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bosspigeon · 3 years

Text

a permanent solution to a temporary insanity

Pairing: Mason/m!Detective, with a side of Adam/Nate (implied)

Words: 5257

Summary: Unit Bravo discover the detective has... a lot more tattoos than they would have guessed. Felix is delighted. Mason is intrigued. Nate and Adam are just worried this is going to cause issues with Rebecca, somehow. Tina and Verda become chaotic disasters when they’ve had some alcohol in them.

Takes place at the beginning of Book 2. Title taken from a quote my granddad likes to use whenever he wants me to know he disapproves of my tattoos.

AO3 Link | Ko-Fi <3

"Get your foot off the table, you fucking barbarian!"

Mason can hear the voice of the detective's coworkers from across the bar, but even if he couldn't, Chase's scent is easy enough to track. The muted bite of coffee, the sharpness of pine tempered with clary sage. The cooled sweat of a long day, and, just barely perceptible, the intoxicating undercurrent of his blood.

Mason's awareness narrows down to that stimulus, and he weaves his way through the meager crowd. He is only vaguely cognizant of his unit following behind him, so focused on finding--

He hears a laugh, low and husky, a bit of a scuffle, and he finds the detective sitting at a table with the pathologist, Verda, and the Bobblehe-- Officer Poname.

Chase's back is to him, and he’s sitting in a chair at the end of a table squished into a corner. Verda and Poname are opposite him in a booth against the wall, laughing, while Poname tries in vain to wrestle Chase's scuffed combat boot off the edge of the table. The smell of alcohol is strong between the three of them, but that is not what makes Mason stop dead.

Chase's leather jacket is draped over the back of his chair, and underneath, what Mason always thought was a full turtleneck sweater is actually completely sleeveless. The detective's arms are bare, save for intricate swirls and clusters of ink, mostly black, but with some pops of color here and there. Some of it is flowers, some words, a few bones and animal skulls. Abstract shapes and lines, a few sharp little designs, from shoulder to knuckles on both arms-- and Mason suddenly realizes Chase always seemed to be wearing supple leather palm gloves that matched his jacket, or, when it was colder, cozy wool fingerless gloves so he could still use his phone without trouble. Not tonight, though. Tonight his hands are bare, his arms are bare, and the ribbed shirt he’s wearing is clinging to him and really showing off the stout strength of his torso.

Mason grunts as Felix runs into his back, and time seems to pick back up to normal speed while his companion loudly complains.

Chase's head turns upon hearing the familiar voice, and Mason gathers his wits and offers a smirk and a carefully relaxed wave, sauntering up alongside the man, who raises a glass full of some dark mixed drink to him.

"There’s nothing we can do until we’ve got more information about our case, so I'm off tomorrow-- ask Rebecca," he informs Adam, who is looking disapprovingly between the detective's lax, sprawled posture and the half-empty glass held loosely in one hand, "so I don't want to hear you bitching about what I'm doing."

Adam's mouth pinches, Nate chuckles and tries to stifle it, and Mason coughs out a ragged laugh. But all that is lost to Felix shoving his way bodily around Mason to grab Chase's wrist (thankfully the one without the drink) and shout, "You've got so many tattoos!"

Chase gives Felix a lazy once-over, his brow quirked. "Yeah? And?" He looks a little bemused, as if he can’t quite figure out how this came as such as a surprise to any of them, much less a busybody like Felix. He obviously can’t say it in front of his coworkers, but Mason remembers Chase’s time with Murphy. The hospital gown and the needles and bandages. But even though they could all see in the dark just fine, there was a bit too much going on to really notice more than some smudges of dark ink on his neck and arms.

He thinks their minds might be going to the same place, for a moment, because Chase’s mouth twists from a lazy smile to a grim frown, dark, serious brows scrunching. It’s a slight gesture, barely noticeable, but he jerks his head once, as if to shake off the memories.

They’re both, thankfully, distracted by Felix whirling around to point accusingly at Mason. "Did you know he had this many?"

"If I did, would I tell you?" he sneers. Felix pouts mightily, but then pauses, and smiles. A slow, creeping smile, his eyes narrowed smugly.

"If you did know, you'd have been telling everyone you saw what the detective's got under his clothes any chance you got," he taunts. "So you must not have!"

Nate can't quite stifle his laugh this time, and Mason shoots him a dirty look.

