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FIC: Guilty by Association - Charles/Erik, XMFC - (3/??)
Title: Guilty by Association (3/??)
Author: Regann
Pairing: Charles/Erik (XMFC)
Rating: PG-13/R
Word Count: ~4,600 for the chapter (total: 50,000+)
Warnings: discussion of murder, violence and prostitution
Disclaimer: I don't own anything; I just play with them.
Notes: Everything I know about law enforcement and investigative journalism, I learned from watching television. Don't expect any more realism here than you'd find on an episode of CSI or L&O. There is also State of Play influence in this fic as well, although you don't need to have seen it to understand anything in this fic.
Summary: While investigating the homicide of a John Doe who he suspects might've been murdered while working the streets as a prostitute, Detective Erik Lehnsherr finds an unexpected ally in a hooker named Charles who seems as determined as he to solve the case. As they become more deeply involved both with the case and each other, there's just one thing that Charles neglects to mention -- that he's really an investigative journalist, one quickly convinced that what they're dealing with is more than simple murder. cop!Erik, fake-hooker-slash-reporter!Charles, Modern AU.
Previous Parts available at LJ, DW and AO3.
Guilty by Association (Part 3)
It was the second time that week that Erik had been pulled begrudgingly from sleep by the sound of his cell phone ringing and he didn't face its intrusion into his dreams that morning any better than he'd faced it a few days before. That morning, however, it was much harder to make the ringing stop because his phone wasn't in its usual place on his nightstand -- it was across the room, still in the pocket of his pants where they lay crumpled on the floor near the door.
"What?" he demanded, rubbing at his pounding head with his free hand. He had one hell of a headache, and the details of the night before were still shrouded behind a haze of pain and sleepiness.
"Where are you?" Darwin asked, not ruffled by Erik's less-than-enthusiastic greeting.
"What do you mean?" he asked, bending over to rescue his slacks from the floor. He wasn't the neatest bachelor around, but he was usually a little more considerate of his suits since they weren't exactly cheap. Erik tossed them over a chair while he waited for Darwin's answer.
"You're not there and it's way past your usual time," Darwin explained. "I mean, technically you're not late for regular people but you are kinda running behind for Erik Lehnsherr, badass detective. I thought maybe something had come up."
"No, I..." Erik wasn't sure if it was the question itself that made him trail off or the fact that he was starting to notice details about his surroundings that didn't quite add up. Like the striped shirt over his dresser that definitely wasn't his, or the fact his robe was missing from the back of the door to the ensuite or the fact that he was standing in the middle of his bedroom naked.
"Ah, I got it, man," Darwin continued, as if he didn't notice Erik's sudden silence. "Another night on the street, talking to the hookers, huh? I bet you did need the extra sleep."
It was the comment about the prostitutes that made it all start to slide into place. "I'll be there shortly," he said, cutting off the rest of what Darwin was about to say.
"Yeah, but first, I need to tell you --"
Erik snapped the cell phone closed and threw it down on the dresser where it slid across the familiar striped shirt that definitely wasn't his but certainly, he realized with every more horror, belonged to exactly who he thought it did. It sat there accusingly but obligingly, jogging his memory enough that last night started to rush back.
Mein Gott.
He'd went to that bar hoping to catch a break but he hadn't expected to run into one of the hustlers he'd met the night before, and he definitely hadn't expected to find himself charmed by his flirty conversation and big blue eyes. But Erik had left their initial meeting thinking that the boy -- Charles, as he knew now -- had known more than he'd been letting on that first night, and he'd hoped that a few drinks and some light conversation would've won him enough trust that Charles would've felt safe confiding in him, perhaps leading him closer to finding out who'd killed Martin Tabram and John Doe.
He hadn't expected it to lead to him stumbling into a taxi with a charming and surprisingly witty hooker for a drunken fuck.
Except that had been exactly what he'd done.
Erik sank down on the edge of his bed, burying his head in his hands to muffle the litany of German -- fuck, fuck, so fucking stupid -- coming out of his mouth. There was so much wrong with what he'd done; not only had he screwed with someone that might've been important to his case, he'd become one of those cops he hated, the ones who used their authority to victimize whoever they wanted. When he'd worked Vice, he'd known the cops who did the rounds where the pros advertised, who dragged them off and forced the girls to service them to escape the rap -- sometimes even arresting them anyway. He'd always hated those assholes and now he was one of them; even if he hadn't use any particular coercion -- and he was almost certain he hadn't -- he'd approached Charles, asking questions that he obviously hadn't wanted to answer. Given what Erik's thoughts had wandered to after a few drinks, it probably hadn't been hard for Charles to figure out he was interested.
And he had been interested. Way more interested than he'd been in anyone in a long time, which was the most ironic thing of all.
It only took Erik a minute or two of self-castigation before his mind leaped to more immediate concerns, like the fact that Charles's clothes were still strewn about his room but Charles was nowhere to be found. He quickly ran through a check of the essentials -- even though his phone hadn't made it out of his pants, his service piece had made it to its place in the nightstand drawer, seemingly untouched by anyone but himself, and his wallet, which hadn't made it out of his pants, was still intact, along with all its contents. His badge was still clipped to his belt even though it was half-way beneath the bed, and he was mostly certain his keys were probably by the door, especially since they'd left his vehicle at the bar.
That just left him with the mystery of where Charles himself was.
