sameoldsong | OPEN TO ALL (ALL RATINGS)

[There's an instant of panic when Sean manages to dodge out of his grip, and the tunnel-vision that comes from it makes everything feel a little bit slower. He swings around the corner Sean disappeared at and only just manages to hurdle over the can as it rolls into his way.

He doesn't have much of a vertical leap, but it's more than enough for him to catch Sean on his way up the fire escape. He'd be impressed if Sean could haul both their weight up the ladder with just his hands, but he really doubts it, especially with momentum on his side. He swings with his arms wrapped around Sean's ankles, fingers twisted into his pantlegs to keep him from being shaken, or kicked, back off.]

You're only tacking more time onto your sentence, Sean. Get down and come quietly or I will have to put resisting on your record.

[He's panting, out of breath from the dead sprint he'd had to maintain long enough to get to this point.]

[The moment he feels Connor grab his ankle, it takes every ounce of strength and quick reaction time to keep his grip on the ladder and not dump himself down on the pavement. He can't do it for long though, Sean might be able to haul Connor up under good circumstances but he sure can't haul dead weight that's fighting him. He threatens to put resisting on record and Sean feels his stomach all twist up.

He's a fucking idiot. He's such an idiot. He slept with a cop and texted him and let himself get a little sweet on him, and look what it's got him: fucking threats of being arrested. Idiot! Stupid, stupid idiot!]

Sorry! Sorry sorry!

[The reason for the apology becomes clear as Sean starts to swing his legs, making it hard for Connor to hold on. Sean wraps his arms tight around the ladder, holding on for dear life as he swings Connor to make him lose his grip. Sean's shoes are already slipping from the pressure Connor's hands are putting on his shoes, and while losing his shoes in this place is a bad, bad idea, Sean would rather escape barefoot and bleeding then end up arrested and deported by a man whose dick he's sucked multiple times.

Come on, Connor, come on, lose your grip! Quick, before Sean slips, because the longer he holds on, the harder it is for Sean to keep his own grip.]

[The apology seems out of place here in this moment, until he realizes what it's for. In other circumstances, he might think it's sweet that Sean would think to do so, but for now he's still got a job to do and getting kicked for it isn't even the worst thing that's happened to him. It's making it hard to hold on though, and Connor curses and lurches upward to grab the bottom rung of the fire escape, making it possible to heave himself up but also giving Sean the chance to do the same.

Avoiding getting kicked in the face is the annoying part, but catching Sean by the shirt again doesn't take as much effort.]

Sean, you have to stop before you fuck this up any worse for yourself. [He wheezes and tries to get a better grip before the man can get it in his hand to rip out of his shirt entirely.] What do you even have to gain by working for those assholes?!

[Shit! It doesn't work, and all he does is kick Connor in the face, and not even shake him loose, because now Connor's holding onto his shirt. It pulls tight around his throat, and Sean's finding it hard to breathe with it cutting in. And-

He lets out a baffled, strangled noise. What- what does he mean what does Sean have to gain by working for them? Sean is genuinely baffled that this is what Connor's angry about, because this stopped being about working for them at the exact moment that Sean started running away.]

W-what?

[That's about all he managed to squeeze out, because between the choking and the extra weight, Sean's hand slips, and he falls with Connor, both of them landing hard on the alleyway floor. Sean hears something crack and he sees stars. The air's knocked out of him and it hurts, but Sean struggles to his feet, trying to push himself forward to keep moving.

But it's hard to keep moving when he's dazed. There's blood trickling out of his hairline and he stumbles some as he moves, not able to do more than walk at a slightly brisk pace.]

[It's not what he expected to happen, and the wind's been knocked out of him by the impact with the ground and Sean's weight half landing on him, but it's still not as bad as some of the spills he's taken. He flips himself over and grabs once more at the trailing end of Sean's shirt now stretched and distended and probably unwearable. It allows him just enough leverage to pin Sean against the building, leaning into him heavily and snapping the handcuffs onto his wrists, once more reciting the legal portion of his arrest.

