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FIC: Guilty by Association - Charles/Erik, XMFC - (6/13)
Title: Guilty by Association (6/13)
Author: Regann
Pairing: Charles/Erik (XMFC)
Rating: PG-13/R
Word Count: ~5,100 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 6)
It was a rare occurrence, but Darwin beat Erik to the precinct for the second time that week.
"You're getting slow," Darwin said when Erik sat down at his desk.
"You're getting kicked out of bed earlier," Erik shot back. "Trouble in paradise with Alex?"
Darwin snorted. "Yeah, my asshole boss keeps calling me at crazy hours and messin' with our alone time."
Erik feigned fake innocence. "Then maybe you're in the wrong line of work."
Darwin's grin was smug over the top of his monitor. "You're not going to feel that way when you see what I've found," he informed him. "Come over here."
Erik did so, leaning down over Darwin's shoulder to look at what his partner had on the screen. It was a website in a red and black scheme, with scrolling script letters announcing it as The Hellfire Club. "What is it?"
"I called a friend of mine who works Vice," Darwin explained, as he began to click through the site. "He did a few stints on the Craigslist stings a while back, so he helped me come up with some search terms and...voila!" The last click loaded a page that looked like some kind of profile, complete with a smiling Elliot Smith in the left-hand corner.
"But what is it?" Erik asked again.
Darwin glanced away from the screen. "It's a site for a high-end escort service called The Hellfire Club. Cute, huh? Most of the high-end stuff has some kind of online presence, you just have to know what you're looking for, which is where my friend came in. Anyway, after a few hours of pounding keywords, I found Smith's profile. He was definitely working and he was definitely high-end."
Erik stared at the handsome face of the dead body in his morgue, wishing the grainy web photo could tell him something he didn't already know. "So they're fronting as a legit business?"
"Well as legit as you can be when you're advertising as an escort service," Darwin said. "But yeah, they've got an address and telephone number on file."
"Maybe we ought to pay the Hellfire Club a little visit," Erik decided, straightening up, already moving toward the door.
Darwin grinned, reaching for his coat. "Hell yeah."
The business front for the "club" was a small office space in a building just on the edge of a respectful neighborhood. The placard outside read "THFC" but it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out, especially since they'd come looking for it. The office they found behind the doorconsisted of a small but immaculate waiting room, painted in a deep red. There was a small receptionist desk where a pretty young woman with long, pale hair sat working a switchboard. When the door swung shut behind the cops, she looked up, eyes widening a little as she murmured into her headset, "Hold, please."
"This is the Hellfire Club, isn't it?" Erik asked as he approached, causally reaching for his badge.
"Yes," she said uncertainly, eyes darting between him and Darwin. Erik was fairly certain that if they got many visitors, he and Darwin didn't fit the type. "How can I help you?"
Erik held out his badge. "We'd like to talk to someone in charge about one of your...employees."
The receptionist was frowning at them. "Just a second, please," she said as she stood up and hurried over to one of the three closed doors that lined the wall behind her desk. Even before she'd pulled it closed behind her, they could hear her talking in quiet, fierce tones.
"You didn't have to scare her," Darwin pointed out, more amusement than censure in his voice.
Erik shrugged, leaning over the receptionist desk to see if he could make out anything of interest on the desk or computer screen. "I was as friendly as usual."
"Which isn't saying much."
A moment later, she reappeared, a tall, dark-haired woman on her heels. The new woman was dressed to the nines in a black skirt with matching jacket and shiny leather boots. The receptionist didn't meet their eyes as she slid back in her seat, leaving it up to the second woman to speak to them. She stepped forward, one hand outstretched toward Erik. "Rachel tells me you need to speak to someone about an employee?"
"Yes, we do," Erik told her, taking her hand in a handshake. "I'm Detective Erik Lehnsherr and this is my partner, Detective Muñoz."
"Selene Gallio," she said in return. "May I ask who you need information about?"
"Elliot Smith," Darwin answered. "According to your website, he's one of your regular escorts?"
She tugged a little at the collar of her blood-red shirt. "Yes, he is. But I'm afraid I haven't heard from him in a few days. The escorts are very freelance here."
"I'd be more worried if you had heard from him," Erik told her. "He's been dead almost a week."
At that, the first sign of real emotion flashed over perfectly made-up face. "I...didn't know."
"Not only that, he was murdered," Darwin explained. "You might've read that article in the paper a day or two ago, about the dead prostitute in the Bronx?"
Selene pursed her lips a little and narrowed her eyes. "Elliot was a legitimate escort, not a prostitute," she snapped. "And yes I read the article, I just didn't..."
"...realize it was one of yours?" When she refused to react, Erik continued. "I hope that means you're in a mood to help us catch his killer."
She immediately looked suspicious again, all softer emotions disappearing from her face. "And how can I help you gentlemen with that?"
"It seems logical to start with whoever he might've had an appointment with the night of his murder," Erik said. "Maybe even ask some of his regulars if they knew if something was going on with him."
Her eyes hardened. "I'm sorry but I can't do that," she told them. "Our clients value their privacy and it's really against policy to hand that kind of information over."
"You don't care about finding out who killed one of your guys?" Darwin asked. "I guess you don't miss him too much."
"I care deeply about all of my employees, Elliot included," she said, glaring in Darwin's direction. "But that doesn't change the fact that it's against company policy to hand over that kind of information."
"All it'll take is one little warrant," Erik said. "And I'll remember how cooperative you've been. It might help later on."
Selene sneered, barely even trying to cover the expression with a fake smile. "I suggest you come back once you have that little warrant, Detective," she told him. "Until then, you'll have to excuse me because I have work to do."
Erik just managed to suppress the curse he wanted to let out as he watched Selene stomp back into her office, shutting the door with enough force to startle Rachel.
"Were you expecting something different?" Darwin asked.
"No," Erik admitted, heading toward the door. "But, just once, I'd like to get a damn break on this case."
"Amen, brother," Darwin said, as he nodded goodbye to the receptionist and followed Erik back out into the corridor. "What's next?"
