Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Roni swiped at the bar top with a clean cloth, making sure to keep it as clean as possible during pouring hours. The sun had long since gone down, resulting in a full house. People were packing from wall to wall, talking, drinking and participating in an unknown game she liked to call 'how many numbers can I leave with'. She would have put her money on the gorgeous woman in the four inch red heels currently wrapping her tongue along the little straw that stuck out of her glass in a seductive manner.

The amount of stories she had gotten during the week would make many here flush with embarrassment or a slew of many other bodily reactions. It's amazing what a little alcohol can do to make people think they need nothing more than to spill every secret or thought to a barkeep.

Speaking of, the guy currently clambering onto one of the seats at the bar begins to slur words that her ears were having trouble picking up on. So she slides closer towards him after taking the whiskey he has been ordering for the past three hours into her hand and lifting it in a silent question.

"Fuckin' a. Yeah." He nods, tapping his glass with his finger tip before running that hand through his dark locks, a sly grin forming along his lips. She had no problem serving him the past three hours considering he continued to throw money at her as if she were some stripper enticing him into doing so.

"Might wanna try to water it down a little now. You've been ordering these straight up for..." She shook her head as he cut her off for the fourth time tonight, refusing to agree to a little less.

"There's this thick fuckin' guy, right? Thinks he's the fuckin' cock of the fuckin' walk and no one can beat his arse into the dirt."

She nods, placing the bottle on the bar top and leaning onto her elbows to listen to his story.

"Yeah, well. I can. I'm Danny fuckin' Devine. I'm not some weak shite who fuckin' runs at the sight pricks like him. I'm Danny-fuck-" He sighs, wrapping his long fingers around the glass before him. He brings it to his mouth, most of the contents sloshing along the sides of his lips and down his chin. "Fuck!" He exclaimed, slamming the glass so hard against the bar Roni almost epected it to break.

"Bathroom is.." She pointed in the direction, a timid smile plastered on her face.

"This fuckin' suit costs more than that fuckin' drink." He began to bellow out as he pushed himself out of his seat and onto his feet, walking shockingly well to have downed as many drinks as he had.

Roni lifted herself up slightly to peer over the bar into his seat and onto the floor, to make sure he hadn't spilled it down there too. Content with the absence of liquid on her floor or chairs, she pushed back onto her feet and poured him another drink, this time watered down more than she would have done with any other customer seeing as he has been drinking as long as he has.

Red heels made her way up to bar, her fingers playing with the straw in her glass. "I need the toilet."

Roni pointed in the direction. The woman sat her glass down then, a sweet smile forming on her lips before she headed off towards the bathroom.

"Fuckin' hell." The words spilled from Danny as he ran his hands along his suit jacket, making his way back to his seat. His hand reached down and adjusted his trousers between his legs before he took his seat again. "Where was I?"

"You were talking about a prick who thinks he's cock of the walk."

"Righ', yeah." Danny nodded, taking a gulp from his newly filled glass brows furrowing the second it hit his tongue. Then he spat it out right onto the bar surface. "This is utter shite. Top shelf." He pointed enthusiastically at the bottles on the wall behind her.

Roni shook her head before adding, "I'm all for filling everyone's glasses until they need an Uber driver to take them home, but in case you haven't noticed dude, you're hitting the bottle really hard tonight."

"And I'll fuckin' hit the bottle until it's sore." The gaze he set on her made Roni chuckle. This sent fire through his limbs and he pushed himself to his feet before going behind the bar, grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the top shelf and then back to his seat.

"Listen." She wrapped her fingers around the bottle and glanced up at the person who just walked into the bar. Weaver adjusted the collar of his jacket before locking sights on her.

"Aye, Am fuckin' listenin."

"Right." She shook her head and locked her eyes with his. "I'm cutting you off, okay? I'll be happy to water down your drinks but straight up won't do. You're not going to drink yourself into a fucking coma under my watch."

He pushed the bottle back into her grasp and shook his head. "Can you fuckin' believe this shite?" He asked the looming figure of Weaver as he leaned against the cool surface of the bar beside where Danny was currently perched in one of the chairs.

"Believe what?"

"This shite." He motioned towards his cup and the bottle of whiskey in Roni's hand. "Refusin' to give ma fuckin' drink."

"It's her bar. Not mine." Weaver shook his head, nodding at Roni to get him his usual. Roni grabbed a clean glass, placed it in front of the detective and poured the Whisky from the bottle in her hand into the glass

Danny reached out, took the full glass, downed the contents and pushed himself off of his seat. Thrusting Weaver's now empty tumbler back in his direction. Adjusting his suit jacket, he then turned to make his way out of the bar. Refusing to stay if he can't drink himself under the table.

"Prick." Weaver huffed under his breath before shaking his head.

Chapter Text

Tuesdays tended to be slow. After the Monday thirst and the weekend binges, days like these were very much welcome on both her nerves and her feet. She finished up drying one of the tumblers before stacking it back with the others. Cleaning as she went always seemed like the best option on slow days, that way she could avoid the need to stay late just to catch up on cleaning. The loud clatter of voices were but a light hum, soft in the background.

"Whiskey."

"Irish or scotch?"

The man removed his glasses and made a face. He looked as though he hated having to speak again or even settle on a choice. Like there were more pressing matters he would rather address not something as simple as which type of whiskey he preferred. "Doesn't matter."

"Suit yourself." Roni sighed taking down a bottle of irish whiskey, grabbing a clean glass then began pouring. She waited, eyes trained on the guy who seemed to be way more busy looking through a slew of papers he had decorated her bar top with. So she stopped before the glass ran over since he wasn't willing to tell her when to. Placing the bottle back, she turned her attention to a group of twenty somethings in the corner. They were deep in a game of would you rather that had a reason to drink - Roni hadn't caught the reason yet but she was sure it was something nonsensical in the way they giggled and roared with laughter.

Nicholas Rush had only been earthbound for two months and already his nerves were shattered. The last thing he wanted was for Eli to figure out how to dial earth without damaging Destiny in the process. And just to add insult to injury, Telford had all but dragged him through the Stargate. Earth had already found more than one planet fit to dial back to his ship but they refused to allow Rush back until he had a year of having his feet planted here on their home soil. He wouldn't call it his home, it wasn't. His home was currently on a mission years away from here that mattered more than anything currently inked out on his slew of paperwork.

A perfect idea. Eli had decided on a road trip for the crew. Some boring sight seeing adventure that they pulled him into by saying if he participated the SGC would allow him to work everyday with them until his year on earth would finally be finished. What the SGC hadn't taken into consideration, at least he hoped they hadn't, was Matthew Scott's terrible choice in transportation. The radiator had already blown, two tires needed replaced and the muffler needed a severe look at.

Exasperated over a certain equation, he pushed the papers aside and placed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. Taking in shallow breaths before gripping the full glass of whiskey. Taking a sip, he scrunched up his face and glanced up at the bartender. "Can I have a scotch?"

Roni glanced over her shoulder at the busy-body, gave him a nod and went about getting him another glass but this time with scotch whiskey in it. There wasn't much room near him where she could sit it though, so they hovered for an awkward moment as he decided he would take it into his empty hand while Roni took the full tumbler of the irish from his other hand.

"Thanks."

"No problem." Usually never drinking while on the job, she gave a shrug and decided that the irish whiskey would not go to waste. Especially with the price on that damn bottle she had poured it from.

Once down, she took to cleaning it. No use in having dirty dishes while she had nothing to do. By now, she was used to the bar having one or more people using her listening ear to their advantage. Usually spewing about how they weren't going where they wanted to go in life or how that special someone had cheated on them so they very much intended on doing the same back at them. Though; Roni often wondered if the relationship was over what was the use in stooping to the cheaters level? More often than not - that question was answered in a slur of words and no intent on taking the higher road by the other party.

"Rush."

The voice surprised her so much that she felt her body jump at the reverb of it. Tearing her mind away from her thoughts, she glanced in the direction of the dishelved man who had once been hovering over paper work. Now his chocolate eyes sought out hers in a plea for human interaction. And so, abandoning that glass she slid down to where he was purchase opposite of her, arms leaning on the bar. "Rush?"

"My name. Nicholas Rush."

"Nice to meet you Nicholas. I'm Roni."

"I gathered." He gestured towards the door, hinting at the sign out front. "Is it usually this..slow?"

She shook her head, giving him a generous grin in the process. "Not usually. Mondays, Fridays and weekends are the worst."

"Really? Mondays?" He asked, taking a generous sip of his scotch whiskey.

"You wouldn't guess it but when the work week begins, everyone needs to take that edge off. Less they kill someone in the heat of the moment."

"I will drink to that."

Roni nodded, watching he tilted his glass and took a more than large gulp of the amber liquid. His adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed it down. "That is very strong." His voice was hoarse as he tried to adjust to the burn. Maybe a large gulp like that should have been split into two small sips.

"It is. Top shelf."

"Not complaining."

"That's good because it looks like you need to relax for a second or two. Your shoulders are up to your ears."

"They are?" He adjusted his posture then, trying to seem more at ease to no avail. That was one thing he wasn't good at no matter how hard he tried. His only relaxed state would be back on Destiny with the galaxy shining out ahead of him and his ass planted right in his seat. Fuck he missed it. All of it. Every single second he spent on that damned thing. Any moment away seemed like torture of the worst kind. Like someone was pulling at each of his limbs waiting to hear a snap.

Roni couldn't help but chuckle at his attempt in relaxing. "There's a couch over there." She nodded to the one closest towards the bar. "Take it. I'll keep everyone away with a baseball bat. Try and sleep if you can. The sound should sooth you."

"Hushed voices in a bar. Should send me right to sleep." He chucked this time, shaking his head as he began to gather up his papers. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

She gave him a friendly smile as she watched him take his papers, his drink and shuffle towards the couch. Everything went onto the table as he leaned back against the comfortable leather. The man looked beaten by life, battered and broken down. She could only imagine the tales he could spill while drunk but what mattered right now was that he got some sleep. Any little bit of shut eye she assumed would further help him in whatever he called his passion. Whatever all of those weird symbols on his papers were for.

Chapter Text

Thursdays were almost as slow as Tuesdays. Roni had begun topping off Weaver's second whiskey for the night when the detective gave a nod to the right, towards a man currently seemingly transfixed by the contents in the full tumbler sitting before him. Eyes were trained on the liquid as if he were waiting for an answer to come floating to the surface. She placed the whiskey on the bar top and moved so that she was standing across from him. Her eyes went to the tumbler, trying to decide whether or not it seemed like he were discontent with the brand. By the look on his face, she could safely assume it had nothing to do with taste and more so with something more deep. "Are you okay?" At first she wondered if he had heard her at all. But then his lips seemed to move, it was hard to tell by the curtain of hair currently being used a shield from the outside world. "What did you say?"

At that, he lifted his head and Roni felt her heart ache at the sight before her. He was wearing a collar, which was unusual for her customers seemingly as she mostly pushed alcohol and it was unlike priests to hit the bottle. Well, at least in Hyperion Heights. When he spoke, his accent had a slight brogue to it, lips moving as if he were in so much pain it took effort to curl them around his words. It wasn't a drunken slur, she could tell that. "Fine. Thank you."

With that, she grabbed a cloth and began wiping the counter absentmindedly. Knowing that if a patron needed a listening ear, it would be easier if they saw she were standing here already of her own accord - cleaning. Something that could be done while listening. "No offense...Father?" She saw him nod then, fingertips pressing against the glass before him. The skin turning white at the strength in which he held onto it without bringing it to his lips. "You don't look fine."