Chase chuckles, low and smoky, and brings the glass to his lips again. “Yeah, I’ve got a lot of tattoos. Almost more than bare skin by this point, I think?” He looks to Verda and Poname as if to confirm, though with an odd little smirk that makes Poname giggle helplessly and Verda roll his eyes.

“Verda would know best,” Poname teases. “How much of Chase have you seen?”

“Enough to know that, yes, the un-inked real estate is scant at best.” He takes a demure sip of his drink while Poname cackles.

“My boss fucking hates it,” Chase snorts into his glass, gesturing vaguely with the free hand he’s rescued from Felix for Unit Bravo to sit. He finally removes his boot from the edge of the table (which makes Poname throw her hands in the air) and uses it to push the chair next to him out, dark eyes flickering up to meet Mason’s for a fraction of a second, stoking a low sort of heat in his belly. He takes the offered seat before Felix can (to some very vocal complaining) and lounges back, angling the chair so he’s able to watch the detective without making it too obvious.

Nate slides into the booth next to Poname, who immediately turns her gaze almost reverently to him, and Adam sits stiffly alongside him, giving the both of them an unreadable look. Felix posts up alongside Verda, smiling with annoying cheerfulness across the table at Chase and Mason.

“If your boss hates them so much, how’d you get the job?” he chirps, still marvelling at all the inked skin on shameless display. It makes Mason feel a bit twitchy, and he swallows down the urge to bare his teeth at his teammate with two very ignorant human witnesses in front of him. He distracts himself by subtly eyeing a splash of color on Chase’s solid shoulder in the form of a wrought-iron lantern with a single guttering candle inside, wreathed in wilted and dying flowers that trails shed petals and leaves down his bicep to mingle with other patterns.

“Mum’s got connections,” Chase drawls, swirling his glass and impressively feigning nonchalance. The ice cubes inside clink softly. “As you all know.”

The quiet that follows is damning, and Chase breaks it by tossing back another gulp of his drink. This close, with his senses full of the detective’s overwhelming… everything, Mason can tell it’s rum and Coke-- rather heavy on the rum.

Nate is the first to speak, offering a politely neutral, “You told us you were given a choice between the police academy or prison.” His tone lacks any judgement, but his brows are furrowed just a bit. Beside him, Adam’s expression is carefully blank. Good for both of them, because even clearly, comfortably tipsy and oddly candid, Chase’s gaze is sharp and analytical, his shoulders just this side of too tight.

“Yeah, well,” he goes on, staring past Nate more than at him, “Rebecca’s influence goes a long way, I learned. So after I graduated from uni-- top of my fuckin’ class, thank you-- I went off on a bit of a wild tear, you know, acquiring cars under mysterious circumstances,” Poname sputters into her drink and laughs, and Chase just gives her a dry look before she regains herself enough for him to continue, “and selling them for scrap, I miraculously didn’t wind up going to straight to prison, thanks to Rebecca pulling some strings and dragging me back here by my ear.” His lip curls faintly, and there’s a flash of something in his expression that seems to drop the temperature in the bar by a few degrees. Felix meets Mason’s eye and visibly shudders.

“That doesn’t really explain the tattoos,” Mason says, offering an easy segue to something… else.

“Sort of does,” Chase says with a shrug, eyes heavy-lidded. “I had a pretty wild childhood up to that point. Got my first stick-and-poke when I was, what? Thirteen? I think the kid who gave it to me is working at the bank now.” He snorts. “My point is, it was the one thing about my life I ever got to control. I had to be perfect, but so long as I did well in my academic pursuits and set myself on exactly the path my mother wanted for me, in my free time I could do whatever the fuck I wanted.” He rolls his shoulders again and knocks back the last of his drink, setting the glass down just a little too hard on the sticky tabletop.

“I drank, I partied, I fucked around. What else do you do when you’re a kid with no parental influence in your life save for a picture on the mantel of an empty house? You go off the fucking wall is what you fuckin’ do. Anything for even a shred of attention. And I still managed to graduate with honors, right? First in my class in secondary school, and in uni. Didn’t matter, did it?” His face goes hard, brows furrowing. “She didn’t bother to congratulate me in person. I got a card on her office stationery that I doubt she even wrote herself. My graduation from uni she didn’t even respond to the invite I sent, but I still stupidly hoped she’d show. She didn’t care until I snapped and she actually had to step in. Take a break from her job and come collect her errant brat.” He scoffs, and it sounds like a gunshot in the sudden silence that follows.

