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We Were Meant to be Broken [El & Juno]

Elthiaos

Elthiaos

Moon
Joined
Aug 19, 2011
These were the terms of his reinstatement as a homicide detective.

First, Gabriel wouldn't officially be on any cases. He would just be his partner's shadow. The captain had pushed through the paper work so that Gabriel was paired with Thomas. That was, at least, a small blessing. He wouldn't know how to act around a rookie who asked him too many fucking questions. Asking him if he was a greenhorn too. Christ. Gabriel might have ended up punching the poor sob out.

Second, he had to meet with the department's shrink. Some chick named Maria Haggleton. It was the way the captain could have an "official" report on Gabriel's recovery from the slippery slope of alcoholism.

Finally, Gabriel had to give his word that he would continue going to the AA meetings they held downtown every week or so. It wasn't an official requirement but it was something his captain glared him into. He just didn't want to see someone like Gabriel throwing away a promising, long career because of the bottle. And he sure as hell didn't want to start now.

Thus, after two months of trying to get his life back together, Gabriel found himself in the cool basement of the city morgue watching the coroner observe the pale cadaver on his table.
"Wait, doc... I thought they called this in for Traffic. Why the hell is Homicide a part of this now?"
Thomas' voice was kind of fuzzy and in the background. Gabriel was too immersed in studying how bruised and puffy the guy looked and the unnatural turn of his neck. It had been a fucking brutal hit-and-run by the looks of it.

The coroner - Dr. Greene - offered an unamused smile.
"Well, yes, so did we all. Assumption makes fools of us, Detective Anderson. However, that's why we have protocol. We won't miss something like this."
The elderly man pulled down the white sheet and Gabriel watched his his gloved hand point toward the dead man's abdomen.
"It was hard to see because of all the external trauma. However, as I'm sure you can see, detective... there are several jagged puncture wounds on the victims body."
"He was stabbed?" Gabriel asked, furrowing his eyebrows as he let his fingers run over the stiff wounds.
"Yes... I assumed that the extensive injuries from the impact of the car had been the COD. However, he was already dying when he was hit, detectives."

Gabriel turned to look at Thomas.
"Did they recover any kind of weapon from the scene?"
He frowned and shook his head.
"No, not that I know of," Thomas said. "They were pretty sure it was an open and closed case considering they caught the hit-and-run guy."
"Fuck, we should call and tell them not to clear up the scene yet. Thanks, Doc."

Dr. Greene waved them out a bit unenthusastically while Gabriel and Thoms hurried out of the morgue.

----

"Alright, so the slimey bastard is in room one and the happy widow is in room two. Who do you want to hit first?"
Gabriel asked, his eyes watching the Arnold Young fidget a little bit in the uncomfortable chair. He had said he was a family friend. Yeah, right. If fucking your friend's wife was what it meant to be a "family friend," then shit... And the wife was looking kind of dirty too. Gabriel and Thomas had asked around at the victim's last known place before he died. It was at a bar called Rocket's. Apparently the victim liked to get smashed often and when he got too friendly with the bottle, his wife ended up with fresh new bruises. Gabriel sympathized. Perhaps it was only natural to find comfort in a kinder man... and then fuck his brains out.

Of course, besides her natural hate for her husband wasn't as incriminating as the recent purchase of life insurance on the victim. Should he succumb to an untimely death, the beneficiary, Mrs. Carter, would get $100,000. A pretty tidy sum. However, Gabriel was pretty sure she hadn't worked alone. Arnold was in it somehow... They were probably going to split the money. Or maybe Arnold was just using her for the money. His business was tanking anyway. Maybe he was secretly planning on offing her next...

"Er, well..."
It was the hesitation in Thomas' voice that pulled Gabriel out of his thoughts.
"What is it?" he asked with a frown, expecting the worse.
"The cap wants you to sit out on interviews for now," Thomas said, looking uncomfortable.
"...Alright. So, who's going to be your partner then?"
"Well, the department decided to send in someone. His name is Brady... Brady Fitzgerald, I think. The captain recommended him. Apparently he's a genius and good at interrogation."
"So... the captain thinks I could learn a few tricks?" Gabriel asked, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
"I don't know," Thomas said helplessly. "Anyway, I better get going."
"Yeah, sure. I'll be watching out here..."

Gabriel knew it wasn't fair to blame Thomas. It wasn't his fault. However, he still couldn't help the flame of anger jumping in his chest when he watched him walk away.
 
Why was he doing this? Why did he always let the bloody civil servants talk him into doing their jobs? If Brady could answer that question, he might have felt a whole lot better. Or worse. As it was, he could never answer that question which was exactly why he always caved.

It never really mattered to him what precinct called. The long train-rides were always the same. He'd head out feeling really old and really tired. The excitement of getting the 'bad guys' to confess was pretty much nonexistent. Excitement in general seemed to be a hard thing to come by, especially nowadays.

Brady was a lanky guy with long blond hair that would have looked quite lovely spilled over his shoulders if he ever bothered to comb it. He was sickly white with pale blue eyes and a perfect little ski-slope of a nose that sat above a narrow, sarcastic mouth. His youthful features often had the general populace mistaking him for being a tad younger than he truly was but this misconception was usually cleared when one got a proper look into his eyes. There was a graveness in them that spoke of years of hardships and something about the way he frowned led one to believe he intended to see himself through to the darkest hour.

There was nothing fancy or particularly put together about the way Brady dressed. Plaid, hi-tops and ripped jeans seemed to be a reoccurring theme. It was hobo chic, if anything, but Brady had never really cared for his appearance. He had accepted long ago that he would never be more than a skinny bastard with the most unfortunate androgynous features. He could blame his Nordic roots for that. Either way, it was something he had very little control over.

When the train lurched to a stop, it succeeded in waking Brady up from what might have been a power nap. The little boy who had been studying him for at least four stops now looked particularly interested when this young man grasped something that looked like his grandpa's cane and struggled to get to his feet. If his mother had been paying attention to him, she might have scolded him for staring so but Brady managed a parting wave before he got off.

It was a strange sight. Of course, his limp wasn't terribly noticeable but the cane sure stuck out like a sore thumb. He was only 22 and already he was falling apart. The past five months had not been kind to Brady. He had gone from feeling like he was on top of the world to feeling like he was just hanging on by a thread. He didn't allow himself to properly mope, though. And he had one very good reason for that.

As if on cue, his pants began to vibrate and he fumbled for his phone while attempting the stairs. The name Cynthia Rowe followed by a picture of a particularly cross looking crane jumped out at him. He furrowed his brows, wondering what the woman possibly wanted with him now and raised the phone to his ear.

"What up."

What followed only surprised him a little but did quite a bit for his spirits. It definitely wasn't Rowe calling him, not unless she had somehow mastered the art of mimicking their daughter's voice and even then he didn't think she'd ever give him the satisfaction of being called daddy. But the joyful babbling that he heard was enough to get him to smile. Ever since Evanna had learned how to call him, she took every chance she got to steal her mother's phone just to talk his ear off.

