She's Got Killer Legs, Chapter 7 FLOOR MODEL MÖRDARBEN, #666
Okay ya'll, LOOK AT THIS. Look at how gorgeous this is. Beetlejuice looks amazing, his expression is perfect for this scene. Click the image description to get an excerpt!
This art was gifted to me by the Elorium, and sometimes I just sit and look at it🥰. The fact that someone made fanart of something I wrote is the greatest compliments I've ever received, and it means the world. So I decided to show it off. Now, go check out the rest of her art!
“You must stay close, Fraser.” John Grey’s tone is stern, clipped and anxious.
“I didna intend to let her out of my sight.” Jamie breaks away from the phone for a moment to shove his head through a shirt neckline, and checks his mobile for the hundredth time.
It has been a tense two weeks, while the SCD gets their paperwork and warrants in order. There cannot be any mistakes, or the MacKenzies and their company will get away scot-free, no pun intended. Jamie had returned to the office with little fanfare, but was well aware that he was being watched again. His decision to send Claire away had been a good one.
There had been certain buzz about the upcoming event, but Jamie hadn’t received an invitation himself—for obvious reasons, he thought. He had appraised Murtagh of the fundraiser so he could contact Grey, but no one knew anything; purposefully orchestrated, but no specific details beyond that. Wheedling Louise to add his name to the list to no avail, he’d had to come up with an alternative plan to be close to Claire and protect her as he’d promised.
Grey prattles on in Jamie’s ear, and he looks at the screen once more. No new messages from Claire; the last had been an hour ago, a racy selfie of Claire in her barely-there underwear as she dressed for the fundraiser. Suddenly, a certain word brings him crashing back to Earth.
“What? Ye can’t!”
“Of course I can’t, Fraser,” Grey says irritably. “I only said I wished I could arm you. But you’re a civilian, so that’s a no-go. I’ll have a detail there to help out.”
“I wouldna ken what to do with a gun even if ye did.” Jamie swallows hard, fear in his throat. “Ye dinna think it will come to that?”
“I’m hoping it won’t be. Keep your eyes open and stay alert, Fraser. If you see anything untoward, anything suspicious, call Murtagh.” It would be a very public takedown, and Jamie is equally excited and apprehensive. The videos SCD had discovered apparently show Bonnet’s face clearly, exculpating Jamie from Alexander McGregor’s death.
With a final warning to be careful, Grey ends the call. Almost immediately after, Jamie’s phone beeps with a new text. It’s Claire, in a beautiful yellow gown, blowing a kiss to the camera. Jamie’s confidence is renewed and his spirits lift, to see his Sassenach so beautiful, so brave, so irrevocably his.
X-x-X
The venue is sumptuously decorated, as befits Glasgow’s Gallery of Modern Art. Claire grips her coat as she hands her invitation to the guard at the door and is admitted. Geillis walks beside her, already looking for the servers with drink trays.
“Here ye go, get ye properly soused.” G hands her a flute of champagne. Claire sips slowly, looking around for a tall head of red hair. It’s not noticeable, and she doesn’t know if it’s a good thing that her Viking Scot is well-concealed; she desperately wishes Jamie could be at her side. Claire watches as her co-workers mingle and laugh, eating and drinking. She chats with a few of her colleagues, and while talking to Joe Abernathy, she spots a bright mop of curls skulking behind a set of cubicles acting as the servers’ station. Excusing herself to the loos, she sidles close to the station and faces the room, grabbing another glass flute as she senses Jamie at her back.
“Mo nighean donn, ye look beautiful,” he breathes on her neck, leaning in as close as he dares. He has spent his time hiding out behind the flimsy cubicle walls. Blending in with the servers, he’d made his way through the back-entrance gangway, pretending to be working with them tonight. No one had batted an eye or asked him anything. Donning a white jacket a bit too tight across the shoulders and at least three inches too small at the wrists, he pretended to sort through the champagne glasses and handed full trays out for servers to parade around the museum.
A sudden commotion near the entrance has her craning her neck to see Colum MacKenzie arrive maneuvering in an electric wheelchair, followed closely by Dougal. Claire sees Tom Christie, the hospital director, rush over to greet and flatter them. She can feel Jamie tense behind her.
“Claire, the MacKenzie…”
“I see them, Jamie. Don’t worry.” His hand slips into hers for a moment, warm and strong. She doesn’t dare turn to look at him. His mere presence at her back bolsters her courage, as she downs the rest of the champagne and prepares to walk back into the fray, with Jamie’s parting words in her ears and heart:
Ye need not be scairt, so long as I’m wi’ ye.
