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“Bring him in.”
The criminal is dragged through the corridors of the headquarters.
Fit steps out of his office and is met with the slightly concerned face of one of the front desk officers.
“What’s up?” he asks, and the officer takes a deep breath.
“We finally got him,” the officer explains - there’s excitement etched into their every feature. “He’s being taken to interrogation room three.”
“Who?” Fit asks.
“The one from Project Rose Bush,” the officer grins. “It finally paid off, we got him! He fucked up at the museum, and we got him!”
And Fit doesn’t respond. He begins briskly walking down the corridors, casting side glances at every officer and worker that stands excitedly awaiting a second glance of the long-awaited capture of the hotly anticipated thief.
“Chief?” one of the detectives blinks at him curiously as he straightens out his tie. “We didn’t think you were still working today?”
“Change of plans,” Fit takes the clipboard from the detective and runs his gaze over the scrawled notes. “I’m taking this interrogation.”
The detective looks as if he’s going to protest, but eventually chooses to just nod instead.
“First drink’s on me if you rough him up a little. Fucker’s been running rings around us for months.”
Fit presses his lips together for a moment. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, detective.”
The detective’s eyes widen, and he takes a step back. “Yes, Chief Detective Superintendent. Sorry.”
Though Fit’s stomach twists at hearing his full title, he doesn’t let it show, his poker face not lowering for a second.
Fit nods and watches as the detective scurries off to the nearest water cooler to probably bitch about him. He kind of likes being a healthy mix of feared and quietly appreciated.
As soon as he steps in the door, he immediately dismisses the officers standing on either end of the room.
“We’ll be outside if you need us, sir,” one of them mutters to Fit as they leave, the other leaves silently.
“No need. Just find the diamond.”
When the door shuts behind the officers, the criminal lets out a dramatic sigh.
“Way to keep a guy waiting,” he scoffs.
“Shut up,” Fit replies. He tosses the clipboard on the interrogation table and paces the length of the room a couple of times.
The criminal’s eyes track him.
“Strong and silent type today, hm?” he clicks his tongue. “I can work with that.”
“Shut up,” Fit repeats, and the criminal sighs again.
Silence descends upon them for a minute or two, with Fit pacing the room and the criminal watching him.
As always, Fit wins the silence battle.
“Well as much as I love our little talks,” the criminal says, and blows a bubble with his chewing gum that Fit isn’t sure why he’s been allowed to keep. “Have to say I feel like it’d be better if you spoke to me, you know?”
“Why would I talk to you?” Fit replies, and the fire continues to burn within him when the criminal smirks.
“Depends what you’re into,” he clicks his tongue. “Some of your detectives say it’s my looks, others my talents…”
“Talents?” Fit repeats, narrowing his gaze.
The criminal runs a finger across his bottom lip and winks. “Yup.”
Fit rolls his eyes. “Just take the mask off, let’s make this quick.”
The criminal laughs, it’s a surprisingly light, bubbly sound. “So fast? I’d love to, but…” he nods towards one of the security cameras in the corner of the room. “I don’t really want to share with your friends.”
Wordlessly, Fit walks the perimeter of the room and punches the glass lens of every security camera, and unplugs each one in turn.
He ignores the bleeding and tiny shards of glass in his skin, and wipes it against his jacket.
The criminal blows another bubble, and crosses his legs.
“And your other friends?” he nods towards the glass panel across one of the walls.
“It’s not a two-way mirror, don’t fucking flatter yourself,” Fit wipes his knuckle against his jacket again. “Like we’d waste a real interrogation room on you.”
But just in case someone does decide to try to disobey his orders, he walks over to the glass panel and taps rhythmically against it - a headquarters-wide known symbol to fuck off and not watch the boss at work.
And he’s pretty fucking confident he wouldn’t be disobeyed.
“Happy?” Fit asks, and the criminal purses his lips.
“I’m a lot of things.”
“I won’t argue with you there,” Fit mumbles.
He quickly turns the bright lamp on the edge of the table to reflect on the glass panel, making it impossible for anyone to snoop.
