Crime and Passion 4/10
Chapter Four
Ryan had met Nick and Tyson a couple of months out of training. They were an established partnership, two guys who complimented each other well and didn’t fuck up often, if at all. They were actually nice which had been a shock to Ryan’s system (some of the first agents he’d ever had to deal with had been Gabe Saporta and Vicky Asher who were Grade A cunts). Back before Ryan had been too long on the job, he’d hang out with Nick and Tyson sometimes. He wouldn’t have called them good friends, but they were on pretty friendly terms. Friendly enough that Nick and Tyson tended to drop the macho bullshit when Ryan was around and be way more touchy-feely than two straight men would ever let themselves act in public.
He was glad Carden had assigned them to help out, actually. Ryan trusted them more than he trusted himself. Not that Ryan doubted his abilities, but after a year of hearing the same shit about how he was a wild card in the most dangerous of situations who would get himself and a bunch of others killed one day . . . he was starting to believe it. Because it was true. The former part, at least. Ryan liked to take risks, had been doing it for so long that his reputation preceded him now. Nick and Tyson, for all that they could goof off with the best of them, were solid, by-the-book agents who knew how to improvise when they needed to but didn’t take unnecessary risks.
They were perfect for helping out Ryan, and they were even more perfect for looking after Brendon. It wasn’t like Ryan didn’t notice that Brendon was having a rough time. It was his job to watch him and Ryan made a living off of being observant. It was more of a favor to Pete than any actual empathy that had Ryan looking for signs of stress or fatigue or grief initially; the longer he watched, the more invested he became.
The problem with getting an accurate read on him was that Brendon constantly wore a mask. It wasn’t necessarily a good one; Tyson had cornered Ryan just two days after meeting Brendon to say, “That kid’s really fucked up, right? He’s trying to hide it but it’s pretty obvious.” It was enough of a mask to make it hard to figure Brendon out, though. Even with the obvious signs of PTSD that he exhibited, he fought through them so valiantly Ryan didn’t know how bad it was.
It didn’t help that Ryan wasn’t good with people. His skills were in firearms, hand-to-hand combat, the sort of thing that saved lives physically. The other stuff? He was shit at. But Nick and Tyson were patient and they were good listeners and even if Brendon wasn’t opening up to them (Ryan knew, he never let Brendon out of his sight if he could help it), they were a pretty good support system and Ryan saw more almost-genuine smiles out of Brendon when he was with them than at almost any other time. It was just another way that Nick and Tyson picked up where Ryan was lacking and Ryan mostly showed his appreciation by letting the three of them invade his apartment and not complaining about how much space they took up.
Not that inviting them to live with him hadn’t been a tactical move. There had really been no way they could go back to Brendon’s apartment to stay. The Ways had to have that place staked out and using Brendon as bait was a complete last resort (it probably wouldn’t have been if Pete didn’t like him so damn much). There was also no way that Ryan was inviting a complete stranger and two FBI Agents to live in his childhood home, which left his apartment. The space had always seemed big whenever Ryan stayed overnight (which had become an increasingly rare occasion), but with three other people cluttering it up it was starting to feel like dorms in college all over again. Not nearly enough space or privacy. Ever.
Ryan, Nick and Tyson had adjusted to Brendon’s schedule so it was late afternoon and felt like early morning when Ryan woke up, pulled himself off the couch and tripped over Brendon’s sleeping form.
“Ow!” Brendon groaned while Ryan tried to catch his balance and failed, falling backward onto the arm of the couch.
“Shit,” Ryan muttered. “What the fuck are you doing on the fucking floor?” he asked, groggy and disoriented and not happy with this particular method of waking up.
“Um,” Brendon said, sitting up and pushing his hair out of his face. “I gave Nick the bed. Well, he kind of stole it, actually, while I was in the bathroom but I wasn’t gonna push him out or whatever. So I fell asleep here.”
Ryan rubbed his eyes and blinked down at Brendon who was squinting up at him. “That’s the dumbest story I think I’ve ever heard.”
Brendon shrugged but didn’t say anything else, just watched Ryan as closely as he could without his glasses on. Ryan watched him back. After a moment, Brendon cracked.
“Okay so Pete called,” he said. “Someone, Way, he set fire to my apartment. And, like. I don’t know, I didn’t want to be by myself. So I sat out here and fell asleep. And then you stepped on me.” The last was said in an accusatory tone that Ryan raised his eyebrows at.
“Why didn’t you wake me up? Why didn’t Pete tell me this himself?”
“Because I told him I’d tell you, but you were sleeping and you sleep even less than I do. I thought I’d just tell you when you woke up.”
There was something about Brendon that was so fucking earnest it was pathetic. But it wasn’t really pathetic, it was just the way he was. For the most part, Brendon’s ramblings fell on Nick and Tyson’s ears, not Ryan’s. They hadn’t actually had a decent conversation since they’d been stuck together in the hospital, if what they’d engaged in there could be called ‘conversation’. It was weird having Brendon’s focus on just him again. It was even weirder that Brendon was letting himself be so vulnerable, that the mask of the perpetually cheerful jokester was gone.
