Mike/Tom Cop AU - Found Again - R
Found Again
R
Tom/Mike
Angst, schmoop, and boys with guns.
A bit of backstory set in kashmir1's cop_au_verse. Mike gets a new partner and isn't too happy about it. It's set about 4 years prior to her fic in the verse where Jensen and Jared meet.
A big thanks to kashmir1 for not only letting me play around with her 'verse, but also for reading through this, nit picking and squeeing for me and kicking my ass until I did these two boys justice.
Michael hadn't changed his clothes.
There was still blood along the front of his jacket, up his neck, and he found that if he tongued the corner of his mouth, he could find the taste of blood there as well.
His partner's blood.
Barry's blood.
Go home. They said to him. Go home, Rosenbaum. You can do paperwork later.
But he told them all no and I'm fine and even the new guy, Ackles, got a growling Fuck off. when he tried to bring him coffee.
The door to the meeting room opened and Michael's gaze wandered blearily over to find Morgan staring down at him. "Schneider wanted me to get your statement." He sat down across from him.
"Yeah."
"You sure you're up to this? We can always-"
"Get on with it, Sergeant." Michael snapped.
Morgan opened the folder in his hand and started jotting something down. He was practically fuming. "You know...you're not the only one who lost a friend tonight, Rosenbaum." He muttered.
Michael narrowed his eyes. "Well, I'm the only one with his blood all over me, so you'll have to excuse me if it's hitting me rather hard."
Morgan locked eyes with him and slammed his hand down on the conference table. "Let's get one thing straight, right now. You didn't get Barry killed."
Michael felt sick.
"You didn't make him go into that building without back up." He heard Morgan rage on. "You didn't shoot him. It's not your fault that-"
But Michael couldn't hear him.
He gasped for breath, his chest pulling tight, and he saw stars then...nothing at all.
Michael went to two weeks of meetings with a staff therapist. 'Anxiety attacks'. That's what they told him was wrong with him. After the required grief counseling he didn't talk about it again.
That didn't stop him from crying himself to sleep at night, whispering Barry's name into the darkness and hoping he'd be there when he woke up.
He never was though.
*****
Four Years Later...
A rookie. And a transfer to boot.
Jesus, Morgan must really have it in for him.
Michael tossed the file onto his desk with a sigh. There wasn't much to read about the illustrious career of Tom Welling. He had been on the force for about a year and had just passed his detective test a month ago. There were no reprimands or suspensions, but the guy seemed to have a hero complex, not that every other cop didn't, but this guy had two commendations on his record and they were both for going above and beyond the call of duty to save a life.
"Heard you're getting a new partner."
Michael looked up and saw Jensen standing next to his desk, a cup of coffee in his outstretched hand. He accepted it gratefully. "Don't be mad just because it wasn't you."
"Yeah, right." Jensen scoffed, moving to sit on his own desk that was next to Michael's. "I already see enough of you at the station, you think I want to spend my every waking moment in the field with you?"
"Very funny, cowboy." Michael deadpanned.
"Seriously though, Rosenbaum. Don't give this guy a hard time." Jensen warned. "It's not his fault he got partnered with a bastard like you."
*****
There was some stranger sitting in on the briefing the next morning and Morgan didn't even need to say it for Mike to know it was his new partner.
Welling was tall, wide-shouldered, looked like the captain of the fucking football team. The kind of guy that would have beaten the shit out of him in high school.
Great. Because he wanted to relive that.
But, he watched him as Morgan passed out assignments. Watched him when Chad got all pissy about the case he'd been assigned. Watched him when Ackles started calling Chad a big baby, which normally would have piqued his interest, but he just couldn't stop thinking about the way this new guy seemed to be settling right in looking completely
unfazed by what was going on around him.
After the briefing, Michael sauntered up to him, watching as he finished off another donut. "You beat my record." He said with a
smile.
"What?" He asked and confused seemed to be his default look.
"Five donuts before before 9:00 am...and with sprinkles no less. I could never make it over the 4 and a half hump."
Then, Welling smiled and it was brilliant and big and slightly goofy and maybe Michael's icy resolve to give him such a hard time melted a little. "What can I say? Cops. Donuts. I just fit the stereotype."
*****
"You have a case?" Michael said, leaning forward, suddenly interested.
"Oh, do I have a case?" Jensen's smile was pure satisfaction. "Of course I do. I'm Daddy's favorite. And that's just what it is.
My case." He waved the file in Michael's face. "You're not coming anywhere near it."
Michael rolled his eyes. "Man, you beat a guy to an arrest one time..."
Jensen glared at him. "One time?"
"Okay, maybe more than once." He admitted.
"Besides, Rosenbaum...don't you have a partner to train? It's been a week and he still hasn't met everyone. Where have you been hiding him?"
"I haven't been hiding him, just keeping him busy with more important matters."
"Here's your coffee, Michael." Tom set the steaming paper cup on his desk and sipped his own. He had the biggest smile on his face like going to get coffee was his favorite thing in the fucking universe.
It was absolutely adorable and incredibly unfair.
Jensen's scoff brought him out of his reverie. "Yeah, Starbucks run...real important."
Michael rolled his chair closer to Jensen's desk. "So...what's your case about?" He asked innocently.
Jensen sighed and opened the file. "I'm only telling you so you won't bug me about it later."