"What are you doin' calling me again?" There was nothing firm to his tone. On the contrary, Brady was highly amused.

"Dah-deeeee," she whined as if that alone could win him over.

Brady snorted. Good answer.

Unfortunately, Rowe seemed to catch wind of what was happening and attempted to pry the phone from Evanna's small but vice-like fingers. Brady held the phone away from his ear as the resulting shriek could have been heard a mile off. Deciding to take a different approach, he had the good fortune of overhearing someone as brisk as Cynthia Rowe sweet-talking her child in order to get her to cooperate.

"Daddy is working, sweetheart," she explained in a voice he had never heard, "Can I please talk to him?"

The change in her mother's tone appeared to sway Evanna who was probably assuming she had won this round. Brady could only listen in patiently when Rowe offered a quick apology as if it were the greatest inconvenience in the world.

"Why don't you just lock it?"

"Because knowing her, she'll just find a way to unlock it."

Brady couldn't really argue with that. He had a truly remarkable child on his hands.

Evanna began to make those fussy sounds again and Brady could almost see her making little grabby hands at the phone. That was one thing he could always rely on. Evanna never failed to make him smile.

"Okay, say bye-bye to daddy."

Evanna frowned, looking thoroughly miffed.

"Say bye-bye," Rowe tried again.

Brady waited. It could have gone any way. Either she'd agree or start bawling. Thankfully, she decided on the former and babbled a long, drawn-out goodbye.

"Bye, kid. You be good. I love you." When he finally hung up, the world hadn't exactly changed. It was still a mildly warm day and the streets were still busy as fuck but Brady felt better. It was the kind of feeling only a parent could truly understand.

By the time he reached the precinct, his back was sweaty from all the layers he insisted on wearing. The cotton of his shirt stuck to his skinny body and his pale face looked slightly flushed. It didn't matter how many different precincts he visited. He always the got the same looks. Either someone knew him and made it obvious by frowning a lot or people stared at him as if they weren't sure why exactly he was there.

On any other day, Brady might have felt the urge to offer a few choice words but instead, he headed straight for the interrogation room. He had gotten the low down. He had worked with enough homicide detectives in his short years to know how it played out. Well, the last one hadn't exactly been what he'd expected but he wasn't exactly planning on that happening again. He knew the facts well enough. For guy with an Eidetic memory, forgetting things wasn't the problem. There was no problem, really. He just wanted to get the job done and then get the hell out of there. He needed some quality JD in his system. That and maybe a exotic looking brunette on his lap.

A guy could dream.

By the time he managed to limp his way over, a really tall and scary looking bloke was standing there with all the air of a guy who had just gotten anally raped by some unpleasant news. Most people did look like that when they found out they'd be working with Brady. It was really kind of funny but Brady didn't laugh. He didn't even bother to acknowledge the guy's presence. Instead, he took a look inside and found a nervous looking dude seated alone. His wench was probably in the other room.

Finally, Brady decided to bestow his precious attention upon this disgruntled looking gentleman. "So, who rattled your cage?" This wasn't exactly the kind of formal greeting any normal person would expect but the detective would learn soon enough that one couldn't expect anything less from Brady Fitzgerald.
 
Something thin and blond entered Gabriel’s peripheral vision and his head turned instinctively. His first glance told him it was a chick. On a second go-round, however, Gabriel realized that it was a guy. What the hell was a civilian doing so far back in the precint? This wasn’t some kind of fucking petting zoo. He looked around for a uniform to escort the blond-haired straggler back toward the waiting area but turned his grey-blue eyes back at the kid when he spoke.

Wow, this kid either had a pair on him or was just trying to encourage small talk. Why did people think that would work? Gabriel’s job was a bit more complicated than discussing the latest baseball stats or the mother-fucking weather. He managed to keep his annoyance in check as he waved a uniform over.
“You’re not allowed back here, kid. You need to get back to the main lobby. The officer will escort you there,” he said, frowning slightly when the uniform seemed to not understand.
“But isn’t he here for the interrogation, detective?”
“What are you talking about? All the suspects are here,” Gabriel said, his frown deepening.
“But that’s… er, have you ever met Brady before, detective?” the uniform asked a bit awkwardly.

“Wait… you’re Brady? Brady Fitzgerald?” Gabriel asked, not bothering to hide the surprise in his voice. He had expected some old man like Dr. Greene. However, this kid looked like he was just fresh out of highschool and ready to take on college. What the fuck? Gabriel took just a moment to recover himself.
“My bad, Brady,” he said after a pause. “I guess I was expecting someone a little” fucking “older..”
Christ, the kid looked so young. Gabriel felt that same bitterness rising in his chest but he managed to swallow it. He must really be a genius if the captain was putting him in the interrogation room. Maybe he would learn something.

Well, it felt better when he told himself that.

“Gabriel Newark,” he said, offering a hand. “My partner is waiting for you…”
 
Oh, this noise again.

Brady was almost tempted to crack a smile but he managed to keep a straight face, deciding to humour the detective by nodding as if he were saying the most agreeable thing ever heard. Poor guy. He didn't have a clue.

By the time the uniform came around to enlighten the walking-talking steroid, Brady had a rather obliging smirk on his face as he watched the guy explain himself. He was only mildly impressed with the man's honesty. Everyone expected someone 'a little fucking older' but not everyone was willing to admit it. Hell, that was just another benefit to this entire deal. He could make a lot of old farts feel really little. Well, at least the ones that deserved it.

It was strange to be on a first name basis. He usually got a 'hey, kid' and maybe a 'Fitzgerald' if people were feeling generous though it usually came down to 'you mouthy little shit'. This new show of professionalism was almost welcome.

Brady eyed the extended hand and shook his head, smiling mildly. "I wouldn't do that. Just had a wank. You know how it is." Of course he wasn't being serious but it was a good thing for detective Newark to chew on while he worked his magic. He gave the uniform a good-natured pat on the shoulder. "Good lookin' out."

With that said, Brady hobbled over to where he was needed. "O Captain, my Captain. Help has arrived." He gave a mock bow and offered a half-smirk.

Captain Geraldine looked none-too-pleased at the new arrival. Of course, he knew Brady well enough to know how he functioned. The boy was definitely useful regardless of how many skeptics told him otherwise but damn he had a mouth on him. If he could just put a muzzle on the kid, everything would work out great.

"This is detective Anderson," he explained shortly, "Now I've already briefed you, Fitzgerald. No funny business."

Brady pretended to look offended before placing a hand over his heart. "No funny business. Scout's honour."

The Captain merely frowned and nodded to Anderson as if silently wishing him good luck. Working with Brady, he'd need it.
 
Gabriel blinked at Brady’s dismissal of his offered hand before he frowned.
“Whatever you say, Brady,” he said. The kid had a weird fucking sense of propriety, and he wasn’t sure if he was going to like him. But to be fair, Gabriel wasn’t exactly in a mood to be accepting and gracious; He glanced over at the uniform and gave a slight nod before following after Brady, being careful not to knock into him or his cane. Gabriel caught sight of Thomas in a conversation with the captain.