Nate looks like he wants to say something, mouth opening, but Adam touches his wrist and it snaps closed. Even Felix is stunned silent. Verda and Poname just exchange twin looks of familiar distress, but before anyone can say anything, Chase stands up so suddenly his chair shrieks across the floor. Mason, Nate, Adam, and Felix all wince at the sound.

“I’m going to get another drink,” the detective mutters, stalking off into the crowd. Mason looks over his companions, eyebrows raised, decides he doesn’t owe anyone an explanation, and gets up to follow.

Chase is leaning against the bar, asking the bartender for “something stronger than a rum and Coke, holy fuck,” and doesn’t even look up when Mason moves to stand beside him.

“I get moody when I get drunk,” he says by way of greeting.

“So you’re always drunk, then?" Mason drawls. "Not very professional of you, Detective."

Chase snorts and turns to look at him, but he doesn’t say anything-- just closes his eyes and rubs his hand over the rough fuzz of his shaved head. Mason’s gaze is drawn to his hand, and he spots a ouija planchette inked into one knuckle, a pentacle on the next, then an eye, and a crescent moon. They look old, faded and a bit blown out. When Chase opens his eyes again, the bartender has given him another drink, and from the smell, it’s a highball with a hefty pour of whiskey. He takes his first sip almost gratefully.

“Those the stick-and-pokes you mentioned?” Mason asks.

Chase holds up his hand. “Hm? Oh, yeah, a couple of ‘em. Not the first ones.” He turns his hand palm-up, and gestures with the glass. “There on the wrist.” Along the inside of his forearm is an intricate dagger with thorns twisted along the blade, but a few centimeters below the point, there is a tiny, blurry skull with a black forked tongue. “Toby Doherty, year 8. We put together a tattoo gun in his dad’s garage by pulling apart his little brother’s RC car. Think we got into more trouble for that than the tattoo.” He huffs out a rough little laugh. “I just think his mum was too nervous to actually shout at me, but I was never allowed back to their house afterwards because I was a bad influence.”

Mason reaches out and takes his hand, pulling it a bit closer so he can study the skull more closely. That’s what he tells himself, anyway, though he doesn’t think he’s fooled, and he doesn’t think the detective would be either. Especially when he rubs his thumb over the raised lines. He can feel Chase’s pulse through his thin skin, blood pumping hot and steady. This close, his pine-and-sage scent is stronger, and it fills Mason’s chest. "It's cute," he says, little more than a breath between them. He leans in, pulls the detective's wrist close to his mouth. He can feel the heat of his skin, almost taste the warmth just beneath, and Chase's breath is soft and quick and deafening in his ears.

“Chase!”

He drops the hand as if burned, and looks away from the detective before he can see how he reacts. Poname is toddling up to them, swaying a bit, and she wiggles her way between them to toss her arms around Chase's middle. He raises his highball in the air to keep her from spilling it, and she giggles.

"Chase, come back, you've got to show them!"

He groans. "Show them what?"

She only giggles louder and starts pulling him back towards the group, using the much steadier detective as a bit of a crutch to keep from stumbling through the milling crowd. When they arrive back at the table, things aren't really more comfortable than when they'd left, but they're not less so either, which Mason supposes is more than they could ask for. He takes up his seat again, but when Chase moves to do the same, Poname keeps hold of his arm.

"Wait, wait, you should be standing up for this," she giggles. Verda doesn't say anything, but he does snicker quietly into his tall glass of something that smells cloyingly of fruit syrup and sweetened vodka.

"Tina, what are you on about?" he sighs indulgently.

"You have to show them King Kitty!"

Mason’s interest is immediately piqued. Felix’s is too, clearly. He sits bolt upright and leans forward with that bright-eyed little imp grin he likes to give his teammates whenever he’s teasing them about… well, anything, really. “King Kitty?” he asks with eyes sparkling.

Chase groans, sets his drink on the table, and pushes Poname away, sending her stumbling into the table while she laughs brightly. “Don’t call it that, Tina. Christ.”

“You have to show them! He’s so good!” she insists, swaying towards him again. He dodges, and damn near skitters around the table to press into Verda’s space, which would have given Poname the means to corner him if she could figure out how to move around Chase’s abandoned chair as well as Mason (side-eyeing her cautiously) without getting tangled or falling over entirely. Verda continues to laugh at their antics, pushing Chase’s hip as it crowds into his space and threatens to make him spill his drink.

“Come on, now, what could it hurt?” he chides playfully, slipping his finger into the belt loop of the detective’s cargo pants and tugging playfully.

