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FIC: Guilty by Association - Charles/Erik, XMFC - (8/13)
Title: Guilty by Association (8/13)
Author: Regann
Pairing: Charles/Erik (XMFC)
Rating: PG-13/R
Word Count: ~4,300 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 8)
Just like the rest of Charles's house that Erik had seen so far, the living room was impressive, subtly but undeniably expensive from the carpet to the furniture to the entertainment center commanding one wall of the room. When he'd first really noticed the address that Charles had given him over the phone, Erik had almost thought it had been a mistake because it was hard to believe that prostitutes operated out brownstones on the Upper East side; but then he'd remembered Elliot Smith's trendy Tribeca address and he'd been left vaguely ill how much high-end work Charles had to be doing to afford his address.
Erik had too much going on in his head to protest as Charles pushed him down on the sofa before disappearing again, only to return with a bottle of scotch and two glasses.
"This your answer to everything?" Erik asked but there was no bite to it.
Charles smiled as he splashed alcohol into the glasses. "I'm also a fan of chess when I'm wound up but I didn't want to suggest it since I don't know if you play."
"I do," Erik told him, taking the glass Charles held out to him. "But I'm pretty sure it would be a sorry showing if I tried."
"Well save it for some other time, then," Charles said with a wave of his hand, and Erik tried to ignore how Charles's offhand reference to some other time eased something, however small, inside his chest. It really was an inconvenient time to start realizing that Darwin may have been right when he'd said Erik actually liked Charles -- and that it would get him into trouble.
The last thing he needed at the moment was more trouble.
Charles set the bottle on the coffee table, then settled down next to Erik on the sofa, casually and unapologetically in Erik's personal space. He could feel the heat from Charles's body easily enough, the arm Charles had thrown over the back of the sofa was close enough to rest against Erik's neck if he'd let himself lean back into it.
He didn't let himself.
Erik downed the rest of his drink, sitting forward to set it on the table next to the bottle. "Nice scotch," he remarked, for a lack of anything else to say.
"I do like the best," Charles admitted.
Erik nodded to himself, thinking of Charles's tastes in clothes, champagne, scotch -- even sisters. "Nicer house," he heard himself say aloud.
Charles looked at him for a moment before he shrugged. "I'm comfortable here and it serves its purpose. I have to admit that I'm not all that attached to it."
"It's even nicer than Smith's place," Erik replied, even as he asked himself why he was picking at this particular scab when he already had so many bleeding wounds.
Charles caught on to his oblique meaning if the sudden tightening of his mouth was any indication. "Elliot was just starting out in the business," he pointed out. "I've been working closer to a decade than not."
Erik sent him an alarmed look. "Just how old are you?"
That question made Charles laugh at loud. "Probably about the same age you are, give or take a few years. Obviously, older than you were thinking."
"I hadn't..." he began because he hadn't, not really. He'd thought "young" when he'd first seen Charles on the street under the lamplight and hadn't reconsidered that initial impression even as he'd learned more about him.
"Do I strike you as particularly immature?" Charles asked.
He thought of all the words he could use to describe Charles, knowing immature wasn't one of them. "No," he said.
Charles nodded, as if accepting the answer, before he leaned forward to leave his glass next to Erik's on the table. When he sat back, he studied Erik with his bright, blue eyes, long and intense enough that Erik became to shift a little under the scrutiny. "I'm getting the impression that our conversation hasn't helped you relax, my friend."
Erik closed his eyes, sinking back just enough that he could see the faint brush of Charles's arm against shoulders. "It's like every cop's worse nightmare," he explained. "You have to trust each other, or else..." he pulled away from Charles's touch, hunching over with his elbows on his knees."I never thought I'd have to go through this again, not with Emma."
"Again?" Charles asked, voice soft. His hand had migrated to the taut bow of Erik's back, a soothing stroke that Erik felt too raw to shrug off. "You've had this happen before?"
"Not exactly the same but there was some investigations into my old precinct for corruption," he explained. "Payoffs, turning a blind eye, that kind of thing. It's why I agreed to transfer under Emma when she asked, because I didn't want to get burned like that again."
"But you did anyway," Charles said. His hand crept up until his fingers were drifting lightly over the sweep of Erik's neck. "I am sorry, Erik."
"I watched good cops go down over it," Erik told him. "I found out that the ones you thought were the good ones weren't." Erik straightened a little, glancing over at Charles's solemn, sympathetic expression. "It's a risk to trust any of them right now, no matter how much I want to."
"I can see why you're worried," Charles told him, his hand still at its idle exploration of Erik's back, neck, shoulders. "And why you want to be cautious. It's a terrible lesson to have learned."
Erik knew he could trust Darwin but with his certainty in Emma shaken so completely, he didn't dare extend it to include anyone else from the department. "I'm on my own with this," he told Charles. "I can't pull Darwin into this more than necessary, but I've got to figure it out. If I let it go, I'm giving in and I won't do that."
"Erik." Charles tugged on his arm until Erik was sitting up straight again. He leaned in a little, his hand still wrapped around Erik's bicep. "You won't have to give up. We will figure this out, I swear."
"There is no we on this," Erik protested, pulling away to put a little distance between them.
