Nightingale (And Not the Lark) - Chapter Seven
Back to chapter VI
Back to Masterpost
CHAPTER SEVEN - CHASTITY
DAY 42 - 9:30 PM
It’s Spencer who gets the call. Mainly because he’s the only one on the team left at the lab for the evening.
“Las Vegas Crime Lab-CSI Smith speaking.”
It’s probably Ryan again. Spencer loves his friend dearly, but he tends to forget worldly things like how to tell the difference between the delete button and the image viewer zoom on his phone at regular intervals.
“I made a mistake,” comes a voice at the other end. “I’m very sorry about it.”
Spencer frowns. “Who is this?”
“The illusion was really good,” the man at the other end says apologetically. “The face, the voice, everything. And I really looked, I did. For a long time. But not closely enough, it seems, and for that, I’m sorry.”
“Seriously, who is this?” Spencer demands. There is something familiar about the voice. A slight lisp combined with an almost childish lilt to some of the words.
“I did my best not to hurt anyone,” the man says. “The world will be happier like this. And they are happy now too. I know it’s hard to accept-I miss my little girl’s smile and Bill’s eyes most of all-but they were meant for better things.”
Spencer nearly drops the phone.
The man continues to describe how happy having all seven angels together will make the world at large while Spencer sprints down the corridor to the Audio Lab, desperate to get a recording and trace started. Patrick isn’t there yet, even though his shift started almost half an hour earlier. Fucking typical, Spencer thinks, annoyed, as he fumbles with the computer, punching in passwords and then the number to the phone he’s holding. Relief surges through him when the right window finally opens and the words ‘trace in progress’ appear on the screen.
“That’s all I wanted to say, really,” Joseph says, because this is Joseph Keanes-Spencer recognises the voice now. “I’m really sorry about your friend. I’m sorry I didn’t know he was already taken and won't be an angel now. I’m sure he’ll be something else, though, something almost as good. So tell those who love him not to worry.”
Your friend? Spencer thinks dizzily, bile rising in his throat. The Audio Lab feels far too large and empty all of a sudden, a sense of crippling realisation filtering into his mind.
I didn’t know he was already taken.
Chastity.
Shit.
The call disconnects, just moments after the trace zooms in and locks itself in place. 302 Cathedral Way. Spencer hits 911 and runs towards his car.
***
APRIL 9
“Hi, Dad.”
His father is sitting at his desk, going through a stack of files with one hand while the other is holding up a cell phone to his ear. He smiles at Patrick, waves for him to come inside. Patrick helps himself to some water from the water cooler and sits down in the more comfortable of the two chairs. The call takes another couple of minutes. Patrick uses the time to look at the familiar pictures on his father’s desk. There is one of him as a baby, happy and toothless and covered in some kind of green goo. Great.
“This is a nice surprise,” Patrick’s dad says once he’s put the phone down. “Is everything alright?”
Patrick nods and smiles. “I got my SAT scores back,” he says, handing over a white envelope.
David Vaughn Stump withdraws the transcript inside and carefully reads it all the way through.
“Patrick, this is wonderful.”
“I know, right?” Patrick can’t keep the huge grin off his face. “I mean, I knew I had done alright, but not like this.”
“Have you shown your mom yet?”
“I called her from school. She told me to go over here and drag you away from your desk while she’s calling over some people for a barbeque. Oh, and we are to pick up champagne on our way back.”
“Well, that’s something you should remember for the future: never say no to your wife when she has something she wants to celebrate,” David says with a chuckle. “If we hurry, we might even be able to-” The intercom buzzes. “Yes, Lucy?”
“Detective Wentz here to see you, sir,” a voice announces over the speakerphone. “Shall I send him in?”
“Please do. Thank you, Lucy,” David says and clicks off the call before turning back to Patrick. “I’m sorry. Getting this kind of news just completely makes me forget about my job. Five minutes, okay? Why don’t you call mom and check if there’s anything else she needs from the store in the meantime? You can stay in here if you want.”
Patrick nods and takes out his phone, does his best to keep his eyes on the screen when the door opens and Pete steps inside. He can tell the moment Pete notices him, how the brown eyes trailing over his face make the room a little warmer.
“Good afternoon, sir,” Pete says. Patrick pretends to reluctantly pull his attention away from his phone to give a little wave. Pete smiles. “Hi there, Patrick. Everything okay?”
Patrick says something casual back and goes back to fiddling with his contact book. His mother’s line is busy. He hits automatic re-dial and pulls up a game of Tetris.
“I’m sorry, Wentz,” Patrick hears his dad say. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to reschedule for another day. My son here just got 1490 on his SAT’s and his mother is throwing a small party to celebrate.”
“1490?” Pete repeats, a little stunned. “Congratulations, Patrick. That’s pretty amazing.”
“Thanks.” Patrick meets Pete’s eyes and can’t stop a small flush from rising in his cheeks. Pete is keeping his smile nice and friendly, but his eyes… God. Patrick can practically feel himself being pressed into the mattress of Pete’s bed and attacked with celebratory kisses until they’re both breathless.