“Hey!” Chase barks, shifting away. All that manages to accomplish is tugging down his waistband the slightest bit, exposing the edge of his black underwear and a thin sliver of skin-- inked with designs Mason can’t properly parse, though he can’t help but lean forward a bit for a closer look. “I’ll have both of your asses for harassment, don’t test me!”

“Chase, our precinct is tiny,” Verda hiccups, finally making the decision (though it clearly pains him) to set his drink aside, since it seems Chase is perfectly willing to clamber over him to escape Poname’s grabbing hands, “I’m the HR department. You haven’t got a case here.”

“Show theeeeem,” Poname whines, putting one hand on Mason’s shoulder to steady herself. A low growl rumbles in his chest, but one sharp look from Nate (who is trying very hard not to smile at the scene, while Felix is outright giggling, and Adam simply looks confused and uncomfortable) quiets him. She smells strongly like some sort of bubblegum perfume that tickles the back of his tongue and leaves it feeling itchy and thick.

“I still have to work with them,” Chase protests, but his resolve is visibly wavering, especially with the lack of options to escape.

“We won’t tell anyone!” Felix blurts, leaning across the table. “Promise!”

Mason doesn’t chime in, but it’s a near thing. The last few weeks he’s tested the limits of both Adam and Nate’s patience with his innuendos about the detective, and he even thinks Agent Kingston might be one lewd joke from stabbing him with a fountain pen.

But Chase is weakening, he can tell. Mostly because he can’t seem to figure out how to climb over Verda, and Poname’s hands have found his belt. “Fine! Fuck, fine, you menace!” he exclaims, pushing her off with a surprising amount of gentleness, considering his tone. “Just get off me!”

Poname backs off obediently, but she’s still giggling up a storm, flushed with the effort, her hair a bit mussed. Verda looks entirely unbothered, and he takes up his drink again with a smug smile. Chase returns to his chair but doesn’t sit, and Poname returns to cozying up to Nate and being entirely oblivious to Adam trying very hard not to look annoyed.

Chase takes a deep, bolstering breath, snatches up his drink, and downs about half in one swig. “You’ve all got to swear you won’t breathe a word to Rebecca about this,” he says with grave, if faintly slurred, severity.

“Oh, absolutely,” Mason agrees, quickly enough that Felix shoots him another infuriating smirk.

“Scout’s honor!” Felix blurts, nearly bouncing in his seat.

Nate smiles and nods, looking for all the world like he’s simply indulging the shenanigans, but he’s clearly curious himself. Chase isn’t terribly secretive about most things-- he’s actually pretty fucking blunt-- so this has to be… interesting, for him to put up such a fight. Adam looks like he’s bolstering himself to look away as quickly as possible so he can have some plausible deniability should Agent Kingston find out regardless.

Chase’s hands go to his belt, and Mason’s stomach clenches, heat rushing under his skin. The detective unbuckles with practiced ease, flicks the snap open, and tugs the edge of his cargo trousers and briefs (are they briefs? Mason would certainly like to find out) down just a bit. His other hand goes to his fitted shirt, tugging it up.

The hair beneath his navel is thick and dark, and the trail leading down into his trousers is very, very inviting, but Mason’s attention is drawn inexorably to the design inked into the soft, brown skin. He supposes he should have expected the name “King Kitty” to give it away, but he couldn’t have predicted what he was in for.

It’s a snarling black cat, cartoonishly stylized, wearing a jauntily cocked royal crown. Underneath, spanning from hipbone to hipbone, are the words “BOW DOWN” written in bold, jagged script.

“Everyone, meet King Kitty,” Poname proclaims with a sloppy, grand gesture to Chase’s pelvis.

“Yeah, yeah, are you happy now?” Chase groans, hiking his waistband back up and buckling his belt. He tugs his shirt down and flops into the chair, taking another slog of his drink. It’s almost gone already, and he’s sure to be feeling it soon.

“Absolutely tickled,” Verda says primly.

“Oh, completely,” Poname chimes in.

“Wouldn’t mind seeing him again,” Mason rumbles, and Chase’s eyes flick to him for a split second, dark and sparking, brows quirked. Nate sighs audibly.

“Well, are you going to tell the story too?” Verda presses. “Share with the class?”

