[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.]
[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.]
[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.]
[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.]
[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.
[Sean tenses when Connor touches his hand. It's already hard enough doing this shit without the constant reminder that Connor still thinks he did this to help him, instead of himself. He could have texted Sean and yeah okay, he wouldn't have been able to use Sean as a witness, but Sean could have told him where the murder weapons get buried, where the bodies get set out in the water, the rooms the... interrogations happen in. Who cares about a witness when you've got evidence? And Sean could have been three states away, safe from all of this, anonymous once more...
And instead he's here, with Connor trying to promise that Sean's going to be safe, because he's under Connor's protection.]
Guess that's a no, then.
[Sean takes a step forward, breaking contact as he heads inside the building and up the stairs, waiting for Connor to follow him. It's worse inside. It absolutely reaks in here, and half the lights in the halls have burnt out bulbs. Sean climbs the stairs quickly, falling into his usual routine when coming in and out. Avoid the weird wet sticky puddle on the second landing. Don't look into the open doorway where Mrs. Barr usually has her bathroom open, and everything on display. Skip the broken step on the third flight of stairs. Nod to Mr. Ramirez sitting in the hall-
Huh. Mr. Ramirez isn't there. Sean slows down after that, his movement becoming unsteady again as he slowly crosses the last ten feet to his apartment. He can feel the alarm bells ringing as he approaches his room. Somebody's in there. Someone's in there with a shotgun, and they're going to kill him right in front of Connor. He comes to a stop in front of his door, carefully digging his key out. Sean feels very numb, and very far away as he opens the door-
But no one's inside. No shotgun. No gang member. Just his room. Oh. Well.
Alright.
Sean steps in and gets moving. Which means Connor gets to see Sean's room as he packs. It's probably not a legal size. It's claustrophobic inside, with barely enough room for a single bed, and for the desk that Sean has crammed in one corner, leaving just enough room to slide between them. The desk looks like it came from a dorm room - and that's exactly where it begun it's life, at Mercy U's Corktown Campus, before it was left in a dumpster after the student moved out and opted not to spend $300 to move a $150 desk from Ikea. It was a great desk for Sean, and it's clearly where he liked to work when the mood took him. There's some half-finished projects on there - half a carving of what might be a dog if you squint, an attempt to jazz up a picture frame - and a stack of books, and other clutter that Sean seat there and never got around to moving. The closet's crammed with clothes, and he's got his toiletries in a little basket, also tucked in the closet. There's a bookcase beside the best, another piece of Ikea furniture saved from a dumpster, and it's absolutely crammed to the gills with books. There's so many that Sean's given up on standing them up, and has started lying on top of each other, or stacking them in front.
Sean drops his clothes on the bed and throws them into a duffel bag. Though he stops, and grabs his other duffel, setting it on the desk, in case Connor wants to pack that stuff and make it faster. Sean's still feeling tense, even if there's no one waiting for them here.]
Just... throw it all in there. I'll sort it later.
[Connor retracts his hand as soon as it's clear Sean's not having it. It goes into the pocket of his jacket instead, lips pulling in between his teeth as he looks down at the ground instead. He follows inside once Sean heads in, following him step for step, though with the unfortunate lack of forewarning he glances just inside the open door with its direct line of sight into a bathroom only just vacated by a woman that doesn't seem to have noticed anyone outside.
He stops when Sean hesitates, the tension clear in every line of his body. Connor very carefully touches the back of Sean's arm, only dropping it once the door's opened.
It's about what he expects, when Sean lets him in. The thin walls don't keep out any of the sounds from the surrounding apartments, and they've long since absorbed every noxious smell that's ever come through this building. Maybe he's sensitive to it, or maybe it's just that bad and Sean's gotten used to it. He ends up breathing shallowly as he glances around, picking up all the little minutiae of the room in a sweep. The books get a soft smile from him, and as soon as Sean's laid the duffel bag out on the desk top, he starts to stack them neatly inside, trying to keep them in the same order that Sean had apparently given up trying to keep when he'd gotten too many to fit. Among the clutter under he's able to find a little balled up newspaper, presumably used as an oil soak or something to catch shavings as Sean worked on one of his projects. He uses this to wrap up what he can to keep it safe in transport.
