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“Well, well,” Pac says as he leans against the doorframe, leg at an angle high enough that his silk robe completely rides up, showing off his bare leg. He takes a slow bite of his half-eaten apple, ruby red. “Can’t say I was expecting this.”
Fit merely brushes past him and into Pac’s penthouse suite, only turning back for a second before sinking onto the sofa.
“Don’t read too much into it,” he mumbles.
Pac locks the door behind him and sweeps over, draping an arm over the back of the sofa as he sits cross-legged, facing Fit, the robe again leaving little to the imagination. His prosthetic glimmers in the light, buffed to perfection.
He hums for a second. “I mean, it’s a bit hard not to,” he shrugs. “You could be anywhere tonight, but instead you chose to come here?”
“There’s nobody else I can have this conversation with,” Fit leans his elbows on his knees and continues staring straight at the floor. “You’re it.”
“Part of me thinks I should be honoured,” Pac chuckles. “But I don’t suppose I should be?”
“You’re so fucking-“ Fit cuts himself off and takes a deep breath. “I can take you down with me if any of this gets out, that’s all.”
“Ah, of course,” Pac leans back and takes another bite of his apple. “How could I forget.” He licks his lips and smiles.
Fit stands and walks over to Pac’s luxury drink cabinet, pouring himself a particularly charitable portion of whiskey.
He swirls it around in his glass, staring intently at the liquid.
Pac spins around and rests his free arm over the back of the headrest, taking another bite of the seemingly neverending apple.
“So we’re talking?” he asks, an amused smile on his lips.
“I’m fucking getting there,” Fit mumbles, downing the drink in one gulp and refilling his glass.
“Take your time,” Pac smiles. “Though normally you don’t need any encouragement to get going.”
The latter is a mumble as he buffs his fingernails against his robe.
After his third glass, Fit walks back over to the sofa and sits down. Pac watches him curiously.
“Can you stop looking at me like that?”
Pac raises an eyebrow. “Like what?”
Fit grumbles. “Whatever.” He runs his hands down his face. “I’m not in the mood.”
Pac hums. “Yeah, I got that.”
He stands and gracefully sits beside Fit, draping an arm around his shoulders, only for Fit to immediately shrug him off followed by flipping him off.
Pac pouts. “I thought you wanted to talk to me, Fitchie?”
Fit snaps his head up.
“Why do you keep calling me that?”
Pac shrugs. “Because you always blush when I do.” He pokes Fit’s cheek, and Fit immediately swats his hand away.
“Look, it’s not the kind of thing I can just,” he sighs. “Say.”
Pac nods. “Do you want to sing it? Dance it? Act it out?”
Fit clicks his tongue and cracks his knuckles.
“I knew this was a bad idea.”
Pac rolls his eyes and tosses the apple core over his shoulder, somehow managing to perfectly execute a throw straight into the bin at the edge of the room.
“Like i’m ever a bad idea,” he scoffs.
“You’re the-“ Fit cuts himself off and shakes his head. “Forget it.”
“Oh come on,” Pac pouts dramatically. “You’re no fun tonight, you’re not joining in!”
Fit cracks his knuckles again, feeling the emotion overtake him entirely - drowning in his own head. He isn’t sure if he even wants to be saved.
“Would you be if a rookie died on your watch?”
The words hang in the air.
Pac shuffles a short distance away and pulls his robe tighter around himself. He bites his lip almost nervously and looks around the room, seemingly trying to distract himself.
“Too blunt?” Fit asks.
Pac presses his lips together and shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”
Fit shakes his head. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t say you’re sorry when you,” he pauses for a moment and squeezes his eyes shut. “When you don’t know anything.”
“You could tell me.”
Fit feels his jaw tighten. “What’s to tell,” he cracks his knuckles. “I should’ve been there. I wasn’t.”
“You’d not left the building until the evening, stuck in boring meeting after boring meeting,” Pac runs a finger delicately around the rim of his glass. “So how could you have been there? You were needed in headquarters.”
Fit shoots him a pointed glare, questioning, but Pac simply shrugs.
With it being the least of his concerns, Fit doesn’t pursue the line of questioning.
“I was responsible for that task force whilst the commander was away,” Fit sighs. “What happened is on me.”
“It’s not,” Pac says. “The commander was still responsible for that force, he was at the location of the bust too. He was there.”
Fit blinks at him. “He was?”
Pac nods. “You’re not the only one that knows things. The commander thought he was good at hiding. But trust me, you’re much better.”
“How do you know this?”
Pac sits back. “I don’t get involved with, you know, that side of things,” he wiggles his fingers dismissively. “But I know people that do, and they’re often very talkative.”
“Drug lords are talkative?”
“When you are known in certain circles,” Pac shrugs and clicks his tongue. “They definitely can be.”
“So you’re, what, like a criminal kingpin? Everyone looks up to you like some form of a celebrity?”