Chase drops into his chair and kicks his feet up again, and Poname makes a vague sound of protest. This time, at least, a sharp glare shuts her up. “Might as fuckin’ well, right?” he snorts. “So, I had this ex in college--”

Both Verda and Poname make strange noises, and when Mason spares them a glance (still a bit caught up in eyeballing the detective’s lounging about like a lazy cat-- which is oddly appropriate, all things considered) they are both looking somewhere between annoyed and downright angry. Chase actually looks… guilty, for a split second, before he waves it away and continues.

“Anyway. He wasn’t, uh… Very good in bed. But I loved him or some nonsense,” he scoffs and gestures vaguely with his glass, “so I put up with it. Because I couldn’t tell him he hadn’t gotten me off to his face, right? He was a sex god, according to him, always hit the marks,” he takes a sip and snorts a bit into his drink. Verda barks out a sharp, sudden laugh that seems to startle even him.

“He did not say that! Chase, please tell me he didn’t say that to you!” he squeaks out between ragged, uncontrollable laughter.

Poname is collapsing against Nate’s side, consumed by a fit of wheezing giggles.

Chase rubs a hand down his face and huffs out a laugh of his own. “He fucking did and I have to live with the fact that I continued to sleep with him after that, every day for the rest of my life. Point is, after a lot of general university stress, I got tired of faking orgasms to save his ego, and I finally told him he hadn’t gotten me off once since we’d started dating. Crushed him, of course, and we did break up for a bit because of it. And in the interim, I thought it’d be a good idea, to, ah, ensure that the next one wouldn’t be so… lost. I had a bit of liquid courage, lied admirably to my favorite tattoo artist when she asked if I was sober, and King Kitty was born. Then when I inevitably made the bad decision to get back with my ex, the next time we tumbled into bed, I just pointed at the instructions and told him to get to work.”

He finishes off his drink, puts his foot back on the ground with a heavy clunk, and leans his elbows on the table. “Turns out, he worked best when I was a bit mean to him. Apparently it’s a thing he wasn’t aware of. Go figure.”

“Christ, no wonder he only bothers you more when you’re a prick to him,” Verda scoffs with a hearty roll of his eyes. “You’ve trained it into him!”

"That is… quite the tale," Nate offers magnanimously, eyebrows threatening to make a break for his hairline. He looks to Adam, who is looking away and trying very hard to pretend he wasn't listening at all. Mason gets the idea he knows well enough that if he opens his mouth, what comes out is likely to piss off their dear detective.

Felix about falls over cackling, which is a fine distraction for Mason to lean in close, snagging Chase's attention and murmuring, "Wouldn't mind you bossing me around a bit," with a sly little smirk.

The look Chase gives him is dry as a fucking desert, but his eyes are crinkled at the corners. "You have proved on multiple occasions that you absolutely do mind," he fires back.

And that's what delights him about the detective, he thinks. He's sharp-tongued, and he doesn't try to dull it. Prickly, but clever, unafraid to say what's on his mind. And he's never once rebuffed Mason's advances outright, just… Spiked them back with sly smirks and raised eyebrows. Challenging, a sort of unspoken, "Oh, so you think you can handle me?"

Mason would very, very much like to handle him.

"Well, I think I'd be a lot more willing to follow orders if less clothes were involved," he slyly remarks, and Chase's dark eyes brighten just a bit.

“You have to earn that privilege, pretty boy," he murmurs, lips curling on one side.

Mason is a breath away from leaning closer, when Verda's phone goes off and he stands up, startled, and bumps the table. Mason has to snap one hand out to grab Chase's empty glass before it goes careening to the floor. Poname looks a bit astounded by his (far too fast) reflexes, but she's also more than a bit foggy with liquor and likely to forget quickly.

"Shit, sorry," Verda offers sluggishly, blinking a bit behind his smart browline spectacles. "That's Eric," he explains, grabbing his coat. He's steadier than Poname, but not by much, and he leans heavily on Chase's chair when he bends to press a kiss to his bristly scalp. "Come on, you reprobate. Time to get you home." Chase grumbles and halfheartedly swats at him, a bit of red creeping up to his ears from beneath his high collar. “You too, Tina!” Verda calls, “Leave the poor man alone, would you?"

Poname, who was beginning to list against a somewhat bemused Nate's shoulder, sits bolt upright and blinks, then pouts a bit. "Hm? Oh… okay." She pushes unsteadily to her feet, helped in no small part by a few gentle nudges from Nate, and she turns to give him a giggle and a wiggly-fingered wave before Verda’s put-upon sigh spurs her to totter towards him. Adam watches her go, making a face he likely thinks is impassive, but Mason knows well enough the tense pucker between his eyebrows and the grim tightness around his mouth.

