Midnight and Dawn (3/13)
Title: Midnight and Dawn (3/13)
Authors: e and hopeandmemory
Rating: NC-17 (for sex and violence)
Overall Word Count: 36283
Warnings: Whatever you'd reasonably expect to see on western television in a crime drama will be found in this fic. If you are easily triggered by material referenced (but rarely explicitly shown) in these kinds of programs, you might want to tread carefully.
Summary: In 2006, Kim Heechul put Kim Youngwoon behind bars. He became a legend almost immediately--the guy who watched Star King instead of doing work, drank more than his fair share of the shitty office coffee, and managed to drive off every partner he'd ever been assigned. And then in 2009, Kim Jungmo joins the force, a new case leaves Special Ops Department 1315 grasping helplessly at straws, and everything changes. Heechul/Jungmo
III.
Heechul and Jungmo spend the next few weeks at each other’s throats. Heechul has Jungmo run pointless errands, rolling his eyes at the commiserating glances the rest of the office shoots him. They are sent on a few more homicide investigation runs, and Heechul doesn’t even bother bickering with Jungmo half the time, preferring to catch up on a few older series that he’d missed whilst undercover.
Sungmin starts warming up to Jungmo almost immediately though, waltzing in every other morning wearing his clothes from yesterday and disappearing in the men’s bathroom with the bag of overnight clothes he keeps under his desk. Whether it’s because he’s amused by a boy who’s lasted so long, or whether he’s just trying to get on Heechul’s nerves, Heechul isn’t sure. But it’s annoying.
“Do you never go home?” Jungmo asks one morning as Heechul rolls a few more spitballs to chuck at the idiot’s head.
Sungmin laughs. “Not my home. But home.”
“Sungmin has lots of sleepovers,” Siwon says delicately.
“Oh shut up, you prude.” Sungmin rolls his eyes at Siwon and swivels his chair to face Jungmo again. “I fuck lots of women. And men.” He pauses. “You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”
“If you do, he’ll deck you,” Jongwoon calls from his desk across the room. “He’s a black belt in tae kwon do.”
Jungmo stammers. “No. No I--I wouldn’t?” He runs a hand through his hair awkwardly and sighs. “Not the way I would have ordinarily done it, but I’m gay. Actually. So. No problem.” Jungmo pauses. “Uhm, and, Sungmin, I’m not--you’re not my type--that wasn’t a confession or anything--”
Sungmin laughs. “You’re hot, but I don’t screw my coworkers. Don’t worry, kiddo. And if I did,” Sungmin winks mock-conspiratorially, “Siwon would be my first target.”
“That’s against my religion!” Siwon sputters. “‘You shall not lie with a male as one lies with a female.’ Leviticus, chapter eighteen, verse six.”
“The man doth protest too much, methinks,” Sungmin coos. “We’ve all seen those Men’s Health magazines under your desk.”
“Research! They have training plans! I am a man who likes to be in good health!”
Sungmin rolls his eyes. “Yeah. I totally buy that.”
Jungmo sits down, hands shaking slightly, but smiles. Heechul chucks another spitball at him and it lands precisely into the opening of his ear canal.
“Oops,” Heechul says cheerily.
“Just ignore him,” Sungmin advises. “He’s feeling left out. He just wants attention. Sort of like a little kid.”
Heechul flicks a spitball at Sungmin. Sungmin ducks.
“How the fuck am I supposed to work like this?” Jungmo groans.
Sungmin smirks. “Just give him a taste of his own medicine. He terrorizes you, you terrorize him. Think back to kindergarden rules.”
Heechul flings one more spitball at Jungmo, hitting him in the back of the head. “Good luck with that.”
--
Their last task the next day is to collect details for a missing persons’ statement. Lee Hee-won had disappeared from his apartment near Seoul National University four days earlier, and no one had heard from him since. Not his girlfriend, his parents, or his best friends, all of whom consistently repeated their glowing praise of his work at school and his cheerful demeanor. Not the type to commit suicide, the report read, but Heechul was skeptical. He’d vanished after a late Thursday night science lab with his coat, wallet, phone, and lab book, and everyone they’d interviewed had mentioned his heavy workload. There was never a “type,” but if there were, Hee-won fit the profile exactly.