Charles scowled. "You're trying to cut me out now?"
"This isn't -- everything's changed," Erik told him, not concerned with the sudden sharpness in his tone. "This isn't just some john killing pros or even some rich asshole who put his secrets above Elliot's life. This is someone with the money or the clout or both to completely shut down this investigation. This isn't the kind of person you need to cross."
Charles looked even more unhappy. "What exactly do you mean by that?"
"It's dangerous, Charles," Erik finally bit out. "I can't let you continue to have anything to do with this."
His answer seemed to mollify Charles somewhat but Erik could see the rising determination in the set of his jaw. "That won't stop me, even if you try to shut me out."
Erik let out a sound, half-growl, half-sigh, all frustration. He wanted to shake him. "Is this really worth your neck?"
Charles's eyes were steady and earnest. "Is it worth yours?" he parroted back, not giving Erik a chance to say a word before he continued, "It obviously is and it's worth mine, too. That's why I got involved in the first place and why you let me." His face softened, and he melted against Erik like he couldn't hold himself apart any longer. "You're not alone, Erik. Don't you dare think you are."
Erik was too tired to fight against himself and Charles. He let himself lean into Charles's warmth, sliding his closest arm loosely around his waist. "You care this much about who murdered Elliot Smith?"
Charles's hand guided Erik's head around so that he couldn't evade the painful sincerity in his too-blue eyes. "I care this much about what happens to you."
Erik wasn't sure who kissed who first, but he did know that he was the one who pulled Charles closer as their mouths met and clashed, and he was the one who started pressing Charles back until he was flat on sofa with Erik stretched over him. But it was Charles who was working frantically at the buttons of Erik's shirt even as he refused to break the kiss, his hands moving lower to tug at Erik's belt as Erik bit at his bottom lip, soothing the sting with his tongue.
Something about the moment, though, snapped Erik back into his brain, reminding him of all the reasons he'd promised himself he wouldn't sleep with Charles again, no matter how much he wanted to. Erik yanked away from Charles's hands and mouth, sliding away until his back was against the far armrest. Charles propped himself up by his elbows, blinking in confusion. "What's wrong?"
"I'm sorry," Erik said, because he was but he -- "We can't."
"Why can't we?" Charles asked. His red, kiss-bruised mouth contrasted harshly with the frown it now formed. "You keep saying that and I don't understand."
"I...you...it doesn't..." Erik couldn't find the words to convey what he felt about Charles, all the want and ambivalence and wariness that went into it.
"Is this about me being...me?" Charles asked with a raised eyebrow. "I told you before, Erik. This isn't about the work."
"I know that, but I don't..." Erik trailed off, frustrated. "I guess I don't understand."
"Understand?" Charles sat up, inching across the sofa until they were no longer separated by the cushions.
"The difference," Erik said. "How you keep it separate?"
Charles's eyes narrowed, a clear sign of annoyance. "Have I asked you to pay for anything, Erik? Because that would be a significant difference."
Erik responded with a stony stare of his own. "Do you ever...I mean, how do you...?"
Charles crossed the last bit of distance between them, until he was almost sitting in Erik's lap. "Let me ask you what I think you're trying to ask me. Do you care less deeply about your bed partners because you care about the victims you seek justice for?"
"No," he said with a roll of his eyes.
Charles reached for his hand, cradling it in both of his as he used a finger to trace the network of veins running just under his skin. "When you touch me, does it mean less because you use your hands to solve crimes, fire a gun?"
"Of course not."
Charles looked up and met his eyes. "However I use my words or my body for my job, that's all it is. They're just tools, like your hands or your eyes when you're on the job. It's not the same as my heart or my mind." He looked away and Erik could see he was struggling with something; but when he looked up a moment later, there was nothing but an intense kind of determination burning in his eyes. "I need you to understand this -- what I may say or do for my job, I don't want that to be about us, all right? I need you to promise you'll remember that?"
"If I say no?" Erik asked.
He shrugged, letting go of Erik's hand. "I do eventually get tired of rejection," he said. "But it won't change what I said before. You're not alone in this, Erik. You've just told me that this was dangerous and you didn't have a soul you could trust. Do you think I could just walk away and pretend that I don't care what happens? Not with the case, but with you?"
Erik decided he didn't want to hear anything else -- not Charles's explanations, not the painfully obvious way his voice betrayed as much as his words did, things that made him wonder (and hope) that he wasn't the only one who was entirely too invested in their barley-a-week-old acquaintance. Instead of letting another word past Charles's lips, Erik sealed his to them, cutting off all sound other than a satisfying moan. Charles wriggled forward just a little more until he was sitting in Erik's lap, a delicious weight against Erik's erection which hadn't subsided, even through the awkwardness of the conversation.
He thought Charles might pick up where he left off with the removal of Erik's belt but Charles broke the latest kiss and pulled away enough to breathe. "You once expressed interest in seeing my bedroom," he said, hands still moving restlessly over Erik's chest where it was left bare by his unbuttoned shirt. "Remember?"
"What about it?" Erik asked, tugging Charles's shirt off.
"I thought maybe you'd like to renew that suggestion?" Charles asked between nips at Erik's jaw.