"We get Frost to give us that warrant and we get that client list," Erik declared. "And anything else I can find to ask for that'll piss off Selene Gallio."
"Truth, justice and revenge," Darwin laughed. "Good to see you're fighting the good fight for all the right reasons."
Erik had a quick, terse conversation with Emma on his cell phone about his need for a warrant before he and Darwin headed down to the vehicle. At first, they drove back to the precinct in silence, Darwin seemingly absorbed with his furious typing on his cell phone. Erik figured he was probably texting sweet nothings to Alex and left him alone to do his groveling.
"So," Darwin said half-way through the drive, snapping Erik's attention from the road for a split-second. "Speaking of breaks in this case, I'm still wondering how you came up with Smith's name."
"I told you, a stripper named Angel," he said.
"Hey, but how did you come up with her name?" Darwin asked. "You never explained that."
Erik shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Someone from the street coughed it up."
While it was technically the truth, Darwin was still eyeing him suspiciously. "Okay, let's say I buy that," he said. "You've still been acting weird ever since we pulled this murder. You're going off by yourself, and coming up with leads you can't explain, and...you were late twice. I'm ready to look for pods, man."
"It's not that bad," Erik argued, realizing too late that he'd tacitly agreed with Darwin's assessment with his statement. "Fuck."
"Yeah," Darwin said, finally tucking his phone into his pocket. When Erik risked a glance in his direction, his dark eyes were steady and serious. "Something's going on with you. You know you can talk to me, right? Whatever's got you in knots isn't good for either of us because your stress tends to be contagious in very unpleasant ways."
As much as Erik didn't want to admit what he'd done to anyone, Darwin was probably the one person he was pretty certain he could trust with the truth; more importantly, it was unfair to Darwin to be left in the dark when Erik's mistakes could come back to bite the case in the ass, which would leave them both in the line of fire. Erik sighed and took the first turn-off he came to for a quiet side road.
"Where are we going?" asked Darwin, straightening up as he glanced out his window.
"I can't have this conversation while I'm driving," Erik said. "And I damn sure can't have it back at the station."
After a few minutes, he found a space on a quiet street, and he threw the car into park with more force than necessary.
"You're starting to scare me, Erik," Darwin said. "How serious is this?"
"My informant on this case is a hooker," Erik began. He nervously drummed his fingers against the textured curve of the steering wheel. "I met him that first night I went canvassing."
"Okay?" Darwin replied. "Not seeing the problem yet."
Erik winced. "He didn't start helping me until I saw him the second time. After I...slept with him."
"You what?" Darwin asked, voice rising, which earned him a cutting look. "You didn't pay him, did you?"
"No!" Erik told him, running a hand through his hair. "Well...I offered and he turned me down."
"And he knows you're a cop."
"Yeah."
"Fuck, Lehnsherr," Darwin said, shaking his head. "How did you even...?"
"I was really drunk," he admitted. "And he's really..." There were a lot of words he'd used to describe Charles but he wasn't sure any were appropriate for the conversation. He didn't think smart or charming or witty or even really good in bed was going to help him much in the face of Darwin's incredulity.
"I've known you five years and you've lived like a really moody monk," Darwin finally said. "And then you fall into bed with a hooker with info on a case? Are you trying to get fired?"
"Of course I'm not," he snapped. "And frankly we should be grateful he's willing to share what he knows because, speaking of breaks, he's given me more of them than we've found on our own."
Darwin's shoulders slumped. "True," he sighed. He turned to Erik. "Do you think he'll flip on you if something went down?"
"No," Erik said and he was surprised by how certain he was of it. "Plus, I didn't actually pay him, you know. So far the only thing I'm guilty of is a bad choice in a pick-up."
"Then why is it eating at you?" Darwin asked with the kind of uncanny perception that made him a great detective and made Erik hate him a little in that moment. "If you think you haven't done anything wrong?"
"Shut up, Darwin," Erik growled.
Darwin smiled instead. "Yeah, like I said." He let out a nervous laugh. "And I've never even seen you check out a guy. If I had, I wouldn't have waited so long before I sprang my love life on you."
"It's not the usual, but it's happened before," Erik said, waving a hand to dismiss the line of questioning. "And this wasn't something I planned."
"I can tell," Darwin said. "What are you gonna do about him?"
Erik sighed. "I'm going to keep my eye on him until this case is over, otherwise he might get himself killed playing amateur detective."
"And then?" Darwin asked.
"And then...?" Erik hadn't really thought much about after the case, when he no longer had a reason to keep Charles on the periphery of his thoughts. He'd only known him a few days but he was already getting used to him, the random text messages and the wicked grin, the way his eyes could light with sympathy at someone else's imagined pain. As much as he'd scoffed at Hollywood fairy tales like the one that sold the hooker with the heart of gold cliché to millions, Charles was one of the most empathetic people he'd met in a long time. "Nothing, I guess."
"Uh oh," Darwin said, rolling his eyes. "I can't believe it."
"What?" Erik demanded, glancing sharply toward his partner.
"You like this guy," Darwin accused, pointing a finger in emphasis. "That's a million times worse than just letting him blow you in an alley."
Since Erik didn't know what to say to that, he was glad when his ringing phone saved him from having to reply. "Lehnsherr."
"It looks like your warrant won't come through until tomorrow at the earliest," Emma's voice said over the phone. "The court's being a little cagey on it at the moment."
Erik wanted to growl out his frustration but he refrained. "Tomorrow?"
"I'm reasonably certain, yes," she said.
"Thanks," he said. "Any word on the stuff we brought back from Smith's apartment?"
"I'm not your secretary, Detective," she said coolly.
"I haven't forgotten that, Captain," he replied. "But I still figured you'd know, being in charge and all."
Instead of answering, she hung up on him.
"What's up?" Darwin wanted to know.
"Warrant won't come through until tomorrow and there's nothing out of forensics yet," he said, as he threw the car into gear and pulled out of his space on the street. "I'll give you a ride home."
"We're calling it a day already?" Darwin asked dubiously.
"I'll cover the desk," Erik told him. "I figure I owe you an early day to play make-up to your boyfriend."
