Midnight and Dawn (12/13)
Title: Midnight and Dawn
Authors: e and hopeandmemory
Rating: NC-17 (for sex and violence)
Overall Word Count: 36283
Warnings: Whatever you'd reasonably expect to see on western television in a crime drama will be found in this fic. If you are easily triggered by material referenced (but rarely explicitly shown) in these kinds of programs, you might want to tread carefully.
Summary: In 2006, Kim Heechul put Kim Youngwoon behind bars. He became a legend almost immediately--the guy who watched Star King instead of doing work, drank more than his fair share of the shitty office coffee, and managed to drive off every partner he'd ever been assigned. And then in 2009, Kim Jungmo joins the force, a new case leaves Special Ops Department 1315 grasping helplessly at straws, and everything changes. Heechul/Jungmo
XII.
They swing by Heechul’s apartment first, and he locks himself in the bathroom with a handful of clothes. The place looks much like Jungmo had left it--china still scattered on the kitchen floor, dried blood on the carpet. He grabs a broom and starts cleaning away the debris, guilt pooling in his stomach, and is halfway through bagging the shards of pottery when Heechul walks out of the bedroom.
He’s wearing Heehee’s clothes. This time he’s put on a red checked dress with a plunging back, complicated ties in place of straps, and lots of tulle underneath, leaving the dress bulging slightly at the knee. He’s also wearing Heehee’s black tights, and Jungmo swallows, remembering how easily he’d slid them off of her.
“You’ll be cold,” he says instead.
Heechul shrugs. “I have a cardigan. Youngwoon always liked me in red. Or, rather, her.” His lips are sticky with gloss, and there is eyeliner around both of his eyes, eyelashes coated liberally with mascara. His fingernails are pink.
And yet, it is very obviously Heechul. The angles of his shoulders are differently, and his head is high, eyes sharp. Heechul licks at the gloss on his lips self-consciously.
“Let’s go,” Jungmo says.
Heechul slides into black heeled ankle boots and follows Jungmo out to the car, climbing into the backseat.
“Why are you back there?” Jungmo asks, adjusting the rearview mirror before looking over his shoulder at Heechul.
“Because she always sat in the back when Jay drove. She was supposed to be an idol--that was the cover.” Heechul props one high-heeled boot against the cup-holders between the two front seats and fixes his holster onto his thigh. Jungmo can see he’s wearing tight spandex shorts underneath the dress, not the lacy underwear he associated with Heehee.
Not that he’s looking. He’s paying attention to the road. Obviously. “The cover?”
“How else do you think we got in there in the first place? It was a brilliant plan--I was an up and coming artist, and he was going to be my benefactor.”
“Can you even sing, Heechul?”
“Well enough.”
Jungmo pulls out of his parking spot and they zoom off, back to that gated compound with the guards and the guns and now Donghae. For all of their differences, the older agent certainly didn’t deserve to walk straight to his death. And neither does Heechul.
The drive is quiet and tense, Jungmo chewing on the inside of his cheek and gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles while Heechul fists his hands in the hem of his dress and grinds his teeth in the backseat. Jungmo can hear him suck in a breath when they pull up to the gate blocking the entrance to Youngwoon’s estate. Several guards approach the car, rifles at the ready. One motions for Jungmo to roll down his window, and he obliges.
“ID!” one barks.
Jungmo freezes, and Heechul snaps into action, smoothly rolling down his own window and sticking his head out with a bashful smile. “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s Heejin. Youngwoon will remember me.”
Another guard moves forward, lowering his rifle. “Heejin? Where have you been?”
Heechul twists a finger into his hair. “Around. Keeping to myself. I didn’t want to get caught when the police came to take Youngwoon away. I was so scared.” Jungmo can hear Heechul’s voice start to quaver. “Do you think he’ll be mad that I ran away?”
“At you?” The guard pulls his sunglasses down his nose and offers Heechul a slight smile. “He’s never been able to be mad at you. Don’t worry, honey. We’ll let him know you’re here.” He turns back and offers the all-clear sign to the gatekeeper. “Let ‘em through!”
“We don’t have to worry about this guy, do we?” the guard asks Heechul, gesturing to Jungmo as the car inches forward.
“Oh, no,” Heechul simpers. The sound makes a cold chill run up Jungmo’s spine. “He’s nothing like Jay.”
They roll up the windows as they cruise through the gate, and Jungmo looks at Heechul in the rearview mirror. Heechul’s eyes are closed, and his shoulders are trembling. “You okay?”
“Just drive.”
