Edited another chapter of this to post :D This is the shortest at 11 pages, sigh. It only gets longer from here :/
Chapter 3
Heero rubbed at his temples and gave his computer’s clock a morose glance. Eleven PM. He was supposed to have left work five hours ago.
That, of course, was before they had found the child’s body in the trash can.
Heero took another look at the paper he held in his hands, that he had been waiting with Duo at their desk to receive. Dr. G’s fluid handwriting sprawled across the page, detailing the examination’s finding with clinical objectivity. Cause of death, asphyxiation. The decomposition of the body placed the time of death at around the same time as DeWitt’s. Indeed, their victims’ demises seemed to have a lot in common.
They hadn’t said it out loud yet, but neither of them were kidding themselves that the murders weren’t somehow related. But beyond that, there were only questions, and no answers.
Duo had begun typing up the case file as soon as they had returned to headquarters, and had said nearly nothing to his partner in the hours since. He was rigid and grimly focused, staring hard at his computer screen as if it was responsible for the disturbing details he was typing into its database. With Duo so alarmingly quiet, it was dead silent between them. It had not gone unnoticed by the other detectives in Homicide, but news of the discovery at the river had travelled, and no one approached to rib Duo on his uncharacteristic lack of chatter. When Heero’s eyes occasionally caught those of another detective, he would receive a nod of sympathy. They understood the kind of shit that had been dropped into his and Duo’s laps.
Heero glanced at the medical exam report again. Male, aged approximately eleven years. Weight, seventy pounds. That was the extent of the victim’s identification. He was clothed in filthy, threadbare pants and a sweater not nearly warm enough for the bitter winter weather. The clothes and the weight suggested the boy had either been living on the street or in a neglectful home. Both were equally likely in the Drain. Drug-addict parents could easily forget to clothe or bathe or feed a kid. And if he had been homeless, he had been lucky to scrounge up even a sweater to wear.
Heero hoped for their sakes that the kid had an address they could locate. He cocked a cynical smile at the thought. Christ, only a detective could wish that a little boy had a pair of abusive parents to track down, rather than none at all. If the kid was truly homeless, they had a long and most likely unfruitful slog through the missing children database ahead of them. And if, hope against hope, they managed to find the kid’s name, they were still left with almost no information to go on.
And what the hell did the little boy have to do with Raymond, anyway? There was a giant hole in the story that started with Lorenzo’s shooting, and ended inexplicably with a child in a trash can. And what had gotten into Duo?
Heero ran a hand over his face. He never thought he’d be envying Trowa and Wufei for the media shit-storm murder they’d acquired, but at least there was notoriety there, there was money, there was motive. There was nothing here. A body in the river and a body in the garbage, and not a goddamn clue. He needed a drink.
The typing slowed at his side, and Duo turned to his partner, gave him a quick once-over. Mercifully, he spoke, the first time in hours.
“You look like shit.”
Exhausted, Heero barked a laugh. “Thanks.”
“Let’s hit Howard’s?” Duo said, but the tone was more of a demand than an offer. Heero briefly wondered if he had voiced that need for a drink out loud. No, he was tired, but not that tired. Duo just knew him well enough to read it in his expression.
Besides, Duo damn well looked like he needed a drink himself.
They left their files open on their desk. No point in putting any of them away, really; they’d be back in a few hours, pouring over the documents anew. Better to save a little time and have them ready to go when they staggered into headquarters again.
Duo didn’t speak, didn’t even crack a smile the entire way to Howard’s. It was only halfway through their first beers, perched on stools at the far end of the bar, sequestered from the rest of the patrons, that Duo glanced his way.
“What do you think?” Duo began.
“I don’t know what the hell to think, Duo.” He sighed. “I don’t know what the kid and DeWitt have in common.”
“Well, I have no fucking clue what Raymond has to do with any of it.” Duo took a hard swig of his beer.
Heero followed suit. “Me either. Maybe nothing.”