Michael grinned and looked eagerly over his shoulder. "It's the kidnap case."
Jensen frowned as he flipped through the file. "Yeah. Her mom's here for questioning today. Damn...the little girl's only nine."
Michael read from the statement. "Snatched at the bus stop...no ransom demanded...possible sexual assault..."
"Fucking scum bags."
They both looked up quickly at the sound of a low voice. Tom was sitting across from them, looking down at his coffee like he wanted to strangle it. His jaw was clenched and there was a flush spreading across his cheeks. He looked up at them and Michael nearly recoiled at the anger he saw in Tom's eyes. "Who would do that to a little girl?"
Jensen shrugged. "Fucking scum bags, man. You were right."
Tom sighed and it was the first time Michael had seen the stress of the job get to his new partner.
*****
"What are we doing here? I thought Morgan didn't have a case for us yet." Tom asked, following Michael into the witness room.
"He doesn't." Michael answered patiently, straightening his tie. "That's why we're borrowing Jensen's."
Tom didn't say anything, but the pained look on his face almost made him feel guilty. Almost.
"Oh, Jesus...don't cry, Welling. I said 'borrow' not 'steal.' Don't worry." He smiled.
They moved into the room, Tom sitting on the opposite side of the table from their witness and Mike leaning against the wall.
"So, Mrs. Ferris, you first noticed your daughter was missing on Friday?" Tom asked.
"Please, call me Samantha...and yes, it was last friday. She didn't come home from school and she usually takes the bus so..." She took a deep, but shaky, breath. "You have to find her." She added in a whisper.
Tom nodded solemnly. "We're going to. I promise."
He said it so sincerely that Michael almost believed him, even though he knew the statistics were not in their favor. He cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Is there anything else you can tell us? Anything we don't know already?"
She shook her head. "Detective Ackles knows what-"
"No, I mean, do you know of anyone who could've done this?"
Samantha looked bewildered so Tom spoke up. "Mrs. Ferris...Samantha, it's just that in many of these kinds of cases the suspects tend to be family members, close friends, teachers. I know it's scary to think about, but...we need you to try."
Michael leaned forward anxiously as she turned the question over in her head. "There is someone." She finally said hesitantly.
Tom and Mike looked at her expectantly.
"My ex-husband." She said in a heavy voice. "Her father."
*****
Michael liked the bar because it wasn't the typical yuppie hangout. It wasn't the typical over-worked cop crowd either. It was somewhere in the middle. Good food and the bartender kept his drink full and had a nice ass he could stare at if the hockey game got boring.
It was a slice of heaven.
That's why, when he was halfway through his bacon burger and the Rangers were up by 3, he could practically hear the record in his head screech to a halt when Tom slid onto the stool next to him.
"Killian's please. On tap if you have it, if not then a bottle's just fine." He said with a wide smile.
"Sure thing."" The bartender, Kelly, winked at him. She was all breathy and giggly. His bartender. His Kelly. The one he always flirted with. Fuck, she hasn't smiled like that at him before.
Tom was oblivious to her attention, as always, and he stole a fry from Mike's plate. "Hey, Rosenbaum."
Kelly slid Tom's bottle over to him, her number scribbled on the cocktail napkin underneath it. "There you go, sweetheart."
Suddenly, he wasn't mad at Tom for interrupting his dinner. He was mad at the slutty bartender that thinks she can pick up his partner by batting her eyes at him. He leaned over Tom and picked up the napkin, crumpling it up and using it to wipe his mouth. He gave Kelly a look that says 'back off.'
Woah, where had all that come from?
Tom, still so clueless it was almost adorable, took a long pull from his bottle and sighed. "Long day, huh?"
"Fucking marathon of a day, I know." Mike tried to tell himself that the sight of those lips around a phallic object didn't just make his dick twitch in his pants. He tried and failed, because goddamn, he was hard. The fact that Tom was pressed close enough that he could smell his sweat and cologne and the faint scent of leather from his holster? Yeah, that was not helping either.
"Isn't there a game on tonight?"
"Uh..." Right. Talking. He remembered how to do that. Sure. He glanced up at the TV above the bar, where Tom was pointing. "A game? Man...we're watching the only game that's on. The end."
Tom laughed and ducked his head sheepishly. "Oh, hockey? Never really got into it."
Michael scoffed. "I'll pretend you didn't just say that."
He taught Tom all the finger points of the game while they watched and he let Tom steal food from his plate and laughed at all his corny jokes.
It was bordering on normal...and that was a little scary.
*****
The sidewalk was crooked. He wasn't tipsy. Nope. Not at all.
Tom's arm was around his waist, practically holding him up and Michael swayed on his feet, slumping against him.
"You're drunk, Mike." Tom laughed in his ear.
Michael groaned and reached up to grip the front of Tom's shirt. "Nooo. Just, very, very...happy." He grinned.
They both stumbled and Michael's breath came out in a whoosh as he shoved Tom against the rough brick wall. "Whoops." He mumbled.
Tom's eyes were glazed over and his tongue darted out to wet his lower lip. "Happy, huh?" He whispered. "The five beers have nothing to do with that?"
When Michael shifted against him, their hips met with a soft clink of their belt buckles.