--
Jungmo walks behind Heechul, keeping a careful eye on their surroundings and on the guard escorting Heechul to Youngwoon’s office. Heechul is clutching the man’s arm, pink fingernails pressing into the guard’s black shirt as he chatters on blithely about how nice it’s going to be to see Youngwoon again, how much he misses performing, and how terribly worried he’s been, these three years. The guard laughs and reminds her to watch her step as they turn corners.
They stop just outside the door that leads to Youngwoon’s apartments, where another guard is waiting, staring fixedly at a wall, muscles bulging beneath a black tank..
“Boss is--a little busy right now,” The doorman says, standing at attention. “Can’t let you through. Who are they?”
“Heejin,” Heechul’s escort says reverently. “The boss’s girl. Shit, don’t you know anything?”
The doorman jumps. “I’m so sorry--your hair is different and you look really pale and--”
“I’ve been on a diet again,” Heechul says softly, almost sadly. “Does it really look that awful?”
“No, of course not, you--”
Heechul’s escort sneers. “The boss will see her, Kibum. Let them in.”
“Of course.” Jungmo could swear that Kibum’s voice is slightly too sarcastic, and his eyes a bit too interested in the tiny bulge in Heechul’s thigh where he’s concealed the gun, and bites his lip. “Right this way.”
Heechul and Jungmo are led into a sort of circular atrium paneled in dark wood with several doors opening off of it. One has an ornate plaque mounted on the door, reading Kim Youngwoon, C.E.O. Their escort brings them to this door, knocking twice and stepping back.
“What,” a rough voice shouts from inside. Jungmo sees Heechul’s shoulders jump.
“You have a visitor, sir,” the guard calls back.
“I’m fucking busy right now, in case Kibum didn’t tell you.”
“It’s Heejin, sir.”
There’s silence. “Heejin?”
“Yes, sir.”
A loud crack comes from the inside of the room. “Bring her in.”
The guard turns the handle and holds the door open for Heechul and Jungmo before backing out and letting the door snap shut behind them.
“I’m sorry for the mess in here,” Youngwoon says, running a hand through his short hair. For such a monster, he certainly has a charming smile. “I had some, uh, unexpected company earlier, as you can see.”
Heechul and Jungmo turn their heads at the same time to see an unconscious Donghae sprawled on the floor, bleeding copiously from his head. Jungmo tears his eyes away and focuses at a spot on the floor while he calculates how quickly he can whip the pistol out of his ankle holster. They need to get Donghae out before it’s too late.
Heechul merely fixes his hair and grinds the toe of his boot against the hardwood floor, shyly chewing his lip. “I’ve missed you, Youngwoon.”
Youngwoon crosses the room and grabs her, hugging her tightly, pressing his face into her shoulder. “Heehee. I’m just so glad you’re safe.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t come after you--”
“You did the right thing. You always do. Such a good girl, my Heehee.”
Jungmo watches it happen. Heechul’s eyes roll back in his head and he shakes violently, fingers digging into Youngwoon’s back. When his eyes open again, they’re softer, wider, and not Heechul’s.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. If she gives us away--
Heehee curls into Youngwoon, arms running up and down his sides. “Youngwoon. You’re here. How did you--”
“I broke out. It was easy. Everyone likes money.”
“And I’m here with you--”
“We’ll get you to America. I’ll debut you there. You’ll be my princess, Heehee. You won’t need to curry favors with my business partners anymore.”
“But Jungmo--”
“Your agent? We’ll take him if he wants. We can have you both on a plane by tomorrow night.”
“But he’s dangerous.”
Time seems to freeze. Youngwoon extricates himself from her arms, and Heehee starts pulling up her skirt. Heechul’s gun, Jungmo thinks. He drops into a crouch and pulls the gun out from underneath the leg of his trousers, releases the safety, and aims quickly, haphazardly, and shoots.
“Oh not again,” Youngwoon spits, spinning Heehee behind himself and stepping behind his desk. “Can’t you pick better agents, dear?”
“He’s not my--”
Jungmo straightens, tense and alert, arms extended, the pistol still clutched in his hands. “Shut the fuck up, Heehee.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are, talking to her like that?” Youngwoon is enraged, and Jungmo’s heart rate speeds up when Heehee hands him Heechul’s gun. He pushes her down at the head, making her duck beneath the desk. Jungmo sees the sick, cold look in her eyes at the motion. “Lowlife scum, taking advantage of an innocent girl just to get to me. I will kill you.”