Then he tugs on the chain of the cuffs and heads back out to the sidewalk at the end of the alley, settling right down on the concrete with a huff, dragging Sean down to join him.]

You're a real pain in my ass, y'know that?

[Still, he reaches up to gently turn the man's head back toward him, hoping to find the wound seeping blood from Sean's hairline and clean him up a little. He feels bad about this, all of it, but a lead is a lead and even if Sean isn't guilty of anything, this would help confirm it for the legal system. Maybe in the end it would be a good thing.]

I'm sorry about this, Sean. But it'll be ok. 's just. Sit for a minute.

[Then he'll make the call to have his partner come pick the two of them up.]

[Sean's head is spinning. And he doesn't get away this time. He gets read his rights, handcuffed, and forced to sit down on the concrete. And maybe, just to add insult to injury, Sean ends up first getting told off, and then getting an apology that he knows doesn't count. If Connor was actually sorry, he'd let him go. He just hunches in on himself while the world keeps careening around him like a shitty carnival ride and closes his eyes.]

Won't be okay. [His voice is a little slurred, like he's drunk. And a little bitter too, because Connor's lying to him, and he doesn't want to hear it. Not now. Not after he took advantage of Sean like this.] They're gonna deport me.

[Sean hunches in tighter on himself. Fuck. Fuck, he's going to cry. He's going to fucking cry and isn't that just the cherry on this shit sundae. He got arrested for his stupid job that's the only thing that he can do that pays the bills and still has money left over, and he might get charged with murder and go to jail, but most likely, no matter what happens, he's going to get sent back to Ireland, and that's it. No more apartment. No more dating. Best case scenario, he lives at home and goes straight back into the closet and never comes out again.

Worst case, he goes to jail and by the time they let him out, ma will be dead, and it'll be his fault for being so goddamn stupid to believe a cop might actually be nice.

He doesn't look at Connor. He just keeps his head bowed and leans forward to hide his face in his knees.]

[Connor wants so badly to be a comfort. To take hold of him and reassure him that he would do anything he could think of to keep Sean from serving time that he doesn't deserve.

They'd talked about this, weeks back. About guys just doing illegal shit to get by, and he lets them slide under the radar as long as they're not hurting anybody. The guy in charge of the bets he places, the guy that runs his favorite food truck, the folks with the illegal clinic that tends to be the only place the people that live out in the boondocks can afford for emergencies. He lets them slide, and does the rest of his work squeaky clean.

But now, he can hear Sean breaking down next to him, and he can't do anything. If he makes promises, in this state Sean certainly won't believe him.]

I won't let them deport you. There's loopholes around it and some strings I can pull. Please, just trust me.

[As if that's going to happen now. But it's worth a shot.]

[Connor makes a promise that Sean knows he doesn't mean. Not really. Fuck, he should have known. He'd been texting with him a while, he's seen how hard it is to meet up with Connor because of that fucking job. Of course he'd put it first above everything else. Sean was fine with that when 'above everything else' meant not being able to meet up for dates.

It's different when 'above everything else' means 'arresting someone who trusted you'.

Sean says nothing. And he keeps saying nothing, all the way back to the station. So hey Connor, you found another way to shut him up.

They book him and take a mug shot and they take his stuff from him, and Sean ends up in a holding cell. He's been in these before when drunk or part of the occasional bar brawl. He's never been here before with the threat of a murder charge hanging over his head, or the inevitability that he'll be losing everything. Will they even let him take his books with him wherever he goes? Probably not to prison. And probably they won't give a shit about getting Sean his things if they do send him home. If he's lucky, he'll fly home in the clothes he was wearing when they booked him, which now consist of dirty jeans and a shirt that got torn during the chase. They're going to throw away all his fucking books, and probably ever nice thing an ex-boyfriend ever got him.

By the time Sean ends up in an interrogation room, his eyes are bloodshot and they've put him in a new shirt - this one baggy and shapeless. It's not exactly his usual almost vacuum sealed look.

And when Connor's the one who comes in, Sean just hunches in on himself and waits for the inevitable.]