“Remember what I said,” Chase offers, heaving to his feet with a low groan that immediately drags Mason’s attention from Adam’s silent simmering, grabbing his jacket from the chair and slinging it over his shoulders. “Not a word to Rebecca about any of this.” He gives Adam a long look in particular. “My options are limited in terms of retaliation, but I can be pretty damned creative. Don’t test me.” His eyes flicker almost instinctively to Mason, and his lips twitch, but he says nothing more before he swaggers with surprising steadiness after his coworkers.

“Bye, Detective!” Felix hollers, waving enthusiastically. Mason winces, but comforts himself with staring unabashedly at the detective’s retreating backside. The second he’s out the door, Felix rounds on Adam with a bright laugh. “Look at you! You managed to be in the same room as the Detective and you didn’t get into a fight!”

“Because he kept his mouth shut the entire time,” Mason snickers. “Looked like it was killing you not to talk shit.”

“I don’t talk shit,” Adam snaps, and Nate helpfully slides out of the booth so he can escape as well. “I just point out when the Detective is being…”

Mason raises his eyebrows, waiting for him to come up with a word that’s not an insult.

“Difficult,” is what Adam settles on, giving Nate a sidelong look.

“Oh, yeah, you wouldn’t know anything about being difficult,” Felix chimes in helpfully. Adam scowls at him and adjusts his jacket. Nate is clearly trying not to laugh and make Adam even more annoyed.

“You’re the one who felt the need to hassle the detective on his off time,” Mason hums not-so-helpfully. “Can’t blame him for being annoyed.”

“And you can’t say anything either,” Felix chirps, “Since you just went right along with it.” He’s grinning, wide and wicked, and he sways into Mason's space and gets shoved for his trouble. He totters dramatically for a second, then pops back up and snickers. "You're not as smooth as you think," he taunts. "I saw your eyes almost pop out of your skull when you saw those tattoos!"

Mason shoves him again, and Nate chuckles. "There were a lot more than I would have guessed."

"And I bet there's a lot more where we couldn't see," Felix adds, sticking his tongue between his teeth and waggling his eyebrows. Mason glances around the bar, the crowd having thinned in the last half hour or so, and decides he can get away with putting the little brat in a headlock.

Nate sighs at them. Adam rolls his eyes skyward, but they let Felix flail and squawk for a bit before Adam barks out, “Enough!” and Mason obediently releases him so he can tug his fancy scarf forcefully back into place and adjust his beanie. “Let’s just go.”

“This was nice, wasn’t it?” Nate offers with a bit of genuine cheer as they file out the door and leave the bar behind. “Getting out? Talking to people?” He nudges Adam when he doesn’t respond, and gets a faint grunt for his trouble. “Seeing the sights?”

Mason lights up the second they’re outside, inhales, and exhales a long plume of smoke, and smirks a bit around the filter. “I enjoyed the sights, at least.”

“I had fun!” Felix chirps, having already moved on from Mason’s rough treatment. “We should spend more time with the detective outside work stuff. He’s cool when he’s not all--” He makes a face, stiff and frowning with a crinkled brow, that looks pretty damned similar to the face he makes when he’s mocking their illustrious leader. Mason almost bites down on the filter of his cigarette to stifle a laugh.

“It was nice to see him unwind a bit,” Nate chuckles. “His friends seem… fun,” his mouth quirks a bit, somewhat uncomfortably, “Friendly.”

Adam makes a disgruntled noise. “Too friendly,” he mutters. Mason is about to lose the fight with himself and start snickering.

Ah, hell, he can’t resist. “I dunno, I think Natey might have a chance with the Bobblehead.” The look Adam gives him could kill a lesser man, but he just gives a lopsided grin in return. Felix, however, loses it to the point he almost falls over in the street.

Nate, ever the diplomat, just chuckles a bit and says, “Officer Poname is lovely, but she’s a bit… young for me, I think.”

Yeah, about eight-hundred-something years too young, Mason thinks, rolling his eyes. But, unlike Felix, he’s made it a point not to get involved in the love lives of people he’s got to work with. He’s already got his hands full trying to figure out the detective. Though, he supposes, he’s got to work with the detective, too. On a more permanent basis, now, it seems. But Chase is a lot of things-- stubborn, headstrong, blunt and honest-- but he’s not the type to let a bit of fun get in the way of his job, and neither is Mason. The second they stop dancing around each other, Mason will lay it out plain for him, and if he’s not on board with a bit of fun between co-workers, then that’s it. No problems.