A peek in the bathroom revealed no errant house guest, so Erik grabbed a pair of sweats and padded down the hall. The living room was similarly empty -- and his keys were in the dish by the front door -- but he hit the jackpot when he rounded the corner into his kitchen.
There, sitting at his table was Charles, hair slightly damp as if he'd taken a shower and wrapped in Erik's robe, which hung on him a little loosely and long in the hem and sleeves. There was a cup of some steaming liquid at his elbow on the table which Erik's nose told him wasn't coffee, and he had the morning paper spread out in front of him.
He looked up from the paper when Erik cleared his throat. "Oh, good morning," Charles said, smiling and pleasant, completely unashamed. "I hope you don't mind me making myself at home, but you looked like you needed the sleep, so I didn't want to disturb you."
Charles was just as tempting to Erik sober and in the light of morning as he'd been the night before, mussed hair, soft features and smiling red mouth just as he'd recalled. There was a line of faint red marks on his collarbone, just visible from where the robe's neck dipped open, and Erik remembered leaving them on the pale column of Charles's throat as Charles had murmured soft seductive things in his ear before he'd dropped to his knees to prove that his obscene finger-sucking demonstration had nothing on his actual skills. Erik recalled other things too -- pressing lube-slick fingers into him and wondering if it were possible to come just from the keening sound Charles made as Erik opened him up; how good it had felt to finally be moving inside him, the sting of Charles's blunt nails digging into his shoulders a welcome counterpoint to the pleasure; and, then the wet, slick union of their mouths as he'd come, each kiss fading into the next long after the high of orgasm had begun to pass...
"Erik?"
The echo of Charles repeating his name finally brought Erik back to the moment. "What did you say?" he asked.
"I said I hoped I hadn't overstepped my bounds by making use of your facilities," Charles said, the question in his words clear.
"No, it's fine," Erik replied, still a little distracted by the path of this thoughts. "Although I would've liked my robe when I got up."
Charles's smile was devilish, as his hands trailed to the belt of the robe. "I could return it now if you'd like?"
"No," Erik said firmly, trying to cover the tremor in his voice with completely fake nonchalance. At Charles's raised eyebrow, he realized he must've failed, coming off more panicked than he'd hoped. "It's just that I'm running late for work," he added.
Charles narrowed his eyes a little like he was trying to get a read on him, but Erik kept his face impassive until Charles relented. "Well, we can't have that, can we? I'll just...collect my things and be on my way." He gave Erik one last inscrutable look before he disappeared back down the hall, tucking his phone into the pocket of Erik's purloined robe as he skirted by.
Erik stared into the space where Charles had just vacated, trying to steady his wild thoughts. He'd never been one for one-night-stands because he hadn't like the awkwardness and regrets that came in the morning and he'd saddled himself with more of them than he could've ever imagined by sleeping with a hustler that might be related to one of his active cases. Erik thought back over the last few minutes of conversation, lingering on the look Charles had sent him before he'd headed back to the bedroom for his clothes.
Before he'd expected it, Charles had rejoined him in the kitchen as he finished getting dressed, smoothing the collar of his shirt, then fiddling with the band of his watch as he clasped it around his wrist. He hadn't bothered with the shirt cuffs, and they were half-rolled, half-pushed up to reveal the pale line of his forearms. He leaned against the wall and watched Erik for a moment. "So if there's nothing else...?"
"Your coat?" he asked, because he distinctly remembered that Charles had worn a heavy tan coat on both nights he'd seen him.
"It's by the door," Charles explained, looking amused as he added, "with my shoes."
"Okay, then."
"Yes," Charles sighed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks. "Exactly."
"Goodbye," Erik said when Charles didn't move from his spot. "It was..."
"Apparently," Charles answered. He finally looked away with another sigh. "Goodbye, Erik."
It came to Erik in a flash as Charles turned away that all of the expectant hemming and hawing Charles had done in the last few minutes probably had something to do with the fact that he wasn't just a drunken mistake -- he was a drunken mistake who usually got paid for his services.
Erik knew it was his guilt that even made him consider it, to make what was probably one of the stupidest things he'd ever done in his life into something even more ridiculous and horrifying, but he already felt bad enough for taking advantage of the authority his badge gave him over Charles. He didn't want to cost him a night's worth of work and let him think Erik considered it payment for his silence.
"Charles, wait," he called out, leaning around the edge of the open kitchen door to see Charles pause where he was slipping on his shoes.
"Yes?" he asked, glancing up.
"I know we didn't talk about...terms beforehand," Erik began, rushing over the words. "But I'd be glad to meet whatever...your usual is."
"My usual?"
"For the night, I mean," he explained. "Whatever you usually get for...everything."
Charles knitted his brow, obviously thinking about something before his face lit up with shock. "So you want to pay me...my usual rate, you say?"
Erik ignored the guilt that told him that that look meant Charles had considered it some kind of trade to earn him a break from police interrogation. "I'm sure I have the cash," he told him, although he winced when he realized he probably didn't.
Another indecipherable expression flickered over his face too fast for Erik to take the measure of it, but it struck him as odd that someone with such expressive eyes could be so unfathomable in the span of a few minutes. He was surprised again when Charles spoke again, as he slid his arms into the sleeves of his coat. "Don't worry about it," he told him. "You can consider last night...on the house."