He sits down on the edge of Sean's bed to let him finish, figuring the less he "helped", the better. He catches sight of the compact little tracker anklet that Sean was forced to wear and frowns deeply, his hands rubbing together in slow passes.]
Sean, I want you to know that this isn't intended to be a punishment. And it's not going to be forever. When we put them away, you'll be able to come home.
[It's only the smallest portion of what he really wants to say, but platitudes won't get him anywhere and he knows it. Sean's not the brightest bulb in the chandelier but he knows when something is wrong.]
[The more Connor talks about how it's not supposed to be a punishment, and that he's sorry, the more he hunches in on himself.]
Connor, I don't have anywhere to go back to. My job's gone, so now I don't have money. You can't pay rent without money. I can't get a job without papers. And there's no chance in hell that Immigration is going to hand over papers to a known felon.
[He glances back at Connor. Sean knows he means what he's saying and that makes it worse. He's sorry he used Sean. But sorry doesn't put the broken glass back together again.]
I know you didn't mean to fuck me over. You didn't even think about me when you did all this. You were thinking about stopping a bunch of bad guys, and that I'd help you do that. So here I am, helping. So just... let me do this. You can put them away and make things safe for everybody else.
[He zips up the bag he's filling, and then moves on to the last one, carefully filling it with books. He picks out his favorites first, lining the bottom and the next row with them. He tries not to spend too long agonizing. He makes a stack of the ones he knows he can always get copies of, and fills the rest of the bag with the rarer ones, or the ones he's not sure anybody prints anymore. It's a tight fit, but he makes it, and he only has to abandon twenty books, which isn't bad.]
[Connor ends up bundling those leftover books together to take, himself. He'd said he would, after all.
He sits and watches Sean moving around the room, gnawing fitfully on his lip as he racks his brain, then finally reaches out to catch Sean's wrist to get the man to look at him.]
I'll make you a deal, right here and now: If you stay there, just until the court hearings are done and overwith, I can get a start on getting your citizenship papers in order. I've got funds I just sit on for emergencies, and I know all of required steps. You can even use the Belle Isle location as proof of address, now that it's court ordered to you.
I know it's not perfect, but it'll give you a leg up for finding something legitimate. You'll be able to find a job, and a better place. You can forget I ever existed.
[Connor's hand is warm against the inside of Sean's wrist. And he just-
He wants so, so badly to just lean into it and curl against Connor. He wants to wrap him up in his arms and bury his face in Connor's shoulder, and just believe him. He wants to believe that I'll be worth it, and he'll get citizenship, and a chance for something better than getting paid under the table, and living in places like this. He wants it so much.]
Jesus Connor, I don't want to forget you existed. I don't hate you, okay? You hurt me, you really fucking hurt me, but I don't hate you. I just... I wish you'd talked to me first. I wish you hadn't done that. But you did. So we're both living with it.
... we can talk more on the way. I don't want to stay here.
[He picks up the heaviest bag of books, straining to get it, and then grabs the other with his clothes, leaving Connor to bring the one with his desk stuff. He just gets moving, head down as steps out of his room, and goes as fast as he can with that many pounds of books weighing down his arm. Sean just stares at his feet as he moves along the hall, his guts stewing over how much he's lost - and if he should even hope that he could get into the country legitimately.
Which means he doesn't notice when the room three doors down opens up, and a man steps out with a pistol, pointing it right at the back of Sean's head.]
[Connor concedes, being able to talk somewhere more private would be best. He's probably risked too much just by saying all of that in a place like this, where any one of the neighbors might tip off the wrong sorts for a stipend. He carries the stack of books twine-bound under his free arm opposite the bag full of Sean's projects, keeping a better eye on their surroundings as Sean just ignores it all in favor of getting out. It's lucky, really, that he's listening when doors open and close, and movement out of his periphery alerts him faster than it does Sean. It allows him to turn on one of the landings just as he sees the gun drawn.