Darwin grinned, delighted, but then it faded. "You don't have to bribe me, Erik," he said softly. "Your secret is safe with me."
"I know," he said. "But I'm still in the mood to cut you some slack for once. Don't waste it."
"In that case..."
Erik listened to the sound of Darwin tapping out a message to Alex and tried not to think about what he'd want to be doing with a suddenly-free afternoon.
**
There were only a few people on earth that could turn Charles's time and attention away from a story when he was in the thick of it and his father happened to be one of them. It was for that reason that Charles found himself nicely dressed and seated at his father's favorite restaurant at precisely 8:30PM instead of out chasing leads like he'd planned.
"Well, I'm here," he pointed out after their salads arrived. "Even though I thought we were doing this Saturday and not today."
"Unexpected change in my schedule," Brian said with a dismissive wave of his wine glass.
"And we were supposed to have dinner at the house, with Raven," Charles added.
"Your sister still isn't talking to me, though I'm not sure why," Brian reminded him as he reached for his fork.
"You never know why," Charles reminded him with a laugh. "I believe that's one of the problems in general, isn't it?"
"Both you and Raven have all these feelings," Brian said. "I don't know what to do with them."
"You mean, other than stomping all over them?" Charles took a bite of his salad. "I think we have ample evidence on that fact."
It wasn't that Charles didn't like his father because he did and it wasn't even that Brian was bad at parenting when he was arsed to give it a try; the issue was that his two children had inherited their stubborn pig-headedness from their father, which meant rarely did a discussion take place that didn't turn into some kind of argument.
"I didn't invite you here to talk about your sister," Brian told him.
"Invite?"
"Ask."
"Order."
"Request," Brian said decisively, continuing on before Charles could come up with another word to describe his father's style of conversation. "I wanted to hear more about this story you're following."
"You read the initial piece, yes?" When his father nodded, Charles shrugged. "That's the main of it, really. Two dead men with ties to sex work and the police haven't a clue. Nothing else to say at the moment."
"Bollocks," Brian said, a little louder than necessary if the expression of the people at a table over was any indication. "I know you've got more than that now."
"And how would you know this?" Charles asked.
Brian smirked. "Because you're my son. So stop being coy and cough it up."
It was as close as Brian Xavier came to a compliment so Charles took it as one, making sure his voice was pitched low as he filled him in. "Okay, fine. According to one of my sources, the police are starting to realize that they have two separate killers on their hands, but they haven't gotten very far on either of them. It looks like the second victim was working high-end, so I'm thinking that it could get a little thorny. No telling who he was mixed up with working that crowd, he could know everyone from senators on down. Of course, he could've just met with a bad fate with a bad john. Hard to say at this point."
Brian nodded along with Charles's explanation. "And how is Hank these days?"
"Still pining over Raven," Charles admitted. "But he's not my only source on this story."
"Yes, MacTaggart mentioned you have someone with a little more guile in them," he said. "Getting you copies of police reports and so on."
"Giving me access to getting copies of police reports," Charles said, thinking of the way he'd actually gotten those scans. "There's a big difference."
When their main courses arrived, the interrogation abated long enough for Brian to make a dent in his filet mignon and for Charles to take a few bites of his salmon before Brian started once again. "It sounds like this might be heading into dangerous territory."
"I haven't even risked a nail break on it so far," Charles told him.
"Still..." Brian paused, stabbing another piece of steak with his fork. "Dead prostitutes, the inklings of something bigger on the horizon..."
"Dad," Charles began, grinning. "Are you worried about me?"
"I don't give a damn if you jump off a bridge," he replied, which Charles knew meant his father was worried. "But I'd rather not see Moira's work on this go down the tubes because you do."
"Your concern is truly appreciated and noted," Charles said, delighting in the spasm-like ticks of emotions that crossed his father's face. "But I've got someone working with me on this. I'm safer than I usually am, really."
For Brian's sake, Charles didn't press for any more feelings talk over the rest of the dinner, instead enjoying the gourmet deal on his father's tab. He declined dessert, though, and watched as his father, now a little tipsy from the wine with their food, gently flirted with their waitress, showing that it might've been possible that Charles had inherited some of his own natural charm from the Xavier branch of the family instead of the Pembrokes.
They were outside of the restaurant, shivering a little in the cold while they waited for Brian's driver to bring his car around when Charles felt the vibration of his phone in his coat pocket, alerting him to a text. Out of deference to his father's strange ideas about reporters not checking their phones during a meal, Charles hadn't even looked at it since he'd arrived at the restaurant, but now he unlocked the screen and perused his waiting messages. Two were from Erik, and those he read immediately.
Got some info you may like to know, said the first one, left over almost two hours before.
The second one was only about half-an-hour old and said, Stop by? It's important.
"Thanks for the offer, Dad, but I think I'll just catch a taxi," Charles said as he pocketed his phone.
"The car will be here in a minute," Brian told him.
Charles shook his head. "Change of plans. I've got to meet a source."
Brian's car pulled up just as he'd spoke. "I'll still give you a lift," he said. "Get in."
Since Charles knew there was no arguing with his dad when he was in a mood, he rolled his eyes and ducked into the back of the sleek sedan. His father joined him and nodded for him to give the driver the address of his destination. Charles thought about it for a moment before giving him the address for the building across the street from Erik's.
"So you're going to a source's apartment?" Brian asked as the driver smoothly joined the flow of traffic. "Doesn't sound all that safe to me."
"It's fine," Charles promised. Then, he shot his father a look. "Do you give Moira this kind of grief when she's working a story?"
"Moira works for a fine newspaper and is part of a team," he said. "She's not some headstrong pissant who goes off on his own half-cocked whenever he feels like it."
"I couldn't be safer," he assured him.
"Charles," Brian began and it was a rare enough occurrence that it caught his attention. "I meant it when I told you not to get yourself killed."
Charles's attitude softened at the hint of sincerity in his father's acerbic tone. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen and one of his own cards that bore nothing but his phone number. After a moment's hesitation, he scribbled Erik's name, rank and cell number on the back, then handed it to Brian. "Only in the case of absolute emergency," he warned his father. "I don't want to risk him, you hear? So unless you think I'm dead or in mortal peril, forget you have that number."