"No, I..." Erik began but then Charles had opened the front door that led out into the hall of his building and it wasn't a conversation he wanted to have where others could here.
"And don't worry," Charles added as he stepped outside, buttoning his coat. "If I think of anything, I'll let you know."
Erik flinched at the sound of the door slamming shut behind him.
He might've stood there for hours, mulling over his own guilt and embarrassment except that the annoying tinny sound of his ringing cell phone broke him out of his reverie. He rolled his eyes as he strode down the hall and grabbed for it, this time checking the ID to see that it was Darwin.
"I told you I'd be there as soon as I can," he said into the phone.
"And I tried to tell you that Frost is looking for you," Darwin replied. "So you better hoof it, brother."
Erik felt his headache returning in full force. "Stall her," he ordered. "I'll be there in twenty minutes. And you better have me some coffee this time."
He dropped the phone on the nightstand and grabbed his robe from where it lay across his disheveled bed as he hurried to the shower, trying not to think of where it had been -- and on whom -- just minutes before.
**
Charles took the entire journey home to ponder what had just happened, but the proper reaction to it eluded him. It played out in his memory like a terrible farce; he knew he'd been deliberately obtuse and rather shamelessly accommodating in their conversation the night before, but the former wasn't unusual when he was fishing for information for a story and the latter was very much his way when he was interested in someone. But never had he expected that their first meeting, combined with his artful caginess, would've caused Erik to peg him as a street hustler.
By the time the taxi was pulling up in front of his brownstone, Charles still hadn't decided how he felt about the entire thing, though there was some amusement bubbling to the surface, smoothing over the wounded edges of hurt he couldn't quite ignore. Information or no, he had liked Erik and had hoped that he would've at least been up for a repeat performance of their night together. Charles could not have imagined, however, that the best he'd get was an offer to pay for services rendered.
When he quietly let himself in to his own home, he could smell the hot-sharp scent of coffee wafting from the kitchen, which told him Raven hadn't returned to their family home the night before and she was already up and about. He found her in the living room in front of his flat-screen TV, watching some kind of morning talk program while she curled up on his sofa with her coffee.
"I hope you at least called him," he said in lieu of a greeting as he shrugged out of his coat and threw it over one of the chairs. "He asked about you the moment he saw me yesterday."
In the past, he might've asked about the cause of this latest riff between his sister and their father, but he'd learned over the years that it was rarely about anything other than their fundamental personality differences no matter what trivial thing they'd wrapped it up in for the moment.
"The same could be said for you," Raven told him, glancing up over the back of the sofa. "You could've let me know you weren't coming back last night."
Charles rubbed his hand along the back of his neck. "I hadn't really planned my absence ahead of time."
Raven snorted. "You never do."
He rolled his eyes. "Did you call him?"
She sighed and sat her cup down on the coffee table. "I left a message with Amy," she admitted. "She said she'd give it to him before he left work for the day."
"Good enough," he said with a nod. "You shouldn't worry him if you don't have to."
"You mean unlike you?" Raven asked, reaching up to motion for him to join her on the sofa. "Come here, don't make me strain my neck to look at you."
"I don't worry him if I can help it," he pointed out, giving in to her suggestion. He spared a moment to be glad he'd taken the chance to shower before he'd left Erik's when she immediately snuggled up to him as soon as he was sitting. "Even when we're at odds, I check in with him or Moira if I'm working on something where I might run into trouble."
"Which is how they knew something was up when you'd been arrested that time," she reminded him with a laugh.
He laughed, too, remembering his night spent in lock-up over a little matter of B&E. "Yes, exactly. And that's where his mind goes, you know. He immediately thinks the worst."
"Speaking of the worst..." Raven made a show of wrinkling her nose in the direction of his rumpled shirt. "What happened with you last night? I thought you were working on that story, not cruising for a pick-up."
"I was -- working a story, I mean," he said, though not sure how to elaborate on how it had led to the evening he'd had. Charles wasn't sure he was ready to share the humiliating truth when anyone just yet, not even his beloved sister. Still, he heard himself asking her, "Raven, if you saw me on a street corner at night, would you necessarily jump to the conclusion that I was a prostitute?"
Raven drew back a little so that she could peer into his face. He tried to keep his expression bland, but Charles knew she could see through him easily. "Oh my god, did someone...?" She trailed off, overcome with laughter. "Oh my god, they did, didn't they? Someone tried to pick you up when you were doing interviews!"
"It's not as funny as all that," he complained between her gales of laughter, but her amusement did ease some of his own wounded feelings. "Honestly, Raven!"
"I'm sorry," she said, raising her face from where she'd buried it against his shoulder in a vain attempt to smother her mirth. "But, Charles, it really is as funny as that all. If it hadn't happened to you, you'd be laughing with me." She looped her arms around his neck in a comforting embrace, still pressed close where they sat together on the sofa. "I hope he offered you what you were worth and none of that $50 blowjob nonsense," she teased. "Given your experience, you've got to go for at least three times that."
It was a wicked and wildly inappropriate thing to even wonder about, but Charles couldn't help but wish he'd known what Erik had been willing to pay to meet his "usual rate." "You are a horrible person, my dear sister."
"You love me," she disagreed with a quick smack of her lips against his cheek. Raven seemed to consider something because she was more serious when she asked, "You weren't in danger, were you?"