He grimaced. The fact that he hadn't been trying to conceal his current state wasn't in lieu of hoping someone would talk to him about it, but when it was someone as... he glanced up at the barkeep and then back at his tumbler...sweet faced as her, maybe it wouldn't hurt. She was standing there wiping the bar in the first place anyway. Then again, it could have been her effort to break him open. But in reality, he needed it. So when he spoke, he swallowed and let out a huff of breath before the words began to spill. "..I've lost someone. Someone close to me."

She knew the obvious reaction. The sympathy card that could be played and then nothing said afterwards. Knew she could also opt for the taking his mind off of it route, but with the way he was burning holes in that glass - she knew neither would work. So she opted for just relaxing into. "Someone who meant a lot to you?" The man simply nodded, swallowing hard before his tongue snaked out along his lips. Seemingly not set on voicing the answer. "Would-" She wanted to let up on the act of wiping the counter and instead opt to come around to where he was to talk with him, but that wouldn't be right. Not warranted as of yet. "-you mind telling me about this someone?"

Shaking his head, he brought his hands up and ran them through his hair. It had been raining before he came in, so his tresses were still lightly damp. The feeling alone made him want to cry, reminding him of a moment where he had been here before. Not caring for his appearance and instead hitting bars or bottles harder than he would like to admit. How had this happened again? The silence from the barkeep gave him enough time to realize that he was back where he began, he had no one. The one person who had believed in him, loved him in her own way, was gone. "Yes. Yes. Okay."

Roni glanced over at Weaver, who was leaning his head just slightly to listen in enough, careful for it to not be as obvious since the priest only agreed to spill his woes to her and not him. She placed the cloth where it had been before, grabbed the whiskey bottle and made her way around the bar and to where the man was sitting. She took a seat next to him and placed the bottle between them, elbows on the surface of the bar as she gave him her full attention.

"Olivia." He swallowed against a dry throat, her name alone giving his heart a squeeze that could bring the healthiest men to their knees. "A woman with the sweetest heart." In his mind he could see her like she had been, smiling and talking with him about matters in her life. Such as her daughter who lived further away from her than she liked. It had been summer. "She was one of my parishioners. Even if my church..." He faltered, eyes set on that whiskey. He could use another drink. One that would burn down his throat and into his stomach. Just to numb this lump in his throat. "...that's of no importance." Having decided speaking of the church that really wasn't nearly up to par with those of others around the small town in which they both had lived before the move.

"Is Olivia from here?" She asked, noting his accent wasn't at all American, thinking it best to ask in hopes of him not dropping the subject all together with the no importance statement that had spilled from his lips.

"No. The UK." He stated, bringing his hands back to the glass before him. "I had this problem with alcohol. Drinking more often than not. I had lost all hope."

"And Olivia helped you quit?"

"Not exactly. She helped me stay sober. Having believed in me when no one else did. Supported me in my struggle to stay sober. A true friend. You know."

"I know how that goes." She nodded. Alot of stories come with running a bar. Especially those of the ones who can successfully stay off of the bottle for periods of time. Even if when they end up back here, she is the one pouring their poison into their glasses. On some occasions she has helped those who did want to quit by refusing to serve them. She would be willing to do the same for the man next to her if he would want it. But that could be brought up later.

"Had been doing better." He nodded, the lump in his throat becoming more uncomfortable with each sentence that spilled from his lips. "Much better."

"So what happened?"

"At first...She came to discuss with me about moving here." He gestured around the bar, then gave a sigh, he didn't mean here literally. "Hyperion Heights." The feeling of discussing this with someone did lift some of the weight from his shoulders, but it wasn't helping that sickening sadness in his stomach. The knots twisting and turning, daring to make him stop all together and opt for the more silent route. "To be with her daughter."

"You two kept in touch?"

"Through the post." By this time Joseph had realized that a man next to him was looking in their direction. Seemingly listening to their conversation. Part of him wanting to push away from the bar and bolt for the door. But that other side, the one that wanted to hope kept going instead. "But time slipped away. A letter came in telling me about a request she had made. One for her funeral. She had wanted me to preside over it. I felt honored." At the second the words left his mouth, he could remember it, the moment he read the words and how his heart had broken. Though he felt a pang of appreciation at her belief in actually wanting him to do such a thing. It had been so long since someone had wanted that from him, others having held onto his past and ran with it. Afraid he would show up with booze on his breath. "I flew out here. Attended the funeral."

This was where his words had begun cutting off, that lump in his throat now making it harder to swallow, moisture collecting along his eyes. "Once the prayers were said, everything was done, she came up to me. The daughter. And loud enough for everyone to hear said.." The heat that had collected along his cheeks and ears, the embarrassment and sinking stomach he had felt in the moment he was speaking of all came back to him. And tears began to stain his cheeks, he made no effort to halt them knowing all too well it would be in vain. "...that I was just some drunk her mother felt sorry for. And then just to make matters worse, added like all her lost causes."

Who was he to assume that he wasn't indeed what the daughter had claimed? He could very well be that and not have been the wiser. That alone had made him turn to the bottle. The first night he drank away the pain and humiliation at someone he had considered a dear friends funeral. The second night and third night had went much the same. By the third, he downed the alcohol to numb the loss of hope. The sheer thought of it tainted by a simple sentence. And tonight he drank to wash away his weakness at crumbling under the weight of those words.

"You know.." Roni reached her hand out to gently take his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "...she was hurting, Father."

"Joseph. Father Joseph."

"Joseph. And when you're hurting you can say some of the most hurtful of things."

"It's true." Weaver finally added, feeling a pang of sorrow for the priest. The story having jolted him from his nightly routine of drinking before heading home for the night. From what he said he couldn't shake the notion that the man truly had no one else on his side of the court. And he settled on possibly trying to be someone who didn't just listen in and ignore the pain of someone else. "I've been a victim of that myself."

"Have you?" Joseph asked, turning towards the detective without releasing the hold that Roni had on his hand. Though his tears were still falling, they had slowed down. The warmth in which he was receiving better than any sting from a sip of whiskey.

"I have."

"And let me tell you." Roni began, his eyes coming back to hers. She wanted to make it better. Somehow. Just wipe his tears and give him comfort food instead of alcohol, but her words and actions would have to do for now. "This.." Nodding towards the drink, she added "..is good to numb. Yes. But in immense amounts, it's more of a running away than anything. I know that's harsh." The look on his face caused her to add onto it. "But you look like a strong person. Someone who can hear the truth and realize that if you're in my bar, I'll help you whatever way I can." Standing then, she removed her hand from his and wrapped her arms around the man, head resting against his in a soothing manner as she ran one of her hands along his back. Surprisingly enough, he too wrapped his arms around her. Allowing the comfort of something as simple as a hug to help dry his tears. "Things can and will get better. Trust in that. And if you're going to be in town a little longer, I can serve you many club sodas. And I know how to spice those things up like no tomorrow."

He chuckled at that. The sound pitiful from the tears he had cried, but still felt better than the pain he had felt for days on end. "I would like that."

"Would you?" She tilted her head then, arms still wrapped around his torso, bringing her gaze onto his face. He gave her a nod. The look of a man truly grasping for any shred of hope he could get. "I would love some critique on it too. I need to know what I need to push and what I need to scrap."

"I can do that." He let her go then, watching as she made her way back around the bar. It took him a minute or two to notice what she was doing. He pushed the whiskey aside and waited for the club soda she was currently pouring him. The man beside of him extended a hand in his direction, which he hesitantly took.

"Weaver." Giving the priest's hand a swift shake before downing the whiskey he had pushed away. "Good man. You'll be fine. Trust me. When Roni says she will help, she means it." And with that, he slid the man the card that had his number on it. "And if anyone gives you a rough time or you need to talk. I'll be willing to help too."

"Thank you." Joseph spoke shocked, his hands taking the card from the bar top and stuffing it into the coat of his suit before taking the club soda Roni had prepared him. He didn't notice it but Weaver shot Roni a smile before leaving through the bar's door.

"So. Tell me what you intend on doing while here?"

"I'm not at all sure yet. What is there to do?"

And with that they spoke of better things. Opportunities that could be had in an up and coming place like Hyperion Heights along with places he could see, and also what his church looked like back home.

Chapter Text

Roni could see the pale moon high in the sky as she began to wipe down one of the booths closest to a window, the pale orb sent a soothing warmth of comfort through her limbs. Since she was little, the visage of that round mass in the sky had always seemed to calm her just enough to feel somber. As she headed back towards the bar, someone had managed to bump into her and snarl in her direction some lewd comment about her ass. This alone caused her to smirk, the image of taking out her bat and hitting it repeatedly against his skull caused her hands to tingle. "Out." She called back to him over her shoulder, then added "Unless you want to leave the hard way." The look alone that she shot him sent the fucker heading out of the doors, a slew of curse words floating back towards her only to be ignored.

"Should learn a smidgen of respect." A voice caught her off guard as she shuffled around the bar to stand behind it, hands busying themselves with washing the glasses she had removed from the table seconds ago. "Man like that, at his age, should never utter such unwanted vile words. Should've ripped that tongue clean out of his mouth."

"A baseball bat can only do so much." She countered, a smirk playing on her lips at the way in which the man spoke. He seemed out of place somehow, his attire, the shave of his facial hair. Like he had been pulled from another world and placed here among the bustling of Hyperion Heights.

"Do you get the post?"

"Yeah, let me find it." She leaned over, hands searching behind the bar for the newspaper that released earlier today. The thing had been tucked beneath her baseball bat, having had to break up a bar fight earlier with it. "Here you go." Straightening herself back up, she thrust the paper in his direction then went back to cleaning the tumblers.

Ives couldn't remember exactly how he had come to such a place or why everyone here seemed so trusting, but after feasting well for such a good period of time, he couldn't really complain. The newspaper had plastered the front pages with missing people along with a few bones found picked clean in an abandoned warehouse. A photo of Weaver, their leading detective accompanied the badly reported piece. It seemed to lack panache, each word stark against the paper in such a way that more than caused a yawn to work its way up his throat. Tossing it to the side, he downed what was left of his bourbon and gave the barkeep a once over. She had soft looking skin, the type that could come off with ease, curves that he could feast on for days. His mouth had begun watering before he realized he had been staring and she was giving him a look much akin to the one she had shot the foul mouthed punter before he ran for the hills. "My apologies. I just can't help but notice how utterly ravishing you look." And that was the truth, looking at her sent his hunger to new found peaks. "Forgive me."

"Better than some things I've heard. More?"

He wanted to beg her for more, yes, but not to drink. No. There was something so tantalizing about biting into that flesh of hers, the mere thought of it caused his mouth to ache with need. "Please." He motioned towards his tumbler as he watched her pick one of the oldest bottles from the top shelf, like he had requested before, and pour the liquid into the glass in front of him. Her arms were toned, muscles taut as she poured and in that instant, he reached out and grabbed her wrist. She tried to tug from his grasp to no avail and that alone made him cackle, a sound of triumph rumbling from his chest.

"You gonna let go or do I have to get my trusty bat out and give you a wack or two over the head?"

Feisty. "That will be enough." He simply added, letting her wrist go as she pulled back with the bottle in hand.

"Is there a problem?" Weaver had sauntered up to the bar, having caught the ending of that little display upon entering the bar.

"Nothing I can't handle, Weaver."

The detective seemed sated as he settled himself next to Ives, intent on keeping an eye on the trouble maker for the remainder of his stay. Roni poured him a scotch whiskey before going back to cleaning glasses in an attempt to busy herself and hopefully ignore what had happened in order to keep the two of them from fighting and destroying anymore of this bar that seemed very intent on falling apart.