“Cap—“
Gabriel didn’t really manage to finish his curt greeting to Captain Geraldine considering Brady beat him to the punch. His blue eyes found Thomas’, his expression clearly one of what the hell? Was the kid always like this? Gabriel was not impressed with Brady’s rather childish and condescending attitude. Anderson offered the barest shake of his head before turning to Captain Geraldine.
“We’ll get back to you with our results, Cap,” Thomas said as Geraldine walked away. “Thanks for coming down to the station, Fitzgerald. We appreciate it. And… I’m assuming you’ve met my partner? Gabriel Newark?”
“Yeah, we’ve met. And you should probably forgo shaking his hand considering you might get a surprise,” Gabriel said dryly.

Thomas decided not to question Gabriel.
“Right. Anyway, you know the routine, Fitzgerald.”
He opened the door to Interview Room One and held it open for Brady. Arnold looked up at their entrance.
“What’s the hold up? Why can’t I go home? I’ve told you everything I know about what happened,” he said, sounding impatient and nervous.
“Yes, well, Mr. Young, there are a few more questions that we’d like you to answer,” Thomas said good naturedly.
“Who’s that?” Arnold asked, rudely pointing at Brady.
“His name is Brady Fitzgerald, Mr. Young, and he’ll be asking you a few questions.”

Gabriel could hear their voices, amplified unnaturally by the hidden speaker. Thomas always did the good cop routine real fucking well. Whenever they did good cop/bad cop, Gabriel was always in there slamming shit around and the suspect would then basically tell his life story to Thomas’ understanding and sympathetic face. He watched through the one-way mirror as his partner pulled out the seat for Brady.
“Whenever you’re ready, Fitzgerald,” he said with a small nod, choosing to stand to the side.
 
Brady only had to take one look at Anderson to know who the good cop was in this duo. That wasn't saying much. Brady cared very little for law enforcement and wasn't it lovely that he'd spend the remainder of his life pandering to them.

He didn't say anything when Anderson held the door open for him though the gears were already turning in his head. The room felt just as stuffy and uncomfortable as it always did. He didn't think it ever changed, regardless of what precinct he was in. Young looked nervous as fuck and Brady could only imagine why they had called him in. Well, if he needed a little nudge in order for him to sing like a canary, Brady would give it to him.

"You gotta be kiddin' me. He's gonna interrogate me? You bring in some kid who's still wet behind the ears? What are you, 16?"

"22," Brady corrected patiently. He had settled down into the chair, the dog-tags that hung around his neck jingling in the thick silence.

Young eyed him with a look most people often got when they heard that liver and onions was the main course. "You a genius or something?"

"I don't believe intelligence can be accurately quantified, but I do have an IQ of 191, an eidetic memory, can read 21 000 words per minute-" He paused, noting the lost look Young's eyes. Brady relented. "Yes, I'm a genius. A genius who's gonna set everything right because you know these guys can't do squat on their own."

There was a glimmer of amusement in Young's eyes that Brady didn't fail to miss though it quickly gave way to the nervousness. He could see a bit of sweat gathering around the suspect's temples. He was already beginning to force a baseline. Often getting personable in the subtlest ways helped as one could detect any deviations from otherwise normal behaviour.

"You're lookin' a little nervous there, Mr. Young."

The nervousness sparked for a moment before the suspect averted his gaze, rubbing his feverish face vigorously. "I'm sittin' in a fuckin' precinct in a goddamn boiler room. What do you expect?"

"It is hot," he agreed, glancing over at Anderson before returning his attention to Young. "But he doesn't care. They don't care. They enjoy this, you know?"

"What do you know about it? As far as I'm concerned you're just one of them."

Brady snorted. "I am not a cop, Mr. Young. I'm just your lowly grad student looking to make pay for his kid."

"You... you got a kid?" he asked incredulously.

Brady nodded and reached beneath him, not missing the way Young flinched as if expecting something foul. The guy was definitely on edge. He produced his cellphone and brought up a picture of a laughing toddler with paint covering her pudgy little hands.

Young studied the picture and glanced up at Brady. "Looks like you." Brady nodded once more though he was hardly paying attention to that. He could only see what was in front of him. Most people softened when confronted by the sight of a child but Young hadn't. He kept swallowing as if he were having a hard time keeping a calm composure. His eyes were narrowed and almost defensive. Brady couldn't see his hands but he was willing to bet a hefty sum that he was fidgeting.

Brady made a very subtle motion with his own hand and hoped Anderson understood that he required the case file. If shit went according to plan, this wouldn't take too long.
 
Gabriel felt a presence behind him and turned and found the captain staring intently at the trio locked up in that small, uncomfortable space.
“Is he always like this, Cap?” Gabriel asked as he turned his eyes back on Brady and the self-satisfied curl of his lips.
“You mean arrogant, condescending, disrespectful, rude, and irritating, Newark?”
Gabriel smiled slightly but Geraldine kept his eyes forward.
“I’m afraid he is, Newark. What are mere mortals to a god of his stature?” he asked, bitter sarcasm in his voice. “But of course, I suppose even a god needs a paycheck to live and eat.”
“Spoken like a true cynic, Captain. I knew there was a reason I liked you,” Gabriel said, vaguely listening to Brady’s enhanced voice belittling the police force and all the men and women he worked with.

“Watch him, Newark. Insufferable as he is, he knows what he’s doing,” Geraldine continued as if he hadn’t heard Gabriel. “I don’t want you to think I don’t trust you as a detective anymore, Newark, because I’m keeping you out here. I believe Fitzgerald will be useful in teaching everyone something.”
“…Yes, sir.”
The captain didn’t say anything else as he walked away and disappeared into his office. Gabriel turned his attention back to the drama unfolding in the interrogation room as Anderson carefully handed Brady a rather thin, vanilla file. From where he was standing, he saw a flash of rather gruesome crime scene photos, the odd crick of a bruised neck.
 
Brady took the file wordlessly and carefully slid a picture forward. It would be hard for the untrained eye to see what Brady saw. At first, the man looked horrified but there was a brief moment of recognition as if he were reliving the crime and even in that moment of recognition, Brady saw what he had intended to see: contempt. That look was quickly followed by anger which didn't take his set of skills to spot.

"What the hell is this? You think showing me this is gonna scare me into confessing?"

Brady quirked a brow.

Young blanched before continuing, purposely avoiding Brady's gaze. The sweat ran freely down his neck. "A crime I didn't commit."

Brady didn't say anything for several moments. The entirety of this painful silence involved Young doing everything humanely possible to keep from meeting the Irishman's gaze as if he would turn to stone if he did.

Leaning back and looking annoyingly comfortable, Brady idly drummed his fingers over the table, not once taking his eyes off of Young. "I uh, saw your lady friend before I decided to grace you with my presence. Between you and me, she ain't much of a looker."

This time, Young was forced to look at Brady and the incredulous expression on his face was almost comical. He was a blend of nervousness, suspicion and irritation. But there was that anger again. "That's hardly-"

"I don't know what you see in her, man," Brady interrupted mildly, "I mean, besides the insurance. I'd kill for that kinda cash."

