt’s entire body was shaking, but he followed suit, Kevin and Renee copying him. 

Three men appeared: one grabbed Matt, another grabbed Kevin, whilst a third went for both Renee and Andrew. The glint in Renee’s eyes said it well enough: it wouldn’t do these fuckers well to underestimate either of them. 

But Dan still had a gun to her head, and Andrew was in no business of letting decent people die because he didn’t play along, so he let himself be shuffled into the basement of the house: there, he was shoved against one of the old, wooden pillars and tied up, hands behind his back. The rope burned against his skin. 

“Body in the corner,” Renee whispered, nudging his foot with hers. “Stripped, two bullet holes in the head. Look, you can see the Butcher cross on the back of their hand. It has to be a Bearcat.”

Andrew stared at the Butcher’s mark. His husband’s father had once liked to mark his loyalists with two gashes on the back of their hand, often with his favourite cleaver. Neil said he’d left similar marks across his father’s eyes when he’d finally brought him to his knees. The corpse in the corner had to be an older member of the Wesninski gang: Neil had changed a lot of things since inheriting his father’s syndicate. 

Gang violence was never great, nor simple, but perhaps a man who was loyal to Nathan Wesninski was better off dead. 

“Quiet!” one of the men barked, kicking Renee in the side of her head. Andrew grit his teeth as her head whipped back against the wall. 

“Search ‘em,” the other said, crouching by Dan. Identification, a spare twenty, her gun and taser and baton were all removed. When she tried to head-but him, he decided to gag her and tie said gag to the beam she was shoved against. He checked her hand for an engagement or wedding ring, of which neither Dan nor Matt ever wore during their shifts. Matt, Kevin and Renee went through the same thing, radios and guns and spare cash filched from their pockets. 

Then it was Andrew’s turn. He coiled up as soon as hands were on him, gritting his teeth. He hated sitting like a victim. He hated waiting around to be rescued. He would be able to cut through this rope somehow if he was just given a minute, but instead he was enduring hands across his arms and shoulders and back, down his legs. They didn’t find the knife in his boot - something he’d copied from Neil - but one of their fingers did catch on the silver chain around his throat. 

His eyes closed as they pulled it out. 

“Ha,” the crook sneered, snapping the silver chain and holding up Andrew’s wedding band. “Who’s the lucky girl? Doesn’t matter, I s’pose, if you never see her again.”

“You’re married? Since when!” Kevin remarked, and got a knee in the ribs for good measure. 

Andrew watched the man pocket his wedding ring and sighed. He’d have a hell of a lot of explaining to do to Neil when he got home. Hopefully his husband wouldn’t go out on a spree for vengeance just to get the ring back. Worse would be if he decided to go teaching everyone not to touch his family. 

For a few moments, the men left them alone, stomping around the house and yelling for good measure. They’d taken Dan’s radio to lay down their terms: they were no doubt in the midst of negotiation. 

“I went to the ceremony,” Renee offered in the strained silence. “It was very sweet.”

“Shut up, Renee.” Andrew muttered. 

“It’s their anniversary, today,” she added. 

He glared at her. “I hate you.” 

“What a way to spend it,” Matt murmured, looking to Dan, who was still gagged. He looked back to Andrew. “We’ll make sure you get back home to your...partner?”

“Husband.” Andrew confirmed, then mentally cursed himself for giving away such needless information whilst in a dusty basement, held hostage by some randoms who had already murdered one member of said husband’s gang. Instead, he shuffled his feet around to Renee. 

“I’ve got a knife,” he said, like she didn’t already know. He just didn’t want the others to see Renee trying to take off his shoe with her teeth when he’d just mentioned that he has a husband. She nodded, leaning down to pull at his laces, then tugging off his shoe with her knees. The knife skidded out: she kicked it back to Andrew, who flicked it into his hands. She shuffled around so that her ropes were accessible to him, and he got to work sawing. 

It only lasted thirty seconds before the men thundered back down stairs: Renee sat on the knife after Andrew dropped it to the floor. 

“They need a little more motivation,” the burliest one sneered, stomping over to Dan. “How about you, sarge?”