They resonate in her mind, steadying her. Claire finds Geillis and they nurse another glass of champagne. Geillis senses her nerves and Claire steers her far away from the gaggle of chiefs and important hospital administrators fawning over the fundraiser sponsors.
“Hey, there you are, ladies!” Joe saunters up to them, clinking glasses together. “What do you think of all this? Pretty swanky, huh?”
“Only the best for Queen Elizabeth’s,” Claire smiles, smoothing a hand down her dress. Her heels are starting to pinch her feet, and she fidgets, wishing she could be in her pajamas cuddled up to her big red Scot. She folds her coat and lays it on the table along with her gold clutch; no chairs have been provided, apparently to force people to stand around and mingle.
“Gowan wanted to see you, Geillis. He wants the donors from Nexus—you know, the hospital beds—to meet you. Can I steal her away from you a bit, Beauchamp?” Joe smiles easily and guides G with a hand at the small of her back. She looks back helplessly at Claire as she’s swallowed up by the crowd.
Claire is trying to find a glimpse of Jamie again at the servers’ station when she feels a strong, callused hand grasp her arm at the elbow. She tenses, fear skittering up her spine—this hand is unfamiliar, rough, and definitely not Jamie’s. She whirls to find Dougal’s grizzled face leering at her, teeth bared into a grin that resembles a snarl.
“Miss Beauchamp—we meet at last.”
Claire tries to wrench free, but that only makes Dougal tighten his grip. She wants to scream, but her throat is dry and she finds they are surrounded by two burly men who block the rest of the attendees from seeing what is going on.
“Let me go.” Her voice aims for strength but there is a tremor of fear.
“I dinna think so, sassenach.” The word takes on its intended meaning, an insult, a slur of sorts. Dougal begins walking her away from the table. “Jamie will heed us, one way or another.”
“Jamie is a good man,” Claire hisses, “not that you know anything about that.” She tries to cast about for Jamie, but they’re heading in the opposite direction from the servers’ station; Dougal yanks her arm again to make her keep up, causing her to stumble. Too late, she realizes she left her clutch—and her mobile—on the table.
“He overplayed his hand. Do ye think we dinna ken about his relationship wi’ ye, what he’s been tryin’ to do these past few months? He broke faith wi’ us, and his wife. Our contract, we willna honor it either.”
“Honor? What do you know about the word?” Claire spits out with as much venom as she can muster
“Honor or no, I ken I always win, lass.” With that, Dougal releases her, but Claire feels another hand descend, this time on her shoulder, gripping, and a small but insistent push at her back. She’s never felt anything like it, but immediately realizes what it is: a gun. Quietly, she is steered away from the crowd, into the exhibits. After hours, there is only emergency lighting barely bright enough to see.
The last thing she hears from Dougal before being swallowed up by the dark is, “I’ll wait in the car.”
X-x-X
Jamie can’t find Claire. He’d spotted her bright gold purse laying on the table where he last saw Claire, and he rips it open; her mobile is in it, and his wame sinks. He has no way of contacting her now, and he fears the worst.
He spots Geillis flirting with an older man, tipping her head back and shaking out her long red hair.
He hurries to her and with a curt, “Excuse us,” takes Geillis’s arm and leads her off to a corner away from the noise.
“What is it, Jamie?”
“Have ye seen Claire? I left for a minute to go to the loo and now she’s gone.”
“I saw her the last time ye did. Do ye think she might have left?”
Jamie’s heart pounds double-time. “Not on her own. I specifically told her not to, not tonight.” He holds up the purse. “She wouldna have left this behind.”
Geillis pales. “I can head home, see if she’s there anyway, or wait for her.”
“Yes, please, do that.” Jamie pulls out his phone, and dials Murtagh. “Uncle?”
“Lad, ye ken ‘tis not safe for ye to—”
“Claire’s gone. They’ve taken Claire.” He knows this with a certainty that shocks him. A series of expletives on the other end before he continues. “Call Grey, tell him to move in now. We canna afford to wait.” Jamie ends the call; he’s on the move now, headed towards the main entrance so he can call a car.
Briefly, he glimpses a broad muscular man in the distance. There is a large black sedan blocking one of the nearby side streets. There is a sense of déjà-vu when he hears a muffled yell, and then he’s racing towards the sound, racing towards his life.
Summary: In which Shinichi and Kaito put their plans into action. (The escape, part i.) Prison!AU
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May the third.
If not for their plans, it would be an average day. And for the most part, it is.