Charles slung an arm over her. "I was perfectly safe," he assured her. He thought about the scans he'd taken of Erik's notes on the cases that were currently residing on his phone's memory card. "It...all worked out in the end, I guess you could say."
"I can only imagine how embarrassed that guy was when you broke it to him," she said. "Too bad it wasn't someone you could use it against."
"Raven, I am not an extortionist," he told her. "Your opinion of my profession seems to be so low that I might as well be turning tricks for all the respect it gets me."
She waved away his objection. "I've seen what you're willing to do to get the story, Charles, especially when you think it's important. Ruthless isn't even the word."
Charles was about to object again when he noticed the time where it flashed across the bottom of the television screen. "As much as I'd love to sit here and let you cast aspersions upon me, I have an early lunch meeting with Moira that I need to prepare for." He wanted another shower, along with clean clothes and a chance to print off hard copies of the digital files on his phone.
Raven grumbled at the loss but she didn't protest too much as he untangled himself from her arms. "I'll probably be staying here tonight, too," she told him. "Do you want to have dinner?"
"I don't know what my plans are going to be," he admitted. "But I'll call? Either way, I'll check in with you."
She nodded, apparently satisfied with the compromise. "Have fun with Moira."
Charles answered with a wave, not bothering with a verbal reply when he was already preoccupied with how he'd present what he had so far to Moira in a few hours. He was fairly certain that she'd be as interested as he was in the possible serial angle, but it never hurt to have a plan of persuasion in place, just in case he needed it.
They were scheduled to meet at a little deli not far from the paper and Charles arrived right on time, bright-eyed, without any sign of the rough night he'd passed. The second shower had helped, as had the time he'd spent re-immersing himself in the facts of the story instead of letting himself continue to wallow in self-pity.
When he noticed Moira in the back of the deli, he did a double take when he saw she wasn't alone.
"Sean?" It came out as half-greeting, half-question.
"Hey, Charles," the redhead said, grinning up at him over his sandwich.
"Not that it isn't lovely to see him but what's he doing here?" he asked Moira as he took the remaining seat at the table.
She shrugged, wiping her fingers on her napkin. "He said he was interested in helping, I figured you could use all of it you could get."
Charles shot him a look of warning but didn't protest, even though he was almost sure that Sean's offer was less about helping Charles than it was finding a way to spend more time with Moira. Still, he'd liked Sean since he'd come to work at the paper a year ago and if the young man wanted to waste his time helping them out so he could make time with Moira despite her obliviousness to his interest, Charles wasn't going to deny him the opportunity.
Once he'd gotten his own lunch, Charles kept his voice low as he filled in Moira and Sean on what he'd learned so far and what he wanted to look into next.
"Our John Doe's identity is paramount," he told them firmly. "The police have hit a dead end too and I think it's going to shed a lot of light on what's going on."
"Any idea on how to go about it when the cops can't find anything?" Moira asked.
He nodded and produced two newly-printed copies of John Doe's morgue photo. "You still have those contacts with those sex worker outreach programs from that report you did last summer, yes?"
Moira nodded. "Maria and Julian."
"I was hoping you could get them to help us by showing this photo around," he explained, handing her one. "I've tried it and the cops have too but it won't be the same coming from someone they trust. And wasn't Maria's outreach close to our murder scene?"
"It used to be," she said with a frown. "But they had to move it since I interviewed them. I'm not sure where it moved to."
"Why?" Charles asked.
Moira's frown deepened. "Why else? Cops casing the place and giving the girls a hard time. It got to be where they were scared to come to the outreach which defeated the whole purpose."
"Not all cops are like that, Moira," Charles reminded her, unable to stop himself from thinking of Erik, of the way Hank had defended him to Charles before they'd met. "There are some good ones out there."
"If you say so," she said and then went back to flipping through the scans of the police reports Charles had lifted from Erik's place. "How did you even get these?"
Charles couldn't help the self-deprecating smile. "You really don't want to know."
"We could go to print with just this, really," Moira said, turning another page. "Possible serial killer, police left baffled, et cetera. I think even Brian would admit it's good."
"This isn't just about the story, Moira," Charles reminded her. "I want to find who did this. I'd rather go after that."
"I'm with you, Charles, I'm just saying we need to take something to Brian and I think you could pitch this," she said. "Maybe it'll even rattle some cages."
"I'll draft something and see if I can make it work," he said. "But I'm more interested in finding out something the police don't know, like who John Doe is."
"What do you need me to do, Charles?" Sean asked.
"I want you on background, if you don't mind," he said. "Just because these are the first two murders they've linked, doesn't mean there wasn't something before or that our murderer hasn't escalated from something else. Maybe there's something the police has missed."
"Oh, great, a library project," Sean groaned, but it was good-natured and he flashed a smile to show he was teasing.
"An accountant brought down Al Capone," Charles teased. "Maybe you'll catch a murderer."
Moira opened her cell phone and grimaced when her eyes landed on the time. "I've really got to get back," she said, half-apologetic. "Can I keep these?"
"Yes, those are for you," he said. "Thank you, for all your help."
"I'll let you know if I hear anything from Maria and Julian," she promised. "I'll fax the photo to them this afternoon." She stood, smoothing down her skirt before she collected her copies of the files. "I hope you've got this source on call," she told him, patting the papers in her hand. "We could use more like this if we're going to stay ahead of the cops."
Charles knew it was probably horrible of him, but there was a plan forming in his head. "I'm not sure yet," he admitted. "But...I'm working on it."