“You’re making a mistake,” Renee said, calmly. “I’m sure that if everyone walked free right now, we’d be able to figure something out. It doesn’t have to end badly.”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he snapped. “God, you’re annoying, aren’t you? Not everything’s so simple, pig.”

“No,” a new voice agreed. “It’s not. But you could’ve at least cleaned this place up a bit before you made such a scene.”

“What the fuck,” the ringleader managed, just as two men dropped to their knees, hands to their stomachs. Two new figures stepped into the basement, dressed similarly. Both wore black jeans and sweaters, though one was a hood tugged firmly over their head, a bandana over their nose and mouth, whilst the other wore a ski-mask with a singular window for the eyes, long hair tucked up into a twist under the wool. 

The shorter figure’s blue eyes sought Andrew out immediately: he gave the man a quick nod. I’m alright. 

Those eyes burned like the ninth circle of hell. Instantly, Andrew knew he was safe. 

“The fuck is this?” the man said, just as another knife buried itself into the chest cavity of his third ally. “Hold on, hold on - are you repping Wesninski? How the fuck did you get here -?”

“Learn your place, Gorilla,” the shorter one said, spinning a knife around on his fingers. His counterpart - and if Andrew didn’t know it was Allison, he would’ve still been able to tell she was a woman - busied herself tying up the other three that were moaning on the floor. Gloved hands, double layered but still deft. Andrew grabbed the knife that was under Renee and kept sawing at her closures. 

“You don’t mess with a Wesninski, nor his people.” the knife was slowly raised to ‘Gorilla’s chin, just as gloved fingers reached into the crook’s pocket and drew out a small, silver band. “Too predictable with your trophies, Hawking. Dumped again?” 

The man - who was more than a foot taller than their savior and definitely double the width - roared with fury, raising up his hands. He was too late, his body slumping with a pinch to the back of his neck. 

The woman looked over to the corner, where the body was dumped, and sighed. “You weren’t the worst, Richie.”

“Definitely bad timing, A.” the man said, hopping over the unconscious body of his rival to lean over Andrew: the others looked on with intrigue as the mysterious man slipped Andrew’s wedding ring into his front pocket. 

“Go,” Andrew muttered from out the corner of his mouth. Only Renee would be able to hear. “We’ll be fine.”

“Love you,” Neil whispered back. Not a moment later, he was gone. 

“We’re we just saved by a Wesninski gang member?” Kevin wondered aloud. 

Not just any gang member, Andrew thought. Kevin would shit himself if he knew who was under that mask. 

“Stranger things have happened,” Matt said, though he was unsure. At that point, Andrew had cut Renee’s ropes free, and she set to work unbinding them all. 

Wymack was the first into the basement, fury scrawled across his scraggly brows. “Is everyone - Christ.” He looked to the four men on the floor: three stabbed and bound, still alive and writhing in pain, and one unconscious, jaw at a bad angle from where he’d fallen over. “Do I even want to know what happened?”

“I don’t think you’d believe us if we told you, sir,” Renee said, sweetly, as she cut Dan’s gag free and helped her off the floor. 

Wymack simply rubbed at his temple with one hand, the other reaching for his radio. “Four stretchers. All threats have been disengaged. Stand down: everyone is safe.”

*

Andrew felt his phone buzz as he was stood behind his desk, packing things into his bag to head home. Hostage situation aside, it’d still been a good day. 

Home now - got more ice cream and borrowed Bridget Jones’ Diary from Ally’s collection

I hate you, Andrew texted back. Heading home now - i can detour and get Joe’s thai

no, Neil said immediately. i’ve already got food being delivered. need to see u home and safe. 

Andrew felt something warm in his chest. I’ll be there soon. 

He tucked his phone into his bag, and brought out the ring that he’d kept tucked into the pocket of his pants all day, seeing as the chain had been broken. Carefully, he slid it onto his finger. It still fit, though he wasn’t sure why he’d thought that it wouldn’t. 

Across the room, Matt smiled, nudging Renee and gesturing to where Andrew had put on his wedding ring and was almost ready to leave. “The Monster has a husband.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Dan agreed, sidling up to the pair.