Brian snorted as he tucked the card into his wallet. "Are you trying to tell me about how to work the journalism game? I was breaking big stories before you were even a gleam in your father's eye -- and I speak with authority on this!"
Charles just grinned at his father as he pointed for the driver to pull up to the curb. He was about a block from Erik's, but he thought it was safer to walk the rest of the way. "Thanks for the ride," he said as he stepped out onto the sidewalk.
"Remember what I said," Brian ordered before the car pulled away. Charles watched the taillights for a moment, waiting until his father's vehicle was out of his sight before he headed down the sidewalk toward Erik's building.
He hadn't bothered to text back that he was on his way, but Erik must've been watching for him because he'd barely knocked before the detective was yanking his front door open. "You didn't get my first text?" Erik asked, no greeting or preamble at all.
"Not until a little bit ago actually," Charles said, as he stepped inside and shrugged out of his outer coat. "I had a prior engagement."
He watched Erik's back stiffen. "I see. I didn't mean to cut into...business."
Sometimes Charles forgot for entire minutes that Erik thought he was a prostitute, but then the cop would say something completely inane or something infused with just the right tone of disapproval that Charles would be reminded of the charade. He rolled his eyes where Erik couldn't see him. "It was just dinner," he said casually. "Tonight, anyway."
Charles left his coat over the chair by the door as he followed Erik into the living room, sinking down on the other end of the sofa from where Erik had taken a seat. "You said you had something important?" he said.
Erik must've settled in for the night, Charles noted, because the living room was strewn with paperwork. The coffee table was covered with it, except for the space taken up by an empty plate and a sweating beer bottle, probably the remains of dinner. Likewise, Erik was out of his work clothes, dressed down in a T-shirt and sweatpants that Charles remembered from their morning-after. He felt unaccustomedly overdressed in his button-down, slacks and jacket.
Erik nodded, reaching for one of his files. "Darwin -- my partner -- he did some digging today and found the agency that Elliot was working out of. It's called The Hellfire Club and it's definitely high-end."
Charles tried to remember if he'd ever heard of it before, deciding he hadn't. "Anything else?"
"We should be getting a warrant for a client list tomorrow and anything else we can think of," Erik told him. "Hopefully we'll find something."
Charles leaned against the armrest on the sofa, elbow supporting his dropping head, thinking about all the crazy initials and shorthand in Elliot's datebook. "It might be encoded or otherwise obfuscated."
"I wouldn't be surprised," Erik agreed before he furrowed his brow and shot Charles a look. "Did you really just use "obfuscated" in the course of a normal conversation?"
"This is hardly a normal conversation," Charles smiled.
"You know what I mean," Erik said, but he looked a little more relaxed than he had when Charles had first come in.
"I'm full of surprises," Charles promised.
"I don't doubt that," Erik told him. "Are you....familiar with The Hellfire Club?"
"No?" Charles asked, then comprehension hit him. "Oh, you're asking...? No, I told you that my work is...freelance. No middlemen, so to speak."
The last of the tension seemed to bleed out of Erik and Charles was caught off-guard by the realization that Erik had actually been worried that his investigation would expose his entirely-false double-life as a high-end escort, a fact that almost made up for his disapproval over Charles's completely innocent dinner date with his own father. Between Erik's unexpected concern and his father's brusque affection, Charles was hazy and warm from the sentiment -- or at least from the wine he'd had from dinner. That, and the long day, was actually starting to catch up with him.
As if he could read his thoughts, Erik gave him an appraising look as he reached out with a bare toe to prod at Charles's shiny dress shoe. "What exactly did you do at dinner?"
Charles laughed. "Probably nothing that you're thinking," he assured him. "But I did have wine, which isn't the best idea when I'm already tired."
"You look it," Erik stated bluntly, now loose and languid where he was sprawled on the other end of the sofa. It doubly reminded Charles of how tired he was and made envy rise up in him that his own comfy living room set wasn't nearly close enough to his liking.
He opened his mouth to defend himself but all that came out was a yawn. "I guess that's a sign I should be on my way," Charles admitted a little sheepishly.
Erik leaned forward to start gathering up his papers and Charles almost missed the flash of something that made its way across his features. "You could always crash here," he offered a moment later.
Charles couldn't let it pass, especially since the thought of another night in Erik's bed was almost enough to chase off his lethargy. "Is that an invitation?" he asked with just enough innuendo to make his meaning clear.
"No," Erik said almost immediately, though Charles noted that his eyes went dark even as he denied it, gaze lingering near Charles's mouth. "But this couch is comfortable, if you want to give it a shot."
There was something very alluring about the idea of another night spent under Erik's roof, even if he didn't make it to the bed, and Charles didn't see a reason to turn down the offer, either -- especially not with Erik's files so close by. "If you really don't mind."
Something close to a smile tugged at Erik's mouth. "I really don't mind," he said as he stood, clearing away his plate and the now-neat stack of police files.
Charles didn't even realized he'd drifted off until he heard Erik return to the living room what the clock on the DVD player told him was over a half-hour later, bearing a blanket and a pillow. He reached out and kicked off his shoes, then made sure that phone was safe in his slacks pocket right before Erik tossed the blanket over him.
"You really are a very nice person," Charles told him, feeling his first pang of actual guilt over the way he had causally manipulated the detective into helping him. Because Erik was nice and, from everything he heard, a good police officer.
"I've got a whole precinct of cops who'll tell you different." Erik leaned over Charles to douse the reading lamp behind his head. "Not to mention a few exes."
Charles reached out to touch his fingers to Erik's scratchy cheek, smiling a little at the way Erik's breath caught in response to the caress. "They're wrong," he said, leaning forward the few inches needed to brush his mouth against Erik's. He didn't take it any farther, however, instead settling back on the pillow Erik had given him.
"Good night," Erik said, voice a little rough as he disappeared toward his room, turning out the lights as he went.
The next morning, Charles tried not to think about the fact that he didn't even try to peek at any of Erik's files before he scribbled out a thank you note and slipped out the door.