“Let’s make this quick,” Heechul says, flicking through his iPhone apps. “It’s Friday afternoon, I’ve actually got the weekend off, and I don’t want to be out here with you any longer than I have to be.”
“Right,” Jungmo says flatly. “Well, since you have as much empathy as a wooden plank, I’ll handle this one. It would be really nice if you didn’t make this kid’s mother cry, so maybe you should just stay in the car.”
“It’s not my fault he killed himself,” Heechul scoffs, “but whatever. Hurry up.”
“You don’t know--” Jungmo cuts off and closes his eyes. “Never mind. There’s no use talking to you.”
Heechul’s almost amused by Jungmo’s resignation. For a second, he thinks he can live with that. Then Jungmo shuts the door behind him and adjusts his waistband before walking across the street to the house, and Heechul remembers that he could be sitting at his comfortable desk instead, watching television on a wider screen. . Heechul replaces his headphones and makes a note to buy new ones on his day off; one of the phones had stopped playing sound altogether. He leaves it hanging down against his chest and settles on queueing up the livestream for the new episode of Music Bank.
A few minutes into the first act, Heechul hears a clatter through the static of the broadcast. It’s too loud to have come from his iPhone, and he pulls the earphone out, every muscle tight, mind racing through thousands of possibilities. The report could be fake the parents could have been held up the son could be fucking with everyone and he pulls open the glove compartment and feels for his gun, opening the car door reflexively.
But the glove compartment is empty. His breath catches, and panic almost blinds him. He quickly looks up, sees that nothing has changed, and ducks down to peer at the compartment. Nothing. His gun isn’t there.
Heechul remembers being trapped in car, three men firing bullets down on him. Heehee. Yunho passed out by the door. Jungmo, he thinks, and dashes out, stepping up to the door just as it opens. The idiot is in there alone. He’s shaking and clutches at the kid who doesn’t seem to have noticed that anything’s gone wrong. Idiot.
“My gun,” Heechul chokes, snatching at the one around Jungmo’s waist. Jungmo grabbing onto his shoulder but Heechul can’t hear anything through the haze of panic. His hands are shaking, and he can’t control his breathing. I’m a better marksman, he thinks, listening for the noise.
The rattling comes again from around the house, and a body darts out. Heechul tries to breathe in, tries to account for his unsteadiness, and fires. Someone screams behind him. And fingernails dig into his back.
“It’s a fucking dog, Heechul,” he finally hears. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Heechul can’t quite think. His head feels fuzzy. “I just--the noise. And my gun wasn’t there. And you were--”
Jungmo flushes. “The gun? That was me. It was a prank. I just wanted to show you how unwelcome you’ve--”
“What prank? I don’t understand, what are you--” The terror is quickly replaced by realization, and a split second later, anger. He breathes in a bit more steadily, and his hands stop shaking. “Wait, you-- you took my gun? As in, my gun. The thing that’s supposed to fucking protect me in case something happens while we’re out on a call? Because you couldn’t be stupid enough to have thought that was good idea.”
Jungmo flinches. “This was just an interview--”
Heechul finds that he’s snarling. “Oh because in our job, nothing unexpected ever happens, right? It’s not like we solve huge cases or anything and make enemies of really powerful people who might just feel like setting us up for a fall sometimes. Christ. There’s a reason our department always carries guns. You could have killed me, today.”
“I didn’t--”
“Think? Clearly. Mean to? I hate to break it to you, jackass, but intentions aren’t worth shit around here.” Heechul spits. “Now get out of my sight.”
Heechul starts walking towards the main road, thankful that he wallet in his back pocket. Jungmo jogs after him. “What--your car--”
Heechul ignores him and lengthens his stride, biting his lip. How could I have been so stupid, he thinks. We’re in a well-lit neighborhood. I haven’t solved a case in years. No one’s out to get me. Those days are over. He tries to moderate his breathing, matching it to his pace. No one knows who Heehee is. She’s dead.
The neighborhood they were working in is luckily not far from a busy street, so Heechul manages to flag a cab with little incident, slumping against the seat after he gives the driver his address, his chest still uncomfortably tight. It’s not a long drive, but Heechul distractedly overpays and slams the door a little harder than necessary behind him, trudging into the house. He crashes on the couch and hugs one of the pillows, turning on the TV to catch the last hour of Music Bank, singing along to the songs he recognizes.