"Are you a sheriff?" Ives asked, tilting his head towards Weaver.

"Detective." He hissed in his direction, eyes focused on him in a glaring manner. There was something in the way that the man at the bar held himself, such confidence, it sent a flurry of alarms to sound off in the detective's head.

"How about these murders?" Ives had decided to see what he could do to get beneath this man's skin, though he imagined just giving Roni a hard time would suffice but he'd prefer the the harder route.

"We're building a good case. Scared to go out at night?"

Ives chuckled, the reverb alone enough to send chills down any spine in the room. "Does it look like I find the dark terrifying?"

"Yeah, it does."

It seemed the detective knew how to get under his skin. Taking a chunk out of him could be fun, he thought, giving the idea vivid imagery as he waited for the moment to pass, for the rage in his limbs to simmer down so he could continue to be under the radar. Provoking him would have to come at a later date, sometime in a dark alley, that would work. "The bourbon's good. Really warms the insides, you should give it a taste." With that he threw enough money onto the table to pay for his drinks as well as ten rounds of bourbon for his badge wielding companion.

Roni watched as he exited, his coat floating around his legs like some film villain. "That was awkward."

"I don't like him." Weaver stated before grabbing onto Ives' tumbler and giving it a sniff or two, then placed it back against the bar before downing his whiskey.

"You don't have to like him." She reminded the detective as she took to cleaning both of their glasses. "Borbon?"

"No, I think I'm done for the night." He pushed himself off of the barstool, gave a nod towards the cash that Ives had left - noting he would be paying for his whiskey, and then shuffled off out of the door intent on following the man with the look of determination in his eyes.

"Never a dull night."

Chapter Text

He felt heat rush to his cheeks as he downed his fourth gin of the night. Having decided on some time alone, he thought the up and coming Hyperion Heights would be a great place to be for at least a month. However, he hadn't expected to blow as much cash on the trip, having chosen it for the very reason of it not being as pricey as other places in America. He let out a huff of smoke before greedily sucking on his cigarette once more, eyes catching the sight of the barkeep.

"Another?" Roni asked the man who was currently leaning over her bar and smoking more than he should in such succession. Once he nodded, she filled his glass again with the same gin he ordered an hour ago but when he went to dig into his wallet for cash to pay, it was almost empty. Feeling a slight pang of remorse for the guy, she waved it away. "On the house, but after this one you should probably-"

"Y'know." He began, downing the gin in one quick gulp, pausing as it made it's way down. "This bar could use a little bit of entertainment."

"Entertainment?" She scoffed, placing a hand on her hip.

"Aye, pretty much. Eh? Fancy a little entertainment? Somethin' y'know for the patrons." He held his hand above his tumbler and began to move it in a circle as if he were trying to conjure something up from the contents. "'ve done somethin' like tha' before."

"Have you?" She asked, titled her head to the side and opting for humoring the guy. "What entertainment exactly?"

That was when he downed the gin she had refilled his glass with and pushed himself, clumsily, up onto the bar-top.

"Oh, this violates a lot of shit, you need to get down."

"One minute." He held out a hand and pointed towards the jukebox. "D'you got 'you can leave your hat on' eh?"

"Sure." She nodded towards one of her workers who were currently looking on in amusement. They quickly turned and switched it onto the song requested, eyes coming back onto the bloke currently beginning to sway on top of the bar.

Roni glanced up, hands crossing in front of her chest as she watched the man's hips sway, his hands going into the pockets of his leather jacket and tossing down a lighter, pulling a cigarette out of the pack and dropping it too. He put it between his lips as he slowly began to shrug out of his coat, hips swaying as he did so. Once he got it off, he twirled it above his head and tossed it onto one of the stools nearest him, not wanting some sod to come by and steal his coat while he was trying to convince the barkeep of hiring him as some sort of entertainment. "Light?" He asked, cigarette bobbing between his lips as he leaned down, not stopping the movement of his hips as he waited for her to light him up.

She reached for the lighter, pressed the bottom that ignited the flame, leaning forward she cupped her hand and held it nearest the cigarette before bringing the flame close to it, watching as he puffed on it - smoke rising from the end. Straightening himself up, he turned towards Roni now, eyes catching with hers as his fingers slowly lowered down his front and clasped onto the only button that needed to be freed on his plaid over-shirt. He gripped the hem and as he pulled it open, he slid in a circle on the bar, hips thrusting in an exaggerated fashion, slowly sliding it off of his shoulders, he glanced back at her then - giving her a look that he thought would be something akin to desire.

Even though she wanted to laugh at the guts this guy had, she couldn't help herself from be drawn to each article of clothing he tossed to the ground or the way his ass looked in his jeans as he strut along the length of her bar. He had begun on his grey t-shirt when she held up a hand, catching a glimpse of his lithe torso peaking beneath the fabric as he teasingly lifted it. "Wait, wait, stop." Much to her disdain she reached up and gripped the hem of his shirt, pulling it down as he came with it, onto his knees against the bartop. "You don't have a license to do this and neither do I. I'm not getting arrested, at least not for this."

"I can go the full monty." His cigarette bobbed as he spoke, ashes dashing off of the ends with each movement.

"The full what?" Her brow cocked as she noticed her hand was dangerously close to his groin at this angle, pulling it back to her, she hoped he wouldn't have noticed her gaze had traveled. But clearly he had as a cheesy ass grin formed on his lips.

"Y'know. All the way. Naked, stark. As the day I was born."

"Yeah, let's not do that tonight."

"Then when, love?"

"Um..."

Weaver sidled up to the bar then and gestured at the man on his knees. "What's this prick doing?"

"He's just drink, Weaver. Don't mind him."

"Eh? I'm not drunk, I'm showin' a lady a good time." He shot Weaver a smirk and wiggled his brows only to receive a dark expression from the detective. "Ah, Is she your special lady then?"

"Okay you two can stop talking about me like I'm not here."

"Is he your bloke?"

"Get off of the bar." Roni and Weaver both spoke in unison, heads shaking at the exact same time.

Gaz looked from the two of them then chuckled. "Y'know, I could do both of you? We could 'ave a threesome?"

"I'm cutting you off." Roni reached and grabbed the empty glass of his, turning on her heels and heading for the sink set on cleaning it.

Chapter Text

"Dinnae tell me yer daft enough ta have a go'a me, ya wee shite." The words spilled from Begbie's lips before he could even give a thought or two about any coppers or the fact that he had escaped his prison cell once more. Having turned up in this city looking for a new start away from his mates, away from the drugs, away from it all only to find himself in a bar on a night like this with some daft punk who thinks he could best him at a game of who can kick who's ass harder.

"I-I'm sorry, I don't know what you just said."

Roni chuckled, shaking her head and hoping that she wouldn't have to bring out her baseball bat this early in the night. Narrowing her eyes, she went back to cleaning the tumblers that had already been used, opting for closing shop early if she could get through the next thirty minutes without having to break anything up. But before she could even finish two glasses, she heard it - the tell-tale sign of a chair breaking. Glancing up she saw the man with the brogue wailing one of her, used to be full assembled chairs, over the other man's back and head and anywhere else he could reach while a group began to form around them all yelling and cheering. "Okay.. okay.. break it up you two." She called out but to no avail, the fight continued on as the one with the brogue began yelling at the man, holding him up by the throat and squeezing so much that Roni thought the guy would pass out. Gripping her bat, she walked around the bar and bounded for the commotion. "HEY!" This time she growled, bat raised in the air and her shoulders squared, feet planted on the floor in a wide stance. "I said break it the fuck up!"

Begbie released the sod, eyes wide and set on the beauty before him. The way she stood, the raise of her voice, the sheer fucking fearless expression on her face. All of it sent his blood rushing south and fuck him if he didn't want to grab hold of her in that second - so he did. He reached forward, gripping her neck and pushing her back against one of the tables closest to them. "Tryna have a go'a me, are ya? Fuckin' sexy as 'ell, yeah? Wit yer teeny bat raised n'all? Show ya a gud time, ye ken?" He pressed his lips to hers then and he could have sworn all the way up to the roof that she opened her mouth, but the second his tongue slid into hers and began stroking whatever it could - he was shoved back, catching himself on some poor bloke. "Fuckin' cunt, out ma wey." He pushed the bloke to the side, waling his fist twice against the lad's shoulder. Roni raised her bat and slammed it at Begbie's back, only furthering his anger.

"Fuck this." She turned and headed for the bar. "Stop it or I'm calling the fucking cops!" And in the second her hand held up her cell phone, the man with the brogue stopped. She watched as he made his way over to sit on a bar stool, relenting both phones, she brought a hand to her throat. "Ever do that again and I'll cut your balls off, got it?"

"Ah ken, Ah ken." He nodded, reaching a hand back to caress his shoulder. "Fuckin'am sorry. Dinnae wut came o'er me."

"Glad you're apologizing. Maybe work towards getting better at knowing when a girl wants your tongue in her mouth and when she doesn't."

"Eh. 'bout a wee drink?"

"Sure." She grabbed a clean tumbler and filled it with scotch whiskey then settled in in front of him. "Unless you fight more when drunker than you are now."

"Ah dinnae star't."

"I think that means you didn't start the fight, right?"

"Eh."

"And that is yes or just like eh, I can't answer that."

He nodded then and spoke in an exaggerated tone. "Yes."

"Good for you." She turned then and went back to cleaning the glasses.

"d'ya ave somethin' for me aye?" He pointed towards the split above his brow, crimson glistening in the bar's bright lighting. "Ah'm Begbie, by the wey."

"Roni. Nice to meet cha." Putting down the clean glass, she took one of her dry dish cloths into her hands and grabbed the first aid kit behind the bar before rounding towards where Begbie sat. He turned to face her, allowing her to get closer by spreading his legs just enough so she could stand in front of him.

"Yer a fuckin' dime, know tha'?"

"A dime, that's nice." She's swiping at the blood on his brow with an alcohol pad when he reaches around her and grips her ass cheeks, kneading them with the palms of his hand. "And you can stop that anytime now."

"E'er 'ad a prick up yer ass?" His voice was low, like a growl as he thought about it - the image as clear as day in his head, bending her over the bar top and going at her ass like it were a fucking buffet. "Ah ken fuck ya good n proper, eh?"

"Want to fuck me good and proper too, Oi?" Weaver stepped up to the two of them, eyes falling to the white knuckles currently tense against Roni's jean clad ass.

"n' who'r ye, ya prick? Cannae see me n tis' kitt'n is hav'n ah wee chat?"

"Why don't you an I have a wee chat?" Scoffing, Weaver began to shrug off his jacket, placing it on an empty stool before giving Roni a look that said this wasn't going to be pretty.

In all truth, she hadn't caught the first punch or the second. Weaver had pulled Begbie off of her in one swift motion, dragging him to the ground and all that she could see next were blurred arms and legs, both of them entangled on the floor, fists hitting flesh and bone. I'm going to need a bigger first aid kit. She thought as she made her way back behind the counter, not even attempting to stop the two from fighting seeing as it wouldn't help with Weaver being a detective and all.

Chapter Text

The best place for a murderous barber had to be an up and coming city. Right? Barney thought it all to have been pure and utter shite to think he could come to the Americas and sit in a bar like some normal ol' chap with his ever the good barber glint in his eyes when in reality he probably likened more closely to Sweeney Todd. The current bar he had found himself within held the charm of days past and in some ways reminded him of home, if it weren't for the crap music being played in the distance. His eyes caught onto someone who looked to be sporting a haircut of atrocious proportions with tapered sides and back and a long front; Barney almost thought to offer him a free one just to make his efforts with some female a little more on his side. Currently though, the woman seemed to feel the same about him as Barney did the bloke's hair.