He takes another puff of his smoke and lets the others get ahead of him, Felix still chattering happily and Nate fielding it with his usual calm enthusiasm while Adam manages to both sulk and stalk admirably alongside them both. Their voices fade into the background, and he allows himself a private little smirk, thinking about those fierce dark eyes, that stout, compactly muscled body with its bold ink, and privately wonders how much more is hidden under the detective’s clothes, and the best way to see them all.

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angstmongertina · 4 years

Note

Also! "he looks like he will keep you safe," Verda talking to Elodie? :D

Tea, you know how to pick the ones that destroy me, no? THANK YOU.

In which I will KEEP making references to “tu omnia” because of Who I Am As A Person.

AO3 Link

She is not entirely surprised to find Verda still in the office when she makes her way towards the exit; despite the family he has, his impeccable work ethics means it is often a toss-up on whether he or she will leave the office later, particularly in recent months, with the uptick in the apparently inexplicable, supernatural occurrences.

She is, however, taken aback to find that he is not alone, lounging beside a taller figure in the cool twilight of another spring night. A smile curves her mouth on instinct as she steps forward, a greeting on her lips, but her words die in her throat when the individual pulls into focus and it isn’t Verda’s broad-shouldered husband at all. Except…

Except that can’t be right, because the man standing beside him appears to be Commanding Agent Adam du Mortain.

She shakes her head. Either her eyes are deceiving her or she is beginning to hallucinate, neither of which being wholly unlikely scenarios considering the amount of time she has spent staring at paperwork and generally shut up in her office in the past days. Or, she supposes, something has happened that requires her immediate attention, right after things have finally returned to the closest thing to normal that is possible for Wayhaven at this point.

None of the options are particularly comforting and she hesitates, checking her step and contemplating the wisdom of putting off the confrontation until much, much later.

Any plans she might have to that effect are ruined before she can even fully make up her mind, however; no doubt sensing her approach, Adam turns to face her and, even across the distance, she can feel the full force of that cool green gaze on her, drawing her toward them without conscious thought.

A hand on her shoulder shakes her out of her reverie and she blinks to find Verda standing beside her, his face neutral. Or, at least, it would be if not for the sparkle of amusement in his dark eyes.

“Are you with me now?”

“Sorry.” She looks away, though not daring to glance back outside, where she can still feel the heavy gaze on her. “I was just…”

“Distracted.” There is definitely a faint smirk playing in the corners of his mouth now and she presses her lips together in a no doubt futile attempt to stay impassive. “Not that I can blame you. The agent is very… intense.”

“That’s one word for it.” She sighs, casting her eyes about before settling on the clock. “Still, it’s getting late. What are you doing here?”

It is hardly a subtle attempt to change the subject and she knows it just as well as he does; Verda chuckles, the quiet sound echoing through the station, and she pointedly doesn’t notice the way the figure outside turns ever so slightly in their direction.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I was finishing up paperwork. I swear, they’re multiplying. As soon as I finish something, two more appear.”

“I’m sure it has nothing to do with your absences, of course,” he replies easily, though the evenness of his tone is belied by the mischief in his gaze. “Then again, if I were the one picking between red tape and spending time with the rest of that team of yours… Well, I can’t say I don’t understand why you fell behind.”

When she makes a face, he laughs again, and she can’t resist the urge to roll her eyes. “So why are you here? I can’t imagine Eric or the kids are too happy about you staying in so late.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You’re not wrong there. But between my conference and trying to find a cure for whatever all of those people were inflicted with, I would be lying if I said I hadn’t fallen behind as well.”

“Verda…” She bites her lip to stave off the words she’s not allowed to say, her heart pounding in her chest so loudly that it’s a small miracle he doesn’t hear it. Adam, she notices from the corner of her eye, does seem to, if his sudden stiffening is any indication.

The smile the man before her offers is small, but genuine. “No harm done. What’s important is that everyone is safe. But it does mean I have to make up some of the actual work I should have been doing, just like you. I was just about to head out when Agent du Mortain showed up.” Verda leans his weight onto his heels, his hands shoved into his pockets in a show of casualness. “Not a very talkative man, is he?”

In spite her best efforts to remain impassive, she nearly chokes. Instead, she takes a deep, steadying breath and prays that that her voice betrays none of her surprise. “Ad— Agent du Mortain, talkative? Not so much, no.”