“Looks like it’s just us,” Fit walks over and stops in front of the other man. “Mask. Now.”
The criminal hums. “See, I would, but i’m otherwise occupied, you know?” He raises his handcuffed hands.
And so Fit rips the bright blue mask from the man’s face.
He casts another glance around the room to make sure they are most definitely alone and uninterrupted.
They are.
“For fuck’s sake,” he says, and huffs out a breath. “You let yourself get caught. Again.”
The other man shrugs. “Got bored.”
Spinning the mask around his index finger, Fit smirks.
“You’re so fucking whipped, Pablo.”
The other man watches Fit, with a calm and unwavering intensity.
Fit steps in front of him and ducks down, meeting the other man’s gaze - feeling very much like a predator finally catching its prey.
The other man blows a spearmint bubble with his gum, and Fit bites through it.
“Or, should I say, Pac?”
The other man’s eyes blow wide and Fit watches as he swallows thickly.
“Let’s cut to the chase, beloved,” he tosses the pet name so casually, yet dripping with vitriol. “Only one of us is walking away from this as a fucking hero.”
He pats Pac’s cheek, and leans in close again. “And it’s not going to be you, is it?”
They hold each other’s gazes for a while, the tension growing to an almost unbearable level.
Eventually, Pac smiles and shakes his head.
“How many times are we going to play this game, Fabio?” he asks, leaning back in his chair. “I steal something important, let myself get caught, we sit in this room and you run your mouth again until you need to release me with no proof, then we-“
“As many times as it takes for you to realise that I never lose.” Fit interjects, voice and expression deadpan. “No matter how long the game.”
Pac laughs. “Hm, I suppose you are used to getting what you want,” he tilts his head to the side. “Aren’t you, Fit?”
A chill runs down Fit’s spine, but he refuses to let it show. His fingers twitch ever so slightly, and so he balls his hands into fists.
Of course Pac knows - he has just as many connections as Fit does. Pac’s identity couldn’t stay secret to him, so it could only work both ways. He’s so deep in investigating Pac’s criminal background he supposes it’s inevitable that his secret identity would be blown, but he does find it interesting that Pac chooses right now to reveal his knowledge.
“Touched a nerve?” Pac asks, and bats his eyelashes in the most subtle of ways. “I’m good at that, aren’t I?”
And yes, Fit thinks to himself, Pac very much is.
But he’d rather die before admitting it.
“You’re good at fooling dumbass museum security guards who aren’t worth the pot they piss in,” Fit growls, slamming a hand down on the table. “Nothing more.”
Pac hums. “Keep going with that, Fitch, maybe i’ll believe you one day.”
He winks, and Fit wants to both blush and punch the living daylights out of the other man.
Fit walks to the other end of the room, faces the wall, places his hands against it and takes a deep breath as silently as he can.
“Now there’s the view i’m used to,” Pac comments. “Admittedly usually less…” he trails off for a second. “Clothed.”
Fit spins around on his heels and storms over, and forcefully tilts Pac’s chin upwards to meet his gaze.
“Are you fucking done?” he says through gritted teeth. “Trying to break me?”
Pac blows another bubble with the gum, making sure to tilt his head upwards a little more so that the edge of the bubble touches the tip of Fit’s nose.
“I don’t need to try, Fitchi,” he whispers, and brushes his foot against Fit’s leg. “Who are you really trying to fool here? Because I don’t think it’s me.”
Fit shoves Pac’s foot away and tightens his grip more.
“You know, it’s nearly cute. But when you play with the big boys, you’re gonna get hurt.”
Pac rolls his eyes. “You really think I need this? I have someone making me millions in a dark web auction right now with stuff I stole for fun last week,” he stretches out his legs nonchalantly. “You think I need this tiny fucking diamond from today? That’s what’s cute, you know?”
“If that’s true, why bother?”
Pac shrugs. “Decided to do my good deed for the week and let your officers feel good about themselves, finally catching the big bad thief Pablo,” he laughs. “You think I didn’t hear everyone cheering and congratulating each other when they brought me through? Adorable.”