Kaito wakes up, washes his face and rakes his fingers through his hair in an attempt to look presentable, like every other day. While they’re waiting for the guards to open their cell doors, Kaito pulls the hair grips he’s had for months now from his hair, placing them in his pillow case.
Then, they go down to the showers, wash, and ready themselves for the day.
“Don’t stand out today,” Shinichi says when they trudge down from the showers to the laundry room. Kaito can spot two out of place bundles at the back of the room, beneath other blankets - not as neatly folded, and feels relief spread through him.
Oto-san has delivered with the change of clothes. Kaito memorises where the bundle is, calculates how many steps it will take from the laundry shoot when they jump. With a deep breath, he focuses on the fresh laundry he needs to give out to other prisoners, making sure to avoid leading anyone’s attention to the bundle.
“I know what I’m doing,” Kaito says. He wants to remind the other prisoner that he’s the one capable of blending in anywhere, has worn so many faces and acted out so many personalities that they come off as real, but he knows it’s just Shinichi’s way of sorting through his own nerves. “I’ll be good.”
Good isn’t a word that Kaito tends to use. He thinks that a lot of people get it mixed up with doing the right thing and claim that the two are interchangeable. But for the sake of their plan, Kaito has to forgo what is right - his honesty, his own feelings - and just… act good.
It’s not difficult to act as if today is like any other. Kaito goes through the motions of laundry service, and lets out a huff when there are ten minutes left because, why can’t it just be lunch yet? Like every other day, Shinichi tells him to be patient, ten minutes isn’t too long to wait, and they pretend that eating lunch will be the highlight of the day.
Shinichi is right though, ten minutes isn’t too long to wait. An entire day however, is.
After lunch - where Kaito clears his plate and Shinichi leaves half - they carry out kitchen duty. Kaito has to resist the urge to grin as his fellow prisoners wash dishes with him, has to screw his poker face on tight to ensure it won’t come off.
He almost wishes he could leave a note, similar to his heist notes. It makes him want to laugh, thinking of how the prison staff will react to an empty cell tomorrow. He hopes the other prisoners freak out about their escape.
“Calm down,” Kaito whispers to himself, drying off a rice bowl, “you’re not out yet. Don’t get your hopes up.”
Failure however, isn’t an option. They can’t let any obstacle halt them when they start trying to leave, not with Shinichi’s life on the line, not when there are less than twenty four hours before they can start pushing for his death sentence. It makes him shudder, to think of how high the stakes are.
It also makes each nerve in his body spark from synapse to synapse, emotion electrifying him, bursts of emotion rushing through him as if he is constantly being struck by lightning. It’s almost as if he is a battery just waiting to be used.
“Ah,” Kaito says after a moment, “it’s no use.”
Shinichi turns to him, splashes him with soapy water, and says, “stop being weird.”
His excitement bubbles, and Kaito finds himself scooping water into the rice bowl he’s been drying, the cuffs of his overalls sodden with dishwater. Then, with a grin, he stares at Shinichi as he tips the bowl over, a surge of water splashing against his hair.
“I defend my right to be weird,” Kaito says as Shinichi splutters, turning back to his drying.
“Yeah?” Shinichi says, “well I defend my right to stay dry.”
Kaito finds himself laughing as water is splashed into his face. He finds that he’s like a small child, snickering to himself, even after the guards tell them to wrap it up and get back to work. It’s by far, the best part of the day leading up to their escape.
When the clock finally reaches ten P.M, Shinichi and Kaito are leaning against their bunks, pretending to be asleep. The lights flicker out, and Kaito wonders whether this will really be the last time he has to deal with the darkness and openness of living in a cage.
He rolls the hair grips in his hand - one has snapped, but fortunately Shinichi had thought to ask Oto-san for more, just incase anymore end up breaking - before some into his pocket, and the others into his hair.
“You ready?” Shinichi says, after a moment of hesitation. There is rustling from the bottom bunk, and Kaito knows that the ex-detective has taken the map from beneath his pillow case, and is folding it into as small a square as he can manage.
“Give it a while,” Kaito says, although he jumps down from his bunk. His shoes plop against the floor, and he drops down to take them off - he’s not taking any risks. He’s capable of being light footed, but under this much pressure and with only one escape route, he can’t risk a single footstep being heard.
Shoes are louder than going barefoot. He leaves his socks inside his shoes - with all the running around they’re going to have to do, he doesn’t want to risk slipping. Even if he doubts he’d fall… Actually, knowing him, he’d fall. Smooth floors and socks aren’t unlike ice skating, not Kaito’s never had the knack for that.
He glances at Shinichi, and finds that the detective has followed suit. Good.