**
End of Part 3
Author: Regann
Pairing: Charles/Erik (XMFC)
Rating: PG-13/R
Word Count: ~4,600 for the chapter (total: 50,000+)
Warnings: discussion of murder, violence and prostitution
Disclaimer: I don't own anything; I just play with them.
Notes: Everything I know about law enforcement and investigative journalism, I learned from watching television. Don't expect any more realism here than you'd find on an episode of CSI or L&O. There is also State of Play influence in this fic as well, although you don't need to have seen it to understand anything in this fic.
Summary: While investigating the homicide of a John Doe who he suspects might've been murdered while working the streets as a prostitute, Detective Erik Lehnsherr finds an unexpected ally in a hooker named Charles who seems as determined as he to solve the case. As they become more deeply involved both with the case and each other, there's just one thing that Charles neglects to mention -- that he's really an investigative journalist, one quickly convinced that what they're dealing with is more than simple murder. cop!Erik, fake-hooker-slash-reporter!Charles, Modern AU.
Previous Parts available at LJ, DW and AO3.
Guilty by Association (Part 3)
It was the second time that week that Erik had been pulled begrudgingly from sleep by the sound of his cell phone ringing and he didn't face its intrusion into his dreams that morning any better than he'd faced it a few days before. That morning, however, it was much harder to make the ringing stop because his phone wasn't in its usual place on his nightstand -- it was across the room, still in the pocket of his pants where they lay crumpled on the floor near the door.
"What?" he demanded, rubbing at his pounding head with his free hand. He had one hell of a headache, and the details of the night before were still shrouded behind a haze of pain and sleepiness.
"Where are you?" Darwin asked, not ruffled by Erik's less-than-enthusiastic greeting.
"What do you mean?" he asked, bending over to rescue his slacks from the floor. He wasn't the neatest bachelor around, but he was usually a little more considerate of his suits since they weren't exactly cheap. Erik tossed them over a chair while he waited for Darwin's answer.
"You're not there and it's way past your usual time," Darwin explained. "I mean, technically you're not late for regular people but you are kinda running behind for Erik Lehnsherr, badass detective. I thought maybe something had come up."
"No, I..." Erik wasn't sure if it was the question itself that made him trail off or the fact that he was starting to notice details about his surroundings that didn't quite add up. Like the striped shirt over his dresser that definitely wasn't his, or the fact his robe was missing from the back of the door to the ensuite or the fact that he was standing in the middle of his bedroom naked.
"Ah, I got it, man," Darwin continued, as if he didn't notice Erik's sudden silence. "Another night on the street, talking to the hookers, huh? I bet you did need the extra sleep."
It was the comment about the prostitutes that made it all start to slide into place. "I'll be there shortly," he said, cutting off the rest of what Darwin was about to say.
"Yeah, but first, I need to tell you --"
Erik snapped the cell phone closed and threw it down on the dresser where it slid across the familiar striped shirt that definitely wasn't his but certainly, he realized with every more horror, belonged to exactly who he thought it did. It sat there accusingly but obligingly, jogging his memory enough that last night started to rush back.
Mein Gott.
He'd went to that bar hoping to catch a break but he hadn't expected to run into one of the hustlers he'd met the night before, and he definitely hadn't expected to find himself charmed by his flirty conversation and big blue eyes. But Erik had left their initial meeting thinking that the boy -- Charles, as he knew now -- had known more than he'd been letting on that first night, and he'd hoped that a few drinks and some light conversation would've won him enough trust that Charles would've felt safe confiding in him, perhaps leading him closer to finding out who'd killed Martin Tabram and John Doe.
He hadn't expected it to lead to him stumbling into a taxi with a charming and surprisingly witty hooker for a drunken fuck.
Except that had been exactly what he'd done.
Erik sank down on the edge of his bed, burying his head in his hands to muffle the litany of German -- fuck, fuck, so fucking stupid -- coming out of his mouth. There was so much wrong with what he'd done; not only had he screwed with someone that might've been important to his case, he'd become one of those cops he hated, the ones who used their authority to victimize whoever they wanted. When he'd worked Vice, he'd known the cops who did the rounds where the pros advertised, who dragged them off and forced the girls to service them to escape the rap -- sometimes even arresting them anyway. He'd always hated those assholes and now he was one of them; even if he hadn't use any particular coercion -- and he was almost certain he hadn't -- he'd approached Charles, asking questions that he obviously hadn't wanted to answer. Given what Erik's thoughts had wandered to after a few drinks, it probably hadn't been hard for Charles to figure out he was interested.
And he had been interested. Way more interested than he'd been in anyone in a long time, which was the most ironic thing of all.
It only took Erik a minute or two of self-castigation before his mind leaped to more immediate concerns, like the fact that Charles's clothes were still strewn about his room but Charles was nowhere to be found. He quickly ran through a check of the essentials -- even though his phone hadn't made it out of his pants, his service piece had made it to its place in the nightstand drawer, seemingly untouched by anyone but himself, and his wallet, which hadn't made it out of his pants, was still intact, along with all its contents. His badge was still clipped to his belt even though it was half-way beneath the bed, and he was mostly certain his keys were probably by the door, especially since they'd left his vehicle at the bar.
That just left him with the mystery of where Charles himself was.
