[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.]
Oh jesus oh jesus oh jesus! He moves when told to, and if Sean's good at one thing, it's following a direct order. He gets down the stairs and in the Toyota, throwing his stuff in the back and sinking down low as he can in the front seat. He glances over, and sees the dark mark on Connor's jacket.]
You're bleeding!
[No time to look closer. There's another gunshot, this one going somewhat wild and hitting the dirt near the now-closed door on Sean's side. He turns, and spots the flash of a barrel, coming out of Mr. Ramirez's window.]
[Connor presses his lips together against some initial sarcasm, his head starting to swim. The sooner he got Sean outside the city, the less likely it would be that either of them got shot again. He ends the truncated call and tosses his phone into Sean's seat so he can pull out of his parking spot and into traffic, then down a side road before they could get boxed in.]
Stay down!
[In crisis mode, Connor isn't in the habit of carrying on a conversation. So while he drives toward the edge of the city, he's focused and deadly silent, and one can almost see him processing the best route to get them out fast. In the opposite direction, a small squadron of police cars surrounds the old apartment building and heads inside, following Connor's report. Hopefully the assassins weren't prepared for such a quick response.
Once they're headed over the bridge, Connor sinks down in his seat with a quiet grunt, reaching into his jacket pocket and fishing out a crunched pack of cigarettes. His hand is shaking as he pops one between his lips then fishes for his car's lighter.]
[He ends up catches Connor's phone, one hand on it, and the other on the door as they tear out of there. He twists to look, but it's hard to see when he's slouched. He hears more gunshots, fading as they pull off, and the police deal with what's inside.
Sean feels his guts churning. He was right. All the long, he was right. They were going to kill him... There's no chance they're done yet, not while Sean's breathing.
And while trying to get him, they got Conner. It's clearly not fatal, and it doesn't look like it's going to do anything like keep him from using his arm. But it's got to be painful. Connor's fishing for his lighter when Sean gets it for him, lighting his cigarette so he can focus on the road. He puts it back, and promptly pops the glove compartment, checking to see what Connor's got for pain meds. They can't stop or go to a hospital, so they're going to have to drive straight through with that shoulder.]
Do you- is- meds? Pain meds in here? Anything for that?
[He's stumbling over his words as he digs around for something to help...]
[Connor is even more pale than usual, every freckle standing out on his face. He takes a shaky drag on the cigarette as soon as it's lit, tilted in his seet to geet pressure off his shoulder. It didn't go all the way through, meaning there's still a slug buried in it. Better really, since it's stemming the bleeding.
He glances over at Sean rifling through the glovebox, shifting over to find a fistful of napkins. He pushes these into Sean's hand.]
First aid kit's under the passenger seat behind me. We'll pull off and get it fixed when we're not being eyeballed, ok? It's gonna be fine. For now, can you hold that over it? You can't drive, I'm gonna have to.
[Sean's not unwilling to go fishing for the kit, but Connor's right, they can't fix it now. They have to wait. He gets the napkins against the wound, doing his best to stanch the blood without pressing down too hard. Jesus. Jesus Christ. What if they're being followed still? God, Jesus, if they were smart enough to put guys in his building, then they might be smart enough to have cars on the road.
Being paranoid feels terrible, but there's nothing Sean can do about it except hold those napkins in place, and soak up the blood coming out of him.]
Jesus. Jesus. I had such a bad feeling walking in there. I knew something was wrong. The Lord might as well have sent an angel down to tell me there was death waiting, and I just- if you hadn't seen it...
[Sean would be dead. Absolutely dead. All because he didn't want to leave his fucking books behind or his clothes or the other stupid little things he thought were important. None of it was worth dying over...]
[Connor huffs when pressure is put on the wound, grimacing but keeping most of his reaction strictly internalized. He wants to do this, to carry out his promise and get Sean to safety, no matter what ended up happening to him.
When they finally get to the open land outside the city, Connor pulls over off the interstate and reclines his seat, breathing heavily. It's not shock, but it's getting there, and he has to push himself to focus on the here and now. It helps, when he catches Sean around the back of the neck and has the chance to look him in the eye.]
Sean. Doll. You know I like listening to you, but you really need to stop and focus, here. There's gauze, alcohol and painkillers in the kit.
[As soon as the car comes to a stop, Sean's trying to see if he can reach into the backseat without getting out of the car to get that kit. That's when Connor catches him by the back of his neck, and makes him look Connor square on. Jesus, he's gone pale. It's like all the colour's draining out of him. Which. It kind of is. He's been shot, which means all the blood's going into the body - and then out of it. He sets his free hand on Connor's side, and gives him a pat.]