“I’ll let you get going, then,” Pete says. “I just came by to discuss the report you asked me to look into, sir, but we can postpone that until tomorrow.”
“I have a better idea,” the Undersheriff says, accepting the thick folder Pete is holding up between them. “Why don’t you join us for dinner-Patricia is putting together a small barbeque for some friends, nothing fancy-and then we can go through this while we wait for the ribs to cook. I’m going to be out of town for a couple of days, and the DA wants an update.”
“Thank you, sir,” Pete replies. “Let me just wrap up some things with my partner and I’ll meet you over at your house. Is forty-five minutes alright?”
“Perfect,” David Vaughn Stump says. Patrick battles the sudden butterflies in his stomach and couldn’t agree more.
***
“So I hear I’m in love with a genius.”
Patrick looks up from the hedge that might possibly be hiding the football he and his dad were throwing around earlier. Pete is leaning against the trunk of a small apple tree, two glasses of champagne in his hand. The light from the lanterns on the back porch and the fairy lights in the rose garden is spilling into their corner of the yard just enough for Patrick to see the expression on Pete’s face shift as he walks closer-too close-and hands Patrick one of the flutes.
“Congratulations, Trick,” Pete says, placing a warm hand on Patrick’s hip. “I’m so fucking proud of you. I wish I could just pull you close and tell the whole world how amazingly brilliant you are.”
“I think my dad would be kind of upset if you did.”
“Yeah,” Pete concedes with a small grin. “Probably not a good idea.”
“Did you hear my mom go on about colleges? I swear, she had me enrolled in at least ten different programs before Mrs Kayne had even finished her first glass of wine, and that woman is practically a sponge.”
“About that,” Pete says, and Patrick feels the hand on his hip tighten. “You know that I’d come with you, right? If you want to go out of state. Take on Northwestern, or Harvard or any other school that would be lucky to have you. I’ll be there.”
“Pete...”
“Yeah?”
“Nothing. Just-” He slides his free hand into Pete’s hair, pulls him down a bit, just enough for a kiss. Pete tenses up against him, and Patrick can hear a little voice at the back of his mind go whatthefuckareyoudoingstopstopstop, but right now, he doesn’t really care. There’s champagne bubbling in his blood, and he just got a 1490 on his SAT’s, and Pete is with him, kissing him back now, and Patrick feels all the things that have been growing in his chest and stomach and all the rest of his body over the past five and a half months kind of solidify and spread until there’s nothing but thrumming, elated knowledge in every part of him.
“I love you.”
It’s incredible how effortlessly the words spill from his lips. It’s like breathing. As natural as opening his mouth for the first note of a song.
“You-?” Pete pulls back, looking down at him as though Patrick just hung the moon. And suddenly Patrick gets that too, because he’s looking at Pete, and there’s this huge thing inside him that just-yeah. Patrick knows that feeling. He’s known it all his life.
“I,” he repeats, pressing his lips to Pete’s neck, kissing his way up along the jaw “Love.” A steady lick right above the pulse point. “You,” Patrick finishes quietly, breathing the word into Pete’s ear. Pete makes some kind of strangled whimper at the back of his throat, and then his free arm is around Patrick’s neck, holding him close and kissing him, steady and sweet and with so much promise that Patrick can’t help but to melt against him.
“I love you too,” Pete whispers against his lips, taking a last, slow kiss before pulling back. “Jesus, Patrick, you’re the fucking love of my life.”
Patrick ducks out from under Pete’s arm and tips his champagne glass to Pete’s before linking their arms together. Yeah, it’s a cheesy move, and so incredibly lame, Patrick knows, but he kind of wants to do it anyway.
“I’ll drink to that,” he says, and they do, sipping champagne and letting some of it linger in their mouths, sharing the taste in a deep kiss.
Love.
It so totally lives up to the hype.
***
DAY 42 - 10:05 PM
Ryan doesn’t know how they do it, but somehow they manage to arrive at the cathedral just seconds behind Pete. There are police cars everywhere, red and blue lights flashing all around them.
“Pete, wait!”
Pete is half-way up the cathedral steps when he suddenly comes to an abrupt halt, looking around the parking lot frantically.
“There’s no ambulance,” he says as Ryan catches up with him. “Where the fuck is the ambulance? Somebody get the hospital on the phone right now!” He starts climbing the steps again, two at the time, wrenching open the heavy door without waiting for an answer.
“Wentz!”
Spencer appears in front of Pete, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him into a dark alcove at the side of the church, nodding to Ryan and the others to keep going. Pete struggles against him, gets in a couple of solid punches before Spencer manages to twist Pete’s arm painfully behind his back and put his mouth to Pete’s ear. “Calm down-he’s alive.”
Pete deflates, sinking against Spencer like a heavy doll in cold water, choking on the too many words suddenly in his chest.
“He’s alive,” Spencer repeats, releasing his death grip on Pete’s arm and pulling him into a crushing hug, keeping him upright while Pete regains the feeling in his legs. “The ambulance took him away about ten minutes ago. He was still breathing when we found him.”