His voice is very low. He digs his fingernails into his forearms and shivers.
--
The next morning, Heechul opens his eyes and sees that he’s fallen asleep on the couch, television still on, drool damp on the cushions. His hair is matted on one side, and the upholstery pattern has left impressions in his cheek. For a moment he can’t remember why he’s not still blissfully asleep, but then the doorbell rings again and he groans. “The fuck,” he grumbles.
He reaches the door after tripping over the threshold of the living room. Heechul squints into the peephole and, seeing who’s behind it, closes his eyes, forehead hitting the door. “Jesus fucking--” He yanks the door open just enough to stick his head out. “What.”
“About yesterday. I’m--I brought you cookies. They’re homemade--well, I burned the first batch so my mom helped--”
“I could not give less of a fuck about your cookies if I tried, you ass. Now get off my doorstep. I have a loaded pistol in my house, since I apparently can’t trust that the one in my car will still fucking be there, and I shoot trespassers.”
“I’m sorry--I didn’t realize you’d get so upset.”
“You are clearly lacking braincells, you idiot.”
We’ll never be able to work together if we don’t get along. Even Sungmin and Siwon work well together--and they’re total opposites.”
“Did Sungmin put you up to this?”
“I just don’t understand why we can’t be friends--why you’re the only person who refuses to talk to me.”
Heechul stares. “Really? I thought that was ridiculously clear, even for someone as sharp as a single-celled ameoba.”
Jungmo flushes but sets his jaw firmly. “Look. I just want to make things right. I know you’re not used to working in a team, and you’re really not a people-person, but can’t you just get over all of that so we can actually get stuff done? I’ve asked around--we’re handling less than a third of what other teams are busy with, and Donghae has managed to pull double his weight even though he’s always downstairs--”
“Don’t talk about Donghae,” Heechul snaps, fingers tightening on the door.
“I just mean that, like you, he wastes a ton of time but still manages to--”
Heechul slaps him reflexively, but finds that he doesn’t regret it. Jungmo turns to him, eyes dark, color blooming over his right cheek.
“I realize that timewasters band together and all but that was uncalled for.”
“Idiot. You know nothing about Donghae. He’s sacrificed more for SMPD than you will ever do in your entire career, even if you’re killed in action. You will never be half the officer he is.”
“And what about you, oh mighty Kim Heechul who solved one fucking case and nothing since? They talk about you, you know. Everyone does.” Jungmo’s lip curls. “They say you waltzed into 1315, grabbed a case, sauntered out with the best intelligence agent after Satoshi Ohno, and ruined him. That you didn’t even do most of the work.”
Heechul feels his heart thump unsteadily, remembering how much Jay had loved his job. The late nights at the start of their undercover work together. The secrets. The promises. The way Jay had held his hand and reminded Heechul who he was when he felt--she felt--like there was nothing else in the entire world except Kim Youngwoon.
“Get your facts right,” he manages to say, unsteadily. “I solved the case half a year after Jay bailed. And must as I love watching you get all riled up, I actually have better things to do than fuck with you. Like watch grass grow.”
With that he slams the door in Jungmo’s face, and teeters to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass or water. A wave of memory crests and threatens to drown him, put he takes a few deep breaths and smashes the glass instead, action anchoring him to the present.
He has to go.
--
As soon as Heechul gets into the office on Monday morning, he finds a coffee on his desk with an apologetic post-it note from Jungmo. He trashes the note, spills out the coffee, and gets to work filling out reimbursement forms for a few recent eBay wins; he may have lost that (stunning) YSL t-shirt and the antique lighter (he will find out who soldier_of_light is, and punish him appropriately), but he’d nabbed a life size stained glass sculpture of a cat, which almost makes up for it.
“Why do you even bother?” Sungmin asks as he passes Heechul’s desk, gesturing at the form. “Sooyoung isn’t going to clear this.”
“I know,” Heechul says, “but I like that she has a whole wall upstairs dedicated to me.”
“You mean the ‘Ridiculous Shit Kim Heechul Has Tried To Expense’ bulletin board?”
