Work Text:
i.
There’s a week’s worth of press conferences after they catch the Origami Killer. It’s only two days before Jayden notices that Ethan Mars can’t knot his tie worth a damn.
“At least we know you wouldn’t have hung yourself in prison,” Jayden says. The thing looks like a tangled cord on one of the venetian blinds back at HQ. It’s not pretty, but at least the guy shaved.
“What?”
Ethan’s checked out, distant like before. There’s an absent calm in his eyes replacing the terror Jayden remembers. Better than desperation. He’s thinking about Shaun, probably. Safe back at home.
He’s earned that much. Jayden got top billing as the hero on this case, all the publicity. Precious few know the whole truth. The lengths Ethan Mars went to, in order to save his son.
“Just running my mouth,” Jayden says. Gallows humor. Reality calls for a different perception filter than ARI. Sometimes he forgets the difference when they blur together. “Come here a second, will ya?”
He fixes Ethan’s tie in seconds, folding the polyester in crisp, easy motions. Silk would’ve held onto those wrinkles forever. Jayden can appreciate when a man’s clothing backs up his lifestyle.
It’s obvious no one’s ever done this for Ethan before, because he stares at Jayden the whole time it’s happening, trying to make eye contact. Desperate to focus on something that isn’t himself for a change.
Jayden knows better than to take it personally. He keeps his attention on the knot, over and under. After spending days in the company of blowhards and people who can’t wait to tell him what they think, it’s almost a relief—this quiet.
“Have you done a lot of these?” Ethan asks.
“My fair share,” Jayden says.
It’s unclear, but he’s pretty sure Ethan isn’t talking about his tie.
Sure enough, he swallows, eyes darting to the press conference door. He’s shaved recently, leaving a red nick under his jaw where the blade caught skin.
“Just tell the truth,” Jayden says. He braces his hands on Ethan’s shoulders, not sure which of them he’s steadying. As far as advice goes, it’s not the worst he’s given. “You’re real happy to have your son back—and the details of the investigation are police business. Easy.”
“I killed a man,” Ethan says, so low it’s like an afterthought.
It isn’t. Jayden knows that much from experience.
“Who hasn’t?” Jayden says.
Chief Perry opens the doors to the conference room. When Ethan flinches there’s no telling whether it’s their conversation or all the flashbulbs going off.
ii.
They meet for a follow-up some afternoon, while Shaun’s in school. Ethan can’t trust a sitter so he isn’t much for evenings. Jayden doesn’t know what the ex-wife situation is. He’d rather be locked in a windowless elevator with Blake than ask.
So: the afternoon. Coffee. A little hole in the wall where the barista’s got a ponytail and a tattoo sleeve of Maurice Sendak illustrations up his forearm. Ethan almost goes through the couch when he sits on it, sagging springs straining to the hardwood floor.
Starbucks it ain’t. But Ethan’s trying to keep a low profile these days and Jayden can’t exactly blame him.
The only thing more unbearable than the silence is their stilted small talk, peppered by the hiss of steaming milk. Jayden’s withdrawal kicks in bad after about twenty minutes. He reaches for his paper cup just as his muscles spasm, fingers clenching. The hot drink goes over.
It isn’t even what he ordered—a vanilla latte he took rather than complain—but Jayden still would’ve preferred it in his mouth than in his lap.
“God damn it.”
As he jumps up from the table, Ethan laughs. He honest-to-God lets out a snort like he’s been startled from a deep sleep, half-awake but not yet conscious.
It’s not malicious, even if it is a slap to the old ego. It’s almost enough to make Jayden want to stick around, see what else he can coax out. But he’s got second-degree burns on his balls to investigate, and only the bathroom seems like an appropriate refuge to paper-towel himself dry.
He splashes cold water on his face. He counts to ten—only makes it to five, staring himself down in the mirror.
When he gets back, Ethan’s already done most of the grunt work in sopping up the damage at their table. Knowing him, it’s penance for laughing.
Jayden’s not so sure he didn’t imagine that now.
“Sorry,” Ethan says. He looks it too, big blue eyes and a sweater that smells like damp wool instead of a dumpster. He’s come a long way from when they first met. “It’s just—I’m usually the one who does something like that.”
“Well,” Jayden says, “don’t say I never did you any favors.”
He surprises himself when he sits back down, sticky pants and all.
iii.
There is no way, Jayden suspects, to casually air suspicions about your own deteriorating mental state.
If anyone would get that it’s Ethan Mars. But he’s unaware that there’s anything to get, and currently that’s how Jayden prefers it.
The official stance on his leave of absence is injuries sustained while subduing the Origami Killer. Because the form you fill out when an ex-Marine gone to seed nearly crushes your skull in with a sledgehammer is still a better option than full-on retirement.
Jayden just needs some time to think. Ethan’s quiet and he doesn’t ask questions. Neither of them has anywhere else to be, most days.
“I’m not exactly Mister Popularity down at the precinct,” Jayden says. He feels like he needs to explain himself, even if Ethan’s never asked.
“Yeah,” Ethan says. “Me neither.”
He smiles at his own joke, the status they share. Well thought of, but only at an arm’s length. Everyone loves a hero. It’s just that no one wants to hear about blackouts and visions, hallucinations and Tripto.