He tore his eyes from the disaster and set them on the glass in front of him. He had come in here thinking it would be one of those bars that are loud and there's too many people —. So much so that you have to basically push yourself through a crowd up to the bar; he had been pleased to find that not the case. But now — as he sat looking into the murky depths of the beer in his glass, he longed for noise — so long as it wasn't noise filled with police. He couldn't handle the police; Not after what had happened to him back at home in Glasgow.

"I'll be there in a second." Roni called back to the bar at Weaver who was currently blotting the area in which one of the stitches above his eye had come loose; having not won the fight against Begbie the night before. "Refill?" She asked the man sitting alone at a table in the corner, the sight had caused her to come over here in the first place. He looked to be on his own more than a few nights that he had come in here and she couldn't take the sight. The man nodded, so she poured a generous amount into his cup before adding "There's a couple of stools up at the bar..you know if you ever.." She knew need wouldn't be the right word here, or the encouraging one either. "..want to chat."

The voice sent a chill down his spine as he looked up to find the most perfect haircut he had laid his eyes on since arriving here. Her chocolate curls settled along her face, framing it as if it were a work of art and Barney had to admit — it was. From the curve of her lips to the sweet honey of her eyes; he felt enamored. "Aye, tha's very kind." She flashed him a smile before she went back to the bar. He watched her scoop up some ice cubes into a cloth and place them against the brow of someone at the bar, that someone he noticed had a badge hooked to his belt.

Shite.

Barney downed his beer and shot up, glass in hand as he hurried out of the door and onto the sidewalk. He had made his way down the street a good few paces before he realized he had left the bar with his glass in hand — he couldn't take this with him! Turning quickly, he hurled himself in the direction of the bar only to have slammed against a bloke twice his size — shattering the glass completely. Barney mumbled a few apologies before bending and picking up a few of the larger pieces of glass into his hand, only when the large bloke began to try to help, Barney shouted something about being able to clean up his own messes and a sideways thank you before he thought he heard the man call him a name not suited for someone of his stature, so he pushed himself up and hurled his hand against the chest of the larger man in an attempt to get him to stop trying to help out of spite. Only to find, OH NO!, somehow the larger shards of glass in his hand had went into the man's chest. Blood! It was there again, seeping through the man's shirt and Barney hurled himself against the brute with immense force, trying to stop the bleeding only to push the shards in deeper and the more the man whaled, the more anxiety began to rise in the barber's frame. He pushed him into the alleyway, and as much as it pained him, he pulled out a pair of scissors from his pocket with trembling hands he plunged it as deep as he could into the man's chest and the sounds were no more. He hoped no one heard that - no he prayed no one heard that.

"I see you have found yourself in a predicament." A cold voice echoed through the darkened alley.

Barney tilted his head in the direction from which it came, only to see a shadowy figure — the darkness not allowing him to make out any of the features. "I-I-I can explain." He held his hands up as if expecting to look innocent, only to find crimson dripping from the digits.

"Wipe your palms on his clothes. I'll get rid of the body."

"I-I can't trust ye with tha'"

"Yes, you can. Have you read the newspapers?"

"Aye." If Barney were being a complete arse about the entire thing, he would have told the guy to sod off and let him deal with it on his own, but the current trembling going on in his limbs and the fog of anxiety in his brain was currently causing his thinking clearly part of his brain to grow strained and tired; all shite problems and dead man in an alleyway aside.

"Then you'll know that I'm very hard to catch. Giving the police a right old time."

"But yer, yer won' kill me?" Barney had every right in his mind to think that this shadowy figure would come after him next, should he decide that whatever shite he did with the body wasn't good enough or what if he needed another and had Barney killing for him? His frame trembled even worse than before at the thought. Not another dead person, he couldn't handle it. He thought these days had been behind him. He even planned to open up shop here. Everyone needs a good barber, yeah? Yeah.

"No. You're feeding me after all."

What in all that is good and holy! Barney gasped, his features contorting into that of shock and fear and disgust. This man was eating them? EATING? That was almost nearly as bad as his late mother attracting victims via ads and slicing them up, labeling them, putting them in her freezer. But eating them? Sure; she had made jokes about stews and this or that, but surely... Barney's stomach did a right old flip as he turned to wipe his hands on the man's shirt, wanting to remove himself from this situation as soon as possible considering there was someone on the police force inside of the bar anyway.

And without further ado; he ran. He ran back to his hotel and tried to get the image of killing — yet again — out of his head and hoped that he wouldn't hear knocks at the door for fear of it being the police or this serial killer that was currently afoot in Hyperion Heights.

Oh that poor Bartender; he thought. Having a glass missing then what if the shards were found with blood on them? Would it link her back to the murders or was this serial killer better at hiding it? And what about his scissors? Oh shite. Oh bloody shite.

Chapter Text

Pure piss; The sky had belted down the heaviest ran that Hamish had ever seen in a city like Hyperion Heights. He'd only been here, what? Three hours? And even now it reminded him of home and he missed it with a burning ache deep in his heart. Lochdubh, could be said to be too small by dwellers of a city such as this, but to him it had become a home all in itself. As if it were a big castle with a family molded together by time and not blood.

Especially not blood, such as the type in which he was currently keeping his eyes on.

He had been called to this awful city of smog and muck to assist Detective Weaver in an investigation of a serial murder that had been occurring. The evidence was something to revel at. The bones on the poor sod were seemingly picked clean. His clothing, ripped to shreds but the murderer had left behind a wallet — all money and cards left in tact, clearly not a robbery. "This is something." Hamish shifted on the balls of his feet, hands coming to rest along his hips. He hadn't even had time to change into a uniform fit for this city, still wearing his uniform from back home. "And they are all like this?" In truth he would rather have Detective Weaver crack the case, so if he ever could figure it out — he would have to leave hints or traces to lead Weaver to discover it lest he give the higher ups a reason to promote him or bring him on permanently to the police force here. That would be the last thin he desired, for home was his true calling — not some high profile detective or what not.

Weaver groaned, squatting next to the remains and running the back of a pen through the clothing shreds to shift them around as to see if anything could have been left. The crime scene had already been photographed, dusted for fingerprints and some parts even collected for DNA. "Yes. Every single one of them."

The caution tape had been stretched all down the sidewalk, keeping prying eyes at bay and warding off the area for the afternoon.

"Back the fuck up. I'm fucking coming through. Don't give me that shite eating grin you two ton stack of pish! I'm Danny fucking Devine and I'll knock your fucking teeth so far down your fucking throat you'll have to shite them out all week long you fucking wanker, fucking move!" A loud mouth bounded his way up the alley, hands in front of him as if he were ready for some kind of fight and in most ways, he was. Danny Devine had it on good authority that he needed to see this fucker and make sure it wasn't one of his men that owed him a shit fuck ton of cash. But sure as shit, as he pushed some shit wad out of the way and dipping his hand down to scoop up a wallet, prying it open and glaring at the shit eating grin staring back at him — he let out a howl of anger. "Fucking wanker, getting knocked off at a time like this. Utter shite! Bet he practically begged to get had by some out of his fucking mind shit faced cocksucker who showed him who the cock of the fucking walk is, right good and proper. Fucking halfwit, arsefuck, good for nothing motherfucker getting away with my cash and now wha? Wha do I do about this? This shite? A dead man with nothing but bones left? Can I fuckin' milk em for the money he owes me? Pick em up and start playin 'em like some fucking flute for spare chump change? Twiddle me fucking fingers over the marrow and make coins fall from the tips? No! No I fucking-"

Weaver gripped the whining man by his jacket, practically pulling his feet off of the ground as he pulled him back down the crowd and tossed him in the direction of an officer, shooting a look of 'try that again and i'll Flay you alive' in the man's direction. "We'll be taking you down town for questioning seeing as he owed you money, Mr. Devine."

"Fucking shite, you think I could do something as tasteless as pull skin and muscle from bone? Are you fucking halfwit? Are you drinking the fucking koolaide in this city? In bed with the killers and shite trying to pin this fucking-"

Weaver walked away, allowing his useless slew of words to trail off in the background as he sidled up beside of Hamish, hands going into the pocket of his jeans before shooting the man a look of 'can you believe that prick?' Which Hamish shrugged in response, having seen more than his fair share of drunken rants on Friday nights even if it wasn't Friday and Danny hadn't seemed drunk.

"Come on, let's get you a drink before we head back to the station. It's going to be a long night." Weaver all but groaned as he placed a hand on the young man's back and helped guide him up the street to Roni's Bar, set on getting just the thing they would need to dig into this investigation with open minds — Alcohol and a look at that gorgeous smile of the barkeeps.

The inside of the bar sent a warmth along Hamish's spine, all tingly and ghost like as he took in the setting. The lighting alone reminded him of home, though nothing could ever be just the same — he was fairly sure the beer or whiskey here would taste different too and the woman, the barkeep, well — she was a beaut if he had ever seen one. Not his type though considering he was a taken man, spoken for and happily too with baby and all. Speaking of, he needed to make sure when he arrived back at the hotel to have something in hand for the two of them, flowers or something. God, things had worked out well with Isobel - Hadn't they? Beaming now as he walked up to the bar, he gave the woman a nod. Weaver having motioned for two whiskeys, they were quickly nestled in front of the two.

"Who's this?" Roni asked, taking to wiping down the counter as she talked to the two that were clearly on duty though the outfit the unknown officer was wearing seemed to put him completely out of place.

"Hamish Macbeth. He's come a long way to help aid us in our investigation and thanks to the poor guy in the alleyway, we have a long night ahead of us."

"There's a guy in the alley?"

"Dead and all." Weaver admitted, receiving a look of shook from Macbeth in return. "It's okay, I share tidbits with her often."

"Do you? Is she your wife?" Hamish was sure he hadn't noticed any ring on either of the two and at the blush that soon formed on the pair's cheeks, he was clearly wrong in asking the question in the first place.

"We'll drink these and be on our way. You seem to have a full house today." The detective glanced around, downing the whiskey with such strain he feared he wouldn't get it down without sputtering whiskey all over the place. But thankfully, he did, and in due time seeing as Hamish had seemed to try and open his mouth again. "We're off." Hamish looked surprised and quickly downed the rest of his whiskey with a cough, clearing his throat as the burn became a little too harsh.

"I'll be here if you need a night cap."

"Thanks, Roni." He waved off, practically pushing the young lad out of the door and onto the street. He wouldn't comment on it either, nor would he try and set the record straight seeing as he was sure he had caught onto it. "We have a uniform back at the station for you while you're here. You can change into it as soon as we're back."

"Thank you. I'll just need to give Isobel a call to let her know I'll be late tonight."

"Not late, per say. You'll be home come dawn, surely. If you even get to go home."

"I need sleep, but sleeping at the station shouldn't be a problem." In fact, he could remember spending time in the cell back at home or falling asleep at his desk. It really wouldn't be too much of a change. "What about Danny?"

"I'll question the prick. Leave his kind to me, it's good to make men like him sweat and think they're close to being thrown into a cell for the rest of the night."

"Do you torture people like that often?" Hamish chuckled, he could tell this partnership was going to be one of great fun - despite the circumstances in which he had been flown out here.

"Oh yes. In fact worst, but you didn't hear that."

"Hear what?" He nudged the detective as they made their way into the station, both with grins forming at the edges of their lips and minds set on finding out who has been making a feast out of the residents of Hyperion Heights.

They had both been unaware of the figure that had been tailing them the entire day, watching and waiting to see if the two men put on the case could come even close to cracking it. In fact — this had been better than toying with many poor souls — making them join him in ways of the wendigo. Oh great jolly old fun.