A peek in the bathroom revealed no errant house guest, so Erik grabbed a pair of sweats and padded down the hall. The living room was similarly empty -- and his keys were in the dish by the front door -- but he hit the jackpot when he rounded the corner into his kitchen.
There, sitting at his table was Charles, hair slightly damp as if he'd taken a shower and wrapped in Erik's robe, which hung on him a little loosely and long in the hem and sleeves. There was a cup of some steaming liquid at his elbow on the table which Erik's nose told him wasn't coffee, and he had the morning paper spread out in front of him.
He looked up from the paper when Erik cleared his throat. "Oh, good morning," Charles said, smiling and pleasant, completely unashamed. "I hope you don't mind me making myself at home, but you looked like you needed the sleep, so I didn't want to disturb you."
Charles was just as tempting to Erik sober and in the light of morning as he'd been the night before, mussed hair, soft features and smiling red mouth just as he'd recalled. There was a line of faint red marks on his collarbone, just visible from where the robe's neck dipped open, and Erik remembered leaving them on the pale column of Charles's throat as Charles had murmured soft seductive things in his ear before he'd dropped to his knees to prove that his obscene finger-sucking demonstration had nothing on his actual skills. Erik recalled other things too -- pressing lube-slick fingers into him and wondering if it were possible to come just from the keening sound Charles made as Erik opened him up; how good it had felt to finally be moving inside him, the sting of Charles's blunt nails digging into his shoulders a welcome counterpoint to the pleasure; and, then the wet, slick union of their mouths as he'd come, each kiss fading into the next long after the high of orgasm had begun to pass...
"Erik?"
The echo of Charles repeating his name finally brought Erik back to the moment. "What did you say?" he asked.
"I said I hoped I hadn't overstepped my bounds by making use of your facilities," Charles said, the question in his words clear.
"No, it's fine," Erik replied, still a little distracted by the path of this thoughts. "Although I would've liked my robe when I got up."
Charles's smile was devilish, as his hands trailed to the belt of the robe. "I could return it now if you'd like?"
"No," Erik said firmly, trying to cover the tremor in his voice with completely fake nonchalance. At Charles's raised eyebrow, he realized he must've failed, coming off more panicked than he'd hoped. "It's just that I'm running late for work," he added.
Charles narrowed his eyes a little like he was trying to get a read on him, but Erik kept his face impassive until Charles relented. "Well, we can't have that, can we? I'll just...collect my things and be on my way." He gave Erik one last inscrutable look before he disappeared back down the hall, tucking his phone into the pocket of Erik's purloined robe as he skirted by.
Erik stared into the space where Charles had just vacated, trying to steady his wild thoughts. He'd never been one for one-night-stands because he hadn't like the awkwardness and regrets that came in the morning and he'd saddled himself with more of them than he could've ever imagined by sleeping with a hustler that might be related to one of his active cases. Erik thought back over the last few minutes of conversation, lingering on the look Charles had sent him before he'd headed back to the bedroom for his clothes.
Before he'd expected it, Charles had rejoined him in the kitchen as he finished getting dressed, smoothing the collar of his shirt, then fiddling with the band of his watch as he clasped it around his wrist. He hadn't bothered with the shirt cuffs, and they were half-rolled, half-pushed up to reveal the pale line of his forearms. He leaned against the wall and watched Erik for a moment. "So if there's nothing else...?"
"Your coat?" he asked, because he distinctly remembered that Charles had worn a heavy tan coat on both nights he'd seen him.
"It's by the door," Charles explained, looking amused as he added, "with my shoes."
"Okay, then."
"Yes," Charles sighed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks. "Exactly."
"Goodbye," Erik said when Charles didn't move from his spot. "It was..."
"Apparently," Charles answered. He finally looked away with another sigh. "Goodbye, Erik."
It came to Erik in a flash as Charles turned away that all of the expectant hemming and hawing Charles had done in the last few minutes probably had something to do with the fact that he wasn't just a drunken mistake -- he was a drunken mistake who usually got paid for his services.
Erik knew it was his guilt that even made him consider it, to make what was probably one of the stupidest things he'd ever done in his life into something even more ridiculous and horrifying, but he already felt bad enough for taking advantage of the authority his badge gave him over Charles. He didn't want to cost him a night's worth of work and let him think Erik considered it payment for his silence.
"Charles, wait," he called out, leaning around the edge of the open kitchen door to see Charles pause where he was slipping on his shoes.
"Yes?" he asked, glancing up.
"I know we didn't talk about...terms beforehand," Erik began, rushing over the words. "But I'd be glad to meet whatever...your usual is."
"My usual?"
"For the night, I mean," he explained. "Whatever you usually get for...everything."
Charles knitted his brow, obviously thinking about something before his face lit up with shock. "So you want to pay me...my usual rate, you say?"
Erik ignored the guilt that told him that that look meant Charles had considered it some kind of trade to earn him a break from police interrogation. "I'm sure I have the cash," he told him, although he winced when he realized he probably didn't.
Another indecipherable expression flickered over his face too fast for Erik to take the measure of it, but it struck him as odd that someone with such expressive eyes could be so unfathomable in the span of a few minutes. He was surprised again when Charles spoke again, as he slid his arms into the sleeves of his coat. "Don't worry about it," he told him. "You can consider last night...on the house."
"No, I..." Erik began but then Charles had opened the front door that led out into the hall of his building and it wasn't a conversation he wanted to have where others could here.