"Hey, shut up," Young snapped, glancing sideways at the detective as if expecting some support.

"I mean, got that failing business of yours and you're obviously not above murder so who's to say the lovely widow won't be next."

"SHUT UP," Young barked, slamming his sweaty fists onto the table. His face was red, lips pressed together in a tight, angry line as if he were struggling with himself to keep from reaching over and outright throttling the calm looking grad student.

Brady was calm and infuriatingly so. But he was also intrigued. He allowed Young to calm down a little before leaning forward. "You mad?"

Young swallowed hard and turned to address Anderson. "Get me some water before I-..." He dealt Brady a significant look and said no more as if he had thought better of it.
 
“Yeah, sure, Mr. Young,” Anderson said before he knocked on the door. A uniform peered in. “Get the man a drink will you?”
“Yes, sir.”
Anderson turned his eyes back toward Young, making sure to let his lips dip a little bit into a disapproving frown when his gaze lingered on Brady. The suspect snatched up this little behavioral quirk like a drowning man reaching for a life-raft.
“So you’re the lucky guy who has to work with this asshole?” Arnold asked, licking his lips and leaning back in his chair while tapping his foot nervously. Anderson looked politely confused.
“Well, Mr. Fitzgerald is an asset to the precint…”
Arnold snorted loudly and crossed his arms over his chest. The door opened again and the uniform handed Anderson a Styrofoam cup full of fountain water.
“Here you are, Mr. Young.”

The suspect took the water and gulped it down without thanking the detective. Anderson hooked his thumb in one of his belt loops as he let his fingers spread out the white, official sheets of the case.
“Look, Mr. Young, I just want to be frank with you. The evidence is not looking good. You have a motive and witnesses place you at the scene.”
Anderson sighed and leaned against the edge of the uneven table near Arnold and looked down at him.
“As smart as Mr. Fitzgerald is, he won’t really know about doing grunt work. About the troubles the little guy and how it feels getting shit on.”
“No, the fuck he won’t.”
“I understand. It fucking sucks losing a business you built from the bottom up. But… if you don’t cooperate with us, Mr. Young, you’re going to lose more than just your business,” Anderson said as he turned around and pressed his palms against the table, leaning in to hold eye contact. “She has you set up taking the fall.”

“I didn’t…! She…” Arnold sputtered, his face turning red again. Anderson pulled away. The suspect was starting to break now, having been battered and toyed with by Brady and then being lulled by the detective. Anderson knew he couldn’t give away too much. They were very close and the killing blow was just around the corner. The detective frowned and turned his back to Young, breaking eye contact with him so that all he had was Brady to appeal to. Something, Anderson was sure, Arnold would not like.
 
When Anderson turned his back to Young, what little light there was left in the man's face vanished. He looked quite ill as he darted a worried look at the blond, nervously running a hand through his hair. He swallowed, trying to regain some semblance of control over the situation. "What uh... You didn't exactly tell me what it is that you do."

Brady merely stared at him in a drawn-out silence that only succeeded in making him all the more nervous. "I meddle," he finally replied.

Young frowned, now looking irritated along with nervous as he dropped his gaze. "What? I don't-"

"Let's put it this way. I know you're feeling awful nervous right now and who can blame you really. If I was goin' down for murder, I'd be shitting bricks. But it isn't fair, is it? I can tell you aren't the brains of this operation. Must suck having to go down with a woman. Bet the sex isn't even that great, right?"

Young shot him a nasty look.

"Right," Brady smiled, not bothering to let up, "So, she's pissed at the wife-beating scum and concocts this craaazy idea and you're so desperate and full of anger that you let the woman take the lead. Really, Young? As a certified owner of a dick, I am appalled."

Young was clenching his teeth so hard his jaw shook. The fury in his eyes was unmistakable as he finally stopped fidgeting, choosing to grab onto the table instead.

"What, you thought she'd let you dip into the cash because she spread her legs? Get the fuck outta here, Arny. She played you and now she's gonna let you go down for murder. Ain't that right?"

Young didn't reply and Brady took this opportunity to lean forward, lowering his voice so that Anderson would have to strain to hear. His blond hair fell forward but he payed it no mind. "What do you think she'd tell me if I walked in? That you're indeed mind-numbingly stupid to think this was gonna end well."

Young's face was going red, the sweat continuing its slow path down his temples.

"Maybe sleepin' with you was the wake up call, you know? Hell, maybe she even misses bein' tossed around like a ragdoll. You should try chokin' her like the deceased. Might even get her to com-"

"SHUT UP YOU SON OF A BITCH. HE DESERVED WHAT I DID TO HIM. AND I'D DO IT AGAIN. FUCK YOU. I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU TOO."

In spite of the strong fingers currently wrapped his throat, Brady was grinning and trying his absolute best to speak. "Yeah..." he gasped, "You really are a moron."

Game, Set, and Match.
 
Anderson and the uniform immediately stepped in to free Brady. However, they were having trouble making Arnold let go of the guy’s throat. Gabriel wasn’t surprised. The kid had pushed him a little too far. Instead of the nudge that Arnold needed, he was given a mother-fuckin’ push off the cliff. Gabriel had seen the power of real anger before and the adrenaline rush that accompanied it wasn’t something to be laughed at. Gabriel had once seen a perp continue coming after his partner after getting shot multiple times. It had been one of the more unnerving experiences of his career as a law enforcer.

Anderson turned as the door violently swung open and Gabriel pushed aside the uniform roughly. With one hard jab to the suspect’s arm pits, Arnold instinctively released Brady to protect that sensitive area.
“Sit your ass down, motherfucker,” he said, shoving Arnold away from the kid and back into his chair. However, Mr. Young wasn’t paying Gabriel any attention. His eyes were all for Anderson.
“It was all her idea! She told me about the life insurance. She said she’d take him to Rockets and pretend to try make up after their last fight. Fuck! I’m not going down for that bitch!”
“So sing some more, you prick,” Gabriel said, grabbing Arnold by his shirt. His face was impassive and cold but inside his heart was pounding. This was what he had wanted. The balls to the wall kind of interrogation. Gabriel loved that shit.

“We need your official statement, Arnold,” Anderson said quickly, placing a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder.
“She told me she was gonna get him shit-faced. She told me to wait until she called for a cab and then take him outside. I fucking stabbed the bastard right there on the street,” Arnold said, breaking out into a kind of hysterical laughter. “And then I shoved him in front of the car. It was all her idea. It was all her fucking idea!”

The suspect continued to yell or murmur this while Gabriel let him go and turned his eyes to Anderson. He offered a slight nod and Anderson motioned to the uniform to put him in handcuffs.
“Get this shit-bag out of here,” he said as he watched Arnold allow the police officer put him in chains without a single word of protest.
“You’re gonna help me right?”
“Yeah, Arnold, we’re going to help you. We’re going to talk to the wife first and talk to the D.A. on your behalf. It’s gonna be a pretty clean case if you’re willing to testify against her.”