[It's not an easy thing, walking back into this interrogation room. Not even because of Sean; he'd told him once, about finding a traumatized young man that had killed the person keeping him held captive, and about getting an admission of guilt for the murder of that man, and how when he'd tried to leave the room, the victim (and that was what he was at that point, by his account) had brained himself on the table. It takes him shaking his head before he can sit back down in that chair across from where they've got Sean's hands cuffed to the top of the table.

A file resting at the edge of the table is slid over between them, and Connor flips it open to examine the scene photos. The corpse was water-bloated by the time they'd gotten to it, but the suit, the set of his eyes, they were familiar. He looks back at Sean and flips one of the photos around just to confirm that he knew exactly what was going to happen now.]

You know who he is, don't you?

[His voice is quiet, probing. They hadn't talked much about the night they'd met. Sean hadn't ratted out anyone to him, usually being evasive about the specifics. And up to now, that had been alright.]

[He's all business. And of course he is. This is just business to him. Must be nice to be able to do that. Sean can't. He really fucking can't, and it just makes him feel worse seeing Connor open that file folder up and start reading through it.

He puts the photo in front of Sean. Jesus. It's worse after he's been in the water. Sean looks away from it, staring down at his hands.]

Saw him around. Don't know his name.

[The professionalism is easier to focus on than the heartbreak in Sean's expression. Than the ache in his own chest at the two of them being forced into this position by his own dedication to his job. Not much makes him regret his choice to pursue this career, but sometimes, things come close. Trying to keep impersonal for the sake of Sean's testimony is so hard.]

Sean, there are multiple witness testimonies placing you outside locations that he'd been seen going into and out of in the last month. There's reason to suspect you might have had it out for him, too.

[Connor's brow knits and he sits back, his hands twisting around and rubbing against each other, a fidget for when he was thinking. A step down from when he'd pull out a quarter and start flipping it hand to hand.]

Look, personally? You don't strike me as a murderer. Maybe you didn't even want him dead. But he harassed you and you looked the other way when someone else did something bad to him.

[God of course he's getting this pinned on him. They don't have any proof but they don't need proof do they? The actual big fish are going to be fine and Sean's going to go to jail. He probably won't get special treatment or anything either. Not like anybody in the Family is going to be coming by to tell Sean how he's got a place for him waiting after jail time. Because if he gets jail time, when that's done, he's leaving the country.

He stares down at his hands.]

You don't know me. You don't know anything about me.

[Sean finally glances up at Connor. He doesn't have a poker face. He just looks tired and sad and resigned.]

Just like I didn't know you.

[Connor's poker face is largely unshaken, but there's tension in the way he holds himself. Sean's never spoken to him like this, just like Sean has never seen him actually doing his job; he's only seen the before, and the after. He's been a good distraction after hard cases. He's been good for Connor. And that makes this that much more awful.]

So if I've got it wrong, why don't you explain it to me? Maybe I can find a way out of this for you.

[Leaning forward on the table, Connor lets his expression change finally, taking on the softness Sean is more familiar with, big brown eyes and pouting lips trying to defuse the tension.]

You might not have to serve time at all, if you'll just talk to me.

[The moment Connor's eyes go soft, Sean has to look away. He can't look at this cop trying to railroad him when he's looking like the same guy Sean watched sleep before he slunk off that first night. He's fucking cave in and no soft looks are going to mean anything when he's the one with a murder charge on him. And it's not even someone he actually killed.]

I didn't know him. I barely ever talked to him. He was always picking fights with people. One of them probably got tired of him. It wasn't me.

[Sean doesn't want to be here. It's stupid, it's fucking stupid, but he's most upset about his books. He spent so long collecting them all, and no matter what happens, they'll just throw them away. Nobody's going to give a shit about a punch of dumb, cheap pulp books except for him. He closes his eyes and just rests his chin against his chest.]

But it doesn't matter. The guys who did it have real lawyers. And it's easier to charge somebody you know nobody gives a fuck about.

[Connor's tongue darts across his lips mindlessly, his hands coming together in front of him.]

It's easier, but that doesn't make it right.