“Okay… get your blanket.” Kaito says, dragging his own off and wrapping himself in it. He’ll only need it until they get to the laundry shoot, in which they can change out of their brightly coloured clothes, but right now it’s the only thing that can keep them covered from the cameras.
Knowing camera’s like those, it’ll be difficult to fool administrators completely. But they’re less likely to gain attention if the camera has moving black spots, rather than moving prisoners in white and green clothing.
“Yeah,” Shinichi says, and wraps the blanket around himself. Kaito reaches forward and pulls part of the fabric down, so that the ex-detectives neck isn’t on show, before turning to the cell door. It doesn’t take long to undo the lock, not when he remembers how to work the lock from his last escape attempt. “Are you bringing the cards?”
Kaito turns back, smirks at the sound of the lock unclicking, and grins. He says, “most of them.”
The other prisoner frowns, confusion lighting up his eyes, but he doesn’t question it. Instead, he shrugs his shoulders, and follows Kaito out of the cell. When Kaito puts his finger to his lips and whispers, ‘shut up’, Shinichi rolls his eyes.
It makes him grin.
They close the cell door, although they hesitate, holding their breaths until the click tells them it’s properly closed.
Now all they have to do is leave the prison’s walls, Kaito thinks to himself.
They shuffle forwards, at a slow pace. Part of Kaito knows that this is the way it has to be - slow as not to alert anyone of any movement - but his heart is pulsing as quickly as a hummingbird’s wings, and the rest of him wants to catch up.
He doesn’t speed up though, no matter how tempting it is. He has to treat this like a job, something to be taken seriously, with no cut corners. It’s not a game, and he certainly cannot cheat. Not now. No amount of magic tricks can help him leave this place, just sheer stubbornness and painstakingly brutal persistence.
Turning back to Shinichi, Kaito beckons him closer, before pointing to the right side of the hallway. They’re going to have to stay as far away from the cell doors if they don’t want any prisoners to notice them.
Shinichi shuffles to the right, and they continue down the hallway.
After what seems like an hour - but is more like three minutes - they reach the end of the corridor. They spend another minute waiting for the camera to move away from the staircase before they’re moving down the stairs to the third floor towards the laundry shoot.
Kaito feels elated just knowing that he’s going to be able to feel the sensation of falling, the weightlessness of flying through the shoot down three flights of steps. It’ll be like he’s reenacting the fall from a rooftop, only he won’t have to rely on his hang-glider to keep him from his death. He gets to rely on a bed of clothes to keep him from breaking any bones.
Kaito pushes Shinichi down the hatch first - the other prisoner isn’t as flexible and needs a boost to get into it. Smothering a laugh at the grumbling he receives, Kaito pushes Shinichi into inky blackness, leaning back against the wall.
They’ve decided that Kaito should give Shinichi at least ten seconds to pull himself out of the laundry basket, so the thief closes his eyes and counts. His fingers graze across the box of cards in his pocket, and he smiles.
10 - He thinks of Aoko and how she’s going to hate him for this escape. How she’s going to hate the newslines that will broadcast how Kaitou KID escaped from prison, not Kuroba Kaito.
7 - He thinks of Hakuba, how the detective will make everything more difficult for him. How Kaito will probably be hunted down for the rest of his life by both detectives and criminal organisations.
4 - And that, naturally, brings him onto the topic of Pandora. He’s going to have to research all he can on it, has to get back home before his mother sells the house, to pick up all of his gadgets. He misses his card gun, and the sooner he picks that up and his suit, the sooner he can get back to running his heists.
2 - And Shinichi. He wants to help him too. Wants to help him beyond just an escape. The other detective doesn’t deserve the life he’s been thrown into, and if there’s any way to make it easier for him… well. Kaito’s going to try and figure out a way to help.
Kaito turns, and throws himself into the laundry shoot.
“Everything okay?” He asks after he’s landed amongst sheets and bedding. His eyes have adjusted to the dark just enough to see Shinichi’s outline near the bundles of clean bedding, to see that he’s pulling out the clothes that Oto-san has left behind.
“Yeah,” Shinichi whispers as Kaito pulls himself out of the hamper. Kaito shrugs the blanket off, leaves it with the laundry as he makes his way towards the ex-detective.
“Okay,” Kaito says, taking the clothes that Shinichi passes him. They’re black, and for a moment Kaito struggles to tell the different articles of clothing from the other. He takes off his overalls, throwing his shirt back into the hamper, before slipping the clothes on, “why are these clothes so heavy?”
Rule one of every heist, Kaito thinks, is making sure that all the clothing word is light. Despite looking smart and gentlemanly, he’d made sure that it was easy to move in first. That had meant no tight hems, trousers he could easily do the splits in.