Fit stares him down. “So what about me, where do I fit in your grand plan, genius?”
Pac lifts his cuffed hands and shakes them, causing the metal casings to clink against each other.
“Big bad detective Fit saving the day, finding where big bad Pablo hid the diamond,” Pac nuzzles momentarily into Fit’s hand, until Fit snatches his hand away. “It’s behind the school, by the way, a Pacman lunchbox by the sandbox.”
“A Pacman lunchbox,” Fit scoffs. “You really need a fucking better calling card.”
Pac shrugs. “And yet you always insist on wearing my Pacman hoodie after we-“
Fit growls and steps away, turning towards the door and casting another scathing glare at Pac before exiting the room.
He grabs the attention of the first officer he sees roaming the hall and orders a task force to retrieve the diamond.
He knows Pac is confident and arrogant enough to be telling the truth about its location. He also knows Pac’s not bluffing about not stealing the diamond for monetary gain - he’s seen firsthand the fortune Pac holds.
Once the task force have excitedly left the headquarters, Fit leans against the wall and runs a hand down his face.
He tries to exhale all frustration out of his body, and it almost works until he re-enters the room and Pac smiles and waves with his cuffed hands.
“Welcome back, hero,” he says. “They throwing you a party yet?”
“I don’t think either of us are here for fun,” Fit replies. “Who have you pinned the diamond on? Whose fingerprints are they gonna find?”
Pac studies him for a moment, silently chewing his gum. Eventually, he shrugs.
“Remember that guy that flirted with you at the bar last week?”
Fit rolls his eyes. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Pac shakes his head slowly. “You’re not the only one that never loses, Fitchi.”
Fit laughs, but there’s no humour in it. “You’re actually insane. Like, actually fucking unhinged.”
Pac blows a bubble with the gum and shrugs again. “Then that says more about you than me.”
Fit scoffs. “I have to be unhinged to be in this job, and deal with you as much as I do.”
Pac just watches him, and Fit walks back over to him.
“Listen to me,” he places his hands on the back of the chair, either side of Pac. “I don’t play well with others, and you’re really starting to piss me off.”
Pac smirks. “Oh, I know,” he flicks his gaze all across Fit’s face, lingering for a few seconds on his lips. “But that’s how you like it.”
The tension is broken by a heavy knock on the door.
Fit glares at Pac once more before leaving the room without saying another word.
“I don’t get it,” the officer says, running a hand through her hair and huffing in frustration. “The prints on the diamond are for a random fucking guy! We’ve brought him in but we,” She sighs. “We don’t have anything to keep Pablo in, worst fucking criminal name and we can never pin anything on him! How! He was at the fucking scene!”
Fit pats her on the shoulder. “We’ll get him one day, it’s a long game. You go get the discharge paperwork.”
She nods wordlessly and leaves.
Pac smiles and waves again as he re-enters.
“They caught the bad guy?” he asks with dramatic enthusiasm. “Are we safe now from the bad thief who doesn’t know to not take other people’s property?”
Fit bites the inside of his cheek and doesn’t rise to the bait.
He retrieves Pac’s mask from his pocket and fixes it back in place, maybe a bit tighter than necessary.
“I like where this is going,” Pac chirps, and Fit exhales in frustration but otherwise stays silent.
He then walks back over to open the door, and watches as two officers enter, unlock the handcuffs and stand behind Pac, ready to escort him out.
“Well, Chief Detective Superintendent,” Pac stops in front of Fit in the doorway. “Tchau.”
He leans in. “And remember,” he pauses to smirk again. “Gosto de você.”
And then after a subtle wink from beneath his mask, he’s gone. Leaving Fit with the annoyingly familiar flutter in his stomach and the burning desire to win a losing battle.
One day, their game of cat and mouse will end.
But as Fit’s gaze lands on the thin strip of plastic left on the chair, immediately recognising it as a security card to Pac’s penthouse suite - he’s not in a rush for that day to be today.
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