"Yeah?"
Charles nodded, pulling back again. A shadow crossed over his face and he touched fingers to Erik's mouth. "It's been a long time since..."
Erik thought maybe it might've been significant that Charles wanted him in his bed, that it might've been one of the ways that Charles made the separation between his body and his heart. If it was, he wanted it.
He kissed Charles again, then nodded. "Lead the way."
**
When Charles woke the next morning, Erik was wrapped around him, warm and heavy with sleep. He had one arm flung over Charles and, when Charles tried to wiggle his way out of bed without waking him, Erik's arm tightened around him.
"Where are you going?"
"Downstairs?" he replied, rolling over to face Erik when his hold loosened enough to allow the movement.
Erik looked entirely too contemplative as he met Charles's eyes. "Do you always sneak out of bed?"
It was a perceptive observation, one Charles had no intention of discussing, so he leaned forward and kissed Erik. Erik returned the kiss eagerly, letting his hand trail down the line of Charles's side. As much as he liked it, Charles pulled away. "Tea," he said, giving Erik one more kiss before he slid out of bed. "It's an addiction, I'm afraid."
Charles made a grab for his robe and valiantly ignored how he could feel the pull of Erik's hot gaze on his naked back before he wrapped the terry cloth around him. Once in the bathroom, he cleaned up the best he could without a proper shower, then threw on the sweats and T-shirt he tended to wear around the house. Then, he padded down the stairs, toward the kitchen and his kettle.
He cleared away the mugs they'd abandoned the night before, which reminded him of the glasses they'd left in the living room. Charles collected them and his cell phone, quickly filing through the missed calls and messages. There was one text message from Moira: Anything new on the story? and a voicemail from Hank, asking if he'd talk to his source about whatever happened with the case. Charles deleted the message with a sigh, knowing he'd never return it to give Hank the answers he wanted.
Charles had texted Moira back with a Maybe - details later and had started the coffee maker when he heard the sound of footsteps -- Erik, coming into the kitchen, naked except for the towel hanging low on his hips. His hair was damp, obviously fresh from the shower, beads of moisture still clinging to his skin. Charles gave him a pointed once-over. "You could've borrowed my robe," he said. "It'd only be fair."
Erik snorted, flicking a thumb over his shoulder. "I just needed to grab my bag."
Charles didn't resist the impulse to cross the space between them to kiss him, dragging his hands over the flushed, damp skin of Erik's back. Erik returned the kiss with no hesitation, letting out a noise of disapproval when Charles eased away. "Your coffee should be ready by the time you're dressed," he told him. "Then we can discuss -- whatever you'd like."
Erik's fingers brushed just under the waistband of Charles's sweats, against the jut of one hipbone. "You could always give me a hand."
Charles grinned at the suggestion and he knew, from the way it made Erik's eyes darken a little, that it was the shamelessly flirty one he tended to throw around when he was drunk, though he had no such excuse at the moment. "I have all ideas that if I go upstairs with you and that towel, we won't get anything of importance accomplished today."
Erik was leaning in with very clear intent when they were both startled by the loud and unexpected sound of Charles's front door banging open.
"Charles," he heard Raven's voice call out as Erik jerked away from him like he'd been burned. "I know you're probably not even up yet but ---" Raven's rambling came to a stop as she reached the kitchen and caught sight of Erik, still just in his towel. Her eyes flew to Charles's, going wide. "Oh, my god."
Charles sighed. "Raven..."
But her eyes had already trailed back to Erik who was obviously uncomfortable with her appreciative appraisal. "Hey there, handsome," she said, only making Erik's expression grew more stony. To Charles, she said, "I didn't expect you to have company or I would've called."
"I thought I just packed you off," he returned. "What do you want?"
"I can't find my favorite lipstick, actually," she said. "I'm pretty sure I left it here, so I'll just go up to the guest room and look around..."
Charles reached into fruit basket and tossed the tube at his sister with no little force. He was slightly disappointed that she caught it. "Problem solved. Good bye, Raven."
"What? No!" She shook her head. "You have to introduce us!"
Charles looked to the ceiling and begged any deities listening for patience. "Raven, this is Erik," he said, waving a hand between them. "Erik, this is my sister, Raven."
"Nice to meet you, Erik," she all but purred. Charles caught the speculative gleam in her eye. He gave her a hard look in warning but she ignored him. "So exactly how did you take up with Charles?"
Erik looked alarmed to be faced down by the manic bundle of energy that Raven could sometimes be, and Charles felt a similar feeling overtake him. Things were too delicate all around to have Raven say something completely inappropriate and bring it all down on his head. "Now isn't a good time," he told her.
"Oh, I think it's the best time," she began, but was cut off when Charles snagged her arm and hustled her out of the kitchen. "Hey!"
"Not now, Raven," he said in a low, fierce tone. "I mean it."
She yanked her arm out of his grip. "What's going on?" she asked, equally low and fierce. "You're acting weird."
Charles spared a glance back over his shoulder to make sure Erik was out of hearing distance. "I can't explain right now."
She frowned more deeply. "Are you in trouble? Tell me!"
"Raven!"