Youngwoon extends his arm to shoot, but Jungmo is quicker, lodging a bullet into the joint where Youngwoon’s arm meets his shoulder. Jungmo immediately ducks and rolls to the side to avoid a possible reflex shot, but thankfully Youngwoon drops the gun, howling in pain. Heehee screams from her hiding place.
Jungmo lifts himself into a crouch, firing another shot into the side of Youngwoon’s knee. The older man shouts again, dropping to the floor. Heehee screams again, hysterically. Jungmo scrambles forward and steps on Heechul’s gun, leaning down to flick on the safety before kicking it behind him. He keeps his pistol trained on Youngwoon as he walks around the desk, yanking Heehee to a standing position by one frail arm.
“Give him back,” he spits. She keeps screeching for help, face red, hands grabbing at his chest.
For a split second, Jungmo wonders how he could have ever confused the two of them. It might be Heechul’s body, he thinks, but he’ll forgive me.
He backhands her, hard, and she slumps to the floor as he backs toward Donghae, dropping down to check his breathing and pulse. Slow, but still there. He’s in desperate need of medical attention, though; if his insides are bleeding as much as his outsides are, he’s in bad shape.
Jungmo reaches in Donghae’s pocket for his cell phone, but it’s not there.
“You stupid son of a bitch,” Jungmo mutters just as there’s a knock on the door.
“Help,” rasps Youngwoon. Jungmo readies his gun before throwing open the door, ready to shoot. More of them? I don’t think I can last all that much longer.
“Don’t!” It’s Kibum, his bare arms held up and away from his body in surrender. “They confiscated the kid’s phone and you certainly don’t want to start messing with the phone system here. It’s all tapped, even Youngwoon’s. You can’t dial out safely without a code. Here,” and Kibum hands Jungmo his phone, stepping away, arms still raised. “I’ll cover you. No one’s getting in here without getting past me first.”
Kibum looks down at Donghae and swallows desperately. “I owe him.”
Jungmo clicks the safety on and takes the phone with shaking hands, immediately dialing the SMPD emergency line. “Thank you. Kibum. Thank you.”
Kibum merely nods, ducking out of the room and creeping back down the hallway.
“Zhou Mi. It’s Jungmo. Yes. I’m fine. We’re fine. We’ve got them. Donghae and Youngwoon. We’ve got them.”
→ XIII
Authors: e and hopeandmemory
Rating: NC-17 (for sex and violence)
Overall Word Count: 36283
Warnings: Whatever you'd reasonably expect to see on western television in a crime drama will be found in this fic. If you are easily triggered by material referenced (but rarely explicitly shown) in these kinds of programs, you might want to tread carefully.
Summary: In 2006, Kim Heechul put Kim Youngwoon behind bars. He became a legend almost immediately--the guy who watched Star King instead of doing work, drank more than his fair share of the shitty office coffee, and managed to drive off every partner he'd ever been assigned. And then in 2009, Kim Jungmo joins the force, a new case leaves Special Ops Department 1315 grasping helplessly at straws, and everything changes. Heechul/Jungmo
XII.
They swing by Heechul’s apartment first, and he locks himself in the bathroom with a handful of clothes. The place looks much like Jungmo had left it--china still scattered on the kitchen floor, dried blood on the carpet. He grabs a broom and starts cleaning away the debris, guilt pooling in his stomach, and is halfway through bagging the shards of pottery when Heechul walks out of the bedroom.
He’s wearing Heehee’s clothes. This time he’s put on a red checked dress with a plunging back, complicated ties in place of straps, and lots of tulle underneath, leaving the dress bulging slightly at the knee. He’s also wearing Heehee’s black tights, and Jungmo swallows, remembering how easily he’d slid them off of her.
“You’ll be cold,” he says instead.
Heechul shrugs. “I have a cardigan. Youngwoon always liked me in red. Or, rather, her.” His lips are sticky with gloss, and there is eyeliner around both of his eyes, eyelashes coated liberally with mascara. His fingernails are pink.
And yet, it is very obviously Heechul. The angles of his shoulders are differently, and his head is high, eyes sharp. Heechul licks at the gloss on his lips self-consciously.
“Let’s go,” Jungmo says.
Heechul slides into black heeled ankle boots and follows Jungmo out to the car, climbing into the backseat.
“Why are you back there?” Jungmo asks, adjusting the rearview mirror before looking over his shoulder at Heechul.
“Because she always sat in the back when Jay drove. She was supposed to be an idol--that was the cover.” Heechul props one high-heeled boot against the cup-holders between the two front seats and fixes his holster onto his thigh. Jungmo can see he’s wearing tight spandex shorts underneath the dress, not the lacy underwear he associated with Heehee.