**
End of Part 6.
Author: Regann
Pairing: Charles/Erik (XMFC)
Rating: PG-13/R
Word Count: ~5,100 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 6)
It was a rare occurrence, but Darwin beat Erik to the precinct for the second time that week.
"You're getting slow," Darwin said when Erik sat down at his desk.
"You're getting kicked out of bed earlier," Erik shot back. "Trouble in paradise with Alex?"
Darwin snorted. "Yeah, my asshole boss keeps calling me at crazy hours and messin' with our alone time."
Erik feigned fake innocence. "Then maybe you're in the wrong line of work."
Darwin's grin was smug over the top of his monitor. "You're not going to feel that way when you see what I've found," he informed him. "Come over here."
Erik did so, leaning down over Darwin's shoulder to look at what his partner had on the screen. It was a website in a red and black scheme, with scrolling script letters announcing it as The Hellfire Club. "What is it?"
"I called a friend of mine who works Vice," Darwin explained, as he began to click through the site. "He did a few stints on the Craigslist stings a while back, so he helped me come up with some search terms and...voila!" The last click loaded a page that looked like some kind of profile, complete with a smiling Elliot Smith in the left-hand corner.
"But what is it?" Erik asked again.
Darwin glanced away from the screen. "It's a site for a high-end escort service called The Hellfire Club. Cute, huh? Most of the high-end stuff has some kind of online presence, you just have to know what you're looking for, which is where my friend came in. Anyway, after a few hours of pounding keywords, I found Smith's profile. He was definitely working and he was definitely high-end."
Erik stared at the handsome face of the dead body in his morgue, wishing the grainy web photo could tell him something he didn't already know. "So they're fronting as a legit business?"
"Well as legit as you can be when you're advertising as an escort service," Darwin said. "But yeah, they've got an address and telephone number on file."
"Maybe we ought to pay the Hellfire Club a little visit," Erik decided, straightening up, already moving toward the door.
Darwin grinned, reaching for his coat. "Hell yeah."
The business front for the "club" was a small office space in a building just on the edge of a respectful neighborhood. The placard outside read "THFC" but it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out, especially since they'd come looking for it. The office they found behind the doorconsisted of a small but immaculate waiting room, painted in a deep red. There was a small receptionist desk where a pretty young woman with long, pale hair sat working a switchboard. When the door swung shut behind the cops, she looked up, eyes widening a little as she murmured into her headset, "Hold, please."
"This is the Hellfire Club, isn't it?" Erik asked as he approached, causally reaching for his badge.
"Yes," she said uncertainly, eyes darting between him and Darwin. Erik was fairly certain that if they got many visitors, he and Darwin didn't fit the type. "How can I help you?"
Erik held out his badge. "We'd like to talk to someone in charge about one of your...employees."
The receptionist was frowning at them. "Just a second, please," she said as she stood up and hurried over to one of the three closed doors that lined the wall behind her desk. Even before she'd pulled it closed behind her, they could hear her talking in quiet, fierce tones.
"You didn't have to scare her," Darwin pointed out, more amusement than censure in his voice.
Erik shrugged, leaning over the receptionist desk to see if he could make out anything of interest on the desk or computer screen. "I was as friendly as usual."
"Which isn't saying much."
A moment later, she reappeared, a tall, dark-haired woman on her heels. The new woman was dressed to the nines in a black skirt with matching jacket and shiny leather boots. The receptionist didn't meet their eyes as she slid back in her seat, leaving it up to the second woman to speak to them. She stepped forward, one hand outstretched toward Erik. "Rachel tells me you need to speak to someone about an employee?"
"Yes, we do," Erik told her, taking her hand in a handshake. "I'm Detective Erik Lehnsherr and this is my partner, Detective Muñoz."
"Selene Gallio," she said in return. "May I ask who you need information about?"
"Elliot Smith," Darwin answered. "According to your website, he's one of your regular escorts?"
She tugged a little at the collar of her blood-red shirt. "Yes, he is. But I'm afraid I haven't heard from him in a few days. The escorts are very freelance here."
"I'd be more worried if you had heard from him," Erik told her. "He's been dead almost a week."
At that, the first sign of real emotion flashed over perfectly made-up face. "I...didn't know."
"Not only that, he was murdered," Darwin explained. "You might've read that article in the paper a day or two ago, about the dead prostitute in the Bronx?"
Selene pursed her lips a little and narrowed her eyes. "Elliot was a legitimate escort, not a prostitute," she snapped. "And yes I read the article, I just didn't..."
"...realize it was one of yours?" When she refused to react, Erik continued. "I hope that means you're in a mood to help us catch his killer."
She immediately looked suspicious again, all softer emotions disappearing from her face. "And how can I help you gentlemen with that?"
"It seems logical to start with whoever he might've had an appointment with the night of his murder," Erik said. "Maybe even ask some of his regulars if they knew if something was going on with him."
Her eyes hardened. "I'm sorry but I can't do that," she told them. "Our clients value their privacy and it's really against policy to hand that kind of information over."
"You don't care about finding out who killed one of your guys?" Darwin asked. "I guess you don't miss him too much."
"I care deeply about all of my employees, Elliot included," she said, glaring in Darwin's direction. "But that doesn't change the fact that it's against company policy to hand over that kind of information."
"All it'll take is one little warrant," Erik said. "And I'll remember how cooperative you've been. It might help later on."
Selene sneered, barely even trying to cover the expression with a fake smile. "I suggest you come back once you have that little warrant, Detective," she told him. "Until then, you'll have to excuse me because I have work to do."
Erik just managed to suppress the curse he wanted to let out as he watched Selene stomp back into her office, shutting the door with enough force to startle Rachel.
"Were you expecting something different?" Darwin asked.
"No," Erik admitted, heading toward the door. "But, just once, I'd like to get a damn break on this case."
"Amen, brother," Darwin said, as he nodded goodbye to the receptionist and followed Erik back out into the corridor. "What's next?"
"We get Frost to give us that warrant and we get that client list," Erik declared. "And anything else I can find to ask for that'll piss off Selene Gallio."