"I'm not leaving until you tell me," she whispered angrily.
Charles shot her a dark look. "Stay here," he ordered before heading back into the kitchen where Erik was still loitering, awkward and a little unsure.
"Sorry about that," Charles said.
A flash of humor slid across Erik's face. "Your sister is..."
"Completely horrible when she wants to be, I know," Charles said. "It seems she's in the mood for a little sister-brother chat."
"I could leave if you need me too."
"No," Charles told him firmly. "I'll have Raven run me out to grab something for breakfast, and then I'll shoo her off, I promise."
"You don't have to," Erik began, but Charles cut him off with a quick kiss.
"Oh, I want to," he said. "So just make yourself at home until I get back."
Raven was still waiting in the living room where Charles told her to, but she looked like it was killing her to comply. She opened her mouth as he approached, but he brushed past her, looking for the pair of old loafers he kept handy for quick trips outside. "Charles..."
"Raven," he cut her off. "Get your coat now. We're leaving."
"We are?" she asked. "You're not even dressed to go outside."
Charles slipped on his shoes and threw a coat over his T-shirt and sweats. "Now, Raven," he said, holding the door open. She glared but followed him out the door and down to her car. She unlocked the doors and slid inside, Charles a beat behind her. As soon as the doors on both sides slid shut, she turned to glare at him. "What the hell is going on, Charles?"
"Erik isn't just an overnight guest," he explained.
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure he's your latest pick-up."
"No, Raven, he's not," Charles told her. "He's...I guess you'd say one of my sources. And he came to me because he's in a precarious position at the moment and I didn't need you to say something to make that worse."
Raven shook her head. "You're sleeping with one of your sources? I thought you weren't doing that anymore."
"It's really more complicated than that," he said.
Her eyes got wide. "Oh my god, tell me you're not screwing around with a hooker!"
Charles couldn't help the hysteria-tinged laughter that bubbled up. "No, I assure you, I'm not."
His sister eyed him like she was worried for his mental health. "There's something else going on here."
"Erik is a homicide detective," Charles revealed with a sigh.
"And you got him to give up info about his case?" Raven asked, surprised. "Most cops aren't into helping reporters."
"That's one of the reasons I didn't want you running off at the mouth," Charles told her. "He doesn't precisely know that I'm a reporter."
Raven's face showed her confusion -- and her creeping dread. "Then what does he think you're doing snooping around his case?"
Charles debated with himself but decided he needed to tell someone and Raven was a better choice than anyone else he had in his life. "He's under the impression -- which I did not give him -- that I'm a hooker."
"Oh, god. Oh, god," Raven repeated. "He's the guy, right? The one that made you ask me if you looked like a hustler."
Charles nodded. "Of course, he didn't fill me in on his erroneous conclusion until after we'd..."
Raven covered her face with her hands. "Only you, Charles."
"I'm beginning to feel like that, yes."
"That's been a week ago," she pointed out. "You still haven't cleared it up?"
"At first, it was easier to let him keep thinking that to get the information I needed," Charles said. "And now...he won't take too kindly to finding out that I've been lying to him. I don't want to risk it until I have to."
Raven was quiet for a moment. "It sounds like you maybe..."
"Do you mind running me around the corner, love?" he interrupted. "I promised Erik breakfast and I'd like to get some bagels."
Raven's mouth tightened into a frown but she started her car and pulled out into traffic, heading toward the little shop she knew Charles preferred. Despite his state of undress, Charles ran in to get a half-dozen bagels while Raven idled outside. When he dashed back into the car after his purchase, he could see something in her face that made him think she'd spent her time alone thinking of something to say he wasn't going to like.
As soon as she was back in the flow of traffic, he found out correct he was with that assessment. "You don't usually bring guys home when you pick them up."
"Yes."
"And it definitely wasn't a good idea to bring Erik to your house if you didn't want him to find out who you really are. It's a big risk."
"I know that," he said. "I didn't think that through as clearly as I should've when I made invitation."
Raven gave him an irritated look that meant she was doubting his sanity in a completely different way from before. "Do you know you get this look on your face when you talk about him? Everything goes all soft." Quieter, she added, "Like when you used to talk about Gabrielle."
"Let's not go there, hmm?"
"But you're just going to let it blow up in your face," she continued. "Because you can't commit to save your damn life."
"The damage has been done, Raven," he told her. "When I tell him the truth -- and I will, eventually -- he won't understand. We've...maybe if I had told him before but things have...progressed to a point where...it doesn't matter."
"Don't you think it's worth the risk to lay it out now instead of later?"
By now, they were back in front of his brownstone and Charles turned to Raven to say one last thing before he exited the car. "It won't matter when I tell him, Raven. It'll be over. I'd rather get out of this mess with my story intact, at least then it'll be worth destroying everything else."
"Charles!" He could hear her muffled cry from within the closed car, but he didn't slow down to see what she wanted to say. It was a concern that been plaguing him for a few days and the night before he'd almost confessed the truth but he'd held back for the exact reason he'd told Raven.
For the first time since his divorce, Charles had found something -- someone -- he'd wanted to hold onto and it had been doomed before he had even realized it.