Without a word, Connor grabs the back of Sean's shirt collar and pulls him back, pushing him against the dirty wallpaper with those books against his spine while the other hand first jerks his bag up onto his shoulder, then whips into his jacket to pull the handgun holstered just inside. He is still on the job here, and that means being armed and ready. He levels the sights on the man upstairs as he keeps his body pressed close against Sean's side, shielding as much as he can. If the shooter decides to take the risk, he'd sooner hit a cop than a petty criminal, and seal his bosses' fates.
He mutters without pulling away, without looking back from the man staring him down, memorizing every feature of his face.]
Don't say anything, Sean. Just stay close to the wall.
[Sean suddenly hits the wall, letting out a guttural noise. He tries to see what's going on, and sees the flash of a handgun as Connor draws it. Which means-
There was someone waiting for them.]
Oh Jesus!
[It's clear that Sean having an armed cop escorting him isn't entirely to plan, but the shooter barely hesitates. His target changes - just a half an inch nudge to the right, and then he's firing at Connor instead, clearly thinking the best plan is to kill the cop, then take out Sean.]
[The problem with shooting at Connor is that his reflexes are fast, and his pain tolerance is enough that bullets don't exactly slow him down much. He'd explained once to Sean that the scar tissue on his arm was a bullet from a hostage situation that managed to graze just far enough inside to take out a chunk of his upper arm, but he'd still managed to talk the shooter down and release the girl he was dangling off the edge of a high-rise apartment building. He'd nearly been taken over it with him when the man had fallen thanks to the blood loss, giving him an annoying, irrational fear of heights that made it really hard to go back out on his balcony after that.
So when the bullet hits his shoulder and sprays the wall beside them with blood, he's already pulled the trigger and put his own bullet through the center of the shooter's forehead. One shot, an easy kill, and he's bustling Sean down the last flight of stairs to get him out to the beat up little Toyota sitting idle at the sidewalk.]
Inside, keep your head down. I'm getting backup to tail us before they start getting cute.
[He grits his teeth as he unlocks the car then reaches for his phone, speed-dialing his partner to let him know the situation, except for the bullet wound oozing blood down the inside of his jacket.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
28/10/18 22:46 (UTC)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.]
(no subject)
28/10/18 23:08 (UTC)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.
(no subject)
28/10/18 23:18 (UTC)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.
(no subject)
28/10/18 23:30 (UTC)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.
(no subject)
28/10/18 23:45 (UTC)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.
(no subject)
28/10/18 23:57 (UTC)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.
(no subject)
29/10/18 00:10 (UTC)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.
(no subject)
29/10/18 00:38 (UTC)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.
(no subject)
29/10/18 00:57 (UTC)[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.
(no subject)
29/10/18 01:20 (UTC)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.
(no subject)
29/10/18 01:37 (UTC)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.]
(no subject)
29/10/18 02:37 (UTC)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.
(no subject)
29/10/18 03:16 (UTC)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.
(no subject)
29/10/18 03:31 (UTC)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.
(no subject)
29/10/18 03:56 (UTC)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.]
(no subject)
29/10/18 04:13 (UTC)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.
(no subject)
29/10/18 07:44 (UTC)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.
(no subject)
29/10/18 14:03 (UTC)And instead he's here, with Connor trying to promise that Sean's going to be safe, because he's under Connor's protection.]
Guess that's a no, then.
[Sean takes a step forward, breaking contact as he heads inside the building and up the stairs, waiting for Connor to follow him. It's worse inside. It absolutely reaks in here, and half the lights in the halls have burnt out bulbs. Sean climbs the stairs quickly, falling into his usual routine when coming in and out. Avoid the weird wet sticky puddle on the second landing. Don't look into the open doorway where Mrs. Barr usually has her bathroom open, and everything on display. Skip the broken step on the third flight of stairs. Nod to Mr. Ramirez sitting in the hall-
Huh. Mr. Ramirez isn't there. Sean slows down after that, his movement becoming unsteady again as he slowly crosses the last ten feet to his apartment. He can feel the alarm bells ringing as he approaches his room. Somebody's in there. Someone's in there with a shotgun, and they're going to kill him right in front of Connor. He comes to a stop in front of his door, carefully digging his key out. Sean feels very numb, and very far away as he opens the door-
But no one's inside. No shotgun. No gang member. Just his room. Oh. Well.