"And don't worry," Charles added as he stepped outside, buttoning his coat. "If I think of anything, I'll let you know."
Erik flinched at the sound of the door slamming shut behind him.
He might've stood there for hours, mulling over his own guilt and embarrassment except that the annoying tinny sound of his ringing cell phone broke him out of his reverie. He rolled his eyes as he strode down the hall and grabbed for it, this time checking the ID to see that it was Darwin.
"I told you I'd be there as soon as I can," he said into the phone.
"And I tried to tell you that Frost is looking for you," Darwin replied. "So you better hoof it, brother."
Erik felt his headache returning in full force. "Stall her," he ordered. "I'll be there in twenty minutes. And you better have me some coffee this time."
He dropped the phone on the nightstand and grabbed his robe from where it lay across his disheveled bed as he hurried to the shower, trying not to think of where it had been -- and on whom -- just minutes before.
**
Charles took the entire journey home to ponder what had just happened, but the proper reaction to it eluded him. It played out in his memory like a terrible farce; he knew he'd been deliberately obtuse and rather shamelessly accommodating in their conversation the night before, but the former wasn't unusual when he was fishing for information for a story and the latter was very much his way when he was interested in someone. But never had he expected that their first meeting, combined with his artful caginess, would've caused Erik to peg him as a street hustler.
By the time the taxi was pulling up in front of his brownstone, Charles still hadn't decided how he felt about the entire thing, though there was some amusement bubbling to the surface, smoothing over the wounded edges of hurt he couldn't quite ignore. Information or no, he had liked Erik and had hoped that he would've at least been up for a repeat performance of their night together. Charles could not have imagined, however, that the best he'd get was an offer to pay for services rendered.
When he quietly let himself in to his own home, he could smell the hot-sharp scent of coffee wafting from the kitchen, which told him Raven hadn't returned to their family home the night before and she was already up and about. He found her in the living room in front of his flat-screen TV, watching some kind of morning talk program while she curled up on his sofa with her coffee.
"I hope you at least called him," he said in lieu of a greeting as he shrugged out of his coat and threw it over one of the chairs. "He asked about you the moment he saw me yesterday."
In the past, he might've asked about the cause of this latest riff between his sister and their father, but he'd learned over the years that it was rarely about anything other than their fundamental personality differences no matter what trivial thing they'd wrapped it up in for the moment.
"The same could be said for you," Raven told him, glancing up over the back of the sofa. "You could've let me know you weren't coming back last night."
Charles rubbed his hand along the back of his neck. "I hadn't really planned my absence ahead of time."
Raven snorted. "You never do."
He rolled his eyes. "Did you call him?"
She sighed and sat her cup down on the coffee table. "I left a message with Amy," she admitted. "She said she'd give it to him before he left work for the day."
"Good enough," he said with a nod. "You shouldn't worry him if you don't have to."
"You mean unlike you?" Raven asked, reaching up to motion for him to join her on the sofa. "Come here, don't make me strain my neck to look at you."
"I don't worry him if I can help it," he pointed out, giving in to her suggestion. He spared a moment to be glad he'd taken the chance to shower before he'd left Erik's when she immediately snuggled up to him as soon as he was sitting. "Even when we're at odds, I check in with him or Moira if I'm working on something where I might run into trouble."
"Which is how they knew something was up when you'd been arrested that time," she reminded him with a laugh.
He laughed, too, remembering his night spent in lock-up over a little matter of B&E. "Yes, exactly. And that's where his mind goes, you know. He immediately thinks the worst."
"Speaking of the worst..." Raven made a show of wrinkling her nose in the direction of his rumpled shirt. "What happened with you last night? I thought you were working on that story, not cruising for a pick-up."
"I was -- working a story, I mean," he said, though not sure how to elaborate on how it had led to the evening he'd had. Charles wasn't sure he was ready to share the humiliating truth when anyone just yet, not even his beloved sister. Still, he heard himself asking her, "Raven, if you saw me on a street corner at night, would you necessarily jump to the conclusion that I was a prostitute?"
Raven drew back a little so that she could peer into his face. He tried to keep his expression bland, but Charles knew she could see through him easily. "Oh my god, did someone...?" She trailed off, overcome with laughter. "Oh my god, they did, didn't they? Someone tried to pick you up when you were doing interviews!"
"It's not as funny as all that," he complained between her gales of laughter, but her amusement did ease some of his own wounded feelings. "Honestly, Raven!"
"I'm sorry," she said, raising her face from where she'd buried it against his shoulder in a vain attempt to smother her mirth. "But, Charles, it really is as funny as that all. If it hadn't happened to you, you'd be laughing with me." She looped her arms around his neck in a comforting embrace, still pressed close where they sat together on the sofa. "I hope he offered you what you were worth and none of that $50 blowjob nonsense," she teased. "Given your experience, you've got to go for at least three times that."
It was a wicked and wildly inappropriate thing to even wonder about, but Charles couldn't help but wish he'd known what Erik had been willing to pay to meet his "usual rate." "You are a horrible person, my dear sister."
"You love me," she disagreed with a quick smack of her lips against his cheek. Raven seemed to consider something because she was more serious when she asked, "You weren't in danger, were you?"
Charles slung an arm over her. "I was perfectly safe," he assured her. He thought about the scans he'd taken of Erik's notes on the cases that were currently residing on his phone's memory card. "It...all worked out in the end, I guess you could say."