Pac scoffs. “I can’t think of anything worse than that.” He buffs his nails against his robe. “But you’d be surprised what people would do for an invite to one of my gatherings.”
“Though you made it sound like an orgy,” Fit cringes, “And I hate that this is how you did it but i’m grateful that you distracted me, even if it’s just for a minute.”
Pac smiles. “I’m good at distracting you, it’s a gift I have.”
“It doesn’t take away from the fact that on paper I look responsible for what happened.”
“Did you ever stop to think that, maybe,” Pac claps Fit’s shoulder. “You’re not supposed to know everything?”
“You mean someone above me in rank chose to keep me in the dark?”
Pac hums. “I wouldn’t be surprised, you people do like your secrets.”
“Us people?”
Pac runs his foot up Fit’s leg. “You have a problem with that?”
Fit swats Pac’s leg away. “Tell me what you know.”
Pac clicks his tongue. “Little more than what I already told you. You weren’t in charge, and what happened is not on you.”
“So why am I being called into a meeting with the board tomorrow?”
“You people and your meetings,” Pac rolls
his eyes. “They take up way too much of your time. Time that could be better spent-“
“Get back on track.”
“They’ll probably explain how they fucked up, I don’t know. All I know is the truth, that this isn’t your fault.”
Fit huffs. “A man still died!”
Pac presses his lips together for a moment. “Unfortunately, yes.” He shifts further into the sofa and straightens his back. “I know that’s true too.”
Fit takes a breath and rests his head against his hands, staring straight at the floor.
It seems like the atmosphere shifts in an instant, almost like the news is finally sinking in.
“Did you know him?” Pac asks, voice quieter with no sign of his usual teasing. He sounds genuinely curious.
“Barely,” Fit replies, eyes still trained on the floor. “He was a rookie, I only spoke to him a few times since he got transferred out of one of my task forces a few months in, but he spoke about his son all the time. Kid was the light of his life.”
“That’s sweet,” Pac comments.
“And he had, like, the bushiest, most impressive moustache i’ve ever seen in my life,” Fit finds himself smiling at the memory. “He used to say he hoped his kid inherited it when he was older.”
“I bet he will,” Pac says. “I bet he’ll have an even better one.”
Fit chuckles. “He used to say that, too.”
“He sounds nice.”
“He was,” Fit nods. “He was one of the good ones, for sure.”
Fit feels Pac’s hand on his back, moving in large, messy circles. Supporting him.
“And I never got to say goodbye to him,” Fit hears his voice waver, but can’t find the effort to care. “And I think that’s what hurts the most. He had the potential to be a fucking amazing detective.”
Pac doesn’t say anything more, just continues silently tracing shapes on Fit’s back, as Fit tries to process his emotions.
After a few minutes, a thin piece of tissue is slipped into Fit’s view, intricately decorated with foiled golden swirls. He instantly recognises it as one of the items stolen in a recent robbery from a renowned socialite’s home. He wasn’t investigating it, but he signed off the task force.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he lifts his head to look at Pac. “You’re seriously handing me a tissue from a box that costs a couple thousand, when you know the theft is being investigated?”
Pac tilts his head to the side. “She was just keeping the box stuffed inside a bathroom cabinet, she won’t even notice.”
“Evidently she did, along with the theft of her engagement ring and family heirlooms.”
Pac looks away and feigns being enraptured by the nighttime scenery out of his window.
Fit rolls his eyes, but utilises the tissue anyway. He can’t exactly return a single tissue from an empty box, anyway.
Once Fit returns from splashing cold water on his face in the bathroom a few minutes later, Pac holds out his hand.
“You okay now?”
Fit swats his hand away and sits back down.
“I don’t feel like i’m going to be okay for a while, this is the part of the job that scares the shit out of me.”
“I understand.”
“But then I think of how I feel when a case is finally closed, and how good it’ll feel when,” he gestures to Pac. “Certain things are finished and behind bars.”
Pac places his hands over his heart. “Fitchie, are you saying i’m the reason you keep going?” he sticks out his bottom lip. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me!”
Fit flicks Pac’s bottom lip and snickers as the other main recoils at the unexpected sharp pain.
“I’m saying I won’t settle until justice is served,” Fit nods decisively. “And i’m going to be the one to serve it or die trying.”
“Wow,” Pac claps slowly. “Kind of hot, actually.”
Fit rolls his eyes. They’ve danced this dance countless times.
“So what’s your next big party?” he asks. “Big stupid masquerade again? Invite all the criminals in a fifty mile radius?”
Pac smirks. “Why do you ask?” he pokes his index finger into Fit’s cheek. “Wanna be my date?”
“What about Mike?”
Pac snatches his hand away as if he was touching lava.
“Touched a nerve?” Fit asks, leaning back against the sofa and resting an arm on the headrest.
“Do not say his name,” Pac says.
Fit clicks his tongue and crosses one leg over the other. “Mike.”
Pac jumps to his feet, hands clenched into fists. “Stop it.”