"Truth, justice and revenge," Darwin laughed. "Good to see you're fighting the good fight for all the right reasons."
Erik had a quick, terse conversation with Emma on his cell phone about his need for a warrant before he and Darwin headed down to the vehicle. At first, they drove back to the precinct in silence, Darwin seemingly absorbed with his furious typing on his cell phone. Erik figured he was probably texting sweet nothings to Alex and left him alone to do his groveling.
"So," Darwin said half-way through the drive, snapping Erik's attention from the road for a split-second. "Speaking of breaks in this case, I'm still wondering how you came up with Smith's name."
"I told you, a stripper named Angel," he said.
"Hey, but how did you come up with her name?" Darwin asked. "You never explained that."
Erik shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Someone from the street coughed it up."
While it was technically the truth, Darwin was still eyeing him suspiciously. "Okay, let's say I buy that," he said. "You've still been acting weird ever since we pulled this murder. You're going off by yourself, and coming up with leads you can't explain, and...you were late twice. I'm ready to look for pods, man."
"It's not that bad," Erik argued, realizing too late that he'd tacitly agreed with Darwin's assessment with his statement. "Fuck."
"Yeah," Darwin said, finally tucking his phone into his pocket. When Erik risked a glance in his direction, his dark eyes were steady and serious. "Something's going on with you. You know you can talk to me, right? Whatever's got you in knots isn't good for either of us because your stress tends to be contagious in very unpleasant ways."
As much as Erik didn't want to admit what he'd done to anyone, Darwin was probably the one person he was pretty certain he could trust with the truth; more importantly, it was unfair to Darwin to be left in the dark when Erik's mistakes could come back to bite the case in the ass, which would leave them both in the line of fire. Erik sighed and took the first turn-off he came to for a quiet side road.
"Where are we going?" asked Darwin, straightening up as he glanced out his window.
"I can't have this conversation while I'm driving," Erik said. "And I damn sure can't have it back at the station."
After a few minutes, he found a space on a quiet street, and he threw the car into park with more force than necessary.
"You're starting to scare me, Erik," Darwin said. "How serious is this?"
"My informant on this case is a hooker," Erik began. He nervously drummed his fingers against the textured curve of the steering wheel. "I met him that first night I went canvassing."
"Okay?" Darwin replied. "Not seeing the problem yet."
Erik winced. "He didn't start helping me until I saw him the second time. After I...slept with him."
"You what?" Darwin asked, voice rising, which earned him a cutting look. "You didn't pay him, did you?"
"No!" Erik told him, running a hand through his hair. "Well...I offered and he turned me down."
"And he knows you're a cop."
"Yeah."
"Fuck, Lehnsherr," Darwin said, shaking his head. "How did you even...?"
"I was really drunk," he admitted. "And he's really..." There were a lot of words he'd used to describe Charles but he wasn't sure any were appropriate for the conversation. He didn't think smart or charming or witty or even really good in bed was going to help him much in the face of Darwin's incredulity.
"I've known you five years and you've lived like a really moody monk," Darwin finally said. "And then you fall into bed with a hooker with info on a case? Are you trying to get fired?"
"Of course I'm not," he snapped. "And frankly we should be grateful he's willing to share what he knows because, speaking of breaks, he's given me more of them than we've found on our own."
Darwin's shoulders slumped. "True," he sighed. He turned to Erik. "Do you think he'll flip on you if something went down?"
"No," Erik said and he was surprised by how certain he was of it. "Plus, I didn't actually pay him, you know. So far the only thing I'm guilty of is a bad choice in a pick-up."
"Then why is it eating at you?" Darwin asked with the kind of uncanny perception that made him a great detective and made Erik hate him a little in that moment. "If you think you haven't done anything wrong?"
"Shut up, Darwin," Erik growled.
Darwin smiled instead. "Yeah, like I said." He let out a nervous laugh. "And I've never even seen you check out a guy. If I had, I wouldn't have waited so long before I sprang my love life on you."
"It's not the usual, but it's happened before," Erik said, waving a hand to dismiss the line of questioning. "And this wasn't something I planned."
"I can tell," Darwin said. "What are you gonna do about him?"
Erik sighed. "I'm going to keep my eye on him until this case is over, otherwise he might get himself killed playing amateur detective."
"And then?" Darwin asked.
"And then...?" Erik hadn't really thought much about after the case, when he no longer had a reason to keep Charles on the periphery of his thoughts. He'd only known him a few days but he was already getting used to him, the random text messages and the wicked grin, the way his eyes could light with sympathy at someone else's imagined pain. As much as he'd scoffed at Hollywood fairy tales like the one that sold the hooker with the heart of gold cliché to millions, Charles was one of the most empathetic people he'd met in a long time. "Nothing, I guess."
"Uh oh," Darwin said, rolling his eyes. "I can't believe it."
"What?" Erik demanded, glancing sharply toward his partner.
"You like this guy," Darwin accused, pointing a finger in emphasis. "That's a million times worse than just letting him blow you in an alley."
Since Erik didn't know what to say to that, he was glad when his ringing phone saved him from having to reply. "Lehnsherr."
"It looks like your warrant won't come through until tomorrow at the earliest," Emma's voice said over the phone. "The court's being a little cagey on it at the moment."
Erik wanted to growl out his frustration but he refrained. "Tomorrow?"
"I'm reasonably certain, yes," she said.
"Thanks," he said. "Any word on the stuff we brought back from Smith's apartment?"
"I'm not your secretary, Detective," she said coolly.
"I haven't forgotten that, Captain," he replied. "But I still figured you'd know, being in charge and all."
Instead of answering, she hung up on him.
"What's up?" Darwin wanted to know.
"Warrant won't come through until tomorrow and there's nothing out of forensics yet," he said, as he threw the car into gear and pulled out of his space on the street. "I'll give you a ride home."
"We're calling it a day already?" Darwin asked dubiously.
"I'll cover the desk," Erik told him. "I figure I owe you an early day to play make-up to your boyfriend."
Darwin grinned, delighted, but then it faded. "You don't have to bribe me, Erik," he said softly. "Your secret is safe with me."