Ryan sighed and said, “Okay. Where are Nick and Tyson?”
“They’re scouting the perimeter or something,” Brendon said, visibly relaxing. “Pete called them first, I think. They’re keeping an eye out for assassins and arsonists.”
Ryan nodded and stood. “Any idea what the damage to your apartment was?”
“Um,” Brendon said, scrambling to his feet. “Sounds like pretty much everything. All of it, pictures of my friends, my fucking guitar.” He sounded more angry than concerned now and Ryan glanced over at him to see the younger man glaring at his feet. “This is so fucked up.”
“Yeah,” Ryan said. “I know. But we’ll take care of you. I promise.”
Brendon glanced up and Ryan offered what he hoped was a reassuring look. He wasn’t sure if it was successful, but Brendon grinned back and ducked into the kitchen while Ryan disappeared into the bedroom to call Pete. He got Patrick instead.
“Something’s weird,” Patrick said and Ryan could hear the dull roar of traffic in the background.
“Yeah? How so?” Ryan leaned down to rummage through his drawers for clean clothes, listening intently.
“It’s too juvenile a job to be any of Way’s guys.”
“Maybe they’re trying to cover it up? Maybe they hired somebody off the street?”
“Yeah,” Patrick said slowly. “That’s what Pete said but I don’t buy it. Why burn the apartment at all? If he’s trying to make a statement, that’s a pretty fucking stupid statement to make. It’s just going to make the feds more eager to lock Brendon away somewhere until we’ve got the Ways and he can testify against them.”
“He could be trying to get us to show our cards,” Ryan pointed out, grabbing a t-shirt and pulling his gun out of the waistband of his jeans. “I mean, waiting to see if we do put Brendon away or keep him in the open.”
“Or it wasn’t Way at all. Brendon said that girl with the diamonds just took off, right? There hasn’t been any sign of her. Is there any way she could’ve gotten into his apartment? Maybe she’s trying to minimize the places Brendon can hide and throw the Ways off her trail.”
“Nah. Why would she stick around here for over a month? Makes no sense. She’s got to be halfway around the world by now.”
Patrick hummed thoughtfully and Ryan echoed that with a contemplative noise of his own. Whatever was going on, chances were Brendon was in even more danger than before and Ryan was going to have to watch him closer than ever.
“You should bring him down to the station,” Patrick was saying. “We’ll need to ask him some questions.”
“Yeah,” Ryan said, thinking about how much Brendon would probably hate that and wondering when he’d taken to making note of things like that. “Yeah, okay.”
_._
If it was ridiculously fucking late in Vegas it was bordering on ass o’clock in Chicago, but Spencer obviously didn’t care. Brendon was taking a break, had disappeared into the back with Nick on his tail leaving Ryan to fend off the advances of the cocktail waitress who kept trying to catch his eye. Getting a phonecall at this time of night wasn’t out of the ordinary, but Ryan was expecting Pete, Patrick or Carden, not his best friend.
Ryan stared at the screen for a few moments, debating whether or not to answer, but he’d been too busy to talk to Spencer since he’d been put on the case officially (or he’d been making himself too busy, he wasn’t sure) and he knew he couldn’t put it off forever. He sighed and answered.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Spencer demanded without preamble. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for weeks and I keep going straight to fucking voicemail. I thought you were dead or something.”
“You did not think I was dead,” Ryan said. “You know me better than that.”
“Yeah, well. I was starting to wonder,” Spencer shot back, but he sounded calmer. “So, care to explain yourself?”
“Um,” Ryan said, stalling when Call-Me-Jac paused in front of him with a smile.
“Can I get you something else?” she asked. “Refill on your Coke?”
She was pretty enough, Ryan supposed, possibly even his type once upon a time (God only knew how many blondes he’d dated between high school and the discovery that he was more than a little gay), but he was on the job for one thing. And for another, he just plain wasn’t interested. He offered her a tight-lipped smile and a shake of his head, the same reaction he’d been giving her for the last few nights. She was either extremely persistent or she just couldn’t take a hint.
“Ryan, where are you?” Spencer asked, sounding amused.
Ryan watched Jac saunter away and then slouched in his chair. “At this lounge.”
“Uh-huh,” Spencer said. “So Pete doesn’t need your help anymore?”
“No, no. This is part of it. The guy I’m watching, he works here.”
Spencer made a skeptical sound and Ryan said, “I’m serious. He plays the piano.”
“Huh. So, you’re still doing Pete his favor and you’re babysitting some guy who plays piano at a lounge in Vegas?” There was a shuffling sound and then Ryan heard Jon add, “Is he hot? The piano player, is he hot?” followed by a smack and a laugh.
“Tell Jon I’m not answering that,” Ryan said.
“He’s hot,” Spencer said and Ryan rolled his eyes.
“You’re a dick,” he said.
“And you love it,” his friend retorted.