No, no, don't worry. I. Ha, I know this shit like the back of my hand. Hold onto this.
[He makes Connor hold onto the napkins and Sean gets out of the passenger side, going into the back to fish the first ait kit out and come back around with it. He settles back in, unzipping it, and getting the alcohol. He sets it on the dashboard with the rest of the kit, and starts unbuttoning Connor's shirt, carefully peeling it and the napkins back to look at the wound.]
You don't know the awful shock I got the first time I walked into a hospital here and found out they charge you for everything. I knew Americans paid more, but I had no idea how much you paid for everything. Jesus. Scared the shit out of me. So I had to get good at doing this. Like, don't get me wrong, I'm no doctor but... hey, I'm not going to charge you an arm and a leg for it, so it washes out right?
[And as he chats to distract Connor, Sean uses the alcohol to clear the wound. He carefully checks to see if the slug's still in one piece, or it's shattered. One piece. Thank god. Though that also makes it tricky, because they'll need to fish that out. But not here. That's asking for an infection to do that without clean tools and hot water and all the rest. So he'll patch it for now, and they'll pull that out later when they get where they're going. Sean cleans the worst of it, and wipes it down, and then gets the disinfectant over the wound, and finally adds plenty of gauze in a square over the wound before taping it down.
Not his best work, but it'll do for now. He checks the bottle for doses, and taps out two pills.]
We'll pull the slug out and stitch when I've got a sink, so we'll need to hit a drugstore when we're there, or before we're there if they don't have those out at Belle Isle. You can have these two now, and two more in four hours.
[Sean holds out the pills for Connor and glances around to see if somewhere among the fast food litter and other rubbish if there's an old soda or bottle of water or something. Doesn't look like it.]
Yeah, the healthcare system in the states is absolute horseshit. Tends to be why I get people requesting rides to the hospital in my car instead of the ambulance, or just to take them straight home. My health insurance doesn't cover dick-all unless it's...stuff like this, actually. On the job shit that workman's comp will cover if the benefits don't.
[He hisses quietly at the fabric peeling away from the wound, jaw clenched as Sean cleans it up. The alcohol stings like a sonofabitch but he'll deal. It's just a temporary fix. All of this is temporary.
He grouses distractedly about his shirt being ruined as Sean pops open the pill bottle, holding his hand out for the tablets then just tossing them into his mouth and bracing before crunching down on them and swallowing hard. It's absolutely disgusting, but he'd live, it'd kick in faster, and it'd be a story to tell later. He pulls his shirt back on straight and takes a few long breaths before popping the car back out of neutral and pulling onto the interstate once more.]
There's a full, privatized medical facility where I used to live. I'll cash in a favor after we get you to your place.
[Sean packs the rest of the aid back in the kit and tucks it under his seat this time, in case they need it again quickly. He also nods when Connor says he can get into a real doctor.]
That's good. I can do okay work but... like I said, I'm not a doctor. I just date a lot of assholes who don't have health care, or can't risk going to the hospital. You're- you were kind of the exception.
[He slumps back in his seat. Jesus Christ. Sean's done a lot of stupid fucking things for men, and he's paid the price for it before, but usually that's getting roughed up, or a bruised heart, or having to quickly move in the dead of night to shake an ex who wasn't letting things go. The cost of chasing dick has never been so high as it is right now.]
[Hearing their relationship referred to in the past tense already sucks so much. But then again it probably wasn't much of a relationship to begin with, just a dalliance between actual boyfriends because of Connor being low-maintenance and Sean enjoying his company.
But maybe it's better this way. One less thing to make him worry while he's on the job. One less reason to care.]
It's about an hour now. You'll see the tower first.
[An hour. That's... not bad. It's like a longer bus ride across the city. Just in a nicer vehicle. And with more awkward company.
This feels just like the time he walked into Five Guys and three of his goddamn ex's were in there at the same time. Jesus. He's just got the worst fucking luck.
Connor isn't chatting much and Sean usually loves to fill the gaps in silence, but what's he even got to say? Hey so what are your plans, after ruining my life? You working on any cases other than the one that's got you shot and has a hit out on my head? Seeing anybody new? Obviously not, your job is your life, plus it's not Sean's business anymore, if it ever was.
[After a few minutes' driving in silence, Connor ends up turning on his stereo and running the shuffle of all of his music, hopping it back and forth between a little bit of everything, from old punk to jazz to metal, eclectic and a little senseless. His fingers tap restlessly on the steering wheel, only stopping when Sean speaks up again. It makes something in his chest ease up just a little bit.]