Chapter Text

Those fuckers, the fucking pigs who thought it right to man handle him and throw him to the wolves, make him sweat his arse off at the station in a room with the brute of them all, that Detective Weaver. He knew he didn't like him from the get go and son of a bitch if he didn't prove him the fuck right. Now here he was, sitting like some fucking duck in a room full of wolves waiting on the barkeep to refill his glass with whiskey that fucking tasted like golden piss. "Fuckin' hell, can I get a refill?"

Roni nodded, bringing the tip of the whiskey bottle just above the glass and pouring in a considerable amount. He had been in here only a few minutes and this was his fourth whiskey for the night. But after last time, she knew he didn't really take being cut off very well. "Rough day?"

"Fuck aye. Fuck all of a day, I'll tell ya. This prick of a detective has me in this room, righ? An I'm sittin' there with my hands on my fuckin cock yeah, might as well 'ave, and waitin to for him to bound through this door. He does. Asks me questions about Tanner. This brute of a fucker who fuckin' owes me more money than the Queen has in her fuckin palace and I'm all — Not me. I would kill him with my bare hands, not pick his bones clean with whatever the fuck the mad as hell fucker used on this poor arsehole. And I hope he stabbed him right up the arse when he killed him, fucked him with a fuckin knife or some shite and made the fucker think 'oh i should have dealt with Danny and not tried to hide from him'. Yeah, suits him fuckin' right, it does. Right in the best way, so it is."

"You don't believe in not talking ill about the dead, do you?"

"Fuckin aye, why the fuck would I want to talk up about that fucker? Blow air up his no longer existing arse or tickle his fuckin balls for him?"

Roni sighed, pushing back away from the bar and setting the bottle back on her shelf, clearly not set on answering the lewd comments he was currently spewing in her direction. Goodness, if he kept it up like this anyone who knew the guy could possibly kick his ass all the way from here to the police station. In fact, she was happy to hear that Weaver had made him it and stew just a little while before apparently questioning him in a manner suitable or a police station and not some warehouse even if the guy seemed to deserve that right now.

"Maybe you can help me, though, you know?" He asked, leaning forward and downing the whiskey in his glass.

"With?'

"I'm lookin' for this rather big and mean lookin' fucker. Got into a brawl the other night with some copper right in this very little fuckin bar of yours."

"Begbie?"

"Tha's him, aye, you know where he stays?"

"No, but he's trouble. I really don't think you could take on a guy like that."

"Aye. I fuckin' can. You 'ave no fuckin' clue what I can handle little lady. No fuckin' clue, do ya? No! I'm Danny Fucking Devine, I kick arse on a daily basis. I ran over-" He halted a moment before realizing that he needed to be careful due to the rumors floating around with her being friendly or more so with a copper in town. "-fucking bears that look bigger than Begbie. I can take 'im."

"Fine fine. But you really should be careful and not hit poor unsuspecting bears."

"A figure of fuckin' speech, woman!" He exclaimed before motioning for another refill, which she obliged with quickly. He happily took the glass into his hands and downed it again, groaning at the burn as he swiveled in his seat, catching sight of some lone fucker in a booth all by himself. Odd one, that, he thought before pushing himself off of the stool and striding over in his direction. "Aye, fuckin' in need of spare cash? I can lend you some, of course you pay it back with interest, mind you."

"No, Thank you." The man replied, eyes not lifting from his drink, his hands were clasped infront of him as if the fucker were in mid thought or somethin'.

"You sure? This is a fuckin' sweat deal, trust me."

"No!" He exclaimed, clearly on edge as he pushed himself out of the booth and practically ran out of the door.

Fuckin' weirdo; thought Danny. He didn't need to likes him to be in business with. Too jumpy. Too timid. Reaching down he gripped the man's glass and downed the drink. Fuckin' ale, it was. Useless and boring. But it would do for now until he could get back to his glass and continue to try and persuade the barkeep to refill it until the image of the detective was out of his mind. That and that fuckin' pile of useless fuckin' bones that belonged to Tanner.

Chapter Text

He had fallen asleep once again inside of the warm confines of Roni's Bar in Hyperion Heights. This had become a common thing for him the past few weeks as he found comfort in the stillness of the area in which the couch was situated and Roni had kept her promise to make sure no one had bothered him. Even when Eli or the others would stumble in, needing assistance with something that Rush wouldn't have wanted to assist in — she had turned them away and jotted down a note, sticking it near his papers where he would find it when he would awake. Today was much like that.

As his body slowly jolted upright, hands going to his face and removing the glasses that had been settled on the bridge of his nose, he wiped a hand along his sleep filled eyes and looked down at the mess on the table. Papers were scattered, ink blotting along the edges in form of his fingerprints and pens galore making an odd looking halo of sorts above it all. He reached for the whiskey and downed it in one gulp, instantly regretting it as his throat burned with resistance at the liquid. Groaning, he placed the glasses back on the bridge of his nose and picked up one of the notes that had been stuck to the top of the pile. Apparently Matthew had come in and asked if he could get Rush to come down to the garage with him, seeing as the guy was giving them a hard time about the price of the repairs. That he could do, happily, but it had been the lot of them who had put them in such a place as this. Now they had been stuck for longer than he cared to admit and his time at the base was looking to be further and further away with each problem the mechanic found wrong with the vehicle.

Pushing himself up onto his feet, he stumbled over to the bar, shooting Roni a grateful smile in return for her assistance in helping him get some sleep. "Thank you, I needed that."

"No problem. What is it you're working on over there?"

"Something for my classroom. I'm a teacher." He couldn't very well give her any details about Destiny or her whereabouts or the fact that he had traveled on a space ship that was light years from earth. Even if he had every intent of going back, it was that very inclination that made him keep his lips closed when in regards to what he does for a living. "Can I borrow your phone?" Roni nodded, placing her cell onto the bar top, not seeing a need in making him walk to the corner where the public phone was since he had just woken up from a long nap. He had come in when it was light outside and now that night had fallen, he seemed well rested enough. Rush dialed the cell of Matthew only to have it ring relentlessly without anyone picking up on the other end, disappointed - he phoned up Chloe, knowing she would at least pick up for him. And when she did he quickly barked through the receiver "What trouble is it with the price? We have plenty of money to pay the guy, right?"

"Well with the hotel and travel expenses and such, most of us have already spent more than we could on this alone and to be honest, Matt is right, the guy is fucking us over."

Rush chuckled, the fact that even she was believing it made the predicament true, apparently. "And what is Matthew saying now?"

"I thought he was with you?"

"If he were, I wouldn't be calling you for the details, would I?"

"I guess not. He left hours ago. We haven't heard from him since. Hold on and I'll have Eli call his cell."

"No need, I've done that already."

Just then the doors to the bar flew open as Hamish and Weaver strode up to the bar. "Did this man come in here?" They were holding up Matthew's identification card and that alone caused Rush to jump up.

"What's happened to him?" He had been cautious enough to hold a hand over the speaker of the phone to keep Chloe from hearing the conversation just in case he had done something stupid.

"You know him?" Weaver asked, turning towards Rush as Roni had begun recounting what the young man had said earlier when he came in to Hamish, who was writing every word down.

"Yes. I do. What's happened?"

"He's dead..Mr..."

"Rush. Nicholas Rush."

"Would you mind coming to the station with us so we can ask you a few questions?"

"Of course. Gladly." He raised the phone back to his ear and spoke calmly to Chloe. "I am going to call you back once I have all of the details, but don't go looking for him." Despite the protests on the other end and endless string of questions, he hung up and followed Detective Weaver out of the bar while Hamish wrapped up his questioning of Roni.

Chapter Text

He had just come back from two funerals that he presided over. The first had been interrupted by some man who kept yelling obscenities at the coffin while the police dragged him away. The second had been odd, people in uniforms he had never seen before had attended followed by the entirety of the group getting into official looking black vehicles and insisting on actually taking the coffin with them instead of burying it. They did so and it seemed they left town with it.

Currently the father was sitting next to the detective he had become close to over the time he had spent here and sitting on the other side of him was Roni, who had given him a club soda flavored with orange and topped with mint garnish. It was delicious and he was sure there was more than orange in the drink considering the flavor that had stayed on his tongue felt like it had a hint of cherry. Brilliant, that one, he thought as he took another sip - savoring the delectable taste that really did make him favor it over that of whiskey or any alcohol beverage he had ever used to slick his thirst.

"Such a shame." Roni stated, eyes staring off into the air as if she expected her words to just conjure up the reasoning in murder, the reason the man she had spoken to had to die at the hands of someone as cruel as the serial killer currently making their mark on this up and coming city. "He was so young." She of course was referring to the young Matthew. She had no idea who Tanner had even been nor had she ever talked to the man before, or at least what she could remember.

"Yes, it is a shame." Father MacAvoy heaved a heavy sigh, his torso visibly lifting and falling at the force of which he pulled the air into his lungs and pushed it out. He wanted to scream when things that this happened, when murders as savage and as ruthless as the ones of late caused good people to just sit and ponder on the why and the how and the reason behind it that they would never be sated with knowing. Or at least from his experience that had always been the case.

Weaver leaned his head against the bar's cool surface, allowing it to chill his heated flesh. He was visibly throwing in the towel so to speak, happily wanting to raise a white flag in an effort to get some shut eye considering he couldn't even get that much lately. The paperwork on his desk back at the police station was calling to him, the streets were screaming to be searched, and yet his body was weeping for the comfort of his bed with the warm company of someone who could help lull him into a sated bliss right before nodding off to sleep. The likes of the current murders were grating on his mind and the last thing he felt like doing was walking back into the muck of it. Hamish had been helping more than not and he couldn't even begin to thank the young lad for all he had done to keep half of the paperwork off of his desk. Hell, Hamish was currently out trudging through the streets and getting information that Weaver should be currently soaking up as well.

He pushed himself from the stool with a great big sigh and ran a hand along his face, fingertips rubbing at the sleep that had collected at the corners of his eyes before he huffed out "I'll be heading out, again. Back later." And that much was true. He had come in on more than one occasion every single day this week and it wasn't for official police business that was for sure. The bottle and Roni had become his only solace in dark times like these.

"Take care of yourself." Father MacAvoy said, placing a hand on the detective's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. He watched as the man nodded before heading back out into the cold world. He wished he could relieve everyone of the stress currently wracking their brains and he knew, more than anything, that if the police looked like that — that would mean the residents would be worried sick, afraid to be alone at night considering the amounts of murders were slowly doubling or tripling now. "I think I'll do a door to door visit, try and raise some spirits. Offer my services to those who might feel better walking to the store or so on with someone by their side."

Roni shot him a smile, a hand reaching to grasp his own. "That sounds like a great idea, Father. If you need help, you know you can call me. I'll be here. Pouring false courage to those who seek it."

"We both have our work cut out for us." He joked, even if the laughter from either of them didn't follow. And with that, Roni went back to tending the bar while Father MacAvoy set out to make the world an easier place - or so he hoped - for those who were in need of a helping or caring hand.

Chapter Text

The city was abuzz and he could practically feel the vibrations of nervous heartbeats throughout the streets. He had caused this, the terror and panic surging through worried frames, the shock and awe effect from those who wouldn't be caught dead walking in a dark alley at night. Every sound that filled his ears felt like music, the best waltz anyone of his stature could hope for.

He wanted to howl at the moon in triumph. Craved to beat his chest with blood drenched fists in a barbaric fashion and claim his reign as the mad king in a city of doomed souls. He wanted to feast on them all, one by one until the city that had once thrived no longer had a pulse and dwindled down into nothing more than a ghost town - devoid of any human for he would be the sole inhabitant - feasting and dining and lounging where he saw fit. Of course until he ran out of food, then he would move on, bring his terror down on some other place meant for horror and hell.