“Bullshit. Whoever killed DeWitt killed that little boy.” Duo’s fingers tightened around his bottle.
“I know. Maybe he saw the kid get murdered.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
It was a few minutes until Duo spoke again.
“I’m going to ask Noin not to assign any other detectives on this one. I want to be the primary.”
Heero nodded, but he watched Duo out of the corner of his eye with a wary glance. His partner’s face was drawn, staring hard at his hands around his almost-empty beer bottle. There was something he wasn’t telling him.
“That little kid, Heero, he didn’t deserve that shit,” Duo continued, voice quiet, tinged with simmering anger. “Raymond shot another person in cold blood, so you can think what you want about him. But that little boy didn’t deserve it.”
“I know.”
Duo glanced at him, then away. “Yeah.”
They finished their drinks in silence and left the bar, heading home in opposite directions. Heero showered and climbed into bed, hoping for a few hours of real sleep before heading back to work again in the morning, but it was a long time until he could get the anger in Duo’s voice out of his mind.
* * * *
Trowa turned the key to his apartment and held the door to let his guest inside.
“Thanks,” Quatre said quietly, slipping past him into the darkened room. Trowa shut the door behind them and flipped the switch on the wall, illuminating a small living room occupied mostly with a threadbare couch and accompanying television.
“It’s no Hawthorne Park,” he said apologetically. “But it’ll have to do for tonight.”
Quatre, taking stock of the surroundings, turned and gave him a genuine smile.
“It’s a nice place,” he said sincerely. He began to remove his coat, and Trowa took it from him gently and put it in the closet by the door, followed by a pair of expensive dress shoes.
“Do you want to take a shower?”
“Oh, yes, thank you.”
So Trowa led him to the linen closet and pulled out a couple of fresh towels, the kind that went two for one on sale. If Quatre noticed the quality, he didn’t seem to mind.
“Bathroom’s down the hall. Guest room is the one before it on the left. I’ll find you something to sleep in.”
That same smile beamed across the boy’s face again. “Thank you.”
Trowa waited until Quatre had closed the bathroom door behind him before collapsing heavily onto the couch, not even bothering to remove his coat and shoes. He ran both hands up over his face, through his hair, and sighed.
What exactly was he doing with the son of his murder victim in his apartment? Whether or not the circumstances warranted it was beside the point, and he damn well knew it. He was getting himself involved in a dangerous way. And there was no way Noin would have allowed this if she knew where his proclivities lay.
Even so, Trowa forced himself up off the couch and made his way to his bedroom. He searched through his drawers for something that might fit Quatre, and settled on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that were too small for him anymore. He cracked a smile looking at the clothes in his hands. The t-shirt was so faded it was hard to tell what color it might once have been, and the pants ran ragged at the bottom. He might have worn these in high school himself.
He folded them and laid them out on the guest bed, then headed to the kitchen, where he pulled a beer from the fridge and drank it standing, leaning against the wall in the dark. He really could have used something stronger, but that was a bad idea and he knew it. Instead, he made his way back out to the couch, pulling off his coat at last and draping it haphazardly over the back. He loosened his tie and discarded that somewhere, too. The beer warmed him pleasantly and he allowed his eyes to slide closed and his head to fall back against the cushions.
He awoke to the soft sound of someone else’s footsteps in his apartment, and he glanced over to find Quatre standing by the couch, wearing the clothes Trowa had set out for him. They were slightly big, the neck and arms of the shirt loosened with use, and Trowa’s eyes flickered automatically over the exposed pale dip of his collarbone, the delicate skin of his neck, before he could catch himself.
“Sorry,” Quatre said. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
“It’s fine.” He shifted on the couch and Quatre sat down at one end, drawing his legs up under his knees.
“I wanted to thank you for everything, Officer Barton. You really didn’t have to do all of this for me.”
I know I didn’t, Trowa thought sharply, and flinched.