Jayden doesn’t exactly blame them. He’d forget it all if he could.
Maybe he will in the end. There’s that to look forward to, at least.
“I’m thinking about getting a new place,” Ethan says. His attention’s back to the drafting board, shoulders hunched over a sketch. Jayden leans against the far wall and lets his eyes slip shut. “Start somewhere fresh. Where the reporters aren’t camped out twenty-four-seven.”
“Vultures,” Jayden says.
The soft scratching of Ethan’s pencil makes bright colored lines across the backs of his eyelids. He crosses his arms over his chest and squeezes tight until they disappear.
iv.
“Have you ever shot anyone?” Shaun asks.
They’re at the new Mars family kitchen table, chairs too high for his feet to touch the floor. Jayden stirs cocoa powder into milk. For once, his hands don’t shake. Ethan’s the one who looks like he’s about to blow chunks and pass out.
They share a look, but it’s unclear. Jayden’s out of practice on blind reads. A muscle in Ethan’s jaw twitches under the day’s worth of stubble he’s built up. He’s frozen halfway to doing the dishes. Not exactly helpful.
Jayden makes the call.
“Once or twice,” He sets down the hot chocolate, watching fake marshmallows bob up and down like bloated faces in muddy water.
“Bad guys,” Shaun says. It’s not a question. Bad guys aren’t a question of their lives anymore, but a reality.
“That’s the job,” Jayden reminds himself. For better or worse.
v.
“I thought he was asking me,” Ethan says later. “I don’t—I didn’t know how to answer.”
It’s late, past the time for visitors. Ethan’s new place is bigger than his last one. Nice, but the high ceilings make everything echo and the tall windows make Jayden antsy. He should get back to the motel.
“That’s pretty messed up, right?” Ethan rubs a hand over his face, palm scratching against his chin. “When lying to your kid’s the best option you’ve got.”
“Don’t sweat it.” Jayden shrugs. “You didn’t have to lie.”
“Yeah, because you were here,” Ethan says.
Special Agent Norman Jayden saves the day again. Killers caught, children’s questions answered. He should put that on his business card. Play up his versatility.
The space in the hallway narrows, perspective shifting like one of Ethan’s blueprints gone haywire. Jayden’s head feels clear, though. There’s nothing strange in front of him but Ethan and before he can catch himself he’s lifted a hand to his cheek.
His skin’s cool, but not clammy. Real, then.
“Don’t act like me saving your ass is something new,” Jayden says.
Ethan’s shoulders go up, like he’s at the drafting table. He smiles at the floor.
vi.
The real victim of the Origami Killer case is Norman Jayden’s wall-ball score.
He can’t defend it and he sure as hell isn’t replicating it in real life.
These are the things an out-of-work profiler thinks about. His vacation’s starting to feel more like life. And he’s pretty sure that’s how the problem with ARI started.
There’s three new texts on Jayden’s phone when he gets out of the shower. A couple from friends at the bureau and one from Ethan Mars.
Shaun’s with Grace for the night. Maybe we could get a drink?
Jayden goes over the possibilities in his head, examines the coefficient of variation on a night out with Ethan.
Your place.
He hits send too quickly, forcing him to follow up. You can’t take me anywhere, you know.
vii.
Staying in creates less clearly delineated moments of opportunity. There’s no cramming together into the back seat of a cab, no awkward walk up to the threshold of someone’s house. Ethan meets him at the door and doesn’t quite get clear of the narrow space before Jayden steps inside.
They wedge together there for a second—half in and half out—with Jayden’s shoulder pressed up against Ethan’s chest.
“Sorry,” Ethan says. “Come in.”
“Let’s try that again,” Jayden agrees.
Second time’s the charm and he manages to get his coat off this time before Ethan steps on his foot. It’s progress anyway. The bureau would be proud.
viii.
Ethan’s finger’s on its way to being healed. There’s no need for a bandage anymore, but the scar tissue’s still fresh, red and angry against pale skin. That’s how Jayden feels going on a month after the investigation. Still exposed and a little raw.
There’s one of his old interviews on the eleven o’clock news. Ethan keeps right on flipping channels. Jayden would thank him for that, if he could only work out how.
There are a lot of little ways, common shortcuts people use to express gratitude. He could offer to freshen Ethan’s drink, for instance. Instead, Jayden parks himself on the couch, sitting too close to get a better look at the program guide.
“Eyes aren’t what they used to be,” Jayden says. And then some.
Ethan grunts, the pitch of it somewhere between sympathy and understanding. They’re not young guys anymore. He stretches his arm across the back of the cushions to make room. Jayden digs his knee into the side of Ethan’s thigh getting comfortable. They watch two-thirds of The Maltese Falcon, all the way up to the Fat Man, which is when Ethan starts sweating.
Sure, that makes sense. Jayden’s got his share of lousy memories surrounding private investigators too.
“You know what genre I think is highly underrated?” It takes Jayden a couple tries to get the remote without looking. “Romantic comedies.”
He changes the channel, ignoring the headache that settles behind his eyes from the flickering picture. Ethan’s arm slides off the cushions and around his shoulders.
Jayden would call him on his high school bullshit, but he’s too busy enjoying the moment.