[And that's where his hands are tied. Because more of then than not, the legal system ascribes to the Occam's Razor solution. The simplest answer is usually the correct one. But his work? Has always told him the opposite. These things are rarely simple.]

Look. I don't want them to get away with framing an innocent man, but the longer you refuse to talk to me, the less I can do before some state-appointed shitstick is gonna walk in here and talk you into a plea bargain. Then it really will be over, and I don't want that to happen to you.

[There's a soft sigh and Connor's fingers dig into one of his eyes, rubbing it tiredly like there's an ache he can't quite work out. It's not that far off from the truth, as the stress starts to creep up on him.]

If you think someone else whacked him and put him in the river, the best thing you can do's tell me what you do know. Even if it's not a name. Then you can have a protective detail, 'round the clock. It's the best I can do short-term.

[Sean lets out a little huff. Then a laugh. It's a sad, bitter little sound. And how can't he feel that way?]

Oh yeah. Because you sure aren't trying to talk me into something. Nah, nah, all these people here are my enemies, but you're looking out for me. That's why you walked up to me in casual clothes, and got in close, so it'd be easier to slap the cuffs on me. Yeah, right, it's the plea bargain that's bad for me.

[God, he knew Connor was a cop, he knew it, but he thought he was an actual good fellow. He'd told Sean about some of the rough shit he'd dealt with. He seemed like someone who'd try to do the right thing. But for someone who said a lot about doing the right thing, he sure seems to be wanting the easy one right now.]

I think if somebody killed him, and I knew who that somebody was, then we both know that protective detail won't do shit for me. God.

I hoped keeping it calm would make this faster, so you wouldn't have to be scared. Besides, you would have fled on sight if I'd come up to you in uniform. And that isn't even a judgment on you, it's just how people in that neighborhood are. Too many crooked cops flashing their uniforms and their badges like it absolves them of every bad thing they've ever done, so people bolt whether they're guilty or not.

[Exchange of information seems to be the better option here. An explanation, so that maybe Sean will feel better about telling him the truth. Anything that will give him the leverage he needs to get the man off the hook before someone decides he should be deported.]

Yeah, I am trying to talk you into something. I'm not even gonna claim it's gonna make you happy. But I want to try and keep you safe without having to put you in a cell by yourself. The best way for me to do that is to chase him down and make sure he can't hurt anyone else. Him or his goons.

[Sean looks up at Connor and okay, maybe for once, Sean's not the only stupid one here. He hisses softly at him, trying to keep it low in case they're being recorded.]

You could have fucking texted me. I could be out of here, and you could have the stupid fucking information, and you'd get what you fucking wanted without me being threatened with a murder charge.

[But it's too late for any of that. Sean's in the building. They're not going to let him walk out when they've decided he's a suspect. God why couldn't he have texted? Sean was trying to figure out how to tell him anyway, but he didn't want to have to leave town. Fuck, he should have. There was always work in Boston. Or fuck, maybe he should have gone back to New York...]

It doesn't matter. You put me in a cell, I'll 'kill myself' with a belt I didn't go in there with. You put me in protective detail, and somehow, those cops are going to go on break and I'm going to get killed while they're not looking. If I did know anything, then going to jail and getting deported is still better than dying.

[Sean stares at his hands. Okay. Fuck. Okay... He has to do something. He can't just sit here and wait. If he wants to get out of here alive, then he's going to have to do something, because Connor can say he wants Sean to be safe, but as long as he thinks the police are the answer, Sean's never going to be safe.]

If you really want to keep me safe, then I can't stay in this city. And maybe, if I wasn't here... I might remember something.

[Connor has arguments for every last thing Sean says to him. That the cells aren't built to allow for hanging deaths anymore. That there's around-the-clock surveillance on every corner of the station. That no matter who's on shift, they always have someone else around paying attention, never leaving any one blind spot long enough for anything like that to happen. There's been intense reform with the way the DPD is run here, but...well. It doesn't change that the people are kind of shit sometimes. Connor's a model cop, a golden boy among the precinct. He follows rules to the letter. That includes not bringing up their relationship here, where it could very well incriminate both of them for an entirely different reason.