“I’m not an officer,” he blurted.
“Oh. What should I call you, then?”
Trowa spoke before his mind could catch up.
“You can call me Trowa.”
Quatre flashed him a bright smile, green eyes wide. “All right.”
You’re an idiot, his mind supplied.
He cleared his throat. “Would you like anything? Water? Tea? Beer?”
Quatre raised an eyebrow. “Beer?”
Trowa shrugged and earned a laugh in return.
“Tea is fine. Thank you... Trowa.”
A goddamn idiot.
Trowa leapt off the couch to the kitchen, fumbling through seldom-opened cabinets to find a tea cup. He found two, one sporting a rather large chip at the top, the other a gag gift Duo had given him when he transferred into homicide. It read: Coffee, Chocolate, Men: Some things are better rich! There was no way in hell he was going to give that one to Quatre. He jammed it back into the cabinet, lodging it in a far corner.
He located the tea bags, their box unopened and slightly dusty, in the pantry. It was only then that he realized he didn’t have a kettle. Shit. He poured water into the chipped mug and let it cook in the microwave a while instead.
He returned to the living room and handed Quatre the tea, who took it with both hands.
“Sorry, it’s probably not hot enough.”
Quatre gave it an experimental sip as Trowa sat back down at the other end of the couch.
“No, it’s perfect. Thank you, Trowa.”
There was a few minutes of silence as Quatre drank. Trowa found himself watching him, glance cast sideways. There were dark shadows under Quatre’s eyes that belied how tired he was. The hands gripping the chipped mug were trembling slightly, though whether with fatigue or emotional exhaustion, Trowa couldn’t tell.
When he finished, Quatre set the mug down on the coffee table.
“Will the hotel... be near here?”
“It’s not too far. Walking distance.”
Quatre’s response was a sweet little smile. It made Trowa clear his throat in distraction.
“How come?”
The question seemed to bother Quatre. He looked almost guilty.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that... you’ve helped me so much already. I was hoping you would still be nearby. I don’t have anyone else to turn to, really, but now that I’m saying it out loud I realize how much of a burden I’d be putting on you to--”
“Stop,” Trowa said softly.
His hand came to rest on Quatre’s shoulder of its own volition. Quatre’s eyes flickered there, then up to his face.
“It’s not a burden. I’ll be there whenever you need me, Quatre.”
He wondered exactly what he meant by that.
Trowa’s words seemed to exhaust whatever reserves of composure Quatre had maintained since the interview at the station. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes, spilling over down his pale cheeks. He brought his hands to his face and began to softly cry.
And Trowa found himself reaching for him, leaning across the couch to bring his arms around those quietly trembling shoulders. Quatre fell against him, head pillowing beneath his chin, and for a long time, Trowa held him, whispering softly that it would be okay, it would be all right, words he had once whispered into the auburn curls of his sister's hair, the glare of ambulance lights washing them red and white, red and white. It would be okay, somehow. He would make it okay. He promised. It would be all right.
But whether it ever could be all right for the boy again was not something he could hope to know.
* * * *
Duo leaned heavily against Heero, his deep voice slightly slurred, well on his way to drunk already.
“Give me back my beer, Yuy.”
He reached a broad arm out, but Heero evaded his grasp and was rewarded with a icy glare from his partner.
“You’re an asshole.”
“And you almost threw this at your commanding officer. I’m confiscating it.”
“She called me belligerent.”
“You are belligerent.”
Duo threw up his arms, pushing fast away from Heero like he’d been burned by the contact.
“Fine, fine. I see whose side you’re on, traitor.”