Alarm bells were going off in his head, but the lazy haze of alcohol made them only a distant annoyance. "Fuck, you're beautiful." He groaned as if he was just now realizing it and he moved in to kiss him. He only succeeded in smearing his mouth wetly along Tom's chin. Tom's lips parted with a sigh and it was only a drag of Michael's mouth up and over before they were kissing, tongues winding together lazily.
Long fingers gripped his back, clenching in his jacket and Michael whimpered when Tom shoved his knee up between his legs. He only pulled away because he needed air, but he dove right back in, growling and nipping along that fucking gorgeous mouth.
"I want you." Tom told him breathlessly. "Want you to fuck me. Want to fuck you. Christ, Michael...I need you so much."
And suddenly, he was very, very sober. The familiar scent of sweat and leather was familiar for a reason. All he could see was Barry's face. All he could hear was Barry's voice. It was too much.
He pushed against Tom roughly, staggering back and wiping a hand over his face. "Son of a bitch..."
"What? What is it?"
"I can't...I can't do this." Michael gasped, that familiar feeling of tightness in his chest completing the deja vu.
"Mike?" Tom's voice broke on his name and Michael couldn't look at him.
He finally met Tom's pleading gaze and shook his head. "You can't be him." He whispered and walked away, knowing Tom deserved a better explanation than that. He just couldn't give him one.
*****
It was Friday. Friday. Except, fuck, he woke up thinking it was Sunday and just as he settled back against his pillows, his alarm went off, blaring some insane morning show hosts voice in his ear and that definitely did not help with the slight hangover he had. He slapped at the snooze button until he finally hit it and then sighed
with relief.
He rolled over onto his back and scrubbed his hands over his face. He watched the blades of the ceiling fan turn lazily and he let his fingers drift under the waistband of his pajama bottoms.
He told himself he wasn't going to think about Tom, but he eventually came, his whole body shivering and his partner's name on his lips.
******
There was no awkward moment that morning when Michael strolled in to find Tom at his locker with nothing on but a towel on and that sheepish smile of his.
Well, there was a slightly awkward moment when Mike found he couldn't stop watching a droplet of water make its way down Tom's neck and across his chest to seep into the material of the towel that was resting just below his hips.
Damn, that towel.
Tom swiped at the bangs that were sticking to his forehead. "Hey, man." He began nervously. "Look I..."
Mike held up a hand. "Don't worry about it. Let's not be weird. Let's just chalk up last night to a little too much alcohol and my maudlin mood to the fact that the Rangers lost."
Tom narrowed his eyes. "Mike...what you said? What I said?"
"Doesn't matter, right?" He said happily, smile plastered on his face. "We've got to-
"Sorry to interrupt your tea party, ladies." A gruff voice nearly caused Michael to jump and he looked up to find Morgan standing in the doorway. "But I've got police work for you. You can paint your nails later."
Michael felt his face flush and didn't have to look at Tom to know he was blushing to.
*****
"Sit down, Rosenbaum." Is all that Morgan growled when Michael followed behind him into his office.
Jesus, why did coming in here always feel like getting sent to the principal's office?
"Clearly there's some sort of tension between you and the new kid." He began with a sigh. "But...you know, if you've got problems with him, you work them out." Morgan said not leaning back in his chair and narrowing his eyes at him. "I'm not Oprah and we will not be 'sharing our feelings' or 'working through this' in any way, understood?"
Michael fiddled wit the end of his tie. "Yes, Sarge." He answered solemnly.
Morgan finally looked up at him. "I put you with him for a reason."
"Why's that?" It came out sounding sarcastic, but he didn't mean it to. He gave Morgan a pleading look.
"Barry's death, well...it was a fucking shame, a fucking shame." He looked at Michael pointedly. "But it's been four years
and I'm not going to let this ruin you. I want you working the big cases and you have to have a partner to do that."
Michael swallowed and responded automatically. "I understand, sir."
"People love this Welling kid. You don't." It wasn't a question, it was an accusation. Morgan lowered his gaze before he continued. "What happened with Barry wasn't his fault, Mike. Don't hold that against him."
His hands clenched into fists. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to punch Morgan in the face. Instead, he nodded and muttered "I'll try better, Sarge."
Morgan seemed to be sizing him up. "You do that." He said after a pause. "Now, Ackles has a case I want you to help him with."
He suddenly perked up. He couldn't be that fucking lucky, could he? "The kidnap case?"
"Yeah. That one." Oh, he could. "Better I let you in on it now before you go behind my back and look into it anyway."
*****
Jensen was staring at him. And not in a fun 'Let's go hit the karaoke bar after work, Rosenbaum!' kind of way but more of a 'You are a fucking case stealing asshole, Rosenbaum!' way.
Maybe if he just pretended to be really concentrating on his game of solitaire, Jensen wouldn't-
"Rosenbaum."
Shit. Michael looked up with an almost convincing innocent gaze. "Something wrong?"
Jensen sat on the edge of his desk and frowned. "You want to tell me why Allison over at the courthouse called me this morning telling me she had the information I'd requested on Samantha Ferris' husband's criminal record?"
"That Allison." Michael muttered. "We should send her flowers. She's very helpful."
"Yeah. That she is." Jensen said with a nod. "But she must be a fucking psychic considering I never asked for her help in the first
place."
Tom, helpful as usual, chose that moment to look up from his paper. "Oh, that was us."
Jensen scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Figures."