You barely know the half of it, Renee thought, watching her partner amble out of the bullpen, a fondness in her smile. 

*

wow. SOFT.

[jemej3m]

(mobster/cop au) what did the foxes think Andrews husband would be like before they met Neil? Did they had a bet?

this is…..not what you asked. i went off on a tangent lol, but i aint sorry.

(also i, for some reason, just cannot write good betting scenarios. might be because gambling addictions are p.serious. i know its all in good fun though! so im sorry i couldn’t include it)

*

Getting information about Andrew was like pulling teeth, and this was news to no one. Seeing as Kevin was - probably, maybe, most likely - Andrew’s closest friend at the precinct (other than Renee. And Wymack, possibly), Dan and Matt seemed to look to him after the discovery that Andrew had a husband when they’d all been trapped in that basement. 

“Why would I know anything?” Kevin objected, when they’d approached him. 

“Because Renee won’t give up his secrets and I know you’re as curious as we are,” Matt supplied. 

“Well, I know nothing that y’all don’t already know. Apparently he’s married to a guy. I once overheard him talking on the phone to a Neil. Assuming that Andrew has no social life - which is an easy assumption to make - his husband is Neil.”

“Ooh,” Dan said, wiggling her eyebrows conspiratorially. “Mr Neil Minyard. Anything else?”

Kevin just shrugged. “Nope. Andrew’s a wall. You’ll never get anything more than that.” 

*

Dan crouched down behind the car, breathing heavily. “Fucking hell,” she muttered, as another round of bullets sprayed out. She hated shootouts. At least Matt was safe at the precinct: she’d been doing a patrol with Andrew and Renee when they’d been radioed. 

“Good that it’s a dead area,” Renee insisted, forever a ray of sunshine and goodness. How she and Andrew got along was a conspiracy to be marveled at, but it worked. “We shouldn’t be dealing with any civilian casualties.”

“Hey, coppers!” came a voice. “Fuck off! This ain’t your problem!” More bullets. 

Dan rolled her eyes, then flinched as the car they were all crouched behind was fired at. Andrew grunted, a furrow between his brows. 

“We told you to fuck off - !” the same guy yelled, before he was most definitely shot, making a gurgling noise in lieu of words. 

“Andrew, south east,” Renee called. Andrew got up on his knee and aimed quick: he was one of the sharpest shooters on the squad. Dan heard a female scream “Shit!” as the shooting quietened. 

“Nice shot,” she told the detective. He just grunted. “Right, clear out. Let’s never sign up to patrol this section of town on a Friday night again.” 

“Agreed,” Renee mumbled, holding her gun close. 

It seemed that whoever Andrew had shot got away: a pool of blood without a body remained evident on the path. The other group had abandoned their loud-mouthed friend, who was still writhing on the tar as the ambulance arrived. He’d only been shot in the arm, and it hadn’t hit bone. He’d be fine. 

“Alright,” Dan told her two officers. “How about we sign off?” 

They both grunted in agreement. 

*

It was Tuesday morning, and Andrew’s desk was empty for a second day in a row. Dan folded her arms and stalked towards Wymack’s office to demand that the captain give Minyard a call, but he held up a broad palm as she entered the room.

“Andrew’s cited a family emergency.”

Dan narrowed her eyes. “Sure.”

Wymack simply arched a brow at her. “His husband was shot. If you want to cross-check for me and give him a call, be my guest, Wilds.”

Dan slowly retreated out of the captain’s office. She wasn’t suicidal enough to give Minyard a ring, not under those circumstances. Wymack’s word was definitely good enough. 

She went back to her desk as Matt sidled up beside her, pressing a kiss to her hair. 

“No PDA at work,” she complained. 

“Shift’s over,” Matt pointed out, grinning. She rolled her eyes. “What should we get for dinner?”

“Not sure…” Dan trailed off as she watched Renee packing her desk, checking her watch rapidly and hastily slinging her bag over her shoulder. She pattered over to the bullpen’s kitchen and drew out a casserole dish from the freezer, lifting the foil to check its contents. With the dish held against her hip, she checked the freezer closed and made her way to the elevator. 