He stood woozily up from the table and headed in the direction of the bathroom. Heero watched him go with a frustrated sigh. This was the third night in a row he’d come with Duo to Howard’s since they’d found the boy, the third night in a row that Duo seemed intent on getting blackout drunk as fast as possible, the third night in a row that he’d been acting hostile towards his friends and his partner. The other detectives were joining them tonight, but Duo was nowhere near his usual level of enthusiasm. It was a dark day indeed when Heero was the talkative one of the two. But, he supposed, it was hard to chat when you were busy downing drinks with the zeal Duo was. If he didn’t come back from the bathroom in ten minutes, Heero was probably going to have to carry him out.
Noin looked up from her conversation with Wufei and caught his eye.
“Yuy, a moment.”
He nodded and followed her as she searched out a more secluded area of the bar, a dark corner behind the billiards. She glanced back at their table to make sure no one was watching them too closely, but Trowa and Wufei appeared to be arguing about the game on the overhead televisions and paid them no attention. Satisfied, Noin turned to him.
“Duo’s been tense lately,” she said.
“I know.”
“Any idea why?”
Heero shrugged one shoulder. “He hasn’t told me anything.”
“I see.” Noin straightened. “Look, I didn’t want to bring this up at headquarters because things have a way of getting around there. It’s the case you pulled, with the boy, I know that much. You know Duo asked to be primary, right?”
He nodded.
“No one else is exactly chomping at the bit to take on this one, so I had no problem telling him it was all right. But I have a favor to ask you.”
She dropped her voice, as if concerned about being overheard even in the general cacophony of the bar.
“I want you to watch him, Heero. The way he’s been acting the last few days has me worried. I’m not saying we’ll have a... situation on our hands like last time, but I want you to make sure it doesn’t get that far. All right?”
He had been thinking about it too the last few days. Duo had been a model detective for the last couple of years, but maybe that had only been because Noin and Une had been watching out for him, assigning them cases that wouldn’t bring out that other side of him. They couldn’t afford him getting violent again. And if he got personally invested in this case, well...
He wouldn’t. Heero wouldn’t let it happen.
“All right,” he told his sergeant.
“If you find the asshole who did it, you make sure he makes it to the station alive, all right?”
“Yeah.”
Noin patted him on the shoulder. “Thanks, Yuy. Come on.”
She steered them back to the table. Trowa and Wufei were still deep in conversation, one escalating quickly into argument.
“Martinez is unbelievably overrated,” Wufei was saying, gesturing animatedly at the screen. “I can’t believe you prefer him to Polk.”
“You’re telling me a future hall-of-famer is overrated? You’re living on a goddamn different planet.”
Heero and Noin took their seats, Noin rolling her eyes in exasperation. “I don’t understand this obsession you guys have with sports. Who is this Martinez you’re so in love with, Barton?”
“The pitcher for the Mutts.”
“Who, the one in the blue?”
Wufei and Trowa stared at her.
“The Mutts are in red,” Wufei said flatly, eyes wide like he couldn’t believe he had to say it out loud.
“Oh.”
“You don’t know the colors of your city’s team?” Trowa cut in, equally shocked.
She shrugged.
“To be honest, boys, I couldn’t care less about baseball.”
Wufei snorted. “It’s times like this I’m reminded you’re a woman, Sergeant.”
That earned him a smack on the back of the head. At that moment, Duo returned from the bathroom, swiping his beer back from Heero’s side of the table with a glare before sitting back down.
Wufei and Trowa turned immediately to him, apparently having waited for his arrival.
“Duo, settle an argument for us, please,” Trowa said.
“Uh, sure.”
“Who’s the better pitcher, Martinez or Polk?”
“Is that really a question? Please.” When Duo saw that the two detectives were waiting on his answer, he elaborated. “Martinez, obviously.”
Trowa grinned at his partner, vindicated. “Obviously!”
“Wait, Wufei likes Polk? You been getting into the evidence in Narcotics or something, man?”
“Shut up.”
There was a small electronic twittering and Trowa pulled his phone from his pocket and flipped it open. He smiled at whatever message he’d received, then put it away.
Duo did not miss the gesture.
“Hey, Barton, who was that?”