Heechul grins. “It’s almost a shrine! Everyone should have a shrine devoted to me, really. This is a step in the right direction.”
“I don’t think anyone’s going to be chanting Hail Heechuls anytime in the near future,” Sungmin snickers.
Siwon clears his throat from across the room. “‘I am the Lord your God, you shall have no other gods before me.’ It’s the First Commandment, for heaven’s sake!”
“Citation please!”
Heechul laughs. “Isn’t that dangerously close to taking the Lord’s name in vain, Siwon?”
“It’s Exodus, chapter twenty, verses two and three, and no, not if I am saying it to protect Heaven from your blasphemous self-aggrandizing!”
“Seems like a slippery slope to me,” Sungmin mocks. “First Heaven, then Heechul. You could almost start confusing them.”
“They don’t even sound alike!”
“Our Heenim, who art in Heaven,” Sungmin begins. Siwon throws a wadded up report at his head.
“Isn’t there something about violence in the Bible as well? Like, it’s wrong? Or maybe I’m confusing that with the Jedi code.”
Siwon reaches into his desk drawer and winds his rosary around one hand. “Hyukjae,” he calls across the office, voice trembling. “I’m taking my break early!”
Sungmin laughs as Siwon hurries off, muttering the words to Psalm 51 under his breath. He holds up a hand for Heechul, who smirks and slaps him five.
“What got him out of here so fast?” Jungmo asks, pausing as he nears Heechul’s desk with another mug of coffee. “Here,” he continues, “another one. I figured you’d have finished the first one by now.”
Sungmin raises an eyebrow curiously. Heechul sighs. “Sungmin. I’d love to finish our conversation, but I suddenly have a headache I need to take care of.”
“Oh?”
“Unfortunately, the only permanent solution is murder, but since I’m an employee of the State, I think Siwon wouldn’t be the only person who’d have a problem with it.”
Sungmin smirks. “Right, well I’ll leave you to it.”
“Actually, wait. For the record, was it your idea?”
“What?”
Jungmo is shifting his weight from foot to foot nervously, hands fidgiting. “Heechul--please.”
Heechul ignores him. “Telling Jungmo to take me those stupid fucking cookies. As if that would make up for his hiding my gun on a fucking mission.”
Sungmin’s smile fades instantly, and he gasps, color flooding out of his face. “Your. Your gun, Heechul?”
“Took it from my glove compartment. During a call.”
“I put it back,” Jungmo protests weakly.
“I really don’t think I’m understanding this.”
“You told me I should get back at him,” Jungmo pleads.
“I thought you’d bury his phone in jello or something, you stupid fuck. Not get him killed.”
“Well, I’m not dead yet, but--”
“Do you even remember the last time someone pulled that shit on you? Jesus.”
“Careful, Siwon might hear you.”
“I’m not joking anymore, Heechul. You and Donghae have done enough. I’m sick of watching the both of you, sometimes. It’s too much to expect that after--”
Heechul narrows his eyes. “Not in front of the kid.”
Jungmo coughs. “No, go on. I don’t know anything about what happens around here--no one will explain why Donghae is some gun-crazed nut, why you jump at every shadow--”
Sungmin pulls his gun. “I swear, Jungmo. You say that again--”
“You might as well tell him,” Donghae says dully from behind Sungmin. “Why I’m a ‘gun-crazed nut’ or whatever. I like to think I have a good enough reason to satisfy his curiosity.”
Heechul smashes his hand into his desk. “Get back to work, Donghae. Don’t listen to this--”
“I’d really like to know,” Jungmo interrupts.
Donghae sighs and slumps into his desk, voice carrying softly across the floor. “Seven years ago I killed my father because I wasn’t a good enough shot. It’s not very exciting. I was twenty-three.”
“That’s not what happened,” Heechul spits. “Not at all. You know that.”
“You weren’t there, Heechul. That’s exactly what happened.”
“I don’t understand, what do you--”
“Do you really think right now is the time to be asking questions, Jungmo?” Sungmin grabs his shoulder. “I think you and I need to go over the rules again. Learning how to respect your fucking betters and all.”
“Much as I hate to break up a party,” Hyukjae says, poking a head out of his office, “Jungmo isn’t going anywhere with you, Sungmin. Heechul, Jungmo--I need you on a call.”