On that chipper thought, Charles steeled himself and headed inside.
**
End of Part 8
Author: Regann
Pairing: Charles/Erik (XMFC)
Rating: PG-13/R
Word Count: ~4,300 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 8)
Just like the rest of Charles's house that Erik had seen so far, the living room was impressive, subtly but undeniably expensive from the carpet to the furniture to the entertainment center commanding one wall of the room. When he'd first really noticed the address that Charles had given him over the phone, Erik had almost thought it had been a mistake because it was hard to believe that prostitutes operated out brownstones on the Upper East side; but then he'd remembered Elliot Smith's trendy Tribeca address and he'd been left vaguely ill how much high-end work Charles had to be doing to afford his address.
Erik had too much going on in his head to protest as Charles pushed him down on the sofa before disappearing again, only to return with a bottle of scotch and two glasses.
"This your answer to everything?" Erik asked but there was no bite to it.
Charles smiled as he splashed alcohol into the glasses. "I'm also a fan of chess when I'm wound up but I didn't want to suggest it since I don't know if you play."
"I do," Erik told him, taking the glass Charles held out to him. "But I'm pretty sure it would be a sorry showing if I tried."
"Well save it for some other time, then," Charles said with a wave of his hand, and Erik tried to ignore how Charles's offhand reference to some other time eased something, however small, inside his chest. It really was an inconvenient time to start realizing that Darwin may have been right when he'd said Erik actually liked Charles -- and that it would get him into trouble.
The last thing he needed at the moment was more trouble.
Charles set the bottle on the coffee table, then settled down next to Erik on the sofa, casually and unapologetically in Erik's personal space. He could feel the heat from Charles's body easily enough, the arm Charles had thrown over the back of the sofa was close enough to rest against Erik's neck if he'd let himself lean back into it.
He didn't let himself.
Erik downed the rest of his drink, sitting forward to set it on the table next to the bottle. "Nice scotch," he remarked, for a lack of anything else to say.
"I do like the best," Charles admitted.
Erik nodded to himself, thinking of Charles's tastes in clothes, champagne, scotch -- even sisters. "Nicer house," he heard himself say aloud.
Charles looked at him for a moment before he shrugged. "I'm comfortable here and it serves its purpose. I have to admit that I'm not all that attached to it."
"It's even nicer than Smith's place," Erik replied, even as he asked himself why he was picking at this particular scab when he already had so many bleeding wounds.
Charles caught on to his oblique meaning if the sudden tightening of his mouth was any indication. "Elliot was just starting out in the business," he pointed out. "I've been working closer to a decade than not."
Erik sent him an alarmed look. "Just how old are you?"
That question made Charles laugh at loud. "Probably about the same age you are, give or take a few years. Obviously, older than you were thinking."
"I hadn't..." he began because he hadn't, not really. He'd thought "young" when he'd first seen Charles on the street under the lamplight and hadn't reconsidered that initial impression even as he'd learned more about him.
"Do I strike you as particularly immature?" Charles asked.
He thought of all the words he could use to describe Charles, knowing immature wasn't one of them. "No," he said.
Charles nodded, as if accepting the answer, before he leaned forward to leave his glass next to Erik's on the table. When he sat back, he studied Erik with his bright, blue eyes, long and intense enough that Erik became to shift a little under the scrutiny. "I'm getting the impression that our conversation hasn't helped you relax, my friend."
Erik closed his eyes, sinking back just enough that he could see the faint brush of Charles's arm against shoulders. "It's like every cop's worse nightmare," he explained. "You have to trust each other, or else..." he pulled away from Charles's touch, hunching over with his elbows on his knees."I never thought I'd have to go through this again, not with Emma."
"Again?" Charles asked, voice soft. His hand had migrated to the taut bow of Erik's back, a soothing stroke that Erik felt too raw to shrug off. "You've had this happen before?"
"Not exactly the same but there was some investigations into my old precinct for corruption," he explained. "Payoffs, turning a blind eye, that kind of thing. It's why I agreed to transfer under Emma when she asked, because I didn't want to get burned like that again."
"But you did anyway," Charles said. His hand crept up until his fingers were drifting lightly over the sweep of Erik's neck. "I am sorry, Erik."
"I watched good cops go down over it," Erik told him. "I found out that the ones you thought were the good ones weren't." Erik straightened a little, glancing over at Charles's solemn, sympathetic expression. "It's a risk to trust any of them right now, no matter how much I want to."
"I can see why you're worried," Charles told him, his hand still at its idle exploration of Erik's back, neck, shoulders. "And why you want to be cautious. It's a terrible lesson to have learned."
Erik knew he could trust Darwin but with his certainty in Emma shaken so completely, he didn't dare extend it to include anyone else from the department. "I'm on my own with this," he told Charles. "I can't pull Darwin into this more than necessary, but I've got to figure it out. If I let it go, I'm giving in and I won't do that."
"Erik." Charles tugged on his arm until Erik was sitting up straight again. He leaned in a little, his hand still wrapped around Erik's bicep. "You won't have to give up. We will figure this out, I swear."
"There is no we on this," Erik protested, pulling away to put a little distance between them.
Charles scowled. "You're trying to cut me out now?"
