fic: We Are Nowhere and It's Now
We Are Nowhere and It's Now
Generation Kill; Ray/Walt; pg-13; 1,549 words
"Normally I can't stand when reporters think they deserve special treatment, but there's something about you I like."
For jones6.
~*~
The first time they meet, it's at a press conference. Some mob boss is gonna be taking a long, long nap in the Chicago River, so Ray's boss sends him to get the scoop (and the unofficial scoop that the DA's office isn't willing to give up).
But instead of the geeky-looking chick who's spoken to the press for as long as Ray's worked at the Tribune, there's a seriously hot blond motherfucker in a suit Ray thinks costs as much as his rent.
"We have every intention of prosecuting Mr. Lombardi's case," the guy is saying. He's looking straight into a cluster of cameras, eyes open and sincere. "His personal life is irrelevant, and his ties in the community certainly don't impact our decision."
Damn. Ray thought he had a way with words, but this guy's really fucking good. He looks like he believes what he's saying and is truly invested in the case, which Ray knows is fucking rare in a lawyer who works for the SA.
"Mr. Hasser!" somebody shouts, pushing right in front of Ray. The asshole. "Do you have any suspects at this time?"
Ray gives him the evil eye real quick before jotting down Hasser on his notepad, pen poised to keep writing.
Hasser looks down for a minute, tongue sliding between his teeth as he shakes his head, and Ray doesn't even have time to think about how hot that is because he's on a motherfucking job right now and distractions will kill him.
"The police are talking to several people of interest," Hasser answers. "I'm sorry, that's all I have time for. We'll update you when we can."
Commotion. Everyone's fucking shouting over each other, trying to be heard when there's no one to answer their dumb-ass questions, shoving microphones around. Ray almost gets hit in the head making his way over to Hasser, who's fighting through the crowd as well.
"Sorry to bother you," Ray says. "I'm with the Tribune, and I was just wondering if there's anything you may have forgotten to mention just now. The higher-ups are fuckin' hounding me, and I'd love to have something a little more concrete to give them." He flashes a smile, because it can't hurt.
"You and me both." Hasser returns the grin. "Lucky you're charming. Normally I can't stand when reporters think they deserve special treatment, but there's something about you I like. Don't have any idea what it is, but I do." Without the cameras, his voice is different. There's a hint of country drawl-Virginia, if Ray's not mistaken, and he rarely is. "Here." Hasser presses a scrap of paper into Ray's hand, what looks like some high-class escort service's number scribbled on it.
"I owe you one," Ray says, and then Hasser's gone, disappearing into the crowd.
*
The second time they meet, Ray's hurrying out of his office into the cold. Messenger bag slung across his shoulder, his laptop bangs against his thigh with every step, but he's eager to get to the Metro.
A familiar shade of blond hair stops him, though, and he grins. "How'd you find me?"
The tone of Hasser's answer takes away some of his country boy innocence. "I have my ways," he says. "We haven't met yet. Walt Hasser. Assistant State's Attorney."
His handshake is firm, though he doesn't hold on too long, which Ray appreciates.
"Josh Ray Person. Journalist." He mentally kicks himself for using his first name; nobody calls him that except his mother. "It's just Ray, though."
"Look," Walt says. "I really shouldn't be talking to about this, but...we're having a tough time with a case. How about I buy you a cup of coffee?"
Starbucks is a block and a half away. Ray orders a venti, just because Walt's paying, and a donut he eats even though it's stale.
"What's this about?" he asks, slurping his drink despite his attempts not to.
Walt gives him a tight smile. "From what I hear, you're damn good at finding out people's private business. I'm not asking you to go out looking for anything special. I'm just wondering if you'd be able to confirm a few things for me."
He offers Walt a bite of donut, and says, "Yeah?"
"Um," Walt starts. His face is flushing pink, and he leans in a little, lowering his voice. "We're looking into this animal smuggling ring. Monkeys, snakes, exotic birds...whatever. Know anything about it."