→ IV
Authors: e and hopeandmemory
Rating: NC-17 (for sex and violence)
Overall Word Count: 36283
Warnings: Whatever you'd reasonably expect to see on western television in a crime drama will be found in this fic. If you are easily triggered by material referenced (but rarely explicitly shown) in these kinds of programs, you might want to tread carefully.
Summary: In 2006, Kim Heechul put Kim Youngwoon behind bars. He became a legend almost immediately--the guy who watched Star King instead of doing work, drank more than his fair share of the shitty office coffee, and managed to drive off every partner he'd ever been assigned. And then in 2009, Kim Jungmo joins the force, a new case leaves Special Ops Department 1315 grasping helplessly at straws, and everything changes. Heechul/Jungmo
III.
Heechul and Jungmo spend the next few weeks at each other’s throats. Heechul has Jungmo run pointless errands, rolling his eyes at the commiserating glances the rest of the office shoots him. They are sent on a few more homicide investigation runs, and Heechul doesn’t even bother bickering with Jungmo half the time, preferring to catch up on a few older series that he’d missed whilst undercover.
Sungmin starts warming up to Jungmo almost immediately though, waltzing in every other morning wearing his clothes from yesterday and disappearing in the men’s bathroom with the bag of overnight clothes he keeps under his desk. Whether it’s because he’s amused by a boy who’s lasted so long, or whether he’s just trying to get on Heechul’s nerves, Heechul isn’t sure. But it’s annoying.
“Do you never go home?” Jungmo asks one morning as Heechul rolls a few more spitballs to chuck at the idiot’s head.
Sungmin laughs. “Not my home. But home.”
“Sungmin has lots of sleepovers,” Siwon says delicately.
“Oh shut up, you prude.” Sungmin rolls his eyes at Siwon and swivels his chair to face Jungmo again. “I fuck lots of women. And men.” He pauses. “You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”
“If you do, he’ll deck you,” Jongwoon calls from his desk across the room. “He’s a black belt in tae kwon do.”
Jungmo stammers. “No. No I--I wouldn’t?” He runs a hand through his hair awkwardly and sighs. “Not the way I would have ordinarily done it, but I’m gay. Actually. So. No problem.” Jungmo pauses. “Uhm, and, Sungmin, I’m not--you’re not my type--that wasn’t a confession or anything--”
Sungmin laughs. “You’re hot, but I don’t screw my coworkers. Don’t worry, kiddo. And if I did,” Sungmin winks mock-conspiratorially, “Siwon would be my first target.”
“That’s against my religion!” Siwon sputters. “‘You shall not lie with a male as one lies with a female.’ Leviticus, chapter eighteen, verse six.”
“The man doth protest too much, methinks,” Sungmin coos. “We’ve all seen those Men’s Health magazines under your desk.”
“Research! They have training plans! I am a man who likes to be in good health!”
Sungmin rolls his eyes. “Yeah. I totally buy that.”
Jungmo sits down, hands shaking slightly, but smiles. Heechul chucks another spitball at him and it lands precisely into the opening of his ear canal.
“Oops,” Heechul says cheerily.
“Just ignore him,” Sungmin advises. “He’s feeling left out. He just wants attention. Sort of like a little kid.”
Heechul flicks a spitball at Sungmin. Sungmin ducks.
“How the fuck am I supposed to work like this?” Jungmo groans.
Sungmin smirks. “Just give him a taste of his own medicine. He terrorizes you, you terrorize him. Think back to kindergarden rules.”
Heechul flings one more spitball at Jungmo, hitting him in the back of the head. “Good luck with that.”
--
Their last task the next day is to collect details for a missing persons’ statement. Lee Hee-won had disappeared from his apartment near Seoul National University four days earlier, and no one had heard from him since. Not his girlfriend, his parents, or his best friends, all of whom consistently repeated their glowing praise of his work at school and his cheerful demeanor. Not the type to commit suicide, the report read, but Heechul was skeptical. He’d vanished after a late Thursday night science lab with his coat, wallet, phone, and lab book, and everyone they’d interviewed had mentioned his heavy workload. There was never a “type,” but if there were, Hee-won fit the profile exactly.