Mr. Young looked at Anderson with a rather blank expression before numbly nodding his head and the uniform led him out of the room. Gabriel closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm his heart as he vaguely heard Anderson tell everyone they had done a good job. He turned to look over at Brady.
“You want some ice for that, Brady?” he asked. Gabriel would not be surprised if Brady had a lasting bruise for a couple of days.
 
Brady's air supply was being cut off and his normally pale face began to turn very red. However, he didn't appear to struggle. It was a moment of deja vu. He could recall something eerily similar occurring a couple of years previous and if he knew his history, a big burly homicide detective would storm in and get the perp off of him. Though, he hoped the similarities ceased there. He wasn't ready to dive headfirst into that territory again.

As if on cue, detective Newark walked in and pulled Young off of him in his own unique fashion. Brady felt the fingers release his throat and sweet air sweep through him. He coughed softly, rubbing at his neck aching neck. His gaze fell upon his cellphone, eyeing the picture of the smiling toddler. He needed to be more careful. If something happened to him, he'd never see that smile again.

A slight shadow fell over his face but it was gone in an instant. Microexpressions, he thought with a soft snort. Well, his job was done. He remained seated when Young was dragged off, his blond hair curtaining his face as he stared at the table with an inscrutable look on his face.

The sound of his name managed to get his attention. He lifted his head and eyed the detective who was undoubtedly studying his reddened neck. He might have expected Anderson to ask but apparently Newark was eager to make use of himself. It was almost kind of cute. Deciding to spare him any sarcastic remarks, he simply shook his head. "I'll live. And if you fine folk will excuse me, I've got a date with the loo." He slowly rose to his feet, grasping his cane as he hobbled past the detectives and out of the stuffy room. He'd splash some cold water on his face and take a nap before work. If he got lucky.
 
Gabe nodded as he watched Brady leave the room before turning to Anderson. The detective waited for the blonde to be safely out of earshot before he spoke.
“So, what did you think?”
Gabriel shrugged. “Interesting technique. A little over the top, maybe, but effective.”
Anderson smiled and shook his head slightly, grabbing the case file and leading Gabriel out of the interrogation room.
“That’s probably the kindest thing anyone has said about him.”
Gabe arched an eyebrow, hooking a thumb to his gun holster. He had picked up the habit of doing that like a newbie. He couldn’t help it. Gabriel liked being able to carry a gun again.
“I’m assuming you’re talking about his weird sense of humor and his obvious dislike of police.”
“Yeah… you could say that.”

“Good job, boys.” Captain Geraldine approached them, tapping a vanilla folder in his rough, cracked hands. “We’ve got the widow too. The moment we told her we had her Lothario singing like a canary, she cracked too. The D.A. is going to like this. A slam-dunk case.” He turned his sharp eyes to Gabriel as he patted his shoulder. “So, what did you think?”
“Brady’s good,” Gabe said briefly. There was no point in going into detail. No matter what the captain said, he knew Brady had been there because he wasn’t officially allowed to interrogate people yet.
“Good. Well, hop to it, gentlemen. The paperwork isn’t going to do itself.”

“Come on. You can use the desk across from mine for now,” Anderson said, waving Gabriel over. He sat down in the creaky chair and carefully shoved aside the random cups, folders, and other knickknacks. Gabriel eyed the tray on Anderson’s desk. It was getting kind of full. Anderson noticed his staring and smirked slightly.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ve fallen a little behind but… I should be all caught up by tonight.”
“Here, give me the Young case. I’ll work on that. You can work on all that,” Gabriel said, stretching out his hand for the folder.
“Thank you. I need to get out of here by six. It’s our anniversary and we have reservations at the Blue Room,” Anderson said with a breath of relief.
“How long have you guys been together now?”
“Two years.”
“Congrats.”
“Thanks.”

The two men ceased to talk after that and only the sound of paper flipping and pen scratching filled the silence between them. Anderson spent some of his time glancing up at the wall clock, his face growing more anxious as the hours grew later and his work pile wasn’t shrinking as quickly as he wanted.
“Shit, I don’t think I’ll make it…” Anderson groaned, pushing back some of his hair and collapsing in his chair. It was now 5:05 PM. Gabriel looked up at the clock and frowned.
“Hey, all you have to do is ask, you know.”
“Huh?”
“Get out of here. I’ll cover for you.”
“…Seriously? Jesus, Gabe, I—“
“Anderson, get the fuck out of here before I change my mind,” Gabe said with a small grin. Anderson grabbed his coat and quickly rattled off some last minute details for Gabriel.
“Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Tell the wifey hello from me,” Gabriel said, feeling amused at how flustered Anderson was. “Remember, you owe me!”

Gabe wasn’t sure if Anderson had heard him as he rushed out the door. He sighed and the small smile on his lips faded as he wearily opened up the next case file and trudged on. It was eight at night before Gabriel decided to give himself a break. He was also getting antsy sitting at the same spot for the last couple of hours. Thus, he packed up his things and the rest of the folders and headed out into the cool summer night. The precinct was conveniently surrounded by a bunch of small cafes, sandwich shops, and coffee shops that all the officers liked to spend their lunch hours. Gabriel randomly chose one of the shops that looked like it wasn’t going to be closing anytime soon. It was a small coffee shop that was homey and busy for the time of night. Gabriel sat down at a free table and took a moment to rub his eyes before organizing his work in neat piles around him. Maybe he’d get something to eat too.
 
"Here you go. One espresso from hell."

"Mm. With service like this, it's no wonder you're doing so well."

Brady didn't respond right away. He merely glanced around at the surprisingly busy coffee shop with a rather blank look on his face. It was actually kind of nice working the late shifts. It just meant he could avoid the lunchtime rush and all those eager Pace students who needed their caffeine fix after listening to professors drone on and on about much of nothing. The location was ideal for Lou but for someone who was ready to gnaw his own hand off from exhaustion, Brady almost resented it.

He glanced back at his 'customer'. It was a face he recognized well enough. Hell, he saw it every day. He lived with that face. A pair of soft brown eyes stared back at him with a hopeless longing that might have made him uncomfortable in the past. Sadly, he was used to it by now. Good ole Ben.

"What are you doin' here anyway. No hot date tonight?" He was leaning against the counter, his cane within arm's reach but the pressure on his ankle wasn't quite severe enough for him to make use of it.

Ben laughed a good-natured laugh and even Brady couldn't help but feel a slight tug to the corner of his mouth. That was one of the many things to admire about Benjamin Stein. His laughter was always genuine and contagious as all fuck.

"I don't always have a date. Even I have my off days, you know. Gotta take a break from being super."

Brady snorted and grabbed a rag, absently wiping down the already spotless counter. It gave him something to do. "Now if I only I could take a break from being me. That'd be giving everyone a break."