“Where-?” Pete manages, closing his eyes and trying to pull himself together. The familiar surroundings slowly come back into sharper focus. “What hospital?”
“Mountainview,” Spencer says. “No, wait.”
“What?” Pete almost hisses, not caring who overhears them now if it means that he can get to Patrick faster. Half of the LVPD night shift just saw him tear into the church like a demented, wounded animal. If the secret breaks tonight, it has probably already happened.
“Here,” Spencer says, pulling something small out of the pocket of his jeans. “I didn’t take it off. It was lying on his chest when we found him. I figured it would be best if it didn’t go into an evidence bag.”
Pete takes the ring numbly, hands shaking as he strokes the familiar surface and then the inscription inside.
I want to scream ‘I love you’ from the top of my lungs.
He probably shouldn’t have added his full name to that.
“I’ll tell Jon to start working on a dance,” Spencer says with a small smile, eyes meeting Pete’s for a brief moment of mutual understanding before he disappears down the aisle to join the rest of his team.
Pete closes his hand and clutches the ring tightly, breathes deeply to force the hot, wet, burning fear back from where it’s pushing at the corner of his eyes.
His mind flashes back to Cassie Walker's crime scene, substituting blonde for reddish gold. Rage wells up inside him, a million times worse than any other time he's felt it, and he's grateful that he never got his gun back from where he checked it in at the prison reception, because he honestly doesn't know if he could keep himself from shooting anyone who might accidentally piss him off right now.
Jon Walker had better get in line. Pete is going to hunt the angel killer down-to the end of the world if need be-and when Pete finds him, Medieval torture will seem like a nice and painless way to spend the time.
Love is patient, after all.
***
MAY 30
Patrick's dad throws a Sunday brunch at their house right after Mass the week he promotes Pete to Head Detective. It's almost June, about two weeks after Patrick finally said goodbye to high school and just a week short of Pete's 29th birthday. Patrick figures the timing is more or less perfect.
As much as he respects Pete's all-or-not-exactly-nothing-but-not-even-close-to-enough philosophy, it's been seven months and eight days of trying to get Pete to realise that, yes, Patrick is fucking in, and really, they should be relocating to Pete's bed now and just never leave again.
Sometimes, you need to know when you've waited long enough.
He walks up to where Pete's standing next to Patrick's father and a couple of his friends. One of them might be the local DA; Patrick vaguely recognises him from previous get-togethers such as this one.
“Hi,” he says, mostly to his father but making sure to make polite smiles at all of them. “Um, I'm going over to a friend's in a little while, and I just wanted to say congratulations.” He directs this last part at Pete, doing his best to keep his hand steady and casual as he reaches into his pocket.
“Here,” he says, holding out a small, flat box for Pete to take. “It's nothing much, and you can totally take it back to the store if it's not your style, but mom said that it's customary to give people something when they get promoted.”
Pete takes the box with a suitably surprised/pleased expression on his face and starts working on the generic, obviously-wrapped-by-a-bored-sales-girl-in-the-store paper and bow. Patrick chats with his dad in the meantime, telling him that yes, remember I told you about it last week? We're going up to the small lake where we went with Father Francis that time, where the fishing was really good. Yes, just me and Jason and his older brother, you know, the one who's thinking of doing missionary work in India? Yes, mom helped me get everything together. Just until Wednesday, I need to be back for choir practice. Yes, the cell phone coverage is actually really good up there. while he watches Pete unwrap the gift out of the corner of his eye.
“Patrick...”
It's a silver chain. Clean and simple, like the thing it's meant to match.
“As I said, it's mainly symbolic,” Patrick says. “But you could hang something from it if you wanted, like a cross maybe? Or something else that you like. Or just use it like it is.”
He chances one quick look directly at Pete, just to make sure that he gets it, and can't help the smile that spreads across his face when their eyes meet. Pete thanks him and shakes his hand, pressing his middle finger firmly into the heart of Patrick's palm.
Press one for 'yes,' two for 'no.'
Patrick forces himself to keep still. Kissing the life out of Pete in front of his father still registers as a 'bad thing to do,' even though both his knees and his brain kind of seem to have stopped working.
“So, I'm going to head off,” Patrick says. “I don't want to keep the other guys waiting. Nice meeting you all again. Bye, Dad, see you on Wednesday.”
He goes up to his room, takes his pre-packed bags of dirty clothes, puts them in the car with the tent and fishing equipment and hugs his mom goodbye. It takes him about twenty minutes to get to Pete's apartment, which is just as messy as usual. Patrick doesn't really care.
He's getting married.
He slides the silver ring off his finger, balances it on the back of his hand. He knows it will be years before they can actually make it public. Years of sneaking around and careful planning to ease the transition for everyone around them well enough so that Patrick's parents don't completely flip and Pete doesn't end up in prison or out of a job.
Right now, Patrick doesn't care how long it takes. He brings the ring closer to his face, turns his hand so that the light from the window hits it at the right angle to show off the finely curved inscription that runs across the outer surface.
True Love Waits
Patrick smiles and pulls off his shirt.
Epilogue