"Off the record," Ray says. "My editor'll kill me if somebody else breaks this story."
"Yeah, yeah, of course."
"Homes, that shit's totally going down!" Ray exclaims. "We're tracking this one dude who supposedly has a motherfucking tiger in his penthouse. Crazy, right?"
"Crazy," Walt agrees. "And you wouldn't happen to know anything else? Names, contact information, details on the sellers..."
"Man, today's your lucky day. It's a smuggling ring for sure," Ray says. "At least five guys, maybe more. Right now, it looks like they're operating out of a Korean church. We're looking into a few corrupt customs officers at O'Hare who are probably getting kickbacks from the sales."
"That's great," Walt replies, fingers typing away on his BlackBerry. "Really helpful. You know, we were trying to set up a sting, but didn't have enough information. Now, we just might...actually, I think you'd do pretty well as a plant. Sincere. I could see about having you team up with a cop and go undercover. It'd certainly let you write your story from a unique angle."
"Sounds fucking awesome," Ray says. "Lee's gonna love it.
*
The third time they meet, it's got nothing to do with their jobs, or with the opportunity for personal gain. Walt invited him out to dinner via email, and Ray didn't really have any reason to say no. They haven't talked at all outside of requests for information, but Walt seems like a good guy, smart and honest and maybe even someone who'll think Ray's hilarious.
Walt suggests Weber Grill, and Ray agrees easily, even though he'd be just as happy chowing down on deep dish and drinking cheap beer. The suit he digs out is just a little tight in the shoulders. Not too noticeable, though, and the skinny tie kind of makes him look like a badass.
Of course Walt made reservations for them. It'd be too hard to get in without them, but it makes the whole thing seem more formal. More official. More like a real date. Walt's wearing glasses Ray's never seen before, and a green v-neck sweater under his jacket that makes him look really fucking hot.
"Let's not talk about work," he suggests as they sit, taking a sip of his water. The ice clinks against the glass, making Ray acutely aware that his face feels warmer than normal. "Tell me about yourself."
Ray talks about Nevada, about his high school and the assholes who made those four years a living hell. He talks about how, after graduation, he almost joined the Marines, but took Vanderbilt up on their free ride instead. He explains how his interest in philosophy shifted to one in journalism, and how he spent three years working at tabloids before moving to Chicago. At no point does Walt look bored, only amused, so Ray doesn't even notice how much he's rambling until their waiter comes by, apparently irate that he's asked three times for their order, only to be told that they weren't ready yet.
If Ray had shame, he'd blush, but he doesn't. Walt does that for him, though, and Ray does apologize. He admits that honestly, he doesn't know what half the shit on the menu is, and has no fucking clue what to do with the wine list that's about as long with his arm. Walt smiles in a way that doesn't make Ray feel embarrassed, and orders for both of them, mentioning that he'd never eaten like this before becoming a lawyer.
The food is really fucking good, and the wine is surprisingly strong: red, with undertones of pepper and cherry. It gets him tipsy, and then it gets him even more buzzed, and soon they're trading stories about college.
"I rushed a frat my first year," Ray admits. "They made me skinny-dip in the university fountain while I was drunk, and then we got duct-taped to trees." Walt looks simultaneously amazed and horrified. "Yeah, after that night, I decided to just write for the school newspaper."
"Sounds like you made the right choice," Walt says after taking a sip of his drink. "I was vice president of my fraternity, actually, but it was a lot more low-key than whatever clusterfuck you had the smarts to rush."
"Golden boy," Ray quips. "I bet none of your fucking pledges got alcohol poisoning."
"Not on my watch." He grins.
Before Ray knows it, he's finished with his dinner. The check's been paid, and they're lingering at the table a little awkwardly.
"I hope this isn't rude or presumptuous or whatever of me," he starts, "but do you want to get coffee or dessert or something? We don't have to go back to my place; I just-"
Walt reaches his hand across the table, squeezes Ray's once. "I'd like that," he says.