As he pushed through the doors of Roni's bar, he found himself stalling, eyes raking over the barkeep's frame in a hungry fashion. The first time he had met her, she had peaked his interest and now that he could smell her fear, feel her hesitation with everyone inside of these four walls — he wanted to devour her. The thought of pulling flesh from muscle and tendon, separating and bringing blood to the surface — "Hmm."

"Bourbon?" Roni asked, looking up at him as he settled himself in at the bar on one of the stools. He nodded with a grin plastered on his lips that could cause the dead to roll over in their graves. She placed a tumbler in front of him and poured a more than generous amount of the liquid into it before turned to assist other patrons.

Ives watched her, closely, noticing how the muscles in her back and arms pulled taught with each bottle she took off of the shelf, how she worried at her lower lip when she worked thinking no one would notice, how her curls flitted across her cheek bones in a manner that sometimes caused her eye to twitch. When she turned back to him, he caught her eyes. Slowly, he dipped two fingers into his bourbon and brought them to his mouth, lips opening he lifted his tongue as he placed the digits against it and closed his lips around them, sucking on the bourbon. Even if she might not have meant to, he saw her eyes set on his actions and her mouth twitch at the corners. Curious and feisty; he thought.

"Do you make it a habit to finger your drinks?" Roni asked, gripping a dish cloth and stroking it along the bar top to appear busy rather than just standing around and gawking at the patrons.

"I only do so when I find something worth..fingering — as you so delicately put it." He grinned again, lips pulling back from his mouth and fingers dipping now to swirling in his glass, purposefully trying to bring her attention to the action as they lightly grazed the edges. It did just that, caught her sights and he could have sworn he saw her tremble just slightly when he reversed his actions.

When her detective friend made his way up to the bar, Ives halted his motions and watched as her attention had been ripped from him and laid onto the one person he wanted to bite into more than her — but for completely different reasons. Pretending not to notice him, he took to licking his fingers once more before working on downing the contents in the tumbler. The latest newspaper caught his attention as it was thrust in his direction, looking up he noticed it had been that same detective he hated who had set it there. "Thank you?" The detective nodded before going back to the conversation that seemed to have Roni and him both in a mess of emotion. He could catch hushed tones of words, like murder and alley and dangerous. If they only knew.

Eager eyes raked over the black ink on the front page, noting how pictures that were used weren't nearly as gruesome as the crime scene itself and that same photo of Weaver had now been accompanied by a photo of a younger man, the one they had flown in to help aid in finding their 'serial killer'. The journalism was shoddy, once again, at best and he couldn't help but try and stifle a yawn as he skimmed through the words on the page. Where was the thrill? Where were the eye catching sentences meant to send chills down spines and breath to catch in fearful throats?

He tossed it aside, distaste filling his features as he mumbled something along the lines of the police needing to catch the evil doer before he could do more damage — seeing as he found it strange that the detective would give him such a paper, then pushed himself from his seat and headed towards a booth in the corner where he was sure to find the one person he could befriend in this city. Barney Thomson was an unlikely ally, but watching him ruthlessly stab a man with scissors just to shut him up — well that made room for improvement and he wanted nothing more than to take the man beneath his wing and show him the ropes of how to be a true feared predator instead of a shaking, shivering mess of a man.

"Barney."

"How-How do you know my name?" The eyes that looked back at him were wide as saucers and he could have doubled over if he wanted to, but laughing at a time like this would only prove to make the man distrust him or dislike him. After all, no one likes to be laughed at on any occasion.

"That is of no importance. I have a favor to ask of you. Sort of like the favor I will continue to give you when and if you should need it." He was insinuating that if the man ever had need of disposing of any dead body — he would give his assistance, and watching as the realization dawned on the barber's features was marvelous.

"I won't be needing it, at least I hope I won't."

"The favor I need to ask of you. Are you ready to hear it?"

He waited for the approval and once the nod was given, Ives slid into the booth opposite of Barney and clasped his hands in front of him on the table, much like Barney's were only with slight more panache. "Do you remember the man who walked up to you not too long ago? He offered to loan you money." Barney nodded, swift and quick as if he were worried someone could see him doing so. "I need you to rile him up, get him in an alleyway alone...Can you do that?"

"I cannae kill 'him. I cannae do it."

"I do not wish for you to kill him."

"You cannae kill him, not wit me there."

"I do not wish to kill him." He waited a beat, then added "So will you do this for me?"

"No killin'?"

"No. No killing."

Barney nodded then, conceding that he could very well do the deed of luring him into an alleyway easily. Hook, line and sinker. If Ives could howl with triumph right there in that moment, he would. "Thank you." His words were dark and smooth like a good bourbon as he spoke then pushed himself onto his feet, deciding to leave the barber to his thoughts since he had interrupted them in the first place.

Chapter Text

He had begun losing count of the hours he had been awake, long gone were the days of sleeping in and rolling over to find a warm body next to him, one that belonged to that sweet bartender with more bite than bark. Groaning, he pushed himself up from his desk and began to make his way through the precinct, noise and clatter threatening to cause the throbbing in his temples to push over the edge.

"Calm down." He hissed in the direction of someone currently in the process of being booked once again. Fourth time this month, they had however been in the hospital more times than that.

"Wa was tha?" The reply came back as officers began to try and grip him, pull the perp back and yet he slipped through, gripping Weaver by the balls and pushing his chest as far against the detectives as he could. "Yew think yer oll powe'ful but yer no."

Weaver set his jaw, the pain shooting up through him but the iron clad grip wasn't all that bad, just enough to cause that throb in his temple to quicken. "Kindly unhand me, Nosty."

"No one is comin' to yer rescue, eh? Not wun of em pigs.." He snorted, trying to — what Weaver guessed — sound like a pig oinking, but of course it wasn't quite working out like he wanted it to. "...minds that me? I 'ave m' hands on yer gonads."

Rolling his eyes, he reached down and gripped the wrist belonging to the digits around his jewels, bent it back enough for the grip to release — then slammed him hard against the wall. One of Weaver's hands went to the fuckers throat, the other he balled into a fist and slammed it against the one area he knew that Nosty had brought a bottle to recently. "If you want us to continue this game of taking you off the streets during harsh winters, you might want to rethink how you grab detectives." He spat, watching as Nosty groaned and hissed each time he applied pressure to the healing wound. "Got it?"

Releasing him, he began heading towards the back, ignoring the snark remarks that the perp was currently hurdling at him and the 'hug my rod' requests he was having at with the other officers who were just cackling at how ridiculous Nosty is.

Pushing through one of the doors, he walked up to a table where a man who was said to have a good eye or what the fuck ever sat hunched over, mulling through the evidence collected from the crimes that were currently sweeping Hyperion Heights up in a frenzy. What Weaver hadn't brought him, he noticed, was newspapers dating back two months as well as cases that were forgotten that dated back two months as well. "What do you need those for?"

"Research." Nicholas Rush hissed, not even bothering to look up at the detective as he continued reading a list of missing people in the surrounding area.

"Yeah, I can see that." Weaver leaned forward and put a hand on the paper that Rush was reading, forcing the man to look up at him so he could bring up the reason for his visit. "Humor me, Nicholas."

"Dr. Rush, will be fine."

"Nicholas." He ignored his request as he continued what he was trying to say. "I find it weird when I try to access your file that I can't ever read it. I've typed you into the database, there's something there but when I click.. "

"That is obvious, is it not?" The man who desperately was in need of a good shave pushed himself onto his feet, the chair causing an uncomfortable screech as it slid along the floor. "You don't have the clearance." Leaning forward, the man who didn't seem bothered by intimation at all, sized up the detective and then with a tone that was devoid of any emotion said "Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do."

Some higher ups had brought him in after a funeral of a colleague of his. Ever since then, Weaver had the overwhelming urge to know what was so special about the man and why, without any signs of proper police experience, was he currently aiding on the case now. If the FBI or CIA were behind him, backing him, keeping his records from Weaver's view — that would mean the question of if he could do his job or not was up in the air. And that didn't sit right with him one bit.

Fuming, he turned and pushed his way back out of the door, making his way towards his office and fighting every inclination to hurl his fist against any perp getting booked. That would be police brutality and a complete overstep of his boundaries; he reminded himself before he made a detour, pushing past his office and instead out on the street, feet headed for the bar and the comfort of someone who could calm him.

"Need to take the edge of?" Hamish slid up beside him, having ran to catch up to his partner. "Just thought of that myself."

"I could use a drinking partner." Weaver sighed before bounding in through the bar, eyes finding the side view of Roni who was currently pouring a large glass of whiskey and handing it to a person who seemed really in need of a confidence boost. "Roni. Whiskey."

"Comin' right up." She placed two tumblers on the bar top and filled both for the two of them. "Bad day?"

"You could say that." Weaver answered as Hamish made a mumble of sorts, taking to his whiskey before the detective could.

"Who're you?" Hamish asked, placing his tumbler down against the bar as he watched the man with trembling hands set down his own glass and give the two of them a look that resembled a deer in headlights.

"M-m-m-" He stammered, eyeing to gentleman as a new set of tremors wracked his frame. "B-B"

"Barney. He came all the way from Glasgow." Roni informed them, reaching forward and placing a comforting hand atop the trembling one against the bar, which automatically stopped the second skin met skin. "He's new here, has a bit of a shy demeanor but he's a good guy. He's offered to help me clean up after work. Loves to sweep, apparently."

"Does he?" Weaver asked, a smirk forming on his lips. He hadn't seen a guy so nervous in years. But over talking to the two people who are sworn to protect? Then again..he could recall some shit that had been happening in other parts of the world and he decided to give the guy an easy time. "That's nice of you, Barney. If you ever find yourself in need of help, the police station is just down the street."

At the visible stress just talking to the man caused, Weaver gave a huff, then downed the rest of his whiskey, motioned for Hamish to do the same. "See you, Roni." He said before pulling his partner towards the door and out onto the street. The second a flash semi-blinded him, he held his hands up and reached out for the prick. "What have I told you, Tom, about snapping my picture? Hmm?"

"Nothing, detective. Not one thing." The son of a bitch held his hands up as Weaver tried to see through the blotches in his vision.

"Try again." he hissed, tightening his fists on the lapels of his jacket, shrugging off Hamish's advances to dislodge him from the journalist.

"Always the vision of sunshine and roses, aren't cha Weaver?" Tom Ward, a man after a story regardless of fabricated or truthful was currently pushing buttons he knew would one day lose him a few fingers or a few cameras. Still, he persisted, for the good ol' smell of ink drying on paper.

"Fuck off." He pushed the journalist against a building and turned quickly in the direction of the station, all the while shoving Hamish's hands out of the way. "When I'm doing something like that?"

"Eh?"

"Leave me fucking to it and keep your opinions to yourself. That prick has been asking for it since day one."

"What's he do?"

"Publish shit articles, fabricate details, gets too close to crime scenes and shoves that damned camera in my face any chance he gets." Tugging at his jacket, he pulled open the door to the precinct, shooting a scathing look over his shoulder at Ward before the door closed shut behind Hamish.

"Weaver! Finally you show up. Wondered where you had gone. We have a noise dispute that came in five minutes ago and-"

"You couldn't handle it?" He asked Jones in a tone that said he had considered himself done with this day five hours ago.

"It's weird. They reported your place, where you live. Do you have anyone staying there?"

"No. I don't. Thank you." Wrenching the report from the man's hand, he gave Hamish a look that told him exactly what he was about to say before he said it. "If you're following me to check this out, you'll not interfere with what I do to whoever I find."