“Whatcha got there, Renee?” Matt piped up, helping the dish out of Renee’s hands when she’d dropped her phone. It wasn’t often that Renee got flustered: she hastily picked up the mobile and tucked her hair behind her ears. Dan noticed she was wearing lip gloss. 

“Well, since Neil’s been - sick,” she started. 

“Shot,” Matt supplied. Dan glared at him: he shrugged. “What? I read Captain’s lips.”

Renee snorted, taking the dish back now that she was more organised. “I offered to make dinner, and Andrew prefers punctuality. I just hope that Neil likes it: I’ve never made this quiche before.” she worried, quietly. “Andrew said he hates vegetables but will put up with them when they’re hidden away. And hopefully Allison will eat eggs, and cheese.”

“Allison?” Dan inquired. 

“Neil’s best friend,” Renee said, still distracted as she looked for her car keys. “Oh, heavens, I’m so late.” 

“Go,” Dan insisted. Renee smiled gratefully. “Tell Andrew we say hello.” She nodded and jogged towards the exit.

“And tell Neil to get shot less!” Matt added, unhelpfully. “I won’t keep doing his paperwork!” 

Dan laughed and leaned into her husband’s shoulder. She looked up at him, her chin brushing the crook of his neck. “Do you think Andrew will ever let us meet him?”

“Not sure,” Matt said. “It would probably completely ruin his cred as a stoic asshole. He’s probably a massive sap at heart.”

Dan smiled into the collar of Matt’s shirt. “Never put Andrew Minyard and sap in the same sentence again, babe.” 

Matt just laughed and looped a hand around her waist. 

*

“So,” Matt said, leaning against the edge of Minyard’s table. “How was your week off?”

“Great,” Minyard said flatly. “Go away.”

Matt ignored him and sat in the victim’s chair, leaning his chin on his hand. “You know, I’m pretty sure you and your husband have been married longer than Dan and I have. Do you have any anniversary suggestions?”

“Get a divorce,” Minyard grunted, looking at his report.

Matt grinned. “Don’t be like that. What did you and Neil do last time?”

“Nothing,” Minyard mumbled. Matt noticed his cheeks going red and rose up his eyebrows. Minyard noticed his look and scowled. “It was our anniversary this week and he was bedridden. Quit looking at me like that, Boyd.” 

“A January wedding,” Matt cooed. “Did you take photos in the snow?” 

“I will castrate you.” 

“Cool,” Matt said, airily. “Well, happy anniversary, Andrew. Tell Neil we said hi.”

“I won’t,” Andrew insisted. “Get lost.” 

Matt snorted and did as he was told. He’d intended to say hi to Renee, but she was over at Dan’s desk, so he sauntered over with his thumbs hooked into his pockets. 

“Hey, Renee,” he said, grinning. His fellow detective and his sergeant raised their eyebrows at him. “I’ve been thinking,” 

“You should be working,” his wife reminded him. 

“Andrew just had his anniversary, right? But they couldn’t do anything because Neil’s been bedridden. We should all pitch in for a gift. Maybe a weekend away?”

“That’s a lovely idea, Matt,” Renee said, grinning. 

“How the hell did you get that information out of him?” Dan said, incredulous. 

“I’ll email you some ideas: you know the two of them, best.” Matt rubbed his hands together. 

“Preferably not New York, not somewhere warm, or somewhere with lots of people,” Renee advised. “Neil is apparently forever antagonistic and it drives Andrew up the wall.”

“Sexy up the wall or angry up the wall? I don’t think we should be encouraging strenuous activity when Neil’s been recovering from a bullet wound.” Renee just laughed, neither confirming nor denying Matt’s inquired. She bid both of them good day and went back to her desk, ignoring Minyard’s inquisitive looks. 

“Why are you doing this?” Dan murmured. 

Matt shrugged. “Dunno. I feel like he deserves it.” 

Dan smiled at him. “Alright.” 