"This isn't -- everything's changed," Erik told him, not concerned with the sudden sharpness in his tone. "This isn't just some john killing pros or even some rich asshole who put his secrets above Elliot's life. This is someone with the money or the clout or both to completely shut down this investigation. This isn't the kind of person you need to cross."
Charles looked even more unhappy. "What exactly do you mean by that?"
"It's dangerous, Charles," Erik finally bit out. "I can't let you continue to have anything to do with this."
His answer seemed to mollify Charles somewhat but Erik could see the rising determination in the set of his jaw. "That won't stop me, even if you try to shut me out."
Erik let out a sound, half-growl, half-sigh, all frustration. He wanted to shake him. "Is this really worth your neck?"
Charles's eyes were steady and earnest. "Is it worth yours?" he parroted back, not giving Erik a chance to say a word before he continued, "It obviously is and it's worth mine, too. That's why I got involved in the first place and why you let me." His face softened, and he melted against Erik like he couldn't hold himself apart any longer. "You're not alone, Erik. Don't you dare think you are."
Erik was too tired to fight against himself and Charles. He let himself lean into Charles's warmth, sliding his closest arm loosely around his waist. "You care this much about who murdered Elliot Smith?"
Charles's hand guided Erik's head around so that he couldn't evade the painful sincerity in his too-blue eyes. "I care this much about what happens to you."
Erik wasn't sure who kissed who first, but he did know that he was the one who pulled Charles closer as their mouths met and clashed, and he was the one who started pressing Charles back until he was flat on sofa with Erik stretched over him. But it was Charles who was working frantically at the buttons of Erik's shirt even as he refused to break the kiss, his hands moving lower to tug at Erik's belt as Erik bit at his bottom lip, soothing the sting with his tongue.
Something about the moment, though, snapped Erik back into his brain, reminding him of all the reasons he'd promised himself he wouldn't sleep with Charles again, no matter how much he wanted to. Erik yanked away from Charles's hands and mouth, sliding away until his back was against the far armrest. Charles propped himself up by his elbows, blinking in confusion. "What's wrong?"
"I'm sorry," Erik said, because he was but he -- "We can't."
"Why can't we?" Charles asked. His red, kiss-bruised mouth contrasted harshly with the frown it now formed. "You keep saying that and I don't understand."
"I...you...it doesn't..." Erik couldn't find the words to convey what he felt about Charles, all the want and ambivalence and wariness that went into it.
"Is this about me being...me?" Charles asked with a raised eyebrow. "I told you before, Erik. This isn't about the work."
"I know that, but I don't..." Erik trailed off, frustrated. "I guess I don't understand."
"Understand?" Charles sat up, inching across the sofa until they were no longer separated by the cushions.
"The difference," Erik said. "How you keep it separate?"
Charles's eyes narrowed, a clear sign of annoyance. "Have I asked you to pay for anything, Erik? Because that would be a significant difference."
Erik responded with a stony stare of his own. "Do you ever...I mean, how do you...?"
Charles crossed the last bit of distance between them, until he was almost sitting in Erik's lap. "Let me ask you what I think you're trying to ask me. Do you care less deeply about your bed partners because you care about the victims you seek justice for?"
"No," he said with a roll of his eyes.
Charles reached for his hand, cradling it in both of his as he used a finger to trace the network of veins running just under his skin. "When you touch me, does it mean less because you use your hands to solve crimes, fire a gun?"
"Of course not."
Charles looked up and met his eyes. "However I use my words or my body for my job, that's all it is. They're just tools, like your hands or your eyes when you're on the job. It's not the same as my heart or my mind." He looked away and Erik could see he was struggling with something; but when he looked up a moment later, there was nothing but an intense kind of determination burning in his eyes. "I need you to understand this -- what I may say or do for my job, I don't want that to be about us, all right? I need you to promise you'll remember that?"
"If I say no?" Erik asked.
He shrugged, letting go of Erik's hand. "I do eventually get tired of rejection," he said. "But it won't change what I said before. You're not alone in this, Erik. You've just told me that this was dangerous and you didn't have a soul you could trust. Do you think I could just walk away and pretend that I don't care what happens? Not with the case, but with you?"
Erik decided he didn't want to hear anything else -- not Charles's explanations, not the painfully obvious way his voice betrayed as much as his words did, things that made him wonder (and hope) that he wasn't the only one who was entirely too invested in their barley-a-week-old acquaintance. Instead of letting another word past Charles's lips, Erik sealed his to them, cutting off all sound other than a satisfying moan. Charles wriggled forward just a little more until he was sitting in Erik's lap, a delicious weight against Erik's erection which hadn't subsided, even through the awkwardness of the conversation.
He thought Charles might pick up where he left off with the removal of Erik's belt but Charles broke the latest kiss and pulled away enough to breathe. "You once expressed interest in seeing my bedroom," he said, hands still moving restlessly over Erik's chest where it was left bare by his unbuttoned shirt. "Remember?"
"What about it?" Erik asked, tugging Charles's shirt off.
"I thought maybe you'd like to renew that suggestion?" Charles asked between nips at Erik's jaw.
"Yeah?"