"I know," he said. "But I'm still in the mood to cut you some slack for once. Don't waste it."
"In that case..."
Erik listened to the sound of Darwin tapping out a message to Alex and tried not to think about what he'd want to be doing with a suddenly-free afternoon.
**
There were only a few people on earth that could turn Charles's time and attention away from a story when he was in the thick of it and his father happened to be one of them. It was for that reason that Charles found himself nicely dressed and seated at his father's favorite restaurant at precisely 8:30PM instead of out chasing leads like he'd planned.
"Well, I'm here," he pointed out after their salads arrived. "Even though I thought we were doing this Saturday and not today."
"Unexpected change in my schedule," Brian said with a dismissive wave of his wine glass.
"And we were supposed to have dinner at the house, with Raven," Charles added.
"Your sister still isn't talking to me, though I'm not sure why," Brian reminded him as he reached for his fork.
"You never know why," Charles reminded him with a laugh. "I believe that's one of the problems in general, isn't it?"
"Both you and Raven have all these feelings," Brian said. "I don't know what to do with them."
"You mean, other than stomping all over them?" Charles took a bite of his salad. "I think we have ample evidence on that fact."
It wasn't that Charles didn't like his father because he did and it wasn't even that Brian was bad at parenting when he was arsed to give it a try; the issue was that his two children had inherited their stubborn pig-headedness from their father, which meant rarely did a discussion take place that didn't turn into some kind of argument.
"I didn't invite you here to talk about your sister," Brian told him.
"Invite?"
"Ask."
"Order."
"Request," Brian said decisively, continuing on before Charles could come up with another word to describe his father's style of conversation. "I wanted to hear more about this story you're following."
"You read the initial piece, yes?" When his father nodded, Charles shrugged. "That's the main of it, really. Two dead men with ties to sex work and the police haven't a clue. Nothing else to say at the moment."
"Bollocks," Brian said, a little louder than necessary if the expression of the people at a table over was any indication. "I know you've got more than that now."
"And how would you know this?" Charles asked.
Brian smirked. "Because you're my son. So stop being coy and cough it up."
It was as close as Brian Xavier came to a compliment so Charles took it as one, making sure his voice was pitched low as he filled him in. "Okay, fine. According to one of my sources, the police are starting to realize that they have two separate killers on their hands, but they haven't gotten very far on either of them. It looks like the second victim was working high-end, so I'm thinking that it could get a little thorny. No telling who he was mixed up with working that crowd, he could know everyone from senators on down. Of course, he could've just met with a bad fate with a bad john. Hard to say at this point."
Brian nodded along with Charles's explanation. "And how is Hank these days?"
"Still pining over Raven," Charles admitted. "But he's not my only source on this story."
"Yes, MacTaggart mentioned you have someone with a little more guile in them," he said. "Getting you copies of police reports and so on."
"Giving me access to getting copies of police reports," Charles said, thinking of the way he'd actually gotten those scans. "There's a big difference."
When their main courses arrived, the interrogation abated long enough for Brian to make a dent in his filet mignon and for Charles to take a few bites of his salmon before Brian started once again. "It sounds like this might be heading into dangerous territory."
"I haven't even risked a nail break on it so far," Charles told him.
"Still..." Brian paused, stabbing another piece of steak with his fork. "Dead prostitutes, the inklings of something bigger on the horizon..."
"Dad," Charles began, grinning. "Are you worried about me?"
"I don't give a damn if you jump off a bridge," he replied, which Charles knew meant his father was worried. "But I'd rather not see Moira's work on this go down the tubes because you do."
"Your concern is truly appreciated and noted," Charles said, delighting in the spasm-like ticks of emotions that crossed his father's face. "But I've got someone working with me on this. I'm safer than I usually am, really."
For Brian's sake, Charles didn't press for any more feelings talk over the rest of the dinner, instead enjoying the gourmet deal on his father's tab. He declined dessert, though, and watched as his father, now a little tipsy from the wine with their food, gently flirted with their waitress, showing that it might've been possible that Charles had inherited some of his own natural charm from the Xavier branch of the family instead of the Pembrokes.
They were outside of the restaurant, shivering a little in the cold while they waited for Brian's driver to bring his car around when Charles felt the vibration of his phone in his coat pocket, alerting him to a text. Out of deference to his father's strange ideas about reporters not checking their phones during a meal, Charles hadn't even looked at it since he'd arrived at the restaurant, but now he unlocked the screen and perused his waiting messages. Two were from Erik, and those he read immediately.
Got some info you may like to know, said the first one, left over almost two hours before.
The second one was only about half-an-hour old and said, Stop by? It's important.
"Thanks for the offer, Dad, but I think I'll just catch a taxi," Charles said as he pocketed his phone.
"The car will be here in a minute," Brian told him.
Charles shook his head. "Change of plans. I've got to meet a source."
Brian's car pulled up just as he'd spoke. "I'll still give you a lift," he said. "Get in."
Since Charles knew there was no arguing with his dad when he was in a mood, he rolled his eyes and ducked into the back of the sleek sedan. His father joined him and nodded for him to give the driver the address of his destination. Charles thought about it for a moment before giving him the address for the building across the street from Erik's.
"So you're going to a source's apartment?" Brian asked as the driver smoothly joined the flow of traffic. "Doesn't sound all that safe to me."
"It's fine," Charles promised. Then, he shot his father a look. "Do you give Moira this kind of grief when she's working a story?"
"Moira works for a fine newspaper and is part of a team," he said. "She's not some headstrong pissant who goes off on his own half-cocked whenever he feels like it."
"I couldn't be safer," he assured him.
"Charles," Brian began and it was a rare enough occurrence that it caught his attention. "I meant it when I told you not to get yourself killed."
Charles's attitude softened at the hint of sincerity in his father's acerbic tone. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen and one of his own cards that bore nothing but his phone number. After a moment's hesitation, he scribbled Erik's name, rank and cell number on the back, then handed it to Brian. "Only in the case of absolute emergency," he warned his father. "I don't want to risk him, you hear? So unless you think I'm dead or in mortal peril, forget you have that number."
