Crime and Passion 3/10
Chapter Three
It was Sunday. Brendon only knew this because he pestered his bodyguard (or whatever the fuck, who was this skinny dude that wouldn’t leave him alone, anyway?) until he told him.
“So,” Brendon said, wiggling his toes restlessly but holding the rest of his body carefully still. “It’s been almost a week. I was shot on Tuesday.”
Ryan looked up from the book he was reading and said, “You were run off the road and shot on Tuesday,” he clarified.
“Thank you Captain Obvious,” Brendon muttered.
It had only been a couple of days and already he was sick and tired of Ryan fucking Ross. He was pretty sure the feeling was mutual.
The day after it all went down, Brendon was pretty out of it but that didn’t stop Officers Wentz and Stump from barging into his room and asking a ton of questions that Brendon didn’t want to have to answer. Ever. At least they were nice about it and at least Brendon knew them, but then they announced that until further notice, Agent Ross was going to be looking out for him.
“Excuse me,” Brendon had said, feeling pain creep sluggishly into his body. “I’m not ten. I don’t need a watchdog.”
“Seriously?” Pete had huffed, exasperated. “You were the target of a mob hit. A mob hit that went awry because you’re still alive. You’re a valuable witness and I can guaran-fucking-tee you the Ways will not stop until you’re dead. Unless you’re planning on surviving the next couple of weeks on luck and a prayer, you need more than just a watchdog. You need Ross.”
Apparently, and Brendon only knew this because Patrick and Pete told him a little bit about it, Ryan Ross was some kind of super agent. Ross had been in the academy a few years after them but they all became friends or whatever somehow and Ross had established himself as a prodigy within two weeks of training. He worked in Vegas for a while and then he moved up in the world and as far as Brendon could tell, he wasn’t back on business. Pete mentioned something about this being a favor to him so ‘play nice, Brendon, okay?’
Brendon was really in no mood to play nice with anyone least of all Ross, who was aloof and detached and probably only weighed about seven pounds wet which made him pretty useless as any kind of bodyguard. He was really in no mood to do anything but curl up and sleep forever. Unfortunately, sleeping was getting harder and harder to do and he was stuck, awake and with Ross sitting across from him with his button nose buried in some book about existentialism or some crap.
“Hey,” Brendon said and Ross looked up slowly, lips pressed together like it was a chore for him to tear himself away from what he was reading. “What do we do when I get out of here?”
The other man shrugged. “We’ll figure it out when we come to that,” he said.
Brendon huffed out a sigh. “Yeah, that’s not good enough. I have a job you know. One that I kind of need to pay bills and buy food.”
Ross’ eyebrows inched up and he said, “I do know a thing or two about being a grown-up.”
Brendon wasn’t entirely sure having a job that was all Sydney Bristow and shit qualified as ‘being a grown-up’. Ross was a fucking FBI agent. He probably wasn’t too worried about stuff like bills and trying to work his way off of a diet of Top Ramen and Easy Mac and up to something a little more well-balanced.
“Honestly,” Ross continued, looking down at his book again. “I wouldn’t even worry about that right now. You’re on Way’s hit list. I’d think that would be at the forefront of your mind.”
“Yeah,” Brendon muttered sarcastically. “Because right now all I really want to do is think about the fact that I was nearly killed a few nights ago and I could still be killed if they don’t catch the guy who wants me dead. Those are warm and fuzzy thoughts.”
Ross didn’t lift his head, but Brendon caught the way he looked up through his lashes, appearing more interested than he’d been since they’d met. But the moment passed so quickly Brendon couldn’t be sure it wasn’t the painkillers. Really, it was probably the painkillers. After all, Ross wasn’t exactly the kind of man who ever looked particularly interested in anything or anyone at all. Well, except for the part where he devoured words with an unnerving intensity.
Seriously, Brendon thought as he watched Ross read, he’d never met anyone who could sit still for so long. Granted, Brendon was the epitome of a Ritalin kid and so restlessness was second nature to him and anything else was foreign, but Ross could sit and not move except for a minute jiggling of his feet and the roll of his eyes across a page and he could do it for hours. It was creepy. Even creepier than that was Ross’ silence. Brendon was definitely not used to anyone being as quiet as Ross was.
It was pretty damn boring, being around him all the time, and Brendon drifted off to sleep still watching Ross read.
_._
When he woke up again, the chair Ross was usually in was empty and Brendon felt a brief flash of panic. He tried to sit up and winced when his body protested the movement. He groaned and wrapped an arm gingerly around his bruised ribs, flopping back onto his pillows and trying another method. He’d just managed to squirm his way up the bed’s headboard when he heard voices outside of his door. His throat closed up with fear and he held his breath.
“We’re taking him,” one of the voices was saying. “He’s our responsibility now, you don’t get a say in that.”
For five seconds Brendon was convinced he was going to die, that Gerard Way was right outside ready to cap his ass and he wasn’t sure if he was strong enough to make a run for it but he was fucking well going to try. And then he heard a voice that he recognized and the relief that flooded his body was so intense he thought he might pass out.