Generation Kill; Ray/Walt; pg-13; 1,549 words
"Normally I can't stand when reporters think they deserve special treatment, but there's something about you I like."
For jones6.
~*~
The first time they meet, it's at a press conference. Some mob boss is gonna be taking a long, long nap in the Chicago River, so Ray's boss sends him to get the scoop (and the unofficial scoop that the DA's office isn't willing to give up).
But instead of the geeky-looking chick who's spoken to the press for as long as Ray's worked at the Tribune, there's a seriously hot blond motherfucker in a suit Ray thinks costs as much as his rent.
"We have every intention of prosecuting Mr. Lombardi's case," the guy is saying. He's looking straight into a cluster of cameras, eyes open and sincere. "His personal life is irrelevant, and his ties in the community certainly don't impact our decision."
Damn. Ray thought he had a way with words, but this guy's really fucking good. He looks like he believes what he's saying and is truly invested in the case, which Ray knows is fucking rare in a lawyer who works for the SA.
"Mr. Hasser!" somebody shouts, pushing right in front of Ray. The asshole. "Do you have any suspects at this time?"
Ray gives him the evil eye real quick before jotting down Hasser on his notepad, pen poised to keep writing.
Hasser looks down for a minute, tongue sliding between his teeth as he shakes his head, and Ray doesn't even have time to think about how hot that is because he's on a motherfucking job right now and distractions will kill him.
"The police are talking to several people of interest," Hasser answers. "I'm sorry, that's all I have time for. We'll update you when we can."
Commotion. Everyone's fucking shouting over each other, trying to be heard when there's no one to answer their dumb-ass questions, shoving microphones around. Ray almost gets hit in the head making his way over to Hasser, who's fighting through the crowd as well.
"Sorry to bother you," Ray says. "I'm with the Tribune, and I was just wondering if there's anything you may have forgotten to mention just now. The higher-ups are fuckin' hounding me, and I'd love to have something a little more concrete to give them." He flashes a smile, because it can't hurt.
"You and me both." Hasser returns the grin. "Lucky you're charming. Normally I can't stand when reporters think they deserve special treatment, but there's something about you I like. Don't have any idea what it is, but I do." Without the cameras, his voice is different. There's a hint of country drawl-Virginia, if Ray's not mistaken, and he rarely is. "Here." Hasser presses a scrap of paper into Ray's hand, what looks like some high-class escort service's number scribbled on it.
"I owe you one," Ray says, and then Hasser's gone, disappearing into the crowd.
*
The second time they meet, Ray's hurrying out of his office into the cold. Messenger bag slung across his shoulder, his laptop bangs against his thigh with every step, but he's eager to get to the Metro.
A familiar shade of blond hair stops him, though, and he grins. "How'd you find me?"
The tone of Hasser's answer takes away some of his country boy innocence. "I have my ways," he says. "We haven't met yet. Walt Hasser. Assistant State's Attorney."
His handshake is firm, though he doesn't hold on too long, which Ray appreciates.
"Josh Ray Person. Journalist." He mentally kicks himself for using his first name; nobody calls him that except his mother. "It's just Ray, though."
"Look," Walt says. "I really shouldn't be talking to about this, but...we're having a tough time with a case. How about I buy you a cup of coffee?"
Starbucks is a block and a half away. Ray orders a venti, just because Walt's paying, and a donut he eats even though it's stale.
"What's this about?" he asks, slurping his drink despite his attempts not to.
Walt gives him a tight smile. "From what I hear, you're damn good at finding out people's private business. I'm not asking you to go out looking for anything special. I'm just wondering if you'd be able to confirm a few things for me."
He offers Walt a bite of donut, and says, "Yeah?"
"Um," Walt starts. His face is flushing pink, and he leans in a little, lowering his voice. "We're looking into this animal smuggling ring. Monkeys, snakes, exotic birds...whatever. Know anything about it."