Michael held up his hands. "Don't get your panties in a twist, Ackles. Morgan said we could help you out on this case."
"I know." Jensen said with a sigh, hand reaching around to scratch the back of his neck. "But, Rosenbaum, I swear to God if you get the arrest on this I will-"
"We won't." Tom said, speaking up, again, always and ever helpful. "I won't let him."
Michael turned to stare at him in disbelief. "Oh, you won't let me?" He said, standing up and leaning over his desk. "Whatcha gonna do, farmboy?"
Tom looked down and sat his newspaper on his desk. He stood up, that fucker, and he used his height to lean in close and loom over Michael. "I won't let you." He said slowly, in a low voice that shot straight down to Michael's cock. He'd never heard that voice before.
Michael leaned back a bit, clearing his throat. "Well then..."
Jensen was looking at Tom like he was his hero. "Hey, Welling, what do you think of the angry father angle?"
Tom took a deep breath, but kept his gaze on Mike. "I don't know. Kidnapping his own child? It seems like an easy explanation, but it fits."
"Rookie's right, Jensen." Michael said quickly, Tom's words making him think. "It does seem a little convenient, but the Dad does have priors and the divorce wasn't pretty. I'm thinking this is all about revenge for him."
The corner of Tom's mouth lifted in a smile and he tilted his head. "Did you just say I was right?"
The tense moment passed between them, replaced by something else, something Mike could definitely get used to. He smiled softly. "Don't let it go to your head."
*****
They heard the call on the radio when they were headed back to the station after their shift.
"All units...we have a possible 207 at the corner of 35th and Elm. Be advised suspects sighted. Armed and possibly dangerous..."
Tom looked over at him from the passenger's seat. "We're close. That's kidnapping. You wanna check it out?"
Michael sighed and closed his eyes. He'd been a cop long enough to know when to go with his gut instincts. "This is it. I know it is. Someone who's stupid enough to be out in the open with the kid and a gun? Sounds like our ex-husband with priors. Definitely our guy." He opened his eyes and met Tom's gaze and nodded. "Let's go."
*****
Michael followed Tom around the side of the house, both of them moving slowly. The sounds of a scuffle could be heard from inside and as they approached the back corner of the house, Tom held up his hand for him to stop. He, however, kept moving.
Michael grabbed the collar of his jacket and yanked him back. "What do you think you're doing?" He hissed.
"Ending this before anyone else can get hurt." Tom murmured, head craned back over his shoulder to look him in the eye.
"Wait. Just wait." Michael said quickly, that sickening feeling returning that let him know something was wrong. He couldn't explain why he let his fingers tangle in Tom's hair. "We just called for back up. Jensen and Chris...they should be here any minute."
Tom, damn him, he was leaning into that touch, eyelids drooping like he wanted even more. God, when had they gotten so close? Michael could feel the press of Tom's body all along his front. "There's no time." Tom insisted, brows drawing together in confusion.
It was all happening again, all over again, and Michael felt a strange sensation that felt like falling and when he blinked again he saw Barry instead of Tom.
"Don't go." He practically whimpered. "Not like this. Not again."
He was pressing Barry against the fence...no Tom...no, fuck it was all one big blur now. He sobbed and clung to broad shoulders and it felt like everything he'd ever wanted to say was coming out of his mouth.
"It was my fault. My fault. Barry was my friend and I shouldn't have let him- Oh, God, and he knew. He knew back up was only five minutes out...but he wanted to go in anyway. 'Come on, Rosenbaum. Let me catch the bad guys.' He told me, and I laughed. I fucking laughed and told him to go in and...he...he got riddled with bullets."
He gasped. There were sirens in the distance and he wondered if he was just imagining them.
Tom twisted around to face him, his hands cupping his jaw, the back of his neck. "Why didn't you tell me?" He said through clenched teeth. "You're scared that you won't be able to save me."
Michael shook his head, it cleared his muddled thoughts somewhat. "No. Tom I..." He looked up, eyes pleading and he hoped Tom knew that he meant what he was about to say. "I need you...so much. And that's what scares me."
Tom crushed his lips against his a moment later and he spun them around until Michael was the one pressed into the rotting wood of the fence. Michael opened his mouth, Tom's jaw dropped, and the slip slide of their tongues nearly had his knees buckling.
They heard the squad scars pull up, the sounds of SWAT busting down the door, and Tom pulled back to nudge his nose along Michael's. "All the pointless errands? All the complaining?" Tom asked, voice rough. "All of it was it just to keep me away?"
Michael breathed deeply, letting the smell of Tom's skin wash over him. "Yeah. At first because I didn't want what happened to Barry to happen to you, but then...dammit Tom, I care about you...I-I've wanted you for so long." He added gruffly.
Tom shivered and pulled away. It seemed like the effort was hurting him. They both took deep breathes, trying to calm down before someone found them worked up like that.
"Jensen was wrong about you." Tom said as he pulled out his radio to tell the SWAT team where they were.
"How's that?" Michael's hands were already itching to touch him again.
Tom grinned, lopsided and adorable. "He said you were damaged. Underneath all the sarcasm and the insults you were damaged. It was all a front."
Michael let his words sink in. It was probably true, but he knew fuck all about psychology. "And what do you think?"
Tom lowered the radio. "I think...that you just need me. We can figure the rest out later."