"Understood."

Chapter Text

Suits him fucking right, so it does. Begbie stood fully dressed on the bed that belonged to the pathetic detective, glancing around at the destruction he had caused in the small as a fuck flat. Clothes were strewn about, shampoo and shaving cream coated the furniture and cum glistened along various items such as a pile of his underwear, a stack of adult magazines and if he leaned back just enough he could glance at the mess he had made on the dining table. Now, now that he had enough time, he was going to cum on the fuckers bed and pillow — leaving his mark just to let him know this would soon be his town and he would have that bar wench, of that much he was certain. With swift movements, he yanked the zipper on his jeans down and reached in to pull his cock out.

But as he took himself in hand and began pumping, he found himself completely flaccid. "Fuckin' prick." Closing his eyes, he imagined the bartender with the hair as soft as-well he wasn't quite sure what but fucking hell it had to be soft... He imagined bending her over that bar-top, listening to her coaxing him to keep going, to show her how to be fucked right. So he would pull her jeans and panties down to reveal, what he imagined, was one of the best asses he had ever seen on a woman. And oh fuck, now something was stirring.

Leaning his head back, he began pumping a little faster now as he imagined licking the palm of his hand before reaching between those thighs of hers and cupping her from behind, her sighs only causing him to want to hurry up and get inside of that sweet sweet ass. But he's not a seflish prick, no, he would play with her for a bit, help get her ass hot and bothered as he was and then - right when she was close - he'd stop and grip himself, give a few pumps before he would dip his fingertips to her core and slip her juices back to her tight ring of muscle, coating it then coating his cock. The image was taking too long and so he skipped until he thrust in, balls deep, arm wrapped around her waist as she began moaning and groaning against the intrusion - but after a few thrusts-

"Mmm, tha's ni-e. Real ni-e. Fuckin' tigh as 'ell. Fuckin' ya good and proper. Mm." He imagined her calling his name as the detective would have walked into the bar, all loud and sexy like someone who had the best fuck of her life and he couldn't stop shooting his load all over the bed if he wanted to. He didn't want to, he wanted it all over where the fucker slept and lived. So he aimed, aimed for the pillow and the sheets and with a smile on his face, he reached down to get some get on his fingers so he could place it on the snooze button of his alarm clock.

"Hey, hey. We, we gotta go, we got to go now." Stevie burst through the door and began peeling open the window near the fire escape.

Steve had big dreams before came across Begbie. He wanted to sell boxer shorts and socks. That shite. Begbie remembered laughing in his face for what seemed like ages before he finally told him if he was looking for good work, he needed a partner to help him nic a few things here and there. The fucker agreed so long as Begbie was good and wouldn't get caught. Begbie told him that if they found themselves in trouble to leave the pigs to him and he would go to the sticker and he wouldn't have to. They had been inseparable since.

"Aye, Ste'ie?" He put himself back into his jeans, zipped them up and hopped off of the bed, striding towards the younger man quickly. "Pu' 'is apar'men' righ', yeah?" Stevie nodded, the good bloke, as they slipped out of the window and out onto the fire escape, closing the window behind them. As they made their way lower on the, descending towards the alleyway, Begbie heard the voice of Weaver having entered his apartment - finding the total destruction he had left his place in.

Steve and Begbie were laughing so hard, they could scarcely run as they made they way from the scene and through the streets of Seattle.

When they made their way to Roni's bar, Begbie adjusted himself inside of his jeans while giving Stevie a look that said more than he was willing to; it was high time his partner in crime got to see the dime waiting for him inside. "Le' me do tha' talkin', ya ken?" When he nodded, they pushed into the warm confines of the establishment and Begbie gave that gorgeous barkeep a look he thought was screaming hot and bothered when in reality, Roni thought it looked like pure trouble.

"You're not going to start throwing punches, are you?"

Begbie held up his hands and then gestured towards Steve. "m'ere to wet 'is whis'le, kitt'n."

"What's your poison?" She asked, leaning forward and placing two tumblers on the bar in front of them.

"Anything cheap. I'm a little skint."

"Aye, I 'ave it." Begbie placed fifty dollars down on the bartop and wiggled his brows in the direction of the brunette before giving her a wink for good measure.

"Okay, so what will you have?" She asked as she turned towards the shelf of booze.

Begbie gave her more than a once over and allowed his eyes to linger on her round and firm ass, his hands were itching to grab and knead the flesh tucked into those tight jeans of hers. "Beer." He choked out, trying to keep the hard on in his jeans from raging. He should have known not to take those pills again. But fuck, he had a point to get across.

"I will take the same. Thank you."

Roni turned, took back the tumblers and replaced them with pints - pouring the amber liquid into them generously.

Chapter Text

Get Danny Devine to an alleyway? How in all that is good and holy was he supposed to do something like that?

Barney began to fidget with his hands as he moved the broom along the floor in Roni's bar, eyes trained to the ground and yet he couldn't see what he was doing. Which happened to be a very poor attempt at cleaning up a mess of peanut shells scattered beneath his feet.

The getting him riled would be the easy part, Barney wagered, the barber had always been good at making people either upset or completely disinterested. But not with Roni, the bar owner, she had always made it seem like his little ventures in belting out his feelings were all okay and absolutely understandable. That bar owner sure was becoming someone he wouldn't mind being friends with for the long haul, especially if she continued to flash him that smile that made him feel like his existence was worth more than a good or bad hair cut.

"Barney.." A soft voice pulled him out of his reverie, causing him to jerk at the palm pressed against his shoulder.

"..s'you." He sighed out, trying but failing to give a smile in the direction of Roni.

"Are you feeling okay? You look like you're leagues away from here." Her soft hands reached for the broom in his and took it out of his grasp, slowly guiding him towards one of the empty stools at the bar. "Is something bothering you?"

Yeah. I'm afraid I'll cause the demise of yet another human tonight if I'm not careful. Oh, and I've somehow obtained the watchful eyes of a cannibal and I'm afraid he'll eat my ass if I turn against him. "No. Nope." He sighed, clasping his hands together on top of the bar. "You?"

"Oh come on. Give me more credit than that." Her brow quirked up and that did something to Barney's stomach. He wanted to be good, a nice guy, someone that a person like Roni could trust with closing up the bar and not find a dead body on the floor by morning. "What's going on in that head of yours? Are you home sick?" She leaned forward on the bar, scooting a scotch filled tumbler in his direction. He nodded before reaching out and taking the glass in hand, trying but failing to finish it in one gulp like so many had done in those films on the television.

Sputtering on the liquid that burned down his throat, he gestured towards the floor and tried to speak over the lump in his throat "I need to get back to tha'"

"It's fine. I'll clean up later." Nodding, she reached a hand out to grasp his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Take the night off."

He needed an alibi. "No!" He said a little too hastily as he ripped his hand from her regardless of the need to keep it there basking in the warmth. "I'm going to go to get back to it. I think that was just what I was needing." He pointed towards the tumbler. "And of course your kind words, Roni. Always your kind words. Thank you."

"Anytime, Barn." A nickname she had given him after they had talked for five hours straight the other night. This was a friendship he did not want to muck up. Let alone accidentally kill her one night while trying to clean up.

He turned and began pacing along the floor, grabbing empty cups and brushing more peanut shells onto the floor to be swept up. Before he knew it, the boisterous noise of Danny Devine filled the surrounding area with a groan in response from Roni.

"What does it take to get a fuckin' good lay here? I need someone with—" He sauntered up to the bar and leaned forward, clearly drunk before coming here. "—your tits."

"Yeah, okay. What can I getcha, Danny?" She rolled her eyes as he shifted his weight from foot to foot before raising his brows and slurring his answer.

"Mm, Wwhisssmey."

"You're not that bad off, stop acting like you are." Roni groaned, putting a tumbler in front of him and filling it with the amber liquid. "There you go."

"Fuckin' a. Thanks, love." He took the glass in hand, dropping the overly drunk act as he brought it up to his lips, giving it a sniff before locking eyes with Barney. "What are you lookin' at you puff?"

"I-" He waited for Roni to start talking to another patron before motioning towards outside with his eyes, rather obviously. Danny though, lucky him, caught it and gave a nod and sniff before placing his glass and one hundred bucks on the table and then sauntered back out of the door onto the street. Barney tried with all of his might to walk towards the back, slip out, close the door and then head towards the front without being noticed. "Psst" He motioned out at Danny who was standing outside, smoke billowing from his lips as he lit his cigarette before turning in the direction of Barney and heading towards the alleyway.

"You in need of a fuckin' loan, you weasel?"

"Yeah, yeah, a lone. I need five thousand pounds.." Scrunching up his face, he then corrected himself realizing that he was in the states now. "...erm...dollars. Right now."

"Five-"

"Thousand." Barney nodded, bringing his hands together at his front as his eyes flitted across the darkened alley in a nervous manner. He felt uneasy as he pushed for a result that his unwanted friend might desire. "Now."

"Are you a fuckin' dumb ass or wha?" A shit eating grin spread along Danny's mouth, lips pulling back to reveal teeth as he brought his hands close to Barney, ring clad fingers wiggling in his direction before pointing accusingly. "What do you take me for? Huh? A fuckin' piggy ass bank you can stick your prick in and push coins out of? Do ya?"

"nnn-" He wanted to disagree but that wouldn't send the man into a rage, so instead he squared his shoulders like those men in the westerns he had seen on the television lat night and spat out "YES!"

Oh shite, oh shite. He thought as Danny's eyes went wide and his fingers closed around Barney's throat, shoving the barber against the brick wall of the alley, mouth coming dangerous close and smelling foul with whiskey. "You little shite, you fuckin' prick, dumb as shit, I will cut you! I will cut you into tiny little fucking pieces and scatter you over the tits of-"

Danny's words were cut off as a thick band of a garrote wire wrapped around his throat. Not piano wire, Barney noticed, seeing as it hadn't cut into his flesh and instead was cutting off his air supply. Ives stood behind him, tongue sticking out to the top of his mouth as he watched the man known as Danny Devine fall to his knees. "Very nice, Barney Thomson."

"He-he will be okay, yeah? I cannae.."

"Danny Devine is going to be just dandy, Barney. Now run along, keep up your appearances."

What Barney caught next was Ives removing a thing of tubing from his bag and placing it into Danny's mouth after he positioned him against the brick wall. The man was unconscious, what was Barney's friend doing?

Upon the look that Ives shot in his direction, Barney decided to high tail his ass out of there right then just in case his friend became the predator and made Barney his prey.

Chapter Text

Barney had done the part he had been tasked with very well. Luring him, riling him up, and getting Danny Devine exactly where Ives wanted him. He had to get out of town soon, the more bodies adding up the less likely he will be able to keep up the charade. Not to mention, this town — this enchanted place seemed to have many more means of locating culprits than where he came from.

Ives could taste the crimson that had been at the back of the ear,smell it even now as it was making it's way down the tube and into Danny's stomach. And as he began to pull out the tubing, he almost got lost in the idea of devouring the remains he was to leave beside of Devine for the police to find — if it were not for the shuttering noise that pulled him away; he might have allowed himself a simplest of tastes of marrow that clung to bone.

Glancing up, predatory eyes followed the little vermin, watching as he thrust a camera into the backseat of some metal horse and sped off. Luckily for Ives, he knew the wonders of a license plate now — the television having had many programs for opportunists like him to take in what exactly it took to get caught. By police or anyone in particular who had internet access. This enchanted place sure had it's perks.