“With all due respect, Sir,” Brendon heard Pete say. “We’ve got this well under control.”
“I’m sure you do, Officer Wentz, but that doesn’t matter. This is federal business now which makes your boy Urie federal responsibility.”
The door opened and Brendon found himself looking at a pissed off Pete Wentz and two cold agents in suits. One of them towered over Pete, thin and glowering. The other was a woman who stood at his side managing to be just as imposing as her partner despite being smaller in stature. Pete stood behind them, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.
“Where’s Ross?” Brendon asked him, but before Pete could answer the agents were stepping forward and flashing their badges.
“I’m Agent Saporta,” the man said. “And this is Agent Asher. We’re here to take you into protective custody.”
“Um,” Brendon said, shying away and looking wildly to the door for help.
It was bad enough that they’d shoved him and Ross together, but he really didn’t want to have to, like, assume another identity or something. He just wanted to get back to his life. Or what was left of it. Couldn’t they just find a way to make that happen?
“What about Ryan Ross?”
Saporta’s lip curled and he shook his head. “His being here was a fluke,” he said. “He’ll be relieved of his duties as soon as he returns from wherever it is he disappeared to.”
“He’s with my partner,” Pete chimed in. “Investigating a lead. Which isn’t something I’ve seen any of your people try yet.”
“Hey,” Asher said in a throatier voice than Brendon anticipated, spinning on her heel and glaring at Pete. “Watch it or I’ll have you reported for insubordination.”
Brendon thought she was just the type who would, too. Pete’s jaw snapped closed. She turned back to Brendon, apparently satisfied with this response.
“Look,” Brendon said nervously. “I don’t really think I need protective custody. I was fine with Agent Ross-“
“He’s just as likely to get you killed as Way is to kill you,” Asher told him shortly. “I’m guessing you weren’t aware of his reputation. Trust me, you’re better off with us.”
“We’ll be moving you somewhere safe within the next two hours,” Saporta continued. “We’ve just got to clear it with the hospital and settle a few more things.”
They said all of his like Brendon was expected to just go with it, and the sad part was that he didn’t have a choice. He was weak, he was groggy and he definitely couldn’t argue with two FBI agents. Even Pete was looking deflated and Brendon felt angrier and more helpless in that moment than he had since waking up in the hospital.
“He’s not going anywhere,” Ross said and Brendon looked up sharply to see that he’d just walked in, Patrick in tow.
Saporta and Asher rolled their eyes and turned to face him. “You’re an off-duty agent, Ross,” Saporta said. “You don’t have a say in this.”
“Actually,” Ross corrected him, using what Brendon had secretly dubbed his ‘I am better than you and you’re about to lose this argument’ tone. “I’m officially back on duty.”
“Well,” Saporta shot back. “I’m officially in charge of this witness.”
Here Ross’ lips curled up into a smirk that made Brendon want to wince.
“Not anymore. You can call my boss if you want, but he’ll just tell you the same thing. I’m in charge of protecting Brendon Urie.”
“You don’t even have a partner,” Asher pointed out.
“That’s why Carden’s sending Wheeler and Ritter out. For back-up. In case I can’t handle the job.” Ross’ voice indicated that he could handle it just fine and he expected everyone else to know it.
“I think,” Pete said, sounding smug and drawing himself to his full height (which wasn’t impressive but was better than the slouch he’d been sporting). “Everything’s under control here. You can see yourselves out.”
Saporta and Asher looked furious but they turned on their heels and stalked out of the room.
“Don’t fuck up, Ross,” Asher said on the way out. “We need Urie alive.”
Brendon frowned at them as they left. “I’m glad everyone would miss me so much if I died,” he muttered.
Pete chuckled and walked over, ruffling his hair. “So, that was a close call.”
Brendon made a face and then looked up at Ross who was staring after Saporta and Asher with a frown. Patrick walked into the room and caught Brendon’s eye, offering him a small smile.
“We were just leaving the scene when the feds showed up,” he told Pete and Brendon. “Which meant they were on their way here too. Ryan had to make a few really quick phone calls.”
“But the story’s true?” Pete asked.
Ross finally jerked his attention back to them and shrugged. “Mostly. Mike fought me on it for about five minutes before he told me I was back on duty.”
“And Ritter and Wheeler?”
“On their way.”
Pete raised his eyebrows and said, “And they couldn’t just relieve you of your duties?”
Brendon looked at Ross, interested in the answer, but Ross just shrugged again and gave Pete a long look. That was, apparently, the end of that, though the two continued to share weird looks in the two minutes before Pete left for coffee and Ross followed him out. It wasn’t very subtle and Brendon blinked over at Patrick.
“Hey, are they . . . involved or something?”
Patrick’s laugh was a bit dry. “Formerly. That ended a while ago, though.”
“Huh,” Brendon said contemplatively, leaning back and thinking that it was a little weird that a federal agent and a police officer would have had gay sex together considering the world of law enforcement wasn’t exactly open to that sort of thing (not that the world was open to that sort of thing period, as Brendon well knew). For some reason, Brendon had always sort of thought Pete was just a flirt. No matter how many times Audrey told him Pete wanted to fuck him, he didn’t take it seriously and now it turned out Pete was gay. Or something. And so was Ryan Ross. “Huh,” he said again. “My gaydar must be totally defective.”