Ben frowned a bit and Brady knew why. For the second time in the span of a few moments, he felt a strong affection for his friend that almost saddened him. He had never thought it possible for someone to care for him as much as this kid did. For someone who had devoted his life to science, it was difficult to step out of that realm and accept Ben's love for what it was: love. There was no explanation and no answer. All he knew for certain was that Ben loved him and would probably go on loving him till he died. It was frustrating beyond all belief but truly tragic at the same time. To Ben's credit, he did go about his days to the best of his ability but that longing never lessened, never left him... Sometimes he'd read something so strong in his friend's eyes... Such fierce devotion, such a strong ache that it almost hurt to look at him.

He had spent several sleepless nights questioning it. Pondering. Theorizing and he always came up blank. The fact of the matter was, he wanted to end his friend's pain but he knew he couldn't. To give in would be the cruelest thing he could do. He couldn't love Ben. Not the way he wanted him to. It was simply the way things worked out. Sometimes the outcome was favourable but more often than not, life could kick you where it hurt most.

"Go on, get outta here," Brady urged, his gaze wandering past Ben to the newcomer. His eyes briefly widened in recognition before he turned back to his roommate, "Now they're following me."

Ben briefly glanced over his shoulder, taking note of the strapping man before giving Brady a sympathetic stare. "At least he's hot."

Brady dealt Ben an exasperated look.

Ben smiled that winning smile that had half of Pace in and out of his bed. "All right, I'll leave you to it. There's leftover lasagna so if you aren't totally beat when you get home, heat it up. Later."

Brady nodded and watched Ben leave before fixing his eyes on the detective. Thankfully, Brenda had just gotten off her break and wandered back inside and he motioned towards the detective. "Go please him before he locks us all up."

The petite brunette followed his gaze, her eyes sparkling with interest. "Consider it done you lazy ass."

Brady rubbed a hand over his face and watched Brenda disappear and reappear in the matter of moments. He wasn't all too surprised to see her wander over to the ole detective's table with an extra swerve in her step. He could read her like a book. He was certain she'd do that god-awful thing where she tucked a strand of hair behind her ears and sure enough...

Brenda favoured the detective with a slow smile, fingers playing along her brown hair. "What can I get you?"
 
Gabe looked up at Brenda’s approach, his hand instinctively covering up the opened vanilla folder that held some rather grisly photos.
“Hey,” he said with a tired smile. “Uh, I’ve actually never been here before so… you got any suggestions? I need something to give me a wake-up call and… do you guys serve anything to eat?”
As he asked this, Gabe glanced around, looking for any windows that might display something tasty or a black chalk board that announced the day’s special. He actually did a double-take when his blue-grey eyes looked over Brady. It was definitely him. He was just dressed up in a waiter’s apron which made the situation even more bizarre for Gabriel. He assumed that Brady would find a job like this… below him considering he seemed like a misanthrope. Gabe would have found it more likely to see Brady behind a podium, drilling the next young generation with information. Or maybe in a rock band.

The words of greeting were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Probably startled out of him.
“Hey… Brady,” Gabriel said, his eyebrow arching slightly while a corner of his mouth managed to lift up into a smile. He turned his attention back to Brenda. “Sorry, didn’t know Brady worked here. I actually met him today so… kind of weird. Anyway.” Gabriel offered a small apologetic smile at his rambling. “Any suggestions for me?”
 
"We sure do," she piped cheerily, deciding to be polite and not comment on his concealing the pictures, "I don't know if you're fond of calzones but they're wicked good here and I'm not just saying that. And I think coffee would wake you up. Unless you're in a latte mood. Or a cappucino. Either way, I'll make sure you get your money's worth." Okay, so she was flirting shamelessly but it had been a while since she dumped her douche of an ex. Gosh, he had the sweetest smile, she thought to herself. A girl could really fall hard.

When the man offered Brady a greeting, she had to suppress a sigh. It seemed as though everyone in the English speaking world knew her co-worker. Then again, more than half these people hated him too but this lovely specimen seated in front of her seemed to be among the select few who could stand him, if that smile was anything to go by...

"Oh, no need to explain. We all get like that when we meet Brady for the first time." She glanced over her shoulder, dealing the aforementioned blond a sweet little smile before turning back to the handsome detective.

Brady could have laughed at Brenda's urgent need to get laid if it wasn't for the detective being all friendly for no good reason. He didn't know what Newark's deal was. One second he was striking fear into the heart's of perps and the next he playing the part of a gentle giant. To him. A copper being 'nice' to him was unheard of. He managed a brief nod of greeting for the sake of being decent to a guy who looked like he could have used a laugh or two. He couldn't properly assess Newark without getting in his face and he was in no mood to fuck around. He was hot, he was tired and he wanted to crash.
 
Gabe couldn’t help but return the waitress’ vibrant smile and feel a bit embarrassed to be on the receiving end of such blatant flirting. It was cute, sure, but… a relationship was the last thing he was looking for at the moment. Gabe had to clean up his life first before even thinking about letting someone else into it. Anyway, he was sure that once the girl got to talking to him she would run screaming the other way: his drinking problem, his gruesome day-job, his crazy ex-girlfriend, and his family. Oh, and she seemed a bit too young for him.

“Tell you what. I think I’m gonna try one of your wickedly good calzones,” Gabe said with a small smile. “And the biggest cup of black coffee that you’re allowed to sell here. And… I think that’ll just about do me.”

He wasn’t sure if he would be getting much sleep tonight and, considering he was already pretty damn tired, Gabe was going to need all the legal drug help that he could get. He was almost done with Anderson’s late work but he hadn’t even touched the current case file with Arnold Young. Jesus. Why had he decided to be a nice guy? He should have just stuck with being a douchebag like usual.
 
"Gotcha. I'll be with you in a bit," Brenda chirped and made her way over to Brady. "Coffee. Black. And I'll handle the calzone."

Brady didn't reply and got to work like a man twice his age. After this order, he'd take his break. He could have used some tea and a place to plant his ass. It was a sad day when he was too tired to hobble outside for a smoke.

He handed Brenda the coffee in silence, knowing damn well she'd chew his hand off if he tried to serve Newark himself. He didn't know why she was trying. Even from where he was standing he could clearly see that the man wasn't interested. If Brady had to make an educated guess, he'd have assumed that Newark was single and not ready to mingle for whatever reason. Work, ex girlfriend, other issues. He just gave off that air and Brady knew first hand how that went.

While Brenda busied herself and hummed the most annoying tune known to man, Brady eyed the clock and waited patiently for the minute to tick away. "All right, break time. Mind gettin' me some tea after you're done eyefucking the customers?"

Brenda dealt him a sour look but nodded all the same. Coffee and calzone in hand, she walked over to the detective and made idle chitchat while Brady wandered into the back to punch out for his break. He removed the apron and set it aside before making his way to the closest deserted table that happened to be very close to where Newark was seated.

Brady didn't mean to pry but Brenda wasn't exactly the most discreet of individuals. He noticed a few customers giving her cool glances and struggled between doing the right thing and watching them wait. Either way, he'd be ruining someone's day. After several moments of comfortable silence, he leaned over and tugged at her apron.

She spun around and gave him an irritated look. "What?"