"Vile creature." He muttered, tapping the unconscious Danny on the cheek before tossing the tubing into the satchel around his person. In truth, the cursing and foul language that left the odd man was very unsavory. So pinning this on him, would be entertaining but not one person in this town would believe that this man had been running amuck; killing and eating his way through the residents of Hyperion Heights. At least it would stall the police force for him long enough to get under that detectives skin and rid himself of a vermin in the process.

He tilted his head back against the brick wall and then went about placing the carefully planned scene, putting the finishing touches on this bland setting for the pigs to find and fret over, to give themselves a reason for living another day.

Standing back, he gazed at the scene with contempt. Nothing was perfect but it would do, he wasn't the kind to make everything precise anyway, was he? Sure, pretending to be someone he is not works well — but the scenes, it gets muddled and lost in his thoughts and desires.

Removing his gloves,he thrust one hand into the satchel around his body and produced a plastic baggie. The humans used these for packaging goods or food, but tonight — he would use it to hold his bloodied gloves that were best with him and not in the hands of the law.

He left the scene then and took to the streets, walking in the direction of where the metal horse had went, tracking down the thing and hoping it would be easier than tracking a camp of fur traders down a riverbed.

Apparently, metal horses are nothing like the beasts from his world seeing as not but half an hour in, he found himself lost and darting from one sidewalk to the other, more than frustrated at the pollution in the air clogging his senses — fading his predator instincts.

As he thought he should find one of their libraries to get access to their internet; one of those very metal horses pulled up beside him slowly and as the window rolled down — the sweet and delectable scent of the barkeep wafted through the night air — causing his lips to throb.

"Are you lost?" Her sweet voice called to him, begged him to taste her and devour every inch of her savory soft skin. "Need a ride?" He just nodded because he no longer trusted himself not to let out a growl of claim instead of any appropriate sentence.

He paused as she pushed open the metal horses cage door and allowed him inside. It was warm, like the confines of skin freshly plucked from a body. "Thank you." Tilting his head in appreciation, he noted her smile before she began to steer the polluting contraption. "If you could take me to a library."

"Interested in expanding your knowledge?" She asked, turning onto a street that looked to be littered by houses and businesses alike, Ives could not tell the difference between each of them. He nodded at her question, telling a little lie in order to not come right out and say that he were looking for a vermin who caught him in the most precarious of situations this night. "Not sure how much it has to offer, but I do hope you find what you're looking for." That was when the metal horse halted and she leaned back in her seat, curls irritating one of her eyelashes.

Ives reached forward and brushed it out of the way, calloused thumb raking along the apple of her cheeks before he gave her a simple smile and then — left the cage. As he watched her leave, catching the silhouette of her in the metal horse, he wondered if she could smell the latex on his skin or if he had distracted her senses by his touch. Bringing his thumb to his lips, he pushed past them and began to lick at the taste of her, the scent only faint on his skin.

His stomach ached in hunger. But he had more pressing matters to attend to.

Chapter Text

He came to with that ugly mug of Weaver's staring right into his fucking face. Sweat collected on his brow as he brought a hand to his stomach, the contents churning as he felt the heat in his frame rising. He shoved the fucker out of his way and fell to the right of the alleyway, the remains of some bloke's body squishing beneath his trembling hands as he hurled the contents onto the pavement.

Gasps emitted from around him and then that asshole, Weaver, pulled him roughly to his feet. It wasn't until he was standing that he caught what it was that he had thrown up. An ear. "Fuck me."

"You have the right to remain silent.." The Miranda rights were being read to him as every fucking thing began to slow down. He tried to remember the night before. He had drank a bit, not nearly enough to cause amnesia, and his throat was killing him. Was there a mark?

That Barney! "I was fuckin framed, you fuckin dimwits, I'll fuckin fuck you so hard you won-"

"Shut the fuck up." Weaver hissed, pushing him into the back of one of the patrol cars that he would not be driving to the station.

Danny spent the entirety of the drive there, through booking and the escorting to his cell spilling as many vile words from his lips as he could all the while claiming his innocence.

The second he turned to face his inmates, he grimaced. Fuck he knew both of them. JoJo had spent all of his cash on heroin, having wasted away to little of nothing and still owing Danny well up into the thousands of cash. The prick. And Sergei. Oh, how could he forget the pusher of women and the like. He sells in sex and had once tried to offer him one of his women in exchange for a little extra cash on the side.

What is he supposed to do with that? He had no need for exchanges of women for cash. That was useless and fucking ridiculous.

Fuck, his stomach was churning still.

"McCann. Karpovich." He pushed his thumbs into the loops of his trousers and walked towards them, hips forward to assert his dominance in a way he thought would work. Sergei just looked directly at his crotch and gave a chuckle. Meanwhile JoJo was currently laying back on the floor with his eyes rolling. Clearly arrested before the shit could wear off.

"He's lost in high land." Sergei gave a smug look in the direction of Danny, clearly finding his response funny. Danny didn't. He fucking did not. And neither did he like that fucking accent of his. Who the fuck did he think we was? The fucking mafia?

"You owe me money, fucker."

"I don't care." Sergei shot him a look, a smile that spread from ear to ear and he wanted to bang it into the cell wall.

"What was that?"

"Danny. Danny.." Sergei pushed onto his feet and stepped over JoJo, hands coming to rest on Danny's back. "I'm looking at-years here, I no longer owe you... shit. Cannibal."

Oh, word traveled fast. "Unless you want me to eat your fuckin' face, you still owe me ma fuckin' money!"

JoJo burst into a fit of giggles, rolling over onto his side and hugging his arms to his chest as he pushed onto his feet, stumbling until his back was against the bars — eyes on the two men in front of him. "Look it..you two...fuckin' stand ther' 'n all worried aboot money. I'm lookin a' death 'ere.. I took too much." He rasped out, limbs quivering as he began to wildly bat his lashes.

"You are not dying." Sergei sighed out, turning to face the shivering man. "Trust me. I have seen verging on death and you my high drúga are not dying today."

"No?" JoJo laid down, hating how the poison was causing his body to react and not exactly giving him the relaxed sated feeling as he had hoped. The fucking shit must have been cut with something.

Sergei shook his head as if he could control if JoJo died or not. Danny chuckled, then shook his head and pointed at Sergei "You owe me. And you, he's right, you're not dying today JoJo because you also owe me. You fuckin' dumb shit sacks."

"Okay, okay. Break it up. Danny, come on." Weaver opened the cell and tugged Danny out into the room, shutting the iron barred door behind them as he escorted the loud mouth down the hall and towards a room where he could ask him a few questions.

Once inside of the white room, Danny turned livid, refusing to sit as he began to pace the room while Weaver closed the door. "I was fuckin' played, conned, it was a fuckin' fluke or or it wasn't me!"

"I know." Weaver stated, taking a seat at the table in the middle of the room as he leaned back and raised his brows. Danny couldn't help but get pissed at how comfortable he seemed after making him sit in a fuckin cell and get arrested when he KNEW HE WAS INNOCENT.

"You fucker!" Danny launched himself at the detective, who quickly avoided his grip and managed to bang his head against the table, pin him to it like some fuckin' rag doll. "Let me the fuck go! I have rights! I have fuckin rights you piece of cock suckin shite!"

"Yeah, you have rights and you've cleared pissed off someone who doesn't like you. So who do you know that could have done this to you, Danny?"

"Barney!" He cried out, wriggling beneath Weaver's hand as he tried to get himself away from the table.

"The guy who sweeps at Roni's bar?" The detective's voice was laced in confusion as he lifted his hand off of Danny's head, allowing him to stand up right and brush himself off.

"If his name is fuckin' Barney then yeah!"

Chapter Text

He could hear the sound of the vehicles as they drove past the cramped apartment, the headlights casting a spotlight glow throughout the semi-dark space and sending his nerves on a sizzling dance that caused more than just a tingling sensation. Sated eyes searched through the space, glancing at the words written along the walls on pages that were taped to brick -- a true journalists home. That is; if the journalist was any good at what he wrote.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Roni’s mouth hung open as she watched her dreams go up in smoke, all of her savings, every penny she had thrown into something that was gone now — all thanks to those who liked to take other people’s hard work into their hands and squash it.

A soft hand pressed against her back, right between her shoulder blades. “I can go house to house and we can rebuild.” Father Joseph stated solemnly. He had become a good friend to her over the short time he had spent in Hyperion Heights. Not to mention, now he had begun his own little parish right in town — so his following would surely grow.

Barney slid up next to the two of them, tears stinging his eyes as he reached out a tentative hand and curled his digits along Roni’s. “I 'ave some money I can give to rebuild it.” The offer was sweet, but Roni couldn’t take his money. “Did you have the insurance and whatnot on the place?” She shook her head. The cost of insurance was steep and she was barely making ends meet as it were.

Weaver walked over to the group and gave both of the men a look of appreciation at their consoling efforts. “It’ll be okay, Roni. We’ll get it mended.” He knew he could get the force to help with the rebuilding. Especially now that the case was closed and Hamish as well as Nicholas could go back to their lives and leave Hyperion’s finest to the every day normal cases like traffic tickets and corrupt idiots.

“Thank you.” Was all she could manage. Roni knew she would have to give in at some point and allow others to help that wanted to. Because without her bar, she felt lost, like a part of her was missing.

Four Months Later.

“Okay okay, break it up you two!” Roni called out to Weaver who was currently arguing with Barney over who cheated during a game of dominoes. Both of them well onto their way to drunkville.

Rodgers was in the corner discussing something with Gaz about the lessons the guy had been teaching at some dance studio down the street, all the while Father Joseph was trying but failing to teach Danny how to not use a curse word in every sentence when speaking.

It hadn’t taken as long as they thought it would to get the place back up in fine shape, even if there still was much more work to do, Roni felt her life slowly coming back together. She had accumulated a few people she could trust and whom had helped her at her lowest, just as she hoped to do whenever they were in need of a helping hand.

Barney slid up behind the bar, leaving Weaver to cool off as he began to help stack some bottles of alcohol on the shelf, beaming at Roni in the process. “It’ll be even better than before, Roni.”

The former barber had become a partner in the bar now, having poured some of his savings into helping rebuild, and so Roni treated him as such. “Now that we have a bigger team, yes it will, Barn.” She gave the man a pat on the back before turning to make her way towards Weaver. “How’s it going at the station?”

“JoJo finally is out, probably turning back to drugs again. Nosty is happy for the warm weather, so we haven’t seen him in a while. Begbie is being transferred as well as Sergei. We can’t hold men like them at our station and they have a long time before they will see the real world again."

“I can’t believe Begbie would kill all of those people and in such a grotesque way.” Roni stated, disbelief etching her features as she sat down across from Weaver at one of the booths. Sure, the brute seemed to not know how to treat other people around him but he never truly striked her as a murderer -- especially not one that might consume their victims as the police had said he did.

He just nodded as he turned his attention to the television they had installed in the new bar, eyeing a report about an armed vehicle getting pulled over and two inmates escaping custody, now on the run and should be feared due to one being a cannibal.

“Fucking Ives.” He hissed out, knowing why having Begbie free would aid the man in his work across the globe. But he couldn't place a reason for letting Sergei go as well.

“Huh?” Roni asked, not understanding what Ives had to do with the discussion.

“Nothing. Just wondering why he hasn’t shown his face around here in a while.”

“Probably feels bad about what he did to my neck.” Roni stated, not knowing that Weaver was more aware of what Ives were capable of than she was. When he nodded, she leaned in and claimed his lips with her own.

“Get a fuckin’ room if yer goin’ to suck face like tha’!” Danny called out with a groan, causing Father Joseph to sigh and hold his hands up in the air as if he were giving up on getting the lad to not cuss every breath he took.

Fin.