He doesn't say any of it. He doesn't reach out to try and establish contact, even if he really wants to. And he wants to, so badly. And he wants to get out of this room where he almost thinks he can still see that blood stain on the table.]

I'll look into finding you a place to stay up near Belle Isle. It's safe and isolated, and hard to find. In the meantime, you'll stay here, where nobody will hurt you.

[In other words, he'd be sending Sean up to where he himself had grown up. A beautiful, desolate stretch right at the northern tip of the state. He'd talked about this before, when they were sprawled out in his bed, just killing time before food was delivered. About the monolithic tower that had been his "home". Hopefully it would be a comfort that he'd opt for something like this, rather than keeping Sean trapped in the city.]

[Belle Isle. Connor's talked about it. It sounded lonely and isolated. It wasn't the kind of place that Sean would have been suited for. If he'd had Connor's childhood... he doesn't really want to think about what kind of person he'd been. He always figured Connor must have had a good heart to stay warm after that kind of an upbringing. But that was probably Sean projecting on him. He wanted Connor to be a nice guy...

Sean just looks tired and broken. What does it matter? He can stay quiet and get charged, and go to jail. Get deported. Or he says something and dies. Or- or he might still get killed even if he keeps his mouth shut, because it's not like it's hard to pay someone to stab a guy for you in prison. Especially if you've got the kind of money Canterino has.

Sean's already dead. He's just been too dumb to know it.

He slumps a little more on the table.]

It doesn't matter. They'll hurt me anywhere I go.

[Sean makes himself look up at Connor - and he makes eye contact and holds him to it.]

You gotta call my ma after they kill me. You have to tell her. She can't spend all her life wondering why I disappeared. That's the deal. If you want me to say it and get myself killed, then you have to call her. And you have to promise me. Swear on it. Swear on whatever you do believe in that you'll do it.

[Connor listens, really listens, and rubs his hands together fitfully. Eventually he looks up at the one-way mirror on the wall and gestures across his throat, universally signalling that he wants the audio feed muted. He can't ask for the video surveillance to be cut as well, but he can at least give them this bit of privacy. The only people that would hear are the officers on the other side, and he trusts that neither of them would rat him out for anything. Not when one is his best friend and the other is his only direct superior here.]

Sean, I know you don't trust me anymore. You have every right not to. But I really do want to help you out here. If I had messages you before that I was coming, it would have made anything else that you said to me inadmissible. This is my case. But I am sorry for what I said before. It was dumb and I was frustrated but that's no excuse.

[He offers his hands, palm-up on the table, leaning toward Sean again with the same soft, worried look he'd wear talking to Sean about the difficult cases, the ones involving innocent people in awful circumstances. The worst the city has to offer that he has to be front line for. Or at least, part of the cleanup effort.]

I'm not gonna tell your mother you died because you're not going to.

...I really like you, Sean. I won't let them hurt you. But, it something ever did happen, you have my word. She'll know what happened. She'll get all of your books. I won't keep any secrets.

[Sean's crying again. It fucking sucks. Some jury's going to see this video some day, when they use it as evidence in either Canterino's or Marcone's trial, and they're all going to see him cuffed and crying. And he'll probably be dead, and part of the charges, just another name to add to a long, long list. And Connor...

Connor gets a wet, shocked little laugh from Sean.]

Jesus don't give her my books. Half of 'em are porn. Might as well just call her up, tell her I'm gay.

[He goes quiet again for a moment. He's stupid, so fucking stupid, because a dumb part of him wants to believe Connor. He wants to believe that Connor means it, and that he's right. That Sean won't die. That he'll live through this, and he'll be okay in the end. He wants to believe...]

You keep the books. Tell her I'm dead. Send her the photos I took. But you keep the books. Or at least donate them. Just keep them out of the trash. Don't let... don't let all of me get throw in the garbage.

[He sniffles. He wants to wipe his face but he can't. He can't clean his face, and he can't run away. All he can do is put his faith in Connor, shakey as it might be, and hope that Connor's right - and that Sean's wrong.]