"Off the record," Ray says. "My editor'll kill me if somebody else breaks this story."
"Yeah, yeah, of course."
"Homes, that shit's totally going down!" Ray exclaims. "We're tracking this one dude who supposedly has a motherfucking tiger in his penthouse. Crazy, right?"
"Crazy," Walt agrees. "And you wouldn't happen to know anything else? Names, contact information, details on the sellers..."
"Man, today's your lucky day. It's a smuggling ring for sure," Ray says. "At least five guys, maybe more. Right now, it looks like they're operating out of a Korean church. We're looking into a few corrupt customs officers at O'Hare who are probably getting kickbacks from the sales."
"That's great," Walt replies, fingers typing away on his BlackBerry. "Really helpful. You know, we were trying to set up a sting, but didn't have enough information. Now, we just might...actually, I think you'd do pretty well as a plant. Sincere. I could see about having you team up with a cop and go undercover. It'd certainly let you write your story from a unique angle."
"Sounds fucking awesome," Ray says. "Lee's gonna love it.
*
The third time they meet, it's got nothing to do with their jobs, or with the opportunity for personal gain. Walt invited him out to dinner via email, and Ray didn't really have any reason to say no. They haven't talked at all outside of requests for information, but Walt seems like a good guy, smart and honest and maybe even someone who'll think Ray's hilarious.
Walt suggests Weber Grill, and Ray agrees easily, even though he'd be just as happy chowing down on deep dish and drinking cheap beer. The suit he digs out is just a little tight in the shoulders. Not too noticeable, though, and the skinny tie kind of makes him look like a badass.
Of course Walt made reservations for them. It'd be too hard to get in without them, but it makes the whole thing seem more formal. More official. More like a real date. Walt's wearing glasses Ray's never seen before, and a green v-neck sweater under his jacket that makes him look really fucking hot.
"Let's not talk about work," he suggests as they sit, taking a sip of his water. The ice clinks against the glass, making Ray acutely aware that his face feels warmer than normal. "Tell me about yourself."
Ray talks about Nevada, about his high school and the assholes who made those four years a living hell. He talks about how, after graduation, he almost joined the Marines, but took Vanderbilt up on their free ride instead. He explains how his interest in philosophy shifted to one in journalism, and how he spent three years working at tabloids before moving to Chicago. At no point does Walt look bored, only amused, so Ray doesn't even notice how much he's rambling until their waiter comes by, apparently irate that he's asked three times for their order, only to be told that they weren't ready yet.
If Ray had shame, he'd blush, but he doesn't. Walt does that for him, though, and Ray does apologize. He admits that honestly, he doesn't know what half the shit on the menu is, and has no fucking clue what to do with the wine list that's about as long with his arm. Walt smiles in a way that doesn't make Ray feel embarrassed, and orders for both of them, mentioning that he'd never eaten like this before becoming a lawyer.
The food is really fucking good, and the wine is surprisingly strong: red, with undertones of pepper and cherry. It gets him tipsy, and then it gets him even more buzzed, and soon they're trading stories about college.
"I rushed a frat my first year," Ray admits. "They made me skinny-dip in the university fountain while I was drunk, and then we got duct-taped to trees." Walt looks simultaneously amazed and horrified. "Yeah, after that night, I decided to just write for the school newspaper."
"Sounds like you made the right choice," Walt says after taking a sip of his drink. "I was vice president of my fraternity, actually, but it was a lot more low-key than whatever clusterfuck you had the smarts to rush."
"Golden boy," Ray quips. "I bet none of your fucking pledges got alcohol poisoning."
"Not on my watch." He grins.
Before Ray knows it, he's finished with his dinner. The check's been paid, and they're lingering at the table a little awkwardly.
"I hope this isn't rude or presumptuous or whatever of me," he starts, "but do you want to get coffee or dessert or something? We don't have to go back to my place; I just-"
Walt reaches his hand across the table, squeezes Ray's once. "I'd like that," he says.