Alright.
Sean steps in and gets moving. Which means Connor gets to see Sean's room as he packs. It's probably not a legal size. It's claustrophobic inside, with barely enough room for a single bed, and for the desk that Sean has crammed in one corner, leaving just enough room to slide between them. The desk looks like it came from a dorm room - and that's exactly where it begun it's life, at Mercy U's Corktown Campus, before it was left in a dumpster after the student moved out and opted not to spend $300 to move a $150 desk from Ikea. It was a great desk for Sean, and it's clearly where he liked to work when the mood took him. There's some half-finished projects on there - half a carving of what might be a dog if you squint, an attempt to jazz up a picture frame - and a stack of books, and other clutter that Sean seat there and never got around to moving. The closet's crammed with clothes, and he's got his toiletries in a little basket, also tucked in the closet. There's a bookcase beside the best, another piece of Ikea furniture saved from a dumpster, and it's absolutely crammed to the gills with books. There's so many that Sean's given up on standing them up, and has started lying on top of each other, or stacking them in front.
Sean drops his clothes on the bed and throws them into a duffel bag. Though he stops, and grabs his other duffel, setting it on the desk, in case Connor wants to pack that stuff and make it faster. Sean's still feeling tense, even if there's no one waiting for them here.]
Just... throw it all in there. I'll sort it later.
(no subject)
30/10/18 01:54 (UTC)He stops when Sean hesitates, the tension clear in every line of his body. Connor very carefully touches the back of Sean's arm, only dropping it once the door's opened.
It's about what he expects, when Sean lets him in. The thin walls don't keep out any of the sounds from the surrounding apartments, and they've long since absorbed every noxious smell that's ever come through this building. Maybe he's sensitive to it, or maybe it's just that bad and Sean's gotten used to it. He ends up breathing shallowly as he glances around, picking up all the little minutiae of the room in a sweep. The books get a soft smile from him, and as soon as Sean's laid the duffel bag out on the desk top, he starts to stack them neatly inside, trying to keep them in the same order that Sean had apparently given up trying to keep when he'd gotten too many to fit. Among the clutter under he's able to find a little balled up newspaper, presumably used as an oil soak or something to catch shavings as Sean worked on one of his projects. He uses this to wrap up what he can to keep it safe in transport.
He sits down on the edge of Sean's bed to let him finish, figuring the less he "helped", the better. He catches sight of the compact little tracker anklet that Sean was forced to wear and frowns deeply, his hands rubbing together in slow passes.]
Sean, I want you to know that this isn't intended to be a punishment. And it's not going to be forever. When we put them away, you'll be able to come home.
[It's only the smallest portion of what he really wants to say, but platitudes won't get him anywhere and he knows it. Sean's not the brightest bulb in the chandelier but he knows when something is wrong.]
I'm sorry I used you.
(no subject)
30/10/18 02:51 (UTC)Connor, I don't have anywhere to go back to. My job's gone, so now I don't have money. You can't pay rent without money. I can't get a job without papers. And there's no chance in hell that Immigration is going to hand over papers to a known felon.
[He glances back at Connor. Sean knows he means what he's saying and that makes it worse. He's sorry he used Sean. But sorry doesn't put the broken glass back together again.]
I know you didn't mean to fuck me over. You didn't even think about me when you did all this. You were thinking about stopping a bunch of bad guys, and that I'd help you do that. So here I am, helping. So just... let me do this. You can put them away and make things safe for everybody else.