"I can only imagine how embarrassed that guy was when you broke it to him," she said. "Too bad it wasn't someone you could use it against."
"Raven, I am not an extortionist," he told her. "Your opinion of my profession seems to be so low that I might as well be turning tricks for all the respect it gets me."
She waved away his objection. "I've seen what you're willing to do to get the story, Charles, especially when you think it's important. Ruthless isn't even the word."
Charles was about to object again when he noticed the time where it flashed across the bottom of the television screen. "As much as I'd love to sit here and let you cast aspersions upon me, I have an early lunch meeting with Moira that I need to prepare for." He wanted another shower, along with clean clothes and a chance to print off hard copies of the digital files on his phone.
Raven grumbled at the loss but she didn't protest too much as he untangled himself from her arms. "I'll probably be staying here tonight, too," she told him. "Do you want to have dinner?"
"I don't know what my plans are going to be," he admitted. "But I'll call? Either way, I'll check in with you."
She nodded, apparently satisfied with the compromise. "Have fun with Moira."
Charles answered with a wave, not bothering with a verbal reply when he was already preoccupied with how he'd present what he had so far to Moira in a few hours. He was fairly certain that she'd be as interested as he was in the possible serial angle, but it never hurt to have a plan of persuasion in place, just in case he needed it.
They were scheduled to meet at a little deli not far from the paper and Charles arrived right on time, bright-eyed, without any sign of the rough night he'd passed. The second shower had helped, as had the time he'd spent re-immersing himself in the facts of the story instead of letting himself continue to wallow in self-pity.
When he noticed Moira in the back of the deli, he did a double take when he saw she wasn't alone.
"Sean?" It came out as half-greeting, half-question.
"Hey, Charles," the redhead said, grinning up at him over his sandwich.
"Not that it isn't lovely to see him but what's he doing here?" he asked Moira as he took the remaining seat at the table.
She shrugged, wiping her fingers on her napkin. "He said he was interested in helping, I figured you could use all of it you could get."
Charles shot him a look of warning but didn't protest, even though he was almost sure that Sean's offer was less about helping Charles than it was finding a way to spend more time with Moira. Still, he'd liked Sean since he'd come to work at the paper a year ago and if the young man wanted to waste his time helping them out so he could make time with Moira despite her obliviousness to his interest, Charles wasn't going to deny him the opportunity.
Once he'd gotten his own lunch, Charles kept his voice low as he filled in Moira and Sean on what he'd learned so far and what he wanted to look into next.
"Our John Doe's identity is paramount," he told them firmly. "The police have hit a dead end too and I think it's going to shed a lot of light on what's going on."
"Any idea on how to go about it when the cops can't find anything?" Moira asked.
He nodded and produced two newly-printed copies of John Doe's morgue photo. "You still have those contacts with those sex worker outreach programs from that report you did last summer, yes?"
Moira nodded. "Maria and Julian."
"I was hoping you could get them to help us by showing this photo around," he explained, handing her one. "I've tried it and the cops have too but it won't be the same coming from someone they trust. And wasn't Maria's outreach close to our murder scene?"
"It used to be," she said with a frown. "But they had to move it since I interviewed them. I'm not sure where it moved to."
"Why?" Charles asked.
Moira's frown deepened. "Why else? Cops casing the place and giving the girls a hard time. It got to be where they were scared to come to the outreach which defeated the whole purpose."
"Not all cops are like that, Moira," Charles reminded her, unable to stop himself from thinking of Erik, of the way Hank had defended him to Charles before they'd met. "There are some good ones out there."
"If you say so," she said and then went back to flipping through the scans of the police reports Charles had lifted from Erik's place. "How did you even get these?"
Charles couldn't help the self-deprecating smile. "You really don't want to know."
"We could go to print with just this, really," Moira said, turning another page. "Possible serial killer, police left baffled, et cetera. I think even Brian would admit it's good."
"This isn't just about the story, Moira," Charles reminded her. "I want to find who did this. I'd rather go after that."
"I'm with you, Charles, I'm just saying we need to take something to Brian and I think you could pitch this," she said. "Maybe it'll even rattle some cages."
"I'll draft something and see if I can make it work," he said. "But I'm more interested in finding out something the police don't know, like who John Doe is."
"What do you need me to do, Charles?" Sean asked.
"I want you on background, if you don't mind," he said. "Just because these are the first two murders they've linked, doesn't mean there wasn't something before or that our murderer hasn't escalated from something else. Maybe there's something the police has missed."
"Oh, great, a library project," Sean groaned, but it was good-natured and he flashed a smile to show he was teasing.
"An accountant brought down Al Capone," Charles teased. "Maybe you'll catch a murderer."
Moira opened her cell phone and grimaced when her eyes landed on the time. "I've really got to get back," she said, half-apologetic. "Can I keep these?"
"Yes, those are for you," he said. "Thank you, for all your help."
"I'll let you know if I hear anything from Maria and Julian," she promised. "I'll fax the photo to them this afternoon." She stood, smoothing down her skirt before she collected her copies of the files. "I hope you've got this source on call," she told him, patting the papers in her hand. "We could use more like this if we're going to stay ahead of the cops."
Charles knew it was probably horrible of him, but there was a plan forming in his head. "I'm not sure yet," he admitted. "But...I'm working on it."
**
End of Part 3