*

Kevin, Renee, Matt and Dan were all sitting in the breakroom. Andrew stormed in, bright and cheery as ever. It was a blissful Tuesday morning, sleet pelting down and temperatures well below freezing: As Andrew tugged off his scarf, revealing a wind-pinked nose and a fair amount of love bites just above his collar, he chucked a tin onto the table. 

“Who’s idea was it?” Andrew accused. 

Kevin watched Matt grin, looking up at Andrew. They were almost the same height even with Matt sitting down. “How were the mountains?” 

“Very pleasant,” Andrew muttered, peeved. “Neil baked those as thanks. I hope he poisoned them. You’re all the worst.” After a moment, and a reprimanding glance from Renee, he mumbled out a quiet “Thank you.”  and just as quickly as he’d come in, he turned to leave. He must have caught his reflection in the window, because he hastily tugged the scarf back around his neck, cheeks turned pink. 

Kevin huffed, looking to his colleagues. “Are you satisfied enough, now? I, for one, now know way more about him than I ever wanted to.” 

The Boyd-Wildses opposite him just grinned. 

*

ehheeheewill i ever post the renison + wedding thing? hopefully yes - if i dont run out of steam first. almost 2/3s of the way through my rbb and its taking longer than i thought!!!! also moving out of state, so a lot is happening rn and if that means i neglect ur asks and prompts i am very sorry!!!! 

[jemej3m]

if the shoe (ring) fits

in which we meet ichirou, who’s a lot more tolerant to neil’s fuckery than expected.

*

“Condolences on your father,” Neil said, respectfully with a gentle bow of his head. 

He had not liked Kengo Moriyama. The man had been brusque and ruthless, and sickeningly traditional. In a way it was why he and Nathan had be been so well matched together. 

“Condolences on yours,” said Kengo’s son, looking out across the sea of milling individuals, dabbing their eyes with napkins and clasping each other’s wrists. Kengo’s brother was down there, somewhere, but not his second son. Nor his wife, who was killed for allowing Riko to exist. 

The funeral was plasticky. Neil had never actually been to a funeral, seeing as his mother had been thrown into the bottom of a lake and his father had died whilst incarcerated. 

Neil hummed, settling down beside Ichirou. 

“We need to talk about your security.” 

Neil paused a moment before rolling his eyes. “This again?”

“Yes,” the man said, one eyebrow arched. “How do you expect to continue a dynasty without a child?”

“I’ll have a child,” Neil said offhandedly, even if the idea terrified him. Every day he walked around wondering if there was a switch in his body that’d turn him into Nathan, or at least open up and shove him down the path to become him. Perhaps having a child was that trigger. As a coddling infant, Neil could remember one or two moments of peace and joy with his father, before Nathan decided Neil was a good target for his anger. “Anyone can have a child.”

Neil had never, and would never, have sex with a woman, so long as he was still with Andrew. Which he fully intended to be. But he assumed that it was relatively simple.

“You need a wife,” Ichirou’s voice was cold. “There are many good candidates that you can evaluate -” 

“I’m already married,” Neil blurted out. Oops. Andrew was not going to be pleased that Ichirou knew before even he did. 

Ichirou finally turned from overseeing his father’s funeral, up on his prestigious balcony, to look at Neil. His eyes were impossibly narrowed. “You’re what?” 

“My lord,” Neil said, emphatically. “It has been successfully strategic. This person diverts police attention away from me and the Wesninski name, which in turn includes your name. I do believe I avoided telling you because I didn’t want to trouble you whilst your father was ill.”

“Bullshit, Nathaniel,” Ichirou bulstered, his calm facade broken. He looked very tired and a little incredulous. “I can’t believe you’re married to that fucking cop. Seriously? I could have looked around him being a man, but a police officer?” 

Neil shrugged. “It’s worked for us.” He jostled the man’s shoulder. “I forget you’re only a few years older than me, with the way you act like a wall.”

“Yeah, well,” Ichirou muttered. “Neither of us can live up to how our fathers wanted us to be, I suppose. Gay and married to a cop,” he scoffed, but it was almost a laugh. “Your father would’ve had an aneurysm.” 