Patrick chuckled and didn’t say anything else. When Pete and Ross returned later, Brendon eyed them carefully but they looked the same as before. They had coffee with them. Pete had what looked like Sprite in his other hand and Brendon couldn’t stop himself from making a grab for it. Pete pulled it out of reach and Brendon pouted at him and groaned in pain until Pete rolled his eyes and handed it over.
“Jesus you’re a baby,” he said.
Brendon just grinned at him.
“By the way,” Patrick said after telling Pete a little bit about what was going on outside, stuff about how those leads on the shooters were getting colder by the day and it was putting everyone on edge. “We talked to your boss.”
Brendon looked up. “Mine? Brandon?”
Patrick glanced at Ross and nodded. “Yeah. He said it’s not the same without you and he wants you back as soon as you can play again.”
Brendon beamed and looked over at Ross who just looked back blankly. He wanted to thank him but was pretty sure that would fall on deaf ears. So he thanked Patrick instead because at least Patrick smiled warmly in response.
_._
Two weeks later, Brendon still wasn’t used to having FBI agents around all the time, or to being on a first name basis with police officers who showed up randomly to check on him and give him an update on how things were progressing or, more frequently than he would have liked, to pull him in for questioning. He’d been discharged after the department had cleared it a week after the mob hit and he’d been sharing an apartment with Ross and two other men ever since.
On the plus side, Agents Tyson Ritter and Nick Wheeler were at least fun to be around. They had a sense of humor and they talked to Brendon, something Ross didn’t do very willingly. Unfortunately, they weren’t around as much as Brendon wished they were. Instead they were constantly manning entrances and checking perimeters, leaving Brendon with the stoic Ross for company 24/7. Brendon only got time to himself when he was asleep or in the shower, so going back to work seemed like a blessing because at least Ross wouldn’t be able to sit at that piano with him all night.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t what he thought it would be.
Patrick had explained to him the possibility that he had Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Brendon assumed that was why he couldn’t even see the front doors to Vegas Flowers without a fine tremor starting up in his knees and working its way through his whole body. The first night back was hell. Between a wrist that was barely healed, ribs that ached and fingers that shook, physically Brendon was having trouble. Added to that was the fact that every loud noise, from a crash at the bar to someone laughing, made him jump or cringe.
He was a mess by the end of the night and he could feel Ross’ eyes on him the entire time, probably mocking him because it seemed like the kind of thing he’d do. Brendon pushed through and had continued to do so for the last two days, but it wasn’t easy. It was made harder because there was no Audrey at Vegas Flowers anymore and Brendon hadn’t really let himself come to terms with the fact that she was gone. She’d been replaced easily enough by Brandon. Some girl named Jac with a bad manicure and even worse hair flounced around the place in Audrey’s stead, looking plain and slutty and stopping at Ross’ table in the front every night to flirt.
“He should just fuck her and put her out of her misery already,” an accented voice said into Brendon’s ear on his fourth night back.
He craned his neck around, fingers still plucking out a melody, and grinned.
“Try telling him that. He’s a robot.”
Maja lifted one perfectly plucked eyebrow and straddled the bench next to him. She was one of the more accomplished waitresses, a former showgirl who’d given up being one of many on the stage to try something a little different. She was a waitress at Vegas Flowers most nights, but every Wednesday and Friday she showed up to sing. Everyone loved her, for her voice and her blonde bombshell of a body, but Brendon loved her because she’d taken him under her wing when he’d first started off here.
Usually she was too busy working the VIP rooms to visit Brendon, but lately she’d taken to strolling the lounge and taking all of Jac’s tips from the horny men who thought Maja was sexier. Brendon was fairly sure she was doing it because of him instead of to annoy the new waitress like she claimed; everyone had heard about his first night back and it wasn’t until after that that she started showing up in the lounge, but Brendon wasn’t complaining. He appreciated having her in the main room more than he could say.
“He’s not a robot,” Maja told him, nudging him with her knee. “I heard him outside yelling at your pets just an hour ago. The man can get loud.”
Brendon flushed at the innuendo that laced her words and then glanced over at her. “What was he yelling at Nick and Tyson about?”
“Slacking off. Security breaches. I wasn’t listening,” she said flippantly.
“Uh-huh,” Brendon said skeptically and she smiled and shrugged.
“Well, it doesn’t matter does it. I think he likes you.”
“He just needs me alive,” Brendon pointed out. “Liking me has nothing to do with it.”
Maja made a noncommital sound and stood up. “Then why doesn’t he ever take his eyes off of you?” she asked before wandering away.
Brendon glanced up and caught Ross’ eyes. He could feel himself blush and he ducked his head quickly, biting his lip and focusing on the piano. It was just part of the job. Liking Brendon had nothing to do with it. And if it did, Ross really had a strange way of showing it.
Chapter Four