These trousers are heavy denim, loose, but not something he could do acrobatics in.
(Not that he’s planning on needing any of his gymnastic skills, but it doesn’t hurt to have the option open.)
“Trust me,” Shinichi says again, shrugging on his own jacket. “you’re going to thank me for them later.”
Kaito thinks it’s probably best not to think about it. He transfers hair clips and his playing cards into his jacket pocket, and makes his way towards the exit of C-block. After a few seconds of jiggling the lock, clicking the pins inside, Kaito pushes the door open.
Catelynn had missed Winterfell very greatly. There was one place that she had missed more than anything; the Godswood. Before leaving for King's Landing she had had not frequented the Godswood too often. She had always been more inclined to worship her mother's Gods but recently she had found herself in great need of the Godswood of Winterfell. King's Landing did have a Godswood, though it was not as sacred as hers.
The ball was dying down and Cate had walked with Beauty to the Godswood, the cool air of night a relief after spending so much time indoors. With so many visitors she would be lucky to find herself alone. She had hoped everyone would be occupied with the party so she could be alone.
As they entered the woods Beauty ran off leaving Cate alone as she walked alongside the cool, dark waters that accompanied the Heart Tree. She felt completely at peace as she sat beneath the canopy of the old tree.
Everything was calm and quiet until Catelynn heard the crack of branch somewhere in the woods behind the Heart Tree.
“Hello? Beauty?”
She quickly stood, waiting a moment and hearing nothing.
“Beauty, come to me.”
She looked out into the woods. It was getting darker. And harder to see. She heard the sound of steps crunching the leaves on the ground. There was definitely someone out there.
“Hello?”
There was no answer. Cate started to walk back around the pool, it was getting darker and darker, she should be getting back to the castle. She had only taken about 10 steps when she heard the rustle of leaves again. She stopped. Where did Beauty go? She thought to herself.
Cate quickened her pace and let out a startled gasp as she nearly ran into the man that stepped from behind the tree in front of her.
“You startled me, ser.” She said with a smile, backing away slowly. He laughed, showing a mouthful of rotten teeth.
“I'm no ser, little girl.”
He did not look like a knight. Nor anyone she knew in Winterfell. This man was wearing old, tattered furs, his face dirtied by months without bathing. She also noticed a blade concealed beneath his cloak. He looked wild. Her heart began pounding in her chest. Wintefell was safe. She was safe here. She had a direwolf. Where was Beauty?
“I'm terribly sorry for running into you but I really must be going.”
She went to move around him but he violently grabbed her arm, pulling her in front of him. She lost her balance and fell to the ground. He laughed at her.
"I-I'm Catelynn of House Stark and if you do anything to me my Lord father-"
"Stark?"
The man laughed again. He reached down and pulled Cate close to his face.
"Well, little lady, your dear father will soon get what he deserves. We've got an army coming for him, you see. For now, though, I'll have to settle with taking care of his pretty, little daughter."
He pulled her face to his, smashing his lips against hers. He tried to stick his tongue in her mouth but Cate bit down hard, tasting blood. The man yelled and struck her hard across the face, sending her back to the ground. He drew his sword and stood above her, ready to strike.
Catelynn had screamed the second he released her. She looked up as he raised the sword, closing her eyes waiting for the sting of the cold blade as it pierced her flesh. She instead opened them again at the sound of the man's shriek. Beauty had finally returned and had her jaws clamped tightly on the man's sword hand. The blade fell to the ground as the man attempted to fight of the direwolf. As he struggled he drew a small dagger from beneath his cloak. He slashed at the mighty wolf, drawing blood as he made contact with her side. Beauty yelped, releasing his tattered hand.
Before she knew what she was doing, Cate had picked up the fallen sword and lunged hard toward the man. He let out a small gasp of surprise, Cate's eyes widening in horror as blood seeped from the fatal wound. She stood there for a moment in shock of she had just done. She let go of the sword and the man crumpled, dead, his cold eyes staring into the darkness.
The sound of whimpering brought Catelynn back to reality. Beauty was laying on her side, blood matting her fur. Cate ran to her and placed her hands over the wound.
“You'll be okay, Beauty. Everything will be okay.”
The wound did not seem too deep but it was bleeding pretty badly.
"Everything will be okay."
She stroking Beauty's head, the words more of a comfort to herself than the wolf. She could hear footsteps coming toward her, no doubt someone had heard the shouting. They would find her clutching her wounded direwolf in her the lap, the corpse of a wild man in front of her, and blood on her hands.