“Let’s make this quick,” Heechul says, flicking through his iPhone apps. “It’s Friday afternoon, I’ve actually got the weekend off, and I don’t want to be out here with you any longer than I have to be.”
“Right,” Jungmo says flatly. “Well, since you have as much empathy as a wooden plank, I’ll handle this one. It would be really nice if you didn’t make this kid’s mother cry, so maybe you should just stay in the car.”
“It’s not my fault he killed himself,” Heechul scoffs, “but whatever. Hurry up.”
“You don’t know--” Jungmo cuts off and closes his eyes. “Never mind. There’s no use talking to you.”
Heechul’s almost amused by Jungmo’s resignation. For a second, he thinks he can live with that. Then Jungmo shuts the door behind him and adjusts his waistband before walking across the street to the house, and Heechul remembers that he could be sitting at his comfortable desk instead, watching television on a wider screen. . Heechul replaces his headphones and makes a note to buy new ones on his day off; one of the phones had stopped playing sound altogether. He leaves it hanging down against his chest and settles on queueing up the livestream for the new episode of Music Bank.
A few minutes into the first act, Heechul hears a clatter through the static of the broadcast. It’s too loud to have come from his iPhone, and he pulls the earphone out, every muscle tight, mind racing through thousands of possibilities. The report could be fake the parents could have been held up the son could be fucking with everyone and he pulls open the glove compartment and feels for his gun, opening the car door reflexively.
But the glove compartment is empty. His breath catches, and panic almost blinds him. He quickly looks up, sees that nothing has changed, and ducks down to peer at the compartment. Nothing. His gun isn’t there.
Heechul remembers being trapped in car, three men firing bullets down on him. Heehee. Yunho passed out by the door. Jungmo, he thinks, and dashes out, stepping up to the door just as it opens. The idiot is in there alone. He’s shaking and clutches at the kid who doesn’t seem to have noticed that anything’s gone wrong. Idiot.
“My gun,” Heechul chokes, snatching at the one around Jungmo’s waist. Jungmo grabbing onto his shoulder but Heechul can’t hear anything through the haze of panic. His hands are shaking, and he can’t control his breathing. I’m a better marksman, he thinks, listening for the noise.
The rattling comes again from around the house, and a body darts out. Heechul tries to breathe in, tries to account for his unsteadiness, and fires. Someone screams behind him. And fingernails dig into his back.
“It’s a fucking dog, Heechul,” he finally hears. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Heechul can’t quite think. His head feels fuzzy. “I just--the noise. And my gun wasn’t there. And you were--”
Jungmo flushes. “The gun? That was me. It was a prank. I just wanted to show you how unwelcome you’ve--”
“What prank? I don’t understand, what are you--” The terror is quickly replaced by realization, and a split second later, anger. He breathes in a bit more steadily, and his hands stop shaking. “Wait, you-- you took my gun? As in, my gun. The thing that’s supposed to fucking protect me in case something happens while we’re out on a call? Because you couldn’t be stupid enough to have thought that was good idea.”
Jungmo flinches. “This was just an interview--”
Heechul finds that he’s snarling. “Oh because in our job, nothing unexpected ever happens, right? It’s not like we solve huge cases or anything and make enemies of really powerful people who might just feel like setting us up for a fall sometimes. Christ. There’s a reason our department always carries guns. You could have killed me, today.”
“I didn’t--”
“Think? Clearly. Mean to? I hate to break it to you, jackass, but intentions aren’t worth shit around here.” Heechul spits. “Now get out of my sight.”
Heechul starts walking towards the main road, thankful that he wallet in his back pocket. Jungmo jogs after him. “What--your car--”
Heechul ignores him and lengthens his stride, biting his lip. How could I have been so stupid, he thinks. We’re in a well-lit neighborhood. I haven’t solved a case in years. No one’s out to get me. Those days are over. He tries to moderate his breathing, matching it to his pace. No one knows who Heehee is. She’s dead.
The neighborhood they were working in is luckily not far from a busy street, so Heechul manages to flag a cab with little incident, slumping against the seat after he gives the driver his address, his chest still uncomfortably tight. It’s not a long drive, but Heechul distractedly overpays and slams the door a little harder than necessary behind him, trudging into the house. He crashes on the couch and hugs one of the pillows, turning on the TV to catch the last hour of Music Bank, singing along to the songs he recognizes.