Not that he’s looking. He’s paying attention to the road. Obviously. “The cover?”
“How else do you think we got in there in the first place? It was a brilliant plan--I was an up and coming artist, and he was going to be my benefactor.”
“Can you even sing, Heechul?”
“Well enough.”
Jungmo pulls out of his parking spot and they zoom off, back to that gated compound with the guards and the guns and now Donghae. For all of their differences, the older agent certainly didn’t deserve to walk straight to his death. And neither does Heechul.
The drive is quiet and tense, Jungmo chewing on the inside of his cheek and gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles while Heechul fists his hands in the hem of his dress and grinds his teeth in the backseat. Jungmo can hear him suck in a breath when they pull up to the gate blocking the entrance to Youngwoon’s estate. Several guards approach the car, rifles at the ready. One motions for Jungmo to roll down his window, and he obliges.
“ID!” one barks.
Jungmo freezes, and Heechul snaps into action, smoothly rolling down his own window and sticking his head out with a bashful smile. “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s Heejin. Youngwoon will remember me.”
Another guard moves forward, lowering his rifle. “Heejin? Where have you been?”
Heechul twists a finger into his hair. “Around. Keeping to myself. I didn’t want to get caught when the police came to take Youngwoon away. I was so scared.” Jungmo can hear Heechul’s voice start to quaver. “Do you think he’ll be mad that I ran away?”
“At you?” The guard pulls his sunglasses down his nose and offers Heechul a slight smile. “He’s never been able to be mad at you. Don’t worry, honey. We’ll let him know you’re here.” He turns back and offers the all-clear sign to the gatekeeper. “Let ‘em through!”
“We don’t have to worry about this guy, do we?” the guard asks Heechul, gesturing to Jungmo as the car inches forward.
“Oh, no,” Heechul simpers. The sound makes a cold chill run up Jungmo’s spine. “He’s nothing like Jay.”
They roll up the windows as they cruise through the gate, and Jungmo looks at Heechul in the rearview mirror. Heechul’s eyes are closed, and his shoulders are trembling. “You okay?”
“Just drive.”
--
Jungmo walks behind Heechul, keeping a careful eye on their surroundings and on the guard escorting Heechul to Youngwoon’s office. Heechul is clutching the man’s arm, pink fingernails pressing into the guard’s black shirt as he chatters on blithely about how nice it’s going to be to see Youngwoon again, how much he misses performing, and how terribly worried he’s been, these three years. The guard laughs and reminds her to watch her step as they turn corners.
They stop just outside the door that leads to Youngwoon’s apartments, where another guard is waiting, staring fixedly at a wall, muscles bulging beneath a black tank..
“Boss is--a little busy right now,” The doorman says, standing at attention. “Can’t let you through. Who are they?”
“Heejin,” Heechul’s escort says reverently. “The boss’s girl. Shit, don’t you know anything?”
The doorman jumps. “I’m so sorry--your hair is different and you look really pale and--”
“I’ve been on a diet again,” Heechul says softly, almost sadly. “Does it really look that awful?”
“No, of course not, you--”
Heechul’s escort sneers. “The boss will see her, Kibum. Let them in.”
“Of course.” Jungmo could swear that Kibum’s voice is slightly too sarcastic, and his eyes a bit too interested in the tiny bulge in Heechul’s thigh where he’s concealed the gun, and bites his lip. “Right this way.”
Heechul and Jungmo are led into a sort of circular atrium paneled in dark wood with several doors opening off of it. One has an ornate plaque mounted on the door, reading Kim Youngwoon, C.E.O. Their escort brings them to this door, knocking twice and stepping back.
“What,” a rough voice shouts from inside. Jungmo sees Heechul’s shoulders jump.
“You have a visitor, sir,” the guard calls back.
“I’m fucking busy right now, in case Kibum didn’t tell you.”
“It’s Heejin, sir.”
There’s silence. “Heejin?”
“Yes, sir.”
A loud crack comes from the inside of the room. “Bring her in.”
The guard turns the handle and holds the door open for Heechul and Jungmo before backing out and letting the door snap shut behind them.
“I’m sorry for the mess in here,” Youngwoon says, running a hand through his short hair. For such a monster, he certainly has a charming smile. “I had some, uh, unexpected company earlier, as you can see.”