His smile widened and Michael found it extremely contagious.
R
Tom/Mike
Angst, schmoop, and boys with guns.
A bit of backstory set in kashmir1's cop_au_verse. Mike gets a new partner and isn't too happy about it. It's set about 4 years prior to her fic in the verse where Jensen and Jared meet.
A big thanks to kashmir1 for not only letting me play around with her 'verse, but also for reading through this, nit picking and squeeing for me and kicking my ass until I did these two boys justice.
Michael hadn't changed his clothes.
There was still blood along the front of his jacket, up his neck, and he found that if he tongued the corner of his mouth, he could find the taste of blood there as well.
His partner's blood.
Barry's blood.
Go home. They said to him. Go home, Rosenbaum. You can do paperwork later.
But he told them all no and I'm fine and even the new guy, Ackles, got a growling Fuck off. when he tried to bring him coffee.
The door to the meeting room opened and Michael's gaze wandered blearily over to find Morgan staring down at him. "Schneider wanted me to get your statement." He sat down across from him.
"Yeah."
"You sure you're up to this? We can always-"
"Get on with it, Sergeant." Michael snapped.
Morgan opened the folder in his hand and started jotting something down. He was practically fuming. "You know...you're not the only one who lost a friend tonight, Rosenbaum." He muttered.
Michael narrowed his eyes. "Well, I'm the only one with his blood all over me, so you'll have to excuse me if it's hitting me rather hard."
Morgan locked eyes with him and slammed his hand down on the conference table. "Let's get one thing straight, right now. You didn't get Barry killed."
Michael felt sick.
"You didn't make him go into that building without back up." He heard Morgan rage on. "You didn't shoot him. It's not your fault that-"
But Michael couldn't hear him.
He gasped for breath, his chest pulling tight, and he saw stars then...nothing at all.
Michael went to two weeks of meetings with a staff therapist. 'Anxiety attacks'. That's what they told him was wrong with him. After the required grief counseling he didn't talk about it again.
That didn't stop him from crying himself to sleep at night, whispering Barry's name into the darkness and hoping he'd be there when he woke up.
He never was though.
*****
Four Years Later...
A rookie. And a transfer to boot.
Jesus, Morgan must really have it in for him.
Michael tossed the file onto his desk with a sigh. There wasn't much to read about the illustrious career of Tom Welling. He had been on the force for about a year and had just passed his detective test a month ago. There were no reprimands or suspensions, but the guy seemed to have a hero complex, not that every other cop didn't, but this guy had two commendations on his record and they were both for going above and beyond the call of duty to save a life.
"Heard you're getting a new partner."
Michael looked up and saw Jensen standing next to his desk, a cup of coffee in his outstretched hand. He accepted it gratefully. "Don't be mad just because it wasn't you."
"Yeah, right." Jensen scoffed, moving to sit on his own desk that was next to Michael's. "I already see enough of you at the station, you think I want to spend my every waking moment in the field with you?"
"Very funny, cowboy." Michael deadpanned.
"Seriously though, Rosenbaum. Don't give this guy a hard time." Jensen warned. "It's not his fault he got partnered with a bastard like you."
*****
There was some stranger sitting in on the briefing the next morning and Morgan didn't even need to say it for Mike to know it was his new partner.
Welling was tall, wide-shouldered, looked like the captain of the fucking football team. The kind of guy that would have beaten the shit out of him in high school.
Great. Because he wanted to relive that.
But, he watched him as Morgan passed out assignments. Watched him when Chad got all pissy about the case he'd been assigned. Watched him when Ackles started calling Chad a big baby, which normally would have piqued his interest, but he just couldn't stop thinking about the way this new guy seemed to be settling right in looking completely
unfazed by what was going on around him.
After the briefing, Michael sauntered up to him, watching as he finished off another donut. "You beat my record." He said with a
smile.
"What?" He asked and confused seemed to be his default look.
"Five donuts before before 9:00 am...and with sprinkles no less. I could never make it over the 4 and a half hump."
Then, Welling smiled and it was brilliant and big and slightly goofy and maybe Michael's icy resolve to give him such a hard time melted a little. "What can I say? Cops. Donuts. I just fit the stereotype."
*****
"You have a case?" Michael said, leaning forward, suddenly interested.
"Oh, do I have a case?" Jensen's smile was pure satisfaction. "Of course I do. I'm Daddy's favorite. And that's just what it is.
My case." He waved the file in Michael's face. "You're not coming anywhere near it."
Michael rolled his eyes. "Man, you beat a guy to an arrest one time..."
Jensen glared at him. "One time?"
"Okay, maybe more than once." He admitted.
"Besides, Rosenbaum...don't you have a partner to train? It's been a week and he still hasn't met everyone. Where have you been hiding him?"
"I haven't been hiding him, just keeping him busy with more important matters."
"Here's your coffee, Michael." Tom set the steaming paper cup on his desk and sipped his own. He had the biggest smile on his face like going to get coffee was his favorite thing in the fucking universe.
It was absolutely adorable and incredibly unfair.
Jensen's scoff brought him out of his reverie. "Yeah, Starbucks run...real important."
Michael rolled his chair closer to Jensen's desk. "So...what's your case about?" He asked innocently.
Jensen sighed and opened the file. "I'm only telling you so you won't bug me about it later."