“Not gay,” Neil muttered. “And he did. That’s how he died.” Blunt trauma to the head, clotting, aneurysm, boom: no more Nathan. No one was sad about it.

“You need an heir of your blood and bone, still,” Ichirou insisted. “Not letting you get away with that one.”

Neil waved him off. “Surrogacy with Allison. We’re in the modern world, Ichirou. There’s always a solution.” He wasn’t about to say that he didn’t intend on sticking around for that long.

Ichirou considered him for a bit, before turning back with a resumed stony expression. “Don’t forget your place, Wesninski.” After a few moments, he added “Congratulations.” 

Neil felt something settle in his stomach. Relief.  

Now he just had to tell Andrew. 

*

The apartment was dark when Neil arrived home, lugging his little suitcase through the door. He’d only gone to New York for the weekend, of which Andrew had been thoroughly peeved about: they both worked long hours during the week, and weekend were meant to be their time.

It was easier now that they lived together. They’d moved in a year ago: it meant Neil only needed heightened security detail on one place rather than two, the rent was cheaper together (not that Neil really needed to worry about that), and it was closer to Andrew’s precinct than his old place. 

The dusty yellow lamp was still on in their bedroom despite the late (or early) hour. Neil left his suitcase out by the couch and tip-toed his way into their room.

He had fallen asleep reading, the book on his chest and head at an awkward angle on the pillow. Neil grinned: Nicky had given him a set of grinch-themed sleep clothes last year for Christmas. He wondered how many times Andrew would stab him if he took a photo and sent it to his cousin. 

Andrew had to be up for work and Neil wanted to avoid waking him if he could, so he dressed in pyjamas as quietly as he could manage and eased himself onto the mattress. The bed was pushed up against the wall so that Andrew could sleep with his back curled against it, so Neil could easily relieve Andrew of his book, settle it on their one nightstand and switch off the lamp. Then he held Andrew’s shoulder lightly, and tried to ease him into a better position that wouldn’t hurt his neck. 

Andrew made a few light noises before rolling and almost squishing Neil underneath him. Neil laughed as Andrew’s arm came around Neil’s chest, his face settling into the crook of Neil’s shoulder. 

Neil twisted around till his back was against Andrew’s chest and let himself relax. He’d worry about the marriage proposal later. 

*

Neil knew, objectively, that Andrew wouldn’t say no to marrying him. They were kind of a forever package: The four years since they’d first met and just over three years since they first got together have been as smooth as any relationship between a mobster and a police officer could be. 

Neither of them had really sat down and said that out loud though: they each had their fair share of problems than inhibited any such emotional conversation. But Neil still knew. 

It was in the way Andrew cooked him his favourite meal when he got home at eleven at night, exhausted and haunted by screams, continually scrubbing at his hands. It was in every sacrifice Andrew made for Neil, the faith he put into Neil’s promises that they wouldn’t have to live they way they did forever.

“You have something to tell me,” Andrew said the following night, when he’d arrived home from work. Neil put dinner down on the table - mac ‘n’ cheese, with nothing remotely healthy about it - and Andrew arched his eyebrow. 

Neil sighed and slumped into his chair opposite him, tugging at the collar of his shirt. It was suddenly very warm. Had he turned the oven off? 

“Neil,” Andrew warned. “Did something happen in New York?”

“Oh, you know,” Neil said, lightly. “Nothing really. I, uh,” Andrew leaned closer, eyes narrower. “I may have told Ichirou we’re married to get him off my back?”

For a moment, Andrew stared. 

“So, what do you think?” Neil asked, voice reed-thin. “I’d change my vows to be ‘CI till death do us part’.”

It didn’t seem like the joke went down well: Andrew’s chair skidded back as the man stood, immediately vanishing from the living room. The bedroom door clicked firmly shut behind him and Neil put his head in his hands. It was too soon, or Andrew didn’t feel the same, or maybe this was Neil’s final straw and now he’d fucked up one too many times for Andrew to tolerate.

“Fuck,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “Fuck.” 