His voice is very low. He digs his fingernails into his forearms and shivers.
--
The next morning, Heechul opens his eyes and sees that he’s fallen asleep on the couch, television still on, drool damp on the cushions. His hair is matted on one side, and the upholstery pattern has left impressions in his cheek. For a moment he can’t remember why he’s not still blissfully asleep, but then the doorbell rings again and he groans. “The fuck,” he grumbles.
He reaches the door after tripping over the threshold of the living room. Heechul squints into the peephole and, seeing who’s behind it, closes his eyes, forehead hitting the door. “Jesus fucking--” He yanks the door open just enough to stick his head out. “What.”
“About yesterday. I’m--I brought you cookies. They’re homemade--well, I burned the first batch so my mom helped--”
“I could not give less of a fuck about your cookies if I tried, you ass. Now get off my doorstep. I have a loaded pistol in my house, since I apparently can’t trust that the one in my car will still fucking be there, and I shoot trespassers.”
“I’m sorry--I didn’t realize you’d get so upset.”
“You are clearly lacking braincells, you idiot.”
We’ll never be able to work together if we don’t get along. Even Sungmin and Siwon work well together--and they’re total opposites.”
“Did Sungmin put you up to this?”
“I just don’t understand why we can’t be friends--why you’re the only person who refuses to talk to me.”
Heechul stares. “Really? I thought that was ridiculously clear, even for someone as sharp as a single-celled ameoba.”
Jungmo flushes but sets his jaw firmly. “Look. I just want to make things right. I know you’re not used to working in a team, and you’re really not a people-person, but can’t you just get over all of that so we can actually get stuff done? I’ve asked around--we’re handling less than a third of what other teams are busy with, and Donghae has managed to pull double his weight even though he’s always downstairs--”
“Don’t talk about Donghae,” Heechul snaps, fingers tightening on the door.
“I just mean that, like you, he wastes a ton of time but still manages to--”
Heechul slaps him reflexively, but finds that he doesn’t regret it. Jungmo turns to him, eyes dark, color blooming over his right cheek.
“I realize that timewasters band together and all but that was uncalled for.”
“Idiot. You know nothing about Donghae. He’s sacrificed more for SMPD than you will ever do in your entire career, even if you’re killed in action. You will never be half the officer he is.”
“And what about you, oh mighty Kim Heechul who solved one fucking case and nothing since? They talk about you, you know. Everyone does.” Jungmo’s lip curls. “They say you waltzed into 1315, grabbed a case, sauntered out with the best intelligence agent after Satoshi Ohno, and ruined him. That you didn’t even do most of the work.”
Heechul feels his heart thump unsteadily, remembering how much Jay had loved his job. The late nights at the start of their undercover work together. The secrets. The promises. The way Jay had held his hand and reminded Heechul who he was when he felt--she felt--like there was nothing else in the entire world except Kim Youngwoon.
“Get your facts right,” he manages to say, unsteadily. “I solved the case half a year after Jay bailed. And must as I love watching you get all riled up, I actually have better things to do than fuck with you. Like watch grass grow.”
With that he slams the door in Jungmo’s face, and teeters to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass or water. A wave of memory crests and threatens to drown him, put he takes a few deep breaths and smashes the glass instead, action anchoring him to the present.
He has to go.
--
As soon as Heechul gets into the office on Monday morning, he finds a coffee on his desk with an apologetic post-it note from Jungmo. He trashes the note, spills out the coffee, and gets to work filling out reimbursement forms for a few recent eBay wins; he may have lost that (stunning) YSL t-shirt and the antique lighter (he will find out who soldier_of_light is, and punish him appropriately), but he’d nabbed a life size stained glass sculpture of a cat, which almost makes up for it.
“Why do you even bother?” Sungmin asks as he passes Heechul’s desk, gesturing at the form. “Sooyoung isn’t going to clear this.”
“I know,” Heechul says, “but I like that she has a whole wall upstairs dedicated to me.”
“You mean the ‘Ridiculous Shit Kim Heechul Has Tried To Expense’ bulletin board?”
Heechul grins. “It’s almost a shrine! Everyone should have a shrine devoted to me, really. This is a step in the right direction.”