Michael grinned and looked eagerly over his shoulder. "It's the kidnap case."
Jensen frowned as he flipped through the file. "Yeah. Her mom's here for questioning today. Damn...the little girl's only nine."
Michael read from the statement. "Snatched at the bus stop...no ransom demanded...possible sexual assault..."
"Fucking scum bags."
They both looked up quickly at the sound of a low voice. Tom was sitting across from them, looking down at his coffee like he wanted to strangle it. His jaw was clenched and there was a flush spreading across his cheeks. He looked up at them and Michael nearly recoiled at the anger he saw in Tom's eyes. "Who would do that to a little girl?"
Jensen shrugged. "Fucking scum bags, man. You were right."
Tom sighed and it was the first time Michael had seen the stress of the job get to his new partner.
*****
"What are we doing here? I thought Morgan didn't have a case for us yet." Tom asked, following Michael into the witness room.
"He doesn't." Michael answered patiently, straightening his tie. "That's why we're borrowing Jensen's."
Tom didn't say anything, but the pained look on his face almost made him feel guilty. Almost.
"Oh, Jesus...don't cry, Welling. I said 'borrow' not 'steal.' Don't worry." He smiled.
They moved into the room, Tom sitting on the opposite side of the table from their witness and Mike leaning against the wall.
"So, Mrs. Ferris, you first noticed your daughter was missing on Friday?" Tom asked.
"Please, call me Samantha...and yes, it was last friday. She didn't come home from school and she usually takes the bus so..." She took a deep, but shaky, breath. "You have to find her." She added in a whisper.
Tom nodded solemnly. "We're going to. I promise."
He said it so sincerely that Michael almost believed him, even though he knew the statistics were not in their favor. He cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Is there anything else you can tell us? Anything we don't know already?"
She shook her head. "Detective Ackles knows what-"
"No, I mean, do you know of anyone who could've done this?"
Samantha looked bewildered so Tom spoke up. "Mrs. Ferris...Samantha, it's just that in many of these kinds of cases the suspects tend to be family members, close friends, teachers. I know it's scary to think about, but...we need you to try."
Michael leaned forward anxiously as she turned the question over in her head. "There is someone." She finally said hesitantly.
Tom and Mike looked at her expectantly.
"My ex-husband." She said in a heavy voice. "Her father."
*****
Michael liked the bar because it wasn't the typical yuppie hangout. It wasn't the typical over-worked cop crowd either. It was somewhere in the middle. Good food and the bartender kept his drink full and had a nice ass he could stare at if the hockey game got boring.
It was a slice of heaven.
That's why, when he was halfway through his bacon burger and the Rangers were up by 3, he could practically hear the record in his head screech to a halt when Tom slid onto the stool next to him.
"Killian's please. On tap if you have it, if not then a bottle's just fine." He said with a wide smile.
"Sure thing."" The bartender, Kelly, winked at him. She was all breathy and giggly. His bartender. His Kelly. The one he always flirted with. Fuck, she hasn't smiled like that at him before.
Tom was oblivious to her attention, as always, and he stole a fry from Mike's plate. "Hey, Rosenbaum."
Kelly slid Tom's bottle over to him, her number scribbled on the cocktail napkin underneath it. "There you go, sweetheart."
Suddenly, he wasn't mad at Tom for interrupting his dinner. He was mad at the slutty bartender that thinks she can pick up his partner by batting her eyes at him. He leaned over Tom and picked up the napkin, crumpling it up and using it to wipe his mouth. He gave Kelly a look that says 'back off.'
Woah, where had all that come from?
Tom, still so clueless it was almost adorable, took a long pull from his bottle and sighed. "Long day, huh?"
"Fucking marathon of a day, I know." Mike tried to tell himself that the sight of those lips around a phallic object didn't just make his dick twitch in his pants. He tried and failed, because goddamn, he was hard. The fact that Tom was pressed close enough that he could smell his sweat and cologne and the faint scent of leather from his holster? Yeah, that was not helping either.
"Isn't there a game on tonight?"
"Uh..." Right. Talking. He remembered how to do that. Sure. He glanced up at the TV above the bar, where Tom was pointing. "A game? Man...we're watching the only game that's on. The end."
Tom laughed and ducked his head sheepishly. "Oh, hockey? Never really got into it."
Michael scoffed. "I'll pretend you didn't just say that."
He taught Tom all the finger points of the game while they watched and he let Tom steal food from his plate and laughed at all his corny jokes.
It was bordering on normal...and that was a little scary.
*****
The sidewalk was crooked. He wasn't tipsy. Nope. Not at all.
Tom's arm was around his waist, practically holding him up and Michael swayed on his feet, slumping against him.
"You're drunk, Mike." Tom laughed in his ear.
Michael groaned and reached up to grip the front of Tom's shirt. "Nooo. Just, very, very...happy." He grinned.
They both stumbled and Michael's breath came out in a whoosh as he shoved Tom against the rough brick wall. "Whoops." He mumbled.
Tom's eyes were glazed over and his tongue darted out to wet his lower lip. "Happy, huh?" He whispered. "The five beers have nothing to do with that?"
When Michael shifted against him, their hips met with a soft clink of their belt buckles.