It’s not like Neil was hell-bent on marriage either - he’d seen the bloodied divorce between his own parents - but it put the two of them on a different page. There was no way that Neil would force Andrew into something he didn’t want - or that Andrew would let him - but it’d be a rift between them. Maybe even permanently. 

Neil didn’t want to lose Andrew over this. He should have waited - it’s not like Ichirou would have actually checked legal records to see if they were properly married - they’d only been dating for three years, that wasn’t that long by modern standards, if Neil wasn’t so ridiculously irrational then this wouldn’t have been a problem. He wouldn’t lose Andrew over his loose tongue, when there were plenty of valid reasons for Andrew to leave him -

“Stop.” 

Neil looked up, movements jerky and uncoordinated. His limbs felt dismembered. Andrew was stood by the table, watching him with hooded eyes and curled fists. 

Neil made a weak noise of inquiry. It broke in his throat. 

“Stop thinking,” Andrew clarified, slowly sitting back down on his chair. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

Neil snorted, rubbing the corner of his eye. After another moment of terse silence, Neil cleared his throat. “I can fix it. I shouldn’t have said anything, Andrew - ”

Lightning fast, Andrew reached over their food and put something on the table. For a moment the little velvet box didn’t register in Neil’s mind, but then his stomach was rolling on the floor, heart swooping and soaring. With careful fingers, he picked up the box and opened it. 

Within were two silver bands, identical but for the size. Simple. Glossy. Neil took out the smaller one and slipped it on - it fit perfectly, of course. The new weight on his finger felt odd. Odd but good. 

“How the fuck did you get my size?” Neil remarked, quiet. Everything was very quiet, but for his heart, which was probably thudding loud enough that even the corpses in Linkin Park could hear. 

Splotches of colour appeared on Andrew’s cheeks. “You were napping.”

Neil laughed, admiring it. He wasn’t fussed about jewellery, or ceremonies, or titles or heirs or tradition. He just wanted to know that he’d go to sleep and wake up by Andrew’s side, every day that he could. 

“Yes?” Andrew asked, just to be sure.

Neil took Andrew’s left hand where it was resting on the table top and slipped on his respective wrist, kissing his knuckles in lieu of an answer. 

*

“You cannot have ‘Nathaniel Wesninski’ on your marriage papers, Andrew. Are you insane?”

“You’re not taking my name. Or hyphenating.”

Neil huffed out a laugh. “Wesninski-Minyard. No, thank you.” 

Andrew scoffed. “I think you mean Minyard-Wesninski.”  

Neil shook his head, leaning into Andrew’s shoulder. A lot of time had gone into not reacting to that name with visceral disgust, like it would have a few years ago. “I’ve been meaning to change my name for a while now. For real.”

Andrew looked at him. “They’d allow that?”

“Who cares about them?” Neil said, fierce. “It’s just a name. If they’re upset by that, they’ll be devastated by the knife in their stomach. Fuck them.”

Andrew hummed. “What will you change it to?”

Neil took the file of paperwork they were meant to fill out from Andrew’s la, already bored out of his skull. His legs filled the space, draped over Andrew’s lap. Neil pressed an open mouthed kiss to the corner of Andrew’s jaw, to which he rolled his eyes and muttered “Fine,” even though he was just as sick of the paperwork as Neil was. 

“You already know what I’ll change it to,” Neil said, letting Andrew pick him up and carry him to their room. 

“Neil Abram Hatford,” Andrew mumbled, laying Neil down atop of his side of the bed. It was unmade, as usual. He grinned and kicked the sheets away with two errant flicks of his feet, arms looped around Andrew’s neck. “Has a ring to it.” 

“Hatford-Minyard? Minyard-Hatford?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Andrew muttered. Neil just laughed. 

*

teehee!!!

[jemej3m]

For the mobster au, how did wymack find out? Did anyone recognise the name Hartford in Andrew's papers?

ooO!! i mean it was implied he discordered it in ‘do we arrest him?’ but you’ve got me thinking

(whilst i procrastinate on the wedding + renison chapter, here’s wymack, my fave - this follows on from the first excerpt of this au, where andrew shoots neil)

*

“I made dinner,” Abby called out from the kitchen. David snorted. If Abby was the one cooking, it was either cupcakes, cherry pie, cookies, or some form of charred vegetables with a dash of raw meat. She was no good at dinners: he usually spent his time on the weekends cooking and freezing savoury meals whilst poring over cases and paperwork. 