Heechul and Jungmo turn their heads at the same time to see an unconscious Donghae sprawled on the floor, bleeding copiously from his head. Jungmo tears his eyes away and focuses at a spot on the floor while he calculates how quickly he can whip the pistol out of his ankle holster. They need to get Donghae out before it’s too late.
Heechul merely fixes his hair and grinds the toe of his boot against the hardwood floor, shyly chewing his lip. “I’ve missed you, Youngwoon.”
Youngwoon crosses the room and grabs her, hugging her tightly, pressing his face into her shoulder. “Heehee. I’m just so glad you’re safe.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t come after you--”
“You did the right thing. You always do. Such a good girl, my Heehee.”
Jungmo watches it happen. Heechul’s eyes roll back in his head and he shakes violently, fingers digging into Youngwoon’s back. When his eyes open again, they’re softer, wider, and not Heechul’s.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. If she gives us away--
Heehee curls into Youngwoon, arms running up and down his sides. “Youngwoon. You’re here. How did you--”
“I broke out. It was easy. Everyone likes money.”
“And I’m here with you--”
“We’ll get you to America. I’ll debut you there. You’ll be my princess, Heehee. You won’t need to curry favors with my business partners anymore.”
“But Jungmo--”
“Your agent? We’ll take him if he wants. We can have you both on a plane by tomorrow night.”
“But he’s dangerous.”
Time seems to freeze. Youngwoon extricates himself from her arms, and Heehee starts pulling up her skirt. Heechul’s gun, Jungmo thinks. He drops into a crouch and pulls the gun out from underneath the leg of his trousers, releases the safety, and aims quickly, haphazardly, and shoots.
“Oh not again,” Youngwoon spits, spinning Heehee behind himself and stepping behind his desk. “Can’t you pick better agents, dear?”
“He’s not my--”
Jungmo straightens, tense and alert, arms extended, the pistol still clutched in his hands. “Shut the fuck up, Heehee.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are, talking to her like that?” Youngwoon is enraged, and Jungmo’s heart rate speeds up when Heehee hands him Heechul’s gun. He pushes her down at the head, making her duck beneath the desk. Jungmo sees the sick, cold look in her eyes at the motion. “Lowlife scum, taking advantage of an innocent girl just to get to me. I will kill you.”
Youngwoon extends his arm to shoot, but Jungmo is quicker, lodging a bullet into the joint where Youngwoon’s arm meets his shoulder. Jungmo immediately ducks and rolls to the side to avoid a possible reflex shot, but thankfully Youngwoon drops the gun, howling in pain. Heehee screams from her hiding place.
Jungmo lifts himself into a crouch, firing another shot into the side of Youngwoon’s knee. The older man shouts again, dropping to the floor. Heehee screams again, hysterically. Jungmo scrambles forward and steps on Heechul’s gun, leaning down to flick on the safety before kicking it behind him. He keeps his pistol trained on Youngwoon as he walks around the desk, yanking Heehee to a standing position by one frail arm.
“Give him back,” he spits. She keeps screeching for help, face red, hands grabbing at his chest.
For a split second, Jungmo wonders how he could have ever confused the two of them. It might be Heechul’s body, he thinks, but he’ll forgive me.
He backhands her, hard, and she slumps to the floor as he backs toward Donghae, dropping down to check his breathing and pulse. Slow, but still there. He’s in desperate need of medical attention, though; if his insides are bleeding as much as his outsides are, he’s in bad shape.
Jungmo reaches in Donghae’s pocket for his cell phone, but it’s not there.
“You stupid son of a bitch,” Jungmo mutters just as there’s a knock on the door.
“Help,” rasps Youngwoon. Jungmo readies his gun before throwing open the door, ready to shoot. More of them? I don’t think I can last all that much longer.
“Don’t!” It’s Kibum, his bare arms held up and away from his body in surrender. “They confiscated the kid’s phone and you certainly don’t want to start messing with the phone system here. It’s all tapped, even Youngwoon’s. You can’t dial out safely without a code. Here,” and Kibum hands Jungmo his phone, stepping away, arms still raised. “I’ll cover you. No one’s getting in here without getting past me first.”
Kibum looks down at Donghae and swallows desperately. “I owe him.”
Jungmo clicks the safety on and takes the phone with shaking hands, immediately dialing the SMPD emergency line. “Thank you. Kibum. Thank you.”
Kibum merely nods, ducking out of the room and creeping back down the hallway.
“Zhou Mi. It’s Jungmo. Yes. I’m fine. We’re fine. We’ve got them. Donghae and Youngwoon. We’ve got them.”
→ XIII