Trowa’s face was the picture of nonchalance. “Nobody.”
“Hey, you get that kid a hotel room yet? The billionaire’s son.”
“Quatre,” Trowa corrected.
Duo shrugged. “Yeah, fine.”
“We’ve got him over in the Best Western on Wilcox,” Wufei broke in.
Duo broke out in a laugh.
“Best Western, huh? Bet he doesn’t last a week before he’s demanding an upgrade to the Ritz.”
Trowa’s eyebrow twitched. Heero watched the momentary shift in expression, then the evening out of Trowa’s features as he caught himself. He brought his beer to his lips and shrugged behind the glass.
“If he does, it’s coming out of Wufei’s overtime pay.”
“Like hell it is!”
“You are the primary detective,” Noin added.
“Sergeant, please, don’t encourage him.”
“She has a point,” Heero said.
Wufei levelled a blank glare at him. “Not you too.”
“Man, Wu, think you could hook me up with a suite downtown sometime?” Duo cut in, a smile finally spreading across his face.
“There will be no hotel rooms at the Ritz, and definitely not on my dime!”
Noin laughed and clinked her mug against his. “Cheers to that, detective. Now, drink up boys, next round’s on me!”
* * * *
“Come on, Duo, we’re here.”
“Hmmph.”
“Duo, wake up.”
Duo rolled over in the passenger’s seat. Heero put his car in park and shook his partner’s shoulder.
“Get up.”
Duo peered over his shoulder with a baleful grimace.
“Can’t,” he muttered. “Everything's spinning.”
Heero let out a long sigh of frustration. Killing the motor, he got out and walked around to the passenger’s side of his car. Duo nearly tumbled out when he opened the door, and Heero grabbed him by the jacket before he fell. Duo’s head rolled against Heero’s arm, eyes fluttering closed again, seemingly unaware of how close he had come to smacking face-first into the icy street.
“Come on, Duo. Let’s get you upstairs.”
This time, Duo gave him a brief, pained nod.
“All right.”
Together, they got him out of the car, Heero hauling him upright before he stumbled backward and wound up on the ground. When Duo began to turn in the opposite direction of his apartment building, Heero grabbed him by the arm and steered him back the right way. They slowly weaved across the street.
“Why did you have to get so fucking drunk,” Heero muttered.
“Sorry, buddy,” Duo replied, his face falling.
Damn, he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
Heero guided Duo up the stairs to his floor. He led him to his apartment, Duo grumbling and leaning heavily against him, and when they got to the door, he pitched against it, using it for support as he dug his keys out of his pocket. It took him a couple of tries to find the right one. Just as Heero was beginning to wonder if he would have to do it himself, Duo managed to slide the correct key in the door and it swung open, revealing the darkened room inside.
With a triumphant grin, Duo turned to his partner.
“Thanks, Yuy.”
Duo was close and his voice was quiet. He was warm with alcohol, his smile and his gaze unfocused. Whatever remark Heero had been preparing to say was forgotten and he simply nodded, pushing Duo inside his apartment with more force than was necessary.
“Get some sleep.”
He pulled the door shut behind Duo without waiting for an answer. Flustered, he hurried out of the building to his car, jogging quickly in the bitter midnight cold. The turn of the engine brought with it a flood of heated air from the vents and he sat for a moment and let the car soak up the warmth. A minute passed and his eyes shifted automatically, seeking out apartment 212.
The light was still out.
Heero had an image in his mind of Duo, unconscious on the floor of his living room, still in his jacket and shoes, too wasted to make it back to his bed. Shit. He didn’t have to rush out of there like he was on fire. He should have helped him.
It didn’t matter, he told himself. Duo was a grown man, he didn’t need to be coddled like an infant. If he wanted to jump headfirst down a liquor bottle, well, that was his prerogative.
It wasn’t his fault that Heero thought about him too damn much.
No, Heero thought morosely, turning away down the street, it wasn’t his fault at all.