Charles nodded, pulling back again. A shadow crossed over his face and he touched fingers to Erik's mouth. "It's been a long time since..."
Erik thought maybe it might've been significant that Charles wanted him in his bed, that it might've been one of the ways that Charles made the separation between his body and his heart. If it was, he wanted it.
He kissed Charles again, then nodded. "Lead the way."
**
When Charles woke the next morning, Erik was wrapped around him, warm and heavy with sleep. He had one arm flung over Charles and, when Charles tried to wiggle his way out of bed without waking him, Erik's arm tightened around him.
"Where are you going?"
"Downstairs?" he replied, rolling over to face Erik when his hold loosened enough to allow the movement.
Erik looked entirely too contemplative as he met Charles's eyes. "Do you always sneak out of bed?"
It was a perceptive observation, one Charles had no intention of discussing, so he leaned forward and kissed Erik. Erik returned the kiss eagerly, letting his hand trail down the line of Charles's side. As much as he liked it, Charles pulled away. "Tea," he said, giving Erik one more kiss before he slid out of bed. "It's an addiction, I'm afraid."
Charles made a grab for his robe and valiantly ignored how he could feel the pull of Erik's hot gaze on his naked back before he wrapped the terry cloth around him. Once in the bathroom, he cleaned up the best he could without a proper shower, then threw on the sweats and T-shirt he tended to wear around the house. Then, he padded down the stairs, toward the kitchen and his kettle.
He cleared away the mugs they'd abandoned the night before, which reminded him of the glasses they'd left in the living room. Charles collected them and his cell phone, quickly filing through the missed calls and messages. There was one text message from Moira: Anything new on the story? and a voicemail from Hank, asking if he'd talk to his source about whatever happened with the case. Charles deleted the message with a sigh, knowing he'd never return it to give Hank the answers he wanted.
Charles had texted Moira back with a Maybe - details later and had started the coffee maker when he heard the sound of footsteps -- Erik, coming into the kitchen, naked except for the towel hanging low on his hips. His hair was damp, obviously fresh from the shower, beads of moisture still clinging to his skin. Charles gave him a pointed once-over. "You could've borrowed my robe," he said. "It'd only be fair."
Erik snorted, flicking a thumb over his shoulder. "I just needed to grab my bag."
Charles didn't resist the impulse to cross the space between them to kiss him, dragging his hands over the flushed, damp skin of Erik's back. Erik returned the kiss with no hesitation, letting out a noise of disapproval when Charles eased away. "Your coffee should be ready by the time you're dressed," he told him. "Then we can discuss -- whatever you'd like."
Erik's fingers brushed just under the waistband of Charles's sweats, against the jut of one hipbone. "You could always give me a hand."
Charles grinned at the suggestion and he knew, from the way it made Erik's eyes darken a little, that it was the shamelessly flirty one he tended to throw around when he was drunk, though he had no such excuse at the moment. "I have all ideas that if I go upstairs with you and that towel, we won't get anything of importance accomplished today."
Erik was leaning in with very clear intent when they were both startled by the loud and unexpected sound of Charles's front door banging open.
"Charles," he heard Raven's voice call out as Erik jerked away from him like he'd been burned. "I know you're probably not even up yet but ---" Raven's rambling came to a stop as she reached the kitchen and caught sight of Erik, still just in his towel. Her eyes flew to Charles's, going wide. "Oh, my god."
Charles sighed. "Raven..."
But her eyes had already trailed back to Erik who was obviously uncomfortable with her appreciative appraisal. "Hey there, handsome," she said, only making Erik's expression grew more stony. To Charles, she said, "I didn't expect you to have company or I would've called."
"I thought I just packed you off," he returned. "What do you want?"
"I can't find my favorite lipstick, actually," she said. "I'm pretty sure I left it here, so I'll just go up to the guest room and look around..."
Charles reached into fruit basket and tossed the tube at his sister with no little force. He was slightly disappointed that she caught it. "Problem solved. Good bye, Raven."
"What? No!" She shook her head. "You have to introduce us!"
Charles looked to the ceiling and begged any deities listening for patience. "Raven, this is Erik," he said, waving a hand between them. "Erik, this is my sister, Raven."
"Nice to meet you, Erik," she all but purred. Charles caught the speculative gleam in her eye. He gave her a hard look in warning but she ignored him. "So exactly how did you take up with Charles?"
Erik looked alarmed to be faced down by the manic bundle of energy that Raven could sometimes be, and Charles felt a similar feeling overtake him. Things were too delicate all around to have Raven say something completely inappropriate and bring it all down on his head. "Now isn't a good time," he told her.
"Oh, I think it's the best time," she began, but was cut off when Charles snagged her arm and hustled her out of the kitchen. "Hey!"
"Not now, Raven," he said in a low, fierce tone. "I mean it."
She yanked her arm out of his grip. "What's going on?" she asked, equally low and fierce. "You're acting weird."
Charles spared a glance back over his shoulder to make sure Erik was out of hearing distance. "I can't explain right now."
She frowned more deeply. "Are you in trouble? Tell me!"
"Raven!"
"I'm not leaving until you tell me," she whispered angrily.