Judging from the mirth that flashes across his face, she is not as convincing as she might have hoped, but thankfully, he chooses not to comment, instead giving her a small, meaningful glance. “He also isn’t the type to put words to what he feels, is he? So perhaps that might be expected.”

She does not need to look outside to see the way the man in question tenses at her friend’s words, every muscle coiled and tight, and her smile in response is a little stiff, a non-answer if there ever was one, but one that has Verda’s eyes softening.

“Just as long as you’re aware.”

She draws a breath, opening her mouth to reply, but instead memories replace the man before her. Memories of tired green eyes, a gentle touch, and a quiet murmur…

Tu… omnia…

“Elodie?”

She blinks as concerned eyes, brown and not green, swim back into focus and a warm hand presses onto her shoulder. “You still with me?”

“Yeah.” Shaking her head in a sharp motion, she clears her throat and meets his gaze. “Yeah, sorry. I… got distracted.” She forces her lips into a smile. “Again.”

Verda offers her a smile with a hint of mischief woven through the worry. “As long as you’re all right. I don’t want to have to go explaining that you collapsed from just a conversation. I didn’t think that would be enough to knock you off your feet there. Though…” He pauses, shooting her a teasing look. “I suppose that answered my question more than anything else. Wouldn’t you say?”

With an effort, she grins, forcing a laugh through the suddenly thick tension. “Didn’t take you for a matchmaker.”

He shrugs, his expression considerably lighter. “When it comes to you, at least. You’ve more than earned it.”

At the sincerity in his voice, she can’t help the smile that creeps across her face. “Thanks, Verda.”

His hand squeezes once, a gentle and affectionate gesture, and he nods at her before turning back towards the parking lot and the approaching vehicle with a smile. “Well, I think that’s my ride. You’ll be all right getting home from here.”

It’s a statement, not a question, and she raises a questioning eyebrow only to receive a chuckle and a simple answer: “He looks like he will keep you safe.”

There is no need to explain who he is.

She opens her mouth to reply, but before she can, Verda gives her a cheerful grin and a clap on the shoulder. “Remember what I said. Have a good evening, Agent du Mortain.”

In spite of the warning, she starts when Adam suddenly appears beside her, arms crossed over his chest,, a dark shadow in his usual grey coat. He tilts his head at her, something almost… gentle in his expression, except it must be a figment of her overactive imagination, it must be, because…

His eyes meet hers, cool and unfathomable in the dim light from the street lamps, and she almost flinches away at the intensity in his gaze. Drawing a ragged breath into her suddenly tight chest, she forces a smile.

“On patrol again?”

A broad shoulder rises in a shrug. “It is late.”

“That it is. A consequence of my spending so much time at the Warehouse, I suppose.” She rolls her own shoulders with a sigh. “At least it’s been quiet since the carnival.”

She is not expecting a response and she knows this. Still, the silence hangs, thick and cloying between them, until she glances up to find him frowning towards the empty parking lot.

“I walked this morning. Didn’t think I’d have to stay so late, but I guess that’s my fault.”

His response is more of a grunt than anything else, and it is her turn to frown. “What is it?”

“You were planning on walking back alone?”

His voice is low, a hint of what she would call worry for anyone else lurking in the smooth tone, and an eyebrow raises in spite of her best efforts to remain impassive. “Well… If there was nobody else here, then yes. I have been doing it for months without any problems.” She glances up to find his lips pressed into a thin line, though he says nothing further, and offers him a small smile. “I can’t say I mind the company though.”

His gaze seems to dart towards her, something flickering through too quickly for her to recognize, and she finds herself looking away, the statement hanging between them as she makes her way down the familiar streets towards her building, he a silent shadow keeping pace at her side.

It is not until she is standing outside the door that he speaks, his voice so low that she almost misses it entirely. “Nor do I.”

“Hmm?”

For a heartbeat, he stares at her, something warm and hesitant in his eyes, and then he pulls away, hands settling into what she guesses is a parade rest behind his back, and she forces a smile as she steps into the building. “Good night, then. Thank you.”

“Sleep well.” As the door slams closed behind her, she wonders if she imagines his quiet voice in its wake: “And… always.”

#teaandinanity #the wayhaven chronicles #Adam du Mortain #Adam du Mortain/MC #Angst du Mortain #Soloman Verda #Tina writes stuff.#Tina plays TWC.#commanding agent of my heart #otp: tu omnia

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