He motioned to the people she had yet to serve, watching her face fall as she quickly excused herself from the detective's side. Brady snickered to himself and reclined in his chair, sorely tempted to put his feet up but considering the effort it would take and the lecture he'd receive if Lou spotted him, he decided against it. Taking out his cellphone, he checked for texts, running his slender fingers through the rat's nest he called hair. Leaning his head back, he cracked his neck - the sound sickeningly loud.
 
“Thank you,” he said with a small smile, waiting for Brenda to walk away before removing his arm from the top of the vanilla folders. She seemed like a sweet enough girl. Gabe’s eyes didn’t quite leave her as they followed her steps to the counter where Brady was acting as sentry. His eyebrow lifted slightly with interest. It seemed the kid was in charge of brewing his coffee. Gabe vaguely wondered if he should watch out for any signs of spit. He turned his eyes back down the gruesome pictures and found himself smiling down at them rather inappropriately. Brady didn’t seem like the kind of guy to do that. Well, he hoped not. And if he did, then, well, here was to hoping he wasn’t sick or had some tropical disease…

“What took you so long, sweetheart?” he asked with a small smile. “Nah, I’m just kidding. Thank you so much. It all looks great.”
Gabe had expected Brenda to offer him another coy smile and turn and serve someone else. However, she lingered, talking about much of nothing and he felt a rather uncomfortable feeling rise in his chest. Shit, he shouldn’t have joked with her. Giving the wrong damn signals.

Gabe didn’t have to worry long though as the soft smile immediately melted from her face as she whipped her head around. He followed her stare in confusion and saw that Brady had taken a seat close to his table and was tugging at her apron. It was kind of amazing how quickly a woman’s demeanor could change. Gabe couldn’t help but feel a kind of Jillian-craziness coming off of Brenda. He offered up a small smile as she offered her apologizes and quickly walked away. Gabe felt relief at the fact that she was gone and turned to look at Brady to offer a kind of silent thank-you. However, he was already busy with his cell-phone. Gabe quickly covered up that missed chance by looking down at his vanilla folders in a studious manner.

It wasn’t long before the atrocity of the crimes described in 12-point font soon had his full attention again, making the rest of the world fall away around him. Fuck, he still had a long way to go. Gabe reached out and took his coffee cup and absently sipped down the hot beverage. A few years ago, he had thought all coffee was created equal and the drink generally just tasted like shit. Of course, this was before he had a cup of Maxwell House. Gabe seriously thought he was drinking some sort of poison. It was so fucking bitter he threw the whole can out after a few days. That’s what he got for trying to save a few bucks. Thankfully, the coffee house seemed to chosen a rather fancy brand because it was really smooth and… actually pretty good as coffee went.

A loud crack instinctively drew his eyes upwards, his blue-grey eyes finding Brady’s blonde hair.

“…Are you sure your neck is okay?” he asked after a moment of hesitation.
 
Brady was actually pretty surprised that Newark would try to speak to him at all. It only took a moment for him to study the man. All he saw in those frighteningly brilliant grey-blue eyes was a genuine concern as if really cared for the precious civilians of New York. He supposed that in itself was an admirable trait. One didn't really find too many guys like Newark, especially not in the NYPD. Every natural impulse in him was demanding that he reply the only way he knew how but Brady wasn't in the mood to snark off, especially if he didn't have a reason to.

"It's better than okay. It's fuckin' brilliant." He rubbed a hand over the discolouring on the pale flesh of his throat but other than some ugly bruises, he felt right as rain. Of course, excluding the fact that he was dead tired and could have used a good shoulder rub or twenty.

Dropping his hand, Brady nodded towards the detective's coffee. "I noticed you didn't grimace after the first swallow. I'll take that as a compliment. And about Brenda... You're welcome." The look that followed was inscrutable and Brady said no more. How he knew these things would be hard for anyone else to understand. Studying people was something people unconsciously did every day of their lives but for Brady, it had become a way of life. Hardly something he could turn on and off. It was a blessing and a curse and in Newark's case, a damn fine blessing. Lord only knew Brenda would be riding his ass every chance she got if it meant him agreeing to take her out. Persistent women, why couldn't he be as blessed?
 
Gabe arched his eyebrow slightly at Brady’s choice of words, smiling slightly when he could feel a few of the coffee patrons giving the blonde a few scandalized looks. The bruising was pretty prominent though. However, maybe it was because Brady was so pale it just looked worse than it was.
“Well, I’m glad Arnold’s bark is worse than his bite,” he said before glancing down at his ridiculously large coffee cup. “And yeah, noticed you were the coffee guy. It’s really good. Definitely better than what they have down at the station…”

When Brady turned the conversation to Brenda, he had expected some sort of explanation for her behavior. Gabe was not expecting a “you’re welcome.” Caught off guard – just like when he had offered Brady a handshake, he offered a small laugh, an uncertain smile on his lips. Well, Gabe assumed Brady had seen his previous attempt at a thank-you.

“Er, yeah, thanks,” he said just as he felt his cell-phone vibrate against his lap. “Hold on, sorry.” Gabe stood up instinctively to take his call outside. However, he remembered his case files and knew he couldn’t just leave them there. Gabe compromised by leaning against his table, putting as much distance as he could between him and other people. That was one of his pet peeves. It drove him crazy when people talked so loudly on their phones as if they thought everyone was interested in their conversation.

Illena Anderson.

Confusion was what he felt first. Why was Thomas’ wife calling him? Shouldn’t they be having a romantic dinner? Unless… Gabe’s mind, trained for so many years to think in various, twisted ways, immediately thought of the worst. Had Anderson not made it to the dinner? Had something happened?

“Illena, is everything alright?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line while the din of people in the background filled the silence.
“Of course, detective,” Illena replied, her voice heavy with her Russian accent. “Why would everything not be alright?” Gabe released a small breath of air.
“Sorry, just… anyway, aren’t you supposed to be having a romantic dinner with your husband right now?”
A throaty chuckled filled his earpiece.
“You detectives. You always assume the worst don’t you? And yes, we are in the middle of dinner but my husband is currently in the restroom. I wished to take this moment to thank you.” There was a pause. “He told me you took on his case work for us.”

“Ah, he did? Well, you should know I did that for purely selfish reasons,” Gabe said, a small smile lifting his lips. He always liked Illena. He had even had a thing for her back when she was the prettiest new linguist the police department had hired in the last ten years. She could speak seven different languages and was not afraid to use it when men harassed her and assumed she was just a pair of breasts. “I knew you’d probably end up killing him if he didn’t make it to dinner so… it’s less paperwork for me and I’d feel awkward putting you in handcuffs.”

He was rewarded with more laughter. “Cheeky, detective. I will remember this when Anderson mentions he owes you a favor. But, I digress. I am glad to know you are back, detective,” Illena said, her voice softening a bit. “Don’t stay up too late catching up with my husband’s work and… thank you, again.”
“It’s really no problem, Illena. I hope you guys have a great time and congratulations, I guess, if that’s what you say for anniversaries,” Gabe said, inadvertently touching his hair from his awkwardness even though Illena couldn’t see it.
“Goodnight, Gabriel.”
“Goodnight.”