Charles shot her a dark look. "Stay here," he ordered before heading back into the kitchen where Erik was still loitering, awkward and a little unsure.
"Sorry about that," Charles said.
A flash of humor slid across Erik's face. "Your sister is..."
"Completely horrible when she wants to be, I know," Charles said. "It seems she's in the mood for a little sister-brother chat."
"I could leave if you need me too."
"No," Charles told him firmly. "I'll have Raven run me out to grab something for breakfast, and then I'll shoo her off, I promise."
"You don't have to," Erik began, but Charles cut him off with a quick kiss.
"Oh, I want to," he said. "So just make yourself at home until I get back."
Raven was still waiting in the living room where Charles told her to, but she looked like it was killing her to comply. She opened her mouth as he approached, but he brushed past her, looking for the pair of old loafers he kept handy for quick trips outside. "Charles..."
"Raven," he cut her off. "Get your coat now. We're leaving."
"We are?" she asked. "You're not even dressed to go outside."
Charles slipped on his shoes and threw a coat over his T-shirt and sweats. "Now, Raven," he said, holding the door open. She glared but followed him out the door and down to her car. She unlocked the doors and slid inside, Charles a beat behind her. As soon as the doors on both sides slid shut, she turned to glare at him. "What the hell is going on, Charles?"
"Erik isn't just an overnight guest," he explained.
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure he's your latest pick-up."
"No, Raven, he's not," Charles told her. "He's...I guess you'd say one of my sources. And he came to me because he's in a precarious position at the moment and I didn't need you to say something to make that worse."
Raven shook her head. "You're sleeping with one of your sources? I thought you weren't doing that anymore."
"It's really more complicated than that," he said.
Her eyes got wide. "Oh my god, tell me you're not screwing around with a hooker!"
Charles couldn't help the hysteria-tinged laughter that bubbled up. "No, I assure you, I'm not."
His sister eyed him like she was worried for his mental health. "There's something else going on here."
"Erik is a homicide detective," Charles revealed with a sigh.
"And you got him to give up info about his case?" Raven asked, surprised. "Most cops aren't into helping reporters."
"That's one of the reasons I didn't want you running off at the mouth," Charles told her. "He doesn't precisely know that I'm a reporter."
Raven's face showed her confusion -- and her creeping dread. "Then what does he think you're doing snooping around his case?"
Charles debated with himself but decided he needed to tell someone and Raven was a better choice than anyone else he had in his life. "He's under the impression -- which I did not give him -- that I'm a hooker."
"Oh, god. Oh, god," Raven repeated. "He's the guy, right? The one that made you ask me if you looked like a hustler."
Charles nodded. "Of course, he didn't fill me in on his erroneous conclusion until after we'd..."
Raven covered her face with her hands. "Only you, Charles."
"I'm beginning to feel like that, yes."
"That's been a week ago," she pointed out. "You still haven't cleared it up?"
"At first, it was easier to let him keep thinking that to get the information I needed," Charles said. "And now...he won't take too kindly to finding out that I've been lying to him. I don't want to risk it until I have to."
Raven was quiet for a moment. "It sounds like you maybe..."
"Do you mind running me around the corner, love?" he interrupted. "I promised Erik breakfast and I'd like to get some bagels."
Raven's mouth tightened into a frown but she started her car and pulled out into traffic, heading toward the little shop she knew Charles preferred. Despite his state of undress, Charles ran in to get a half-dozen bagels while Raven idled outside. When he dashed back into the car after his purchase, he could see something in her face that made him think she'd spent her time alone thinking of something to say he wasn't going to like.
As soon as she was back in the flow of traffic, he found out correct he was with that assessment. "You don't usually bring guys home when you pick them up."
"Yes."
"And it definitely wasn't a good idea to bring Erik to your house if you didn't want him to find out who you really are. It's a big risk."
"I know that," he said. "I didn't think that through as clearly as I should've when I made invitation."
Raven gave him an irritated look that meant she was doubting his sanity in a completely different way from before. "Do you know you get this look on your face when you talk about him? Everything goes all soft." Quieter, she added, "Like when you used to talk about Gabrielle."
"Let's not go there, hmm?"
"But you're just going to let it blow up in your face," she continued. "Because you can't commit to save your damn life."
"The damage has been done, Raven," he told her. "When I tell him the truth -- and I will, eventually -- he won't understand. We've...maybe if I had told him before but things have...progressed to a point where...it doesn't matter."
"Don't you think it's worth the risk to lay it out now instead of later?"
By now, they were back in front of his brownstone and Charles turned to Raven to say one last thing before he exited the car. "It won't matter when I tell him, Raven. It'll be over. I'd rather get out of this mess with my story intact, at least then it'll be worth destroying everything else."
"Charles!" He could hear her muffled cry from within the closed car, but he didn't slow down to see what she wanted to say. It was a concern that been plaguing him for a few days and the night before he'd almost confessed the truth but he'd held back for the exact reason he'd told Raven.
For the first time since his divorce, Charles had found something -- someone -- he'd wanted to hold onto and it had been doomed before he had even realized it.
On that chipper thought, Charles steeled himself and headed inside.
**
End of Part 8