Fit gets to his feet too, and crosses his arms across his chest. “Mike Craft,” he takes a step forward, and Pac takes a step back. “Science’s next young Nobel winner in the making. Six inventions with patents pending, but,” he clicks his tongue again. “Never got to see them through.”
Pac’s eyes fill with tears but he seems determined not to let them fall.
“And you,” Fit takes another step forward and taps his index finger against Pac’s forehead. “Thought you had me all figured out, huh? Think you could hold tonight over me? But alas, this is one game you’ll never be able to win.”
“He’s not a game to me.”
“He’s a pawn in your game. How many heists did you manage to pull off before you were caught?” Fit pretends to count on his fingers, stopping at four. “Oh, but you decided to leave him stranded as bait for the police, didn’t you?”
Pac swallows thickly.
“And then he got bailed out,” Fit shrugs. “Awfully convenient, especially for such a high amount. Nobody thought anyone would ever waste that much money on a,” Fit taps his chin. “Lost cause.”
“He went rogue,” Pac says, voice slightly wavering. “He was supposed to wait at the place we agreed but he decided to try and do the whole fucking thing on his own.” He runs his hands through his hair. “And then we made eye contact as the sirens were getting closer, and he gave me our signal. To leave, to leave him there.”
“And you listened?” Fit asks. “You listened to him? Left him there to take the fall for the heist you planned?”
“We planned it together,” Pac insists. “It’s not my fault if his fucking hero complex kicked in.”
“Hero complex?” Fit scoffs. “You were both so deluded you thought you were doing something good? Helping someone?”
A string of tears spill from Pac’s eyes. He shoves Fit backwards - with force - and storms into another room.
“Take your time!” Fit calls after him, and takes a seat. He wipes at his own eyes to dispel any remaining dried tears, and takes a drink from Pac’s full glass.
Within a minute or so, Pac returns, a thick book cradled in his arms, against his chest. He walks over and drops it on the coffee table in front of Fit.
He gracefully swings his leg up and kicks the book across the table, with enough force to ensure it drops right into Fit’s lap.
“I don’t care enough about you to look through your childhood pictures,” Fit comments.
“Just fucking look,” Pac nods down at the book, and pulls his robe tighter around himself. “And it’s actually ironic you say that.” The last sentence is a mumble, barely audible.
Fit shrugs and opens the book, and is immediately met with various newspaper cutouts.
With each page he turns, he’s met with more of the same - countless cutouts from various printed media, all regarding the mysterious monthly benefactor for the local orphanage.
As Fit looks through the articles, he looks up at Pac, who has his arms wrapped around himself, looking at the floor.
Fit has heard of the benefactor, of course. The orphanage receives a huge donation each and every month without fail from an anonymous benefactor - nobody has ever seen them, or knows where the money comes from, but it’s allowed the orphanage to continue service regardless of budget cuts from the local councils and governments.
“Me and Mike were thrown from orphanage to orphanage when we were growing up,” Pac says. He nods toward the book. “And we made a pact as soon as we were old enough that no child would ever go through what we went through, and so we would help however we could.”
Fit doesn’t respond. Pac shifts his weight from one foot to another.
“I suppose that’s another point to the reasons you’ll arrest me for one day, right?”
Fit gently closes the book and drums his fingers against it.
“I think this can stay between us,” he says, and takes a breath. “Some of those kids practically owe you their lives.”
Pac shakes his head. “Their life is theirs to live, that’s why I do it. I’ve been knocked down enough without my childhood being brought into it, I don’t want any of them to have to suffer that same fate.”
“That’s actually really admirable,” Fit smiles.
Pac returns it.
It seems within a simple moment, the glimpse into his vulnerability is instantly masked with the obnoxious flirting that Fit is all too accustomed to.
“How do you want to show your admiration?” he asks, a smirk forming on his lips.
Fit rolls his eyes and gets to his feet.
“Where are you going now?” Pac asks, staying in place but eyes following every step Fit makes.
“Home,” Fit replies, and holds up a hand when Pac takes a step forward. “Alone.”
“So soon?” Pac asks, continuing to walk towards him anyway.
“I’m still trying to process if you’re as much of a piece of shit as I thought you were,” Fit shrugs. “I have a lot to think about.”
Pac steps into Fit’s space and curls an arm around Fit’s neck, and presses his chest to Fit’s.
“You’ll be thinking about me?” he bats his eyelashes. “Officer, i’m honoured.”
Fit runs a finger gently down the edge of Pac’s robe before grabbing a fistful of the fabric.
“The honour is all mine,” Fit whispers, lips only a breath away from Pac’s. “The honour of knowing there’s someone that has fucked up just as much as me is actually quite reassuring.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Pac whispers, slightly digging his fingernails into the back of Fit’s neck. “But if you can’t sleep at night… you know where to find me.”
He steals a kiss before Fit can react, and pushes him away before slamming the door and locking it.
Fit raises his middle finger in plain view of the doorbell camera before turning away, a small smile on his lips.
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