There was a brief lull in the conversation during which Ryan tapped his fingers on the tabletop and eyed the back of the lounge, waiting for Brendon and Nick to emerge.
“So,” Spencer said finally. “How are you? Feeling better?”
His voice had softened into the tone that meant Ryan would probably be spilling his guts in ten minutes, maybe less depending on how much of a fight he decided to put up.
“Well,” Ryan said slowly. “I haven’t exactly had time to focus on me, you know.”
Spencer was quiet and Ryan sighed. “I mean,” he continued. “I’m busy watching this kid and it’s kind of a full-time job, I can’t just take breaks to try and figure out what’s going on in my head.”
“This is an official thing, isn’t it?” Spencer asked after a few seconds and Ryan couldn’t deny it. “I thought you were taking a vacation, Ryan. I thought you were going to try and fix-”
“What?” Ryan interrupted. “Fix what, Spence? I’m fine, okay? I’ll just have to take my vacation some other time and figure my shit out then. It’s not a big deal.”
Spencer’s silence was agitated, even over the phone-line, and Ryan felt a little bad because he knew that Spencer was just worried about him and Ryan hated when he disappointed him. He opened his mouth to apologize and then snapped it shut. It wasn’t his fault he had a job to do. Spencer would just have to deal with it.
“Just don’t get yourself killed,” Spencer said, tone sharp, and then he hung up.
Ryan frowned at the phone in his hand. God Spencer could be a bitch sometimes. He’d probably call again in a few hours to apologize in his own way and Ryan would forget this had happened, but sometimes Ryan got tired of Spencer acting like a let-down parent all the time. He shoved his phone into his pocket and pushed his hair out of his face, looking up to see a pair of breasts a few inches from his nose.
“Sorry,” a different waitress said, sounding anything but. “I didn’t mean to encroach on your personal space.”
Maja was her name, and she usually didn’t approach Ryan. The last few nights she’d spent most of the time eyeing him suspiciously from across the lounge, prowling around Brendon at his piano like a lioness protecting her cub. It was vaguely disturbing (and almost endearing, or at least Tyson thought it was endearing, but Tyson probably only thought so because he was paying more attention to her tits than her behavior).
“Yeah,” Ryan said, glancing over her shoulder, looking for Brendon. “It’s fine.”
She shrugged and Ryan raised an eyebrow as she pulled a chair out and sank gracefully into the seat.
“He doesn’t think you like him,” she said. “I don’t think he’s handling it that well.”
There was no need to ask who the ‘he’ in question was. Ryan frowned and crossed his arms over his chest.
“And?”
“And? And I really couldn’t give a flying fuck how you feel about him as long as you keep him alive, but he can use a little empathy right now. He’s not himself. He worries me.”
She was frowning so fiercely Ryan felt uncomfortable. He looked away. It wasn’t like Ryan knew Brendon that well, but Patrick and Pete had assured him that the relatively quiet and skittish Brendon he was dealing with wasn’t the norm. By all accounts, usually Brendon was fairly out-going and talkative and cheerful. Not that Brendon wasn’t trying to be talkative and cheerful. He usually engaged Nick and Tyson in conversation whenever he could, but it was all part of that mask.
It wasn’t Ryan’s job to make him feel better, though. Ryan couldn’t even help himself with his own psychological problems, there was no way he was fit to help out a traumatized kid who probably had PTSD and a death threat hanging over his head.
“Look,” he started, but Maja cut him off with a biting smile.
“Listen, Ross,” she said. “I already told you I don’t care how you feel about Brendon, but he’s a good kid and he doesn’t deserve any of the shit that’s happened to him. I’m just telling you that if you make it worse, I’m not the only bitch you’ll have to deal with. Our bartender can really throw a punch, and he’s taken down bigger law enforcement officers than you. I’ve watched him do it.”
Ryan blinked and she stood, smile still fixed on her face. It softened slightly as she pushed a full glass of Coke toward him and took his half-empty one, but it was obvious by the tense line of her shoulders that she was absolutely serious. She wandered off and looked down at the glass on the table and frowned. He’d just been threatened by a cocktail waitress which, in and of itself, was not the most bizarre thing that had ever happened to him. That didn’t stop the entire situation from feeling completely surreal though.
He frowned, uncomfortable with the way he suddenly felt incredibly guilty. He thought of Brendon’s face earlier that afternoon and again while being questioned down at the precinct. He was doing his best to cover everything up with that happy facade, but today had been rough on him and Ryan had seen, maybe for the first time, how scared Brendon really was. Ryan may have been a bastard, but he couldn’t just ignore it, especially not when Brendon’s own, personal valkyrie forcibly reminded him that Brendon had a life and friends who cared about him, people who wanted to see him safe.
Ryan caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye and looked up to see Nick and Brendon coming back. Brendon was saying something to the other agent, his smile tired, his hands moving frenetically. Ryan watched him carefully and thought maybe he could try to be less of an asshole. Maybe he could even be successful at it.
Chapter Five