Gabe slipped back into his seat as he tucked away his phone. “Sorry about that,” he said, glancing at Brady. “But yeah, thanks, for… that.” Gabe didn’t really know how to put what he was thanking Brady for when it came to Brenda and her advances so he just left it. “Are you off for the night?”
 
That was him. He had the magic touch. This wasn't true at all but Lou's always had decent tasting shit. He just happened to serve said good tasting shit. Brady didn't think much of Newark's gratitude and went back to half-reading, half-ignoring his text messages.

Brenda came by long enough to hand him his coffee and he patted her ass as a thank you of his own before taking a much needed sip of the herbal brew. If there were Gods, this would be their nectar. Brady wasn't entirely paying attention to Newark despite him trying to be very ninja secretive concerning his conversation. It was almost kind of cute.

Out of the corner of his eye, Brady noticed the manner in which the detective touched his hair. The movement seemed hesitant though common-place all the same. He could deduce that this was either a nervous habit or his way of inadvertently displaying his own awkwardness. Body language. People were open books.

Brady waved off the apology and took another sip of his tea. He shook his head in response to the detective's question. "If only I were so fortunate... And I see that you aren't either. Good luck tryna get any work done with nuisance number one over there." He motioned towards Brenda, not bothering to be discreet. "Not the sharpest crayon in the box but easy enough on the eyes. But I can tell you're not feelin' it. Be up front with her, I say. Otherwise she'll talk you right into her bed." Brady paused as if having an afterthought. "Not the worst thing that could happen to you."
 
Gabe smiled and laughed shortly.
“Yeah, this is true… Could probably think of fifty other worse things.”

Okay, so the kid wasn’t so bad. Yeah, maybe he had a weird sense of humor and his attitude rubbed him the wrong way earlier but Gabe seemed to have forgiven him for it. Maybe seeing him in a coffee-shop apron made him look more approachable. Like, for all the bluster, Brady was just another guy trying to make it in a world that enjoyed shitting on you.

“Anyway, I’ll let you get back to enjoying your break. Thanks for the decent cup of joe,” he said before reluctantly pulling his eyes back toward the pile of folders resting at his elbows. Gabe picked up the now-cool calzone and took a big bite. Brenda was right. The doughy thing was good as hell or he was just that fucking hungry.

The coffee was doing wonders for his attention-span and Gabe managed to truck on through the case files without being too distracted by what was happening around him. However, the caffeine kick wasn’t strong enough to keep him running like that forever. Gabe started to feel drowsy and it was getting harder to keep his head up. He eventually let his hand support his chin which was a bad idea because Gabe blinked once and was suddenly dreaming.

He was back with Jillian again and she was pregnant. However, she had to give birth at the precinct because she had a rare condition… and there was a secret hospital underneath the police station… Gabe even had an ID badge for the place… How had he never noticed this place before?...

He woke up with a jerk, the coffee shop lights feeling too bright for his eyes. Fuck, how long had he dozed off? Gabe stifled a yawn and glanced down at his watch. It was getting close to midnight. He looked around and saw there were only two other tables left in the whole place. If he remembered correctly, the shop closed down around one. Gabe rubbed his eyes and looked at his work blearily. No, it was time to call it a night. He was basically done anyway. He’d finish up the details in the morning. With a sigh of relief, Gabe began clearing up the files spread out around him.
 
Brady had resumed work as was expected of him but he couldn't help himself from glancing over at the sleeping detective with an amused look on his face. The very childish part of him wanted to walk over and wake him up abruptly but he figured if the guy spilled the coffee, he'd have to clean it and he was in no mood to add to his workload. And so, he let Newark sleep in plain sight of the world, wondering what he might have been dreaming of. Surely something better than this.

To his surprise, the guy was out for a considerable amount of time and by the time he finally came to, it was nearly midnight. One of his tables was clearing out and Brady decided to walk over and grab the empty cups. He passed the detective on his way, fixing him with a meaningful look. "Wakey wakey, detective. Brenda had to leave but the sight of you sleepin' just about lit her ovaries on fire. Nice going. I'm sure she's already planning your wedding."

This wasn't entirely true but Brenda was a bit obsessive and she had been ogling Newark as if he were fast asleep on her bed rather than in the cafe. She had even paused in that universal manner that he classified as the 'almost question'. Maybe if he hadn't busied himself with customers, she may very well have asked him to get a number off of Newark. Swell. Brady would have done it if she had asked which would undoubtedly creep the poor guy out. Anything to liven things up.

He gathered the cups with a practiced ease and limped back towards the counter. He was vaguely aware of Lou yelling out back to someone on the phone but payed it no mind. This was Lou in a good mood. In another hour or so, he could go home and make sweet lethargic love to his mattress and piss off for a few hours before Benny would inevitably come to wake him up.

He briefly waved to the departing customers and bent himself over the counter, dog-tags jingling slightly in the otherwise silent cafe. He wondered if he could pull a Newark and get away with taking a power nap.

Not likely.
 
Gabe looked up at Brady as he walked by and smiled apologetically.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pass out like that. Hope I didn’t scare away all the customers,” he said, registering the comment about Brenda at the last moment. Damn, he was still groggy. “And… let’s hope she’s not that creepy.”

Gabe watched Brady limp about the tables and clean up the messy surfaces. Wasn’t there someone else to do that? The poor kid looked like he just needed to sit down. With a small frown on his face, he carefully slid all of the vanilla folders in his briefcase and locked it up tightly. There would be hell to pay if any of this ever escaped him. Gabe yawned and stretched once more before patting down his chest to make sure he had his wallet and keys. He cleared up the mess on his table and collected his coffee cup – the contents of which had dried into a delicate brown ring – and the plate that had the remaining crumbs of his calzone.

“Here,” he said, setting the plates by Brady on the counter. “Figured I’d save you the trip considering you look like you just need a break.” There was the barest hint of a kind of teasing, boyish smile on Gabe’s tired face as he turned back to his table and picked up his things. He slung on his coat quickly and picked up his heavy briefcase.
“Anyway, sorry for being a creeper and falling asleep like that. Don’t tell management this but I hope no one else comes in so you guys can close early,” he said with a grin. “And, uh… here.”

Gabe pulled out a five dollar bill and awkwardly stuffed it into the tip jar.
“For the coffee,” he said simply. “And… thanks for your help this afternoon.”
Gabe had been sure they hadn’t needed it. Mr. Young was just one of those guys that cracked so easily. However, considering he couldn’t keep his fucking hands off an alcohol bottle, the captain saw it was necessary to stick Brady in rather than him. Which, after getting used to the idea, was… okay. If Gabe managed to take his pride out of the equation, it was just another lowlife that got what he deserved and Brady was part of the machine that helped make that happen.The kid needed kudos for that at least.

“Anyway, have a good night and I guess I’ll see you around.”

Gabe gave Brady a wave before turning and walking out of the café to his car for the long awaited reunion with his pillow.
 
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