[He zips up the bag he's filling, and then moves on to the last one, carefully filling it with books. He picks out his favorites first, lining the bottom and the next row with them. He tries not to spend too long agonizing. He makes a stack of the ones he knows he can always get copies of, and fills the rest of the bag with the rarer ones, or the ones he's not sure anybody prints anymore. It's a tight fit, but he makes it, and he only has to abandon twenty books, which isn't bad.]
(no subject)
30/10/18 03:07 (UTC)He sits and watches Sean moving around the room, gnawing fitfully on his lip as he racks his brain, then finally reaches out to catch Sean's wrist to get the man to look at him.]
I'll make you a deal, right here and now: If you stay there, just until the court hearings are done and overwith, I can get a start on getting your citizenship papers in order. I've got funds I just sit on for emergencies, and I know all of required steps. You can even use the Belle Isle location as proof of address, now that it's court ordered to you.
I know it's not perfect, but it'll give you a leg up for finding something legitimate. You'll be able to find a job, and a better place. You can forget I ever existed.
(no subject)
30/10/18 03:15 (UTC)He wants so, so badly to just lean into it and curl against Connor. He wants to wrap him up in his arms and bury his face in Connor's shoulder, and just believe him. He wants to believe that I'll be worth it, and he'll get citizenship, and a chance for something better than getting paid under the table, and living in places like this. He wants it so much.]
Jesus Connor, I don't want to forget you existed. I don't hate you, okay? You hurt me, you really fucking hurt me, but I don't hate you. I just... I wish you'd talked to me first. I wish you hadn't done that. But you did. So we're both living with it.
... we can talk more on the way. I don't want to stay here.
[He picks up the heaviest bag of books, straining to get it, and then grabs the other with his clothes, leaving Connor to bring the one with his desk stuff. He just gets moving, head down as steps out of his room, and goes as fast as he can with that many pounds of books weighing down his arm. Sean just stares at his feet as he moves along the hall, his guts stewing over how much he's lost - and if he should even hope that he could get into the country legitimately.
Which means he doesn't notice when the room three doors down opens up, and a man steps out with a pistol, pointing it right at the back of Sean's head.]
(no subject)
30/10/18 03:25 (UTC)Without a word, Connor grabs the back of Sean's shirt collar and pulls him back, pushing him against the dirty wallpaper with those books against his spine while the other hand first jerks his bag up onto his shoulder, then whips into his jacket to pull the handgun holstered just inside. He is still on the job here, and that means being armed and ready. He levels the sights on the man upstairs as he keeps his body pressed close against Sean's side, shielding as much as he can. If the shooter decides to take the risk, he'd sooner hit a cop than a petty criminal, and seal his bosses' fates.
He mutters without pulling away, without looking back from the man staring him down, memorizing every feature of his face.]
Don't say anything, Sean. Just stay close to the wall.
(no subject)
30/10/18 03:43 (UTC)There was someone waiting for them.]
Oh Jesus!
[It's clear that Sean having an armed cop escorting him isn't entirely to plan, but the shooter barely hesitates. His target changes - just a half an inch nudge to the right, and then he's firing at Connor instead, clearly thinking the best plan is to kill the cop, then take out Sean.]
(no subject)
30/10/18 03:52 (UTC)So when the bullet hits his shoulder and sprays the wall beside them with blood, he's already pulled the trigger and put his own bullet through the center of the shooter's forehead. One shot, an easy kill, and he's bustling Sean down the last flight of stairs to get him out to the beat up little Toyota sitting idle at the sidewalk.]
Inside, keep your head down. I'm getting backup to tail us before they start getting cute.
[He grits his teeth as he unlocks the car then reaches for his phone, speed-dialing his partner to let him know the situation, except for the bullet wound oozing blood down the inside of his jacket.]
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Posted byPlease correct me if I got the context wrong for "you were the exception"
Posted byYou nailed it!
Posted bynow how to fix it bc connor is bad at this whole having feelings thing when it comes to his mission.
Posted byIT'S TRICKY Connor's trying! Sean will warm back up in time, once he's less afraid
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