Alarm bells were going off in his head, but the lazy haze of alcohol made them only a distant annoyance. "Fuck, you're beautiful." He groaned as if he was just now realizing it and he moved in to kiss him. He only succeeded in smearing his mouth wetly along Tom's chin. Tom's lips parted with a sigh and it was only a drag of Michael's mouth up and over before they were kissing, tongues winding together lazily.
Long fingers gripped his back, clenching in his jacket and Michael whimpered when Tom shoved his knee up between his legs. He only pulled away because he needed air, but he dove right back in, growling and nipping along that fucking gorgeous mouth.
"I want you." Tom told him breathlessly. "Want you to fuck me. Want to fuck you. Christ, Michael...I need you so much."
And suddenly, he was very, very sober. The familiar scent of sweat and leather was familiar for a reason. All he could see was Barry's face. All he could hear was Barry's voice. It was too much.
He pushed against Tom roughly, staggering back and wiping a hand over his face. "Son of a bitch..."
"What? What is it?"
"I can't...I can't do this." Michael gasped, that familiar feeling of tightness in his chest completing the deja vu.
"Mike?" Tom's voice broke on his name and Michael couldn't look at him.
He finally met Tom's pleading gaze and shook his head. "You can't be him." He whispered and walked away, knowing Tom deserved a better explanation than that. He just couldn't give him one.
*****
It was Friday. Friday. Except, fuck, he woke up thinking it was Sunday and just as he settled back against his pillows, his alarm went off, blaring some insane morning show hosts voice in his ear and that definitely did not help with the slight hangover he had. He slapped at the snooze button until he finally hit it and then sighed
with relief.
He rolled over onto his back and scrubbed his hands over his face. He watched the blades of the ceiling fan turn lazily and he let his fingers drift under the waistband of his pajama bottoms.
He told himself he wasn't going to think about Tom, but he eventually came, his whole body shivering and his partner's name on his lips.
******
There was no awkward moment that morning when Michael strolled in to find Tom at his locker with nothing on but a towel on and that sheepish smile of his.
Well, there was a slightly awkward moment when Mike found he couldn't stop watching a droplet of water make its way down Tom's neck and across his chest to seep into the material of the towel that was resting just below his hips.
Damn, that towel.
Tom swiped at the bangs that were sticking to his forehead. "Hey, man." He began nervously. "Look I..."
Mike held up a hand. "Don't worry about it. Let's not be weird. Let's just chalk up last night to a little too much alcohol and my maudlin mood to the fact that the Rangers lost."
Tom narrowed his eyes. "Mike...what you said? What I said?"
"Doesn't matter, right?" He said happily, smile plastered on his face. "We've got to-
"Sorry to interrupt your tea party, ladies." A gruff voice nearly caused Michael to jump and he looked up to find Morgan standing in the doorway. "But I've got police work for you. You can paint your nails later."
Michael felt his face flush and didn't have to look at Tom to know he was blushing to.
*****
"Sit down, Rosenbaum." Is all that Morgan growled when Michael followed behind him into his office.
Jesus, why did coming in here always feel like getting sent to the principal's office?
"Clearly there's some sort of tension between you and the new kid." He began with a sigh. "But...you know, if you've got problems with him, you work them out." Morgan said not leaning back in his chair and narrowing his eyes at him. "I'm not Oprah and we will not be 'sharing our feelings' or 'working through this' in any way, understood?"
Michael fiddled wit the end of his tie. "Yes, Sarge." He answered solemnly.
Morgan finally looked up at him. "I put you with him for a reason."
"Why's that?" It came out sounding sarcastic, but he didn't mean it to. He gave Morgan a pleading look.
"Barry's death, well...it was a fucking shame, a fucking shame." He looked at Michael pointedly. "But it's been four years
and I'm not going to let this ruin you. I want you working the big cases and you have to have a partner to do that."
Michael swallowed and responded automatically. "I understand, sir."
"People love this Welling kid. You don't." It wasn't a question, it was an accusation. Morgan lowered his gaze before he continued. "What happened with Barry wasn't his fault, Mike. Don't hold that against him."
His hands clenched into fists. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to punch Morgan in the face. Instead, he nodded and muttered "I'll try better, Sarge."
Morgan seemed to be sizing him up. "You do that." He said after a pause. "Now, Ackles has a case I want you to help him with."
He suddenly perked up. He couldn't be that fucking lucky, could he? "The kidnap case?"
"Yeah. That one." Oh, he could. "Better I let you in on it now before you go behind my back and look into it anyway."
*****
Jensen was staring at him. And not in a fun 'Let's go hit the karaoke bar after work, Rosenbaum!' kind of way but more of a 'You are a fucking case stealing asshole, Rosenbaum!' way.
Maybe if he just pretended to be really concentrating on his game of solitaire, Jensen wouldn't-
"Rosenbaum."
Shit. Michael looked up with an almost convincing innocent gaze. "Something wrong?"
Jensen sat on the edge of his desk and frowned. "You want to tell me why Allison over at the courthouse called me this morning telling me she had the information I'd requested on Samantha Ferris' husband's criminal record?"
"That Allison." Michael muttered. "We should send her flowers. She's very helpful."
"Yeah. That she is." Jensen said with a nod. "But she must be a fucking psychic considering I never asked for her help in the first
place."
Tom, helpful as usual, chose that moment to look up from his paper. "Oh, that was us."
Jensen scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Figures."