My partner, detective Reed. He's got him for now.
[Another one that he's told Sean about; a chauvinist, a bit of a cock, but his oldest friend from the time he'd first run away from home as a teenager. There's a thought to offer to bring Musubi to see Sean, but he doubts the man would accept it, no matter how he likes the dog. Too awkward, after all. It's just not a good time.]
[Oh, good. He's glad Musubi won't be left alone. Part of him almost wishes he were coming with them. He could pet Musubi without feeling awkward and complicated about it. ... but if a dog got killed while the mob's trying to get him, Sean wouldn't be able to handle it. Jesus. It's too grim to think about. And they would, in a heartbeat, no matter how sweet the dog would be...]
Okay, that's good. Hopefully he'll be eating well, and getting good walks.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(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.]
(no subject)
30/10/18 04:06 (UTC)You're bleeding!
[No time to look closer. There's another gunshot, this one going somewhat wild and hitting the dirt near the now-closed door on Sean's side. He turns, and spots the flash of a barrel, coming out of Mr. Ramirez's window.]
Connor! We have to go!
(no subject)
30/10/18 04:45 (UTC)Stay down!
[In crisis mode, Connor isn't in the habit of carrying on a conversation. So while he drives toward the edge of the city, he's focused and deadly silent, and one can almost see him processing the best route to get them out fast. In the opposite direction, a small squadron of police cars surrounds the old apartment building and heads inside, following Connor's report. Hopefully the assassins weren't prepared for such a quick response.
Once they're headed over the bridge, Connor sinks down in his seat with a quiet grunt, reaching into his jacket pocket and fishing out a crunched pack of cigarettes. His hand is shaking as he pops one between his lips then fishes for his car's lighter.]
(no subject)
30/10/18 04:57 (UTC)[He ends up catches Connor's phone, one hand on it, and the other on the door as they tear out of there. He twists to look, but it's hard to see when he's slouched. He hears more gunshots, fading as they pull off, and the police deal with what's inside.
Sean feels his guts churning. He was right. All the long, he was right. They were going to kill him... There's no chance they're done yet, not while Sean's breathing.
And while trying to get him, they got Conner. It's clearly not fatal, and it doesn't look like it's going to do anything like keep him from using his arm. But it's got to be painful. Connor's fishing for his lighter when Sean gets it for him, lighting his cigarette so he can focus on the road. He puts it back, and promptly pops the glove compartment, checking to see what Connor's got for pain meds. They can't stop or go to a hospital, so they're going to have to drive straight through with that shoulder.]
Do you- is- meds? Pain meds in here? Anything for that?
[He's stumbling over his words as he digs around for something to help...]
(no subject)
30/10/18 06:23 (UTC)He glances over at Sean rifling through the glovebox, shifting over to find a fistful of napkins. He pushes these into Sean's hand.]
First aid kit's under the passenger seat behind me. We'll pull off and get it fixed when we're not being eyeballed, ok? It's gonna be fine. For now, can you hold that over it? You can't drive, I'm gonna have to.
(no subject)
30/10/18 06:32 (UTC)[Sean's not unwilling to go fishing for the kit, but Connor's right, they can't fix it now. They have to wait. He gets the napkins against the wound, doing his best to stanch the blood without pressing down too hard. Jesus. Jesus Christ. What if they're being followed still? God, Jesus, if they were smart enough to put guys in his building, then they might be smart enough to have cars on the road.
Being paranoid feels terrible, but there's nothing Sean can do about it except hold those napkins in place, and soak up the blood coming out of him.]
Jesus. Jesus. I had such a bad feeling walking in there. I knew something was wrong. The Lord might as well have sent an angel down to tell me there was death waiting, and I just- if you hadn't seen it...
[Sean would be dead. Absolutely dead. All because he didn't want to leave his fucking books behind or his clothes or the other stupid little things he thought were important. None of it was worth dying over...]
(no subject)
30/10/18 07:37 (UTC)When they finally get to the open land outside the city, Connor pulls over off the interstate and reclines his seat, breathing heavily. It's not shock, but it's getting there, and he has to push himself to focus on the here and now. It helps, when he catches Sean around the back of the neck and has the chance to look him in the eye.]
Sean. Doll. You know I like listening to you, but you really need to stop and focus, here. There's gauze, alcohol and painkillers in the kit.