I'll tell you everything I know.

[Connor stands finally and moves around the table, straight to Sean's side, standing close enough to lay a hand against the back of his head, encourage him to lean.]

Ok, I'll keep your books. [He amends it with a small smile of his own, tight and crooked as he stands there trying to be of some comfort. It might not be much in the moment, but it's all he can do. He gives his partner the thumbs-up on the other side of the glass and crouches to bring himself to Sean's level, a hand on his leg, thumb swiping back and forth across the dull material that had been swapped out for his jeans upon his being placed into holding.

Upon settling back down on the other side of the table, Connor is ready to let Sean talk, to tell him everything that he knows. Every indictment, every misdemeanor, sometimes incriminating himself for petty offenses, or placing himself at the scene for several uglier crimes. While Sean might have never participated in it, he was still an accessory. But a useful one, especially now that he'd flipped. It makes Connor sure that this was the right thing to do, to press and console until they had not only sussed out a timeline, but placed Sean elsewhere for at least a few of the actual deals, once even revealing that he'd been with Connor himself at the time. That'd be a little weird to add to the report, but it would absolve Sean of at least one of the accusations all by itself.

From there, Sean is moved back to the smooth paneled cell with its glass front and high-tech door that only responded to the handprints of the officers involved with his case. Connor lurked around the station a lot more when he could. He kept himself busy at his desk but kept an eye on Sean between working through a backlog of paperwork, and at one point before Sean's relocation, he brings one of those pulps to him, one of the more tame ones that he couldn't get in trouble for.

And then he's turned over into Detective Stern's custody. Apparently part of that protective detail was Connor's attention, not just the force grunts'. Sean was valuable. An asset that he was keeping close to chest. He'd be riding with Sean back to his apartment to pick up his belongings, then he would be accompanying him back to Belle Isle. They'd have a lot to talk about on the ride there.]

[Connor gets what he wants in the end. Sean recounts it all - mostly. At least, he says enough that might get some convictions, down the line. Maybe. These guys have good lawyers and lots of money, and a lot more people in their pockets than they think.

He lies in a cell with a glass front and waits anxiously for the moment it'll happen. The moment when some officers looks the other way, and puts the wrong man in with Sean. The moment when there's something in the tasteless food they serve. Something. Anything.

But. It doesn't come for him there. Instead, he lives through it. And he's handed back over to Connor. They're going to pick up his things, take him to Belle Isle. Sean's tense and frightened the entire time he's sitting in the cruiser, eyes darting to every car that comes alongside them. This is the perfect time to kill him.

Or. Well. No. They pull up to Sean's apartment. This is the perfect time to kill him. He looks up at the run-down brick building Sean lives he. He's never taken Connor back here. Why would he? This place is a dump. Even before the doors open, they can hear a fight happening on the second floor, a domestic. Sean tunes it out best he can. Just like he tunes out the near constant smell of weed, and the train in the distance, and the whump of a subwoofer playing in the next building over.

He wants to run for it, but he won't be getting far with this bracelet on his ankle.]

Last chance to just... let me disappear.

[Sean being constantly on edge, constantly ready to be assassinated in his cell, makes sense the deeper they're able to dig, thanks to the information he's given them. It also makes sense when Connor sees where Sean's been living. It's not on his official records, which makes sense considering his immigrant status. He must have been paying for it in cash every month.

It's hard for Connor to ignore the screaming dispute, but that isn't what he's here for. He can see it in the tension of Sean's posture that he's trying to ignore the shitty nature of their surroundings. He knows now why Sean never invited him up to his place after a night out. He can't imagine it's easy to sleep here.

When Sean speaks up, Connor frowns deeply but shakes his head, stopping in the hallway and risking reaching for the man's hand, hoping to give him some physical comfort.]

Look, I know I probably don't mean anything more to you than dirt after everything that's happened, but I promised I'd protect you from whatever came of this. I can't do that if you disappear on me.

Edited 2018-10-29 07:44 (UTC)

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