Michael held up his hands. "Don't get your panties in a twist, Ackles. Morgan said we could help you out on this case."
"I know." Jensen said with a sigh, hand reaching around to scratch the back of his neck. "But, Rosenbaum, I swear to God if you get the arrest on this I will-"
"We won't." Tom said, speaking up, again, always and ever helpful. "I won't let him."
Michael turned to stare at him in disbelief. "Oh, you won't let me?" He said, standing up and leaning over his desk. "Whatcha gonna do, farmboy?"
Tom looked down and sat his newspaper on his desk. He stood up, that fucker, and he used his height to lean in close and loom over Michael. "I won't let you." He said slowly, in a low voice that shot straight down to Michael's cock. He'd never heard that voice before.
Michael leaned back a bit, clearing his throat. "Well then..."
Jensen was looking at Tom like he was his hero. "Hey, Welling, what do you think of the angry father angle?"
Tom took a deep breath, but kept his gaze on Mike. "I don't know. Kidnapping his own child? It seems like an easy explanation, but it fits."
"Rookie's right, Jensen." Michael said quickly, Tom's words making him think. "It does seem a little convenient, but the Dad does have priors and the divorce wasn't pretty. I'm thinking this is all about revenge for him."
The corner of Tom's mouth lifted in a smile and he tilted his head. "Did you just say I was right?"
The tense moment passed between them, replaced by something else, something Mike could definitely get used to. He smiled softly. "Don't let it go to your head."
*****
They heard the call on the radio when they were headed back to the station after their shift.
"All units...we have a possible 207 at the corner of 35th and Elm. Be advised suspects sighted. Armed and possibly dangerous..."
Tom looked over at him from the passenger's seat. "We're close. That's kidnapping. You wanna check it out?"
Michael sighed and closed his eyes. He'd been a cop long enough to know when to go with his gut instincts. "This is it. I know it is. Someone who's stupid enough to be out in the open with the kid and a gun? Sounds like our ex-husband with priors. Definitely our guy." He opened his eyes and met Tom's gaze and nodded. "Let's go."
*****
Michael followed Tom around the side of the house, both of them moving slowly. The sounds of a scuffle could be heard from inside and as they approached the back corner of the house, Tom held up his hand for him to stop. He, however, kept moving.
Michael grabbed the collar of his jacket and yanked him back. "What do you think you're doing?" He hissed.
"Ending this before anyone else can get hurt." Tom murmured, head craned back over his shoulder to look him in the eye.
"Wait. Just wait." Michael said quickly, that sickening feeling returning that let him know something was wrong. He couldn't explain why he let his fingers tangle in Tom's hair. "We just called for back up. Jensen and Chris...they should be here any minute."
Tom, damn him, he was leaning into that touch, eyelids drooping like he wanted even more. God, when had they gotten so close? Michael could feel the press of Tom's body all along his front. "There's no time." Tom insisted, brows drawing together in confusion.
It was all happening again, all over again, and Michael felt a strange sensation that felt like falling and when he blinked again he saw Barry instead of Tom.
"Don't go." He practically whimpered. "Not like this. Not again."
He was pressing Barry against the fence...no Tom...no, fuck it was all one big blur now. He sobbed and clung to broad shoulders and it felt like everything he'd ever wanted to say was coming out of his mouth.
"It was my fault. My fault. Barry was my friend and I shouldn't have let him- Oh, God, and he knew. He knew back up was only five minutes out...but he wanted to go in anyway. 'Come on, Rosenbaum. Let me catch the bad guys.' He told me, and I laughed. I fucking laughed and told him to go in and...he...he got riddled with bullets."
He gasped. There were sirens in the distance and he wondered if he was just imagining them.
Tom twisted around to face him, his hands cupping his jaw, the back of his neck. "Why didn't you tell me?" He said through clenched teeth. "You're scared that you won't be able to save me."
Michael shook his head, it cleared his muddled thoughts somewhat. "No. Tom I..." He looked up, eyes pleading and he hoped Tom knew that he meant what he was about to say. "I need you...so much. And that's what scares me."
Tom crushed his lips against his a moment later and he spun them around until Michael was the one pressed into the rotting wood of the fence. Michael opened his mouth, Tom's jaw dropped, and the slip slide of their tongues nearly had his knees buckling.
They heard the squad scars pull up, the sounds of SWAT busting down the door, and Tom pulled back to nudge his nose along Michael's. "All the pointless errands? All the complaining?" Tom asked, voice rough. "All of it was it just to keep me away?"
Michael breathed deeply, letting the smell of Tom's skin wash over him. "Yeah. At first because I didn't want what happened to Barry to happen to you, but then...dammit Tom, I care about you...I-I've wanted you for so long." He added gruffly.
Tom shivered and pulled away. It seemed like the effort was hurting him. They both took deep breathes, trying to calm down before someone found them worked up like that.
"Jensen was wrong about you." Tom said as he pulled out his radio to tell the SWAT team where they were.
"How's that?" Michael's hands were already itching to touch him again.
Tom grinned, lopsided and adorable. "He said you were damaged. Underneath all the sarcasm and the insults you were damaged. It was all a front."
Michael let his words sink in. It was probably true, but he knew fuck all about psychology. "And what do you think?"
Tom lowered the radio. "I think...that you just need me. We can figure the rest out later."
His smile widened and Michael found it extremely contagious.