(no subject)
30/10/18 13:59 (UTC)No, no, don't worry. I. Ha, I know this shit like the back of my hand. Hold onto this.
[He makes Connor hold onto the napkins and Sean gets out of the passenger side, going into the back to fish the first ait kit out and come back around with it. He settles back in, unzipping it, and getting the alcohol. He sets it on the dashboard with the rest of the kit, and starts unbuttoning Connor's shirt, carefully peeling it and the napkins back to look at the wound.]
You don't know the awful shock I got the first time I walked into a hospital here and found out they charge you for everything. I knew Americans paid more, but I had no idea how much you paid for everything. Jesus. Scared the shit out of me. So I had to get good at doing this. Like, don't get me wrong, I'm no doctor but... hey, I'm not going to charge you an arm and a leg for it, so it washes out right?
[And as he chats to distract Connor, Sean uses the alcohol to clear the wound. He carefully checks to see if the slug's still in one piece, or it's shattered. One piece. Thank god. Though that also makes it tricky, because they'll need to fish that out. But not here. That's asking for an infection to do that without clean tools and hot water and all the rest. So he'll patch it for now, and they'll pull that out later when they get where they're going. Sean cleans the worst of it, and wipes it down, and then gets the disinfectant over the wound, and finally adds plenty of gauze in a square over the wound before taping it down.
Not his best work, but it'll do for now. He checks the bottle for doses, and taps out two pills.]
We'll pull the slug out and stitch when I've got a sink, so we'll need to hit a drugstore when we're there, or before we're there if they don't have those out at Belle Isle. You can have these two now, and two more in four hours.
[Sean holds out the pills for Connor and glances around to see if somewhere among the fast food litter and other rubbish if there's an old soda or bottle of water or something. Doesn't look like it.]
Sorry, you're going to have to dry swallow them.
(no subject)
30/10/18 15:08 (UTC)[He hisses quietly at the fabric peeling away from the wound, jaw clenched as Sean cleans it up. The alcohol stings like a sonofabitch but he'll deal. It's just a temporary fix. All of this is temporary.
He grouses distractedly about his shirt being ruined as Sean pops open the pill bottle, holding his hand out for the tablets then just tossing them into his mouth and bracing before crunching down on them and swallowing hard. It's absolutely disgusting, but he'd live, it'd kick in faster, and it'd be a story to tell later. He pulls his shirt back on straight and takes a few long breaths before popping the car back out of neutral and pulling onto the interstate once more.]
There's a full, privatized medical facility where I used to live. I'll cash in a favor after we get you to your place.
(no subject)
30/10/18 15:21 (UTC)That's good. I can do okay work but... like I said, I'm not a doctor. I just date a lot of assholes who don't have health care, or can't risk going to the hospital. You're- you were kind of the exception.
[He slumps back in his seat. Jesus Christ. Sean's done a lot of stupid fucking things for men, and he's paid the price for it before, but usually that's getting roughed up, or a bruised heart, or having to quickly move in the dead of night to shake an ex who wasn't letting things go. The cost of chasing dick has never been so high as it is right now.]
... so how long is the drive?
Please correct me if I got the context wrong for "you were the exception"
30/10/18 16:04 (UTC)But maybe it's better this way. One less thing to make him worry while he's on the job. One less reason to care.]
It's about an hour now. You'll see the tower first.
You nailed it!
30/10/18 16:11 (UTC)This feels just like the time he walked into Five Guys and three of his goddamn ex's were in there at the same time. Jesus. He's just got the worst fucking luck.
Connor isn't chatting much and Sean usually loves to fill the gaps in silence, but what's he even got to say? Hey so what are your plans, after ruining my life? You working on any cases other than the one that's got you shot and has a hit out on my head? Seeing anybody new? Obviously not, your job is your life, plus it's not Sean's business anymore, if it ever was.
Something does occur to him and he blurts out-]
Who's looking after Musubi while we're out here?
now how to fix it bc connor is bad at this whole having feelings thing when it comes to his mission.
31/10/18 02:53 (UTC)My partner, detective Reed. He's got him for now.
[Another one that he's told Sean about; a chauvinist, a bit of a cock, but his oldest friend from the time he'd first run away from home as a teenager. There's a thought to offer to bring Musubi to see Sean, but he doubts the man would accept it, no matter how he likes the dog. Too awkward, after all. It's just not a good time.]
IT'S TRICKY Connor's trying! Sean will warm back up in time, once he's less afraid
31/10/18 02:59 (UTC)Okay, that's good. Hopefully he'll be eating well, and getting good walks.
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