Brian snorted as he tucked the card into his wallet. "Are you trying to tell me about how to work the journalism game? I was breaking big stories before you were even a gleam in your father's eye -- and I speak with authority on this!"
Charles just grinned at his father as he pointed for the driver to pull up to the curb. He was about a block from Erik's, but he thought it was safer to walk the rest of the way. "Thanks for the ride," he said as he stepped out onto the sidewalk.
"Remember what I said," Brian ordered before the car pulled away. Charles watched the taillights for a moment, waiting until his father's vehicle was out of his sight before he headed down the sidewalk toward Erik's building.
He hadn't bothered to text back that he was on his way, but Erik must've been watching for him because he'd barely knocked before the detective was yanking his front door open. "You didn't get my first text?" Erik asked, no greeting or preamble at all.
"Not until a little bit ago actually," Charles said, as he stepped inside and shrugged out of his outer coat. "I had a prior engagement."
He watched Erik's back stiffen. "I see. I didn't mean to cut into...business."
Sometimes Charles forgot for entire minutes that Erik thought he was a prostitute, but then the cop would say something completely inane or something infused with just the right tone of disapproval that Charles would be reminded of the charade. He rolled his eyes where Erik couldn't see him. "It was just dinner," he said casually. "Tonight, anyway."
Charles left his coat over the chair by the door as he followed Erik into the living room, sinking down on the other end of the sofa from where Erik had taken a seat. "You said you had something important?" he said.
Erik must've settled in for the night, Charles noted, because the living room was strewn with paperwork. The coffee table was covered with it, except for the space taken up by an empty plate and a sweating beer bottle, probably the remains of dinner. Likewise, Erik was out of his work clothes, dressed down in a T-shirt and sweatpants that Charles remembered from their morning-after. He felt unaccustomedly overdressed in his button-down, slacks and jacket.
Erik nodded, reaching for one of his files. "Darwin -- my partner -- he did some digging today and found the agency that Elliot was working out of. It's called The Hellfire Club and it's definitely high-end."
Charles tried to remember if he'd ever heard of it before, deciding he hadn't. "Anything else?"
"We should be getting a warrant for a client list tomorrow and anything else we can think of," Erik told him. "Hopefully we'll find something."
Charles leaned against the armrest on the sofa, elbow supporting his dropping head, thinking about all the crazy initials and shorthand in Elliot's datebook. "It might be encoded or otherwise obfuscated."
"I wouldn't be surprised," Erik agreed before he furrowed his brow and shot Charles a look. "Did you really just use "obfuscated" in the course of a normal conversation?"
"This is hardly a normal conversation," Charles smiled.
"You know what I mean," Erik said, but he looked a little more relaxed than he had when Charles had first come in.
"I'm full of surprises," Charles promised.
"I don't doubt that," Erik told him. "Are you....familiar with The Hellfire Club?"
"No?" Charles asked, then comprehension hit him. "Oh, you're asking...? No, I told you that my work is...freelance. No middlemen, so to speak."
The last of the tension seemed to bleed out of Erik and Charles was caught off-guard by the realization that Erik had actually been worried that his investigation would expose his entirely-false double-life as a high-end escort, a fact that almost made up for his disapproval over Charles's completely innocent dinner date with his own father. Between Erik's unexpected concern and his father's brusque affection, Charles was hazy and warm from the sentiment -- or at least from the wine he'd had from dinner. That, and the long day, was actually starting to catch up with him.
As if he could read his thoughts, Erik gave him an appraising look as he reached out with a bare toe to prod at Charles's shiny dress shoe. "What exactly did you do at dinner?"
Charles laughed. "Probably nothing that you're thinking," he assured him. "But I did have wine, which isn't the best idea when I'm already tired."
"You look it," Erik stated bluntly, now loose and languid where he was sprawled on the other end of the sofa. It doubly reminded Charles of how tired he was and made envy rise up in him that his own comfy living room set wasn't nearly close enough to his liking.
He opened his mouth to defend himself but all that came out was a yawn. "I guess that's a sign I should be on my way," Charles admitted a little sheepishly.
Erik leaned forward to start gathering up his papers and Charles almost missed the flash of something that made its way across his features. "You could always crash here," he offered a moment later.
Charles couldn't let it pass, especially since the thought of another night in Erik's bed was almost enough to chase off his lethargy. "Is that an invitation?" he asked with just enough innuendo to make his meaning clear.
"No," Erik said almost immediately, though Charles noted that his eyes went dark even as he denied it, gaze lingering near Charles's mouth. "But this couch is comfortable, if you want to give it a shot."
There was something very alluring about the idea of another night spent under Erik's roof, even if he didn't make it to the bed, and Charles didn't see a reason to turn down the offer, either -- especially not with Erik's files so close by. "If you really don't mind."
Something close to a smile tugged at Erik's mouth. "I really don't mind," he said as he stood, clearing away his plate and the now-neat stack of police files.
Charles didn't even realized he'd drifted off until he heard Erik return to the living room what the clock on the DVD player told him was over a half-hour later, bearing a blanket and a pillow. He reached out and kicked off his shoes, then made sure that phone was safe in his slacks pocket right before Erik tossed the blanket over him.
"You really are a very nice person," Charles told him, feeling his first pang of actual guilt over the way he had causally manipulated the detective into helping him. Because Erik was nice and, from everything he heard, a good police officer.
"I've got a whole precinct of cops who'll tell you different." Erik leaned over Charles to douse the reading lamp behind his head. "Not to mention a few exes."
Charles reached out to touch his fingers to Erik's scratchy cheek, smiling a little at the way Erik's breath caught in response to the caress. "They're wrong," he said, leaning forward the few inches needed to brush his mouth against Erik's. He didn't take it any farther, however, instead settling back on the pillow Erik had given him.
"Good night," Erik said, voice a little rough as he disappeared toward his room, turning out the lights as he went.
The next morning, Charles tried not to think about the fact that he didn't even try to peek at any of Erik's files before he scribbled out a thank you note and slipped out the door.
**
End of Part 6.