“I don’t think anyone’s going to be chanting Hail Heechuls anytime in the near future,” Sungmin snickers.
Siwon clears his throat from across the room. “‘I am the Lord your God, you shall have no other gods before me.’ It’s the First Commandment, for heaven’s sake!”
“Citation please!”
Heechul laughs. “Isn’t that dangerously close to taking the Lord’s name in vain, Siwon?”
“It’s Exodus, chapter twenty, verses two and three, and no, not if I am saying it to protect Heaven from your blasphemous self-aggrandizing!”
“Seems like a slippery slope to me,” Sungmin mocks. “First Heaven, then Heechul. You could almost start confusing them.”
“They don’t even sound alike!”
“Our Heenim, who art in Heaven,” Sungmin begins. Siwon throws a wadded up report at his head.
“Isn’t there something about violence in the Bible as well? Like, it’s wrong? Or maybe I’m confusing that with the Jedi code.”
Siwon reaches into his desk drawer and winds his rosary around one hand. “Hyukjae,” he calls across the office, voice trembling. “I’m taking my break early!”
Sungmin laughs as Siwon hurries off, muttering the words to Psalm 51 under his breath. He holds up a hand for Heechul, who smirks and slaps him five.
“What got him out of here so fast?” Jungmo asks, pausing as he nears Heechul’s desk with another mug of coffee. “Here,” he continues, “another one. I figured you’d have finished the first one by now.”
Sungmin raises an eyebrow curiously. Heechul sighs. “Sungmin. I’d love to finish our conversation, but I suddenly have a headache I need to take care of.”
“Oh?”
“Unfortunately, the only permanent solution is murder, but since I’m an employee of the State, I think Siwon wouldn’t be the only person who’d have a problem with it.”
Sungmin smirks. “Right, well I’ll leave you to it.”
“Actually, wait. For the record, was it your idea?”
“What?”
Jungmo is shifting his weight from foot to foot nervously, hands fidgiting. “Heechul--please.”
Heechul ignores him. “Telling Jungmo to take me those stupid fucking cookies. As if that would make up for his hiding my gun on a fucking mission.”
Sungmin’s smile fades instantly, and he gasps, color flooding out of his face. “Your. Your gun, Heechul?”
“Took it from my glove compartment. During a call.”
“I put it back,” Jungmo protests weakly.
“I really don’t think I’m understanding this.”
“You told me I should get back at him,” Jungmo pleads.
“I thought you’d bury his phone in jello or something, you stupid fuck. Not get him killed.”
“Well, I’m not dead yet, but--”
“Do you even remember the last time someone pulled that shit on you? Jesus.”
“Careful, Siwon might hear you.”
“I’m not joking anymore, Heechul. You and Donghae have done enough. I’m sick of watching the both of you, sometimes. It’s too much to expect that after--”
Heechul narrows his eyes. “Not in front of the kid.”
Jungmo coughs. “No, go on. I don’t know anything about what happens around here--no one will explain why Donghae is some gun-crazed nut, why you jump at every shadow--”
Sungmin pulls his gun. “I swear, Jungmo. You say that again--”
“You might as well tell him,” Donghae says dully from behind Sungmin. “Why I’m a ‘gun-crazed nut’ or whatever. I like to think I have a good enough reason to satisfy his curiosity.”
Heechul smashes his hand into his desk. “Get back to work, Donghae. Don’t listen to this--”
“I’d really like to know,” Jungmo interrupts.
Donghae sighs and slumps into his desk, voice carrying softly across the floor. “Seven years ago I killed my father because I wasn’t a good enough shot. It’s not very exciting. I was twenty-three.”
“That’s not what happened,” Heechul spits. “Not at all. You know that.”
“You weren’t there, Heechul. That’s exactly what happened.”
“I don’t understand, what do you--”
“Do you really think right now is the time to be asking questions, Jungmo?” Sungmin grabs his shoulder. “I think you and I need to go over the rules again. Learning how to respect your fucking betters and all.”
“Much as I hate to break up a party,” Hyukjae says, poking a head out of his office, “Jungmo isn’t going anywhere with you, Sungmin. Heechul, Jungmo--I need you on a call.”
→ IV