“You ordered in?” He dropped his bag on the hook, his coat on the radiator and a kiss on her cheek. She poked him with the spatula in retaliation. 

They ate quietly. The radio was on in the background but he found that he didn’t mind the white noise. He’d spent the past week in his head and he was glad to reach Friday: he was always glad to reach Friday. Policework wasn’t kind. 

They spent the rest of the evening on the couch, watching something inane. Abby was an incredibly light sleeper but David always dropped off, falling asleep on her shoulder. It helped that he’d already seen whatever film was on, and that it wasn’t very good. 

“David,” she whispered, some indeterminable time later. “David, your phone’s ringing.”

“Shut it off,” he grunted. 

“It’s Andrew,” Abby insisted. 

David sat up and snatched the phone from her hand, shoving it to his ear. “What have you done, Minyard?”

“Ye of little faith, old man. It’s not even midnight: doesn’t all hell break loose when the clock strikes twelve?”

“You are not funny,” he told the detective. 

“I’m a paragon of comedy,” Andrew insisted. “This is irrelevant. I’m calling to say I’m taking the week off.”

“You can’t just take the week off.”

“Call it a family emergency.” He did sound rather on edge, David supposed. “Yes, I do have family, Cap’n.”

“I recall a cousin and a brother. Someone kicking up dust with the families?”

Andrew hesitated. “Not quite.” 

“You need to give me a little context.”

He huffed out a sigh. “Fine. My husband’s been shot. I need to stay home and look after him.” In the background, David heard someone complaining along the lines of I’m fine. Andrew shushed him. 

“Sorry to hear that, Minyard.”

“Yeah, well. If he keeps insisting that he’s fine, I might just shoot him again. See you next week.” 

Again? Wymack mouthed, because he knew damn well that Abby was listening. Her eyes were appropriately wide. “Bye, Minyard.” 

The dial-tone beeped at him: he threw his phone onto the counter. 

“And I thought our marriage was tough,” Abby snarked. When David glared, she just laughed. 

*

It was late, Monday evening, when David remembered to write up Minyard’s leave paperwork. From his files he withdrew Andrew’s, (of which was a little thicker than the others - brilliant cop, bad attitude, lots of altercations) and set it down atop of his already chaotic desk. 

Flicking through, he landed on the newest page, towards the back. It was a resubmission of personal details, but there was only one difference. Spouse, y/n? Yes: Neil Abram Hatford. 

Wymack leaned back in his chair. Fucking hell, Minyard. 

Of course the name was familiar to Wymack: the Hatfords were federal prosecutors in the UK, a flashy front for another renowned crime dynasty. Wymack remembered when he and Kayleigh had worked tirelessly against them to no avail. They were no longer as active as they had once been, which meant only older Irish and British detectives would recall their prevalence. 

It was no wonder that Andrew was becoming one of the most infamous detectives, focussing on gang and group violence and criminal families. He’d fucking married into one. 

But why the hell was a Hatford in Baltimore?

Wymack sighed and filled out the paperwork rather than overthinking it. He’d leave it up to Minyard: he seemed to know what he was doing. Not that he’d listen otherwise. 

He shook his head, sealing up the envelope to be sent in to HR and packing up his bag. 

The phone on his desk rang. Wymack shoved it under his ear. “I’m coming home now, honey.”

“Good on you, sweetheart,” Minyard responded. Wymack huffed. “Don’t tell anyone.” 

“How did you - ?” 

“I’m a good cop,” Andrew said, sounding bored to death. “Don’t,” he insisted, hanging up. 

Wymack simply rolled his eyes.

*

so, no: wymack does not know that neil is nathaniel wesninski, he only figures that out in ‘do we arrest him?’ when he finally sees neil in person, but he knows andrew’s married to a man from a criminal dynasty.

and also that he shot his husband. but that was an accident!