Work Text:
The phone rings. I let it. There’s no point in picking up. If it’s a case, they can wait until the hours listed on my front door. If it’s about one of my after hours cases, they can wait until I’m sober enough to plot my next move.
And if it’s Morgan, then they can fuck right off.
I rub my head, groaning slightly. The ringing is piercing my mysterious noir inner monologue, cracking the wall of hazy drunk thoughts, letting in the rational ones in again. I scowl.
Water. I should be drinking water. I rotate the glass bottle in my hand for a moment, and then take another swig before standing up. I sway in place for a moment before setting the bottle down on the table and limp into the kitchen.
The phone has stopped ringing by the time I get to it, and I press the button to hear any voicemails. Zero voicemails, the robotic voice says. I snort. Whatever it was must not have been that important.
I crack open the fridge and stare listlessly for a moment, and then pull out a bottle of water. I chug it.
I toss the empty bottle onto the counter, and then sigh. Bathroom and meds, next.
Crack.
I freeze. “What the hell?” I mutter.
Crack.
I whip around. The noise sounds like it’s coming from my window. I cross back into my living room, bumping into my table and upsetting the wine still left on it. I straighten the glass quickly, ignoring the spill, and open my window.
Stupid, probably, to open the window when there’s ominous noises coming from it, but I’m suicidal enough to not care.
A rock whips by my head and crashes in my living room.
“What the fuck?”
“Whoops.”
“Whoops?” I shout into the darkness. “That’s all you have to say for yourself? Why the hell are you throwing rocks at my window at 1 A.M., dipshit? Get the fuck away from my place!” I squint at the street, glaring at the dark figure, trying to get a good look at their features, so that I could kill them later.
“Answer your phone, dipshit!”
“What the fuck are y— Morgan.” I rest my head on the windowsill. I should have known.
“Cold out here, Jackie, let me in.”
“No. Stay out there for all I care.” I slam the window shut.
Crack. I jump as a rock hits the window.
I open it again. “If you break my window, I’m gonna make you pay to fix it.” A rock flies past my head again. “And if you break my skull, I’m gonna personally come back from the dead and haunt your ass forever.”
“Let me in, then!”
“No!” I slam the window shut. A rock hits it. A stick my tongue out at Morgan, still dark against the low light of the streetlamps.
I sit back down on the couch, scowling. What the hell was their problem, anyways? I didn’t have to answer the phone ever, much less at 1 A.M. Who cares what they need. I reach for the wine and take another sip.
My door unlocks behind me. I grab my cane and stand up, then lean down and pick up one of the rocks.
Morgan Adams steps through the doorway, barely glancing at me. I toss the rock at them, not hard enough to do any damage, but hopefully hard enough to hurt.
“Hey!” they say.
“Get the fuck out of my house.”
“No.”
“I’ll call the cops.”
“Call ‘em.”
“Maybe I will.”
“Nice.”
Morgan chucks their jacket at my coat rack and then sits on the couch. They take a drink of my wine and then make a face. “Can’t afford anything better?” they say, raising an eyebrow.
I grab the bottle from them. “Fuck off. I like it.”
“You need to raise your standards, babes.”
“Fuck off.”
I take a drink of the wine, and then set it on the counter in the kitchen. I limp back to the living room, my leg screaming at me. I cross my arms and stare at Morgan, waiting for an explanation of the break-in to my house in the middle of the night.
They don’t say anything, instead flicking notifications away on their phone. They open one, and then text something back. I don’t catch all of the words, except for Jackie and alright. I roll my eyes.
“Do you need something, Adams?” I ask.
Morgan looks up at me, finally. “Ooh, last name. Alcohol makes you feisty.”
“Do you need something, or not?”
Morgan smiles and leans back on the couch. “Just wanted to pick your brain.”
I stare at them.
“Gotta case, and—”
“Get out of my house.”
Morgan pouts mockingly. “It’s a good case, Jack.”
“Get the fuck—” I gesture with my cane— “out my house.”
Morgan raises a brow. “You’re not even gonna hear me out?”
“It’s one in the god dammed morning. Can’t you wait until the sun’s up? Or, better yet, don’t come back at all! Go ask Roan about it! Go find yourself a dimwitted cop to bounce ideas off! I don’t care! Just get out of my house.”
“I can wait ‘til morning. Mind if I crash here?”
“What part of get out of my fucken house did you not understand?”
“Don’t feel like it.”
“I swear to god, Morgan. You know what? Fine. Whatever! I am going to go to bed, because I’m exhausted. If you’re here when I wake up at noon tomorrow, I will shoot you in the head. Good fucken night.”
“Night, love!” Morgan says, reaching across the table for the remote and flicking on the TV. I grit my teeth and take a deep breath. Still glaring, I walk back through the kitchen to get to my room.
I pause outside of my door and sigh. “The guest bedroom is upstairs,” I call.
“I know!”
Of course they do.
I slam my door on the way in.
-
I wake up with a pounding headache. I groan and roll over. Sunlight streams through my window. I frown, staring at it. I sit up. Why are my blinds open?
I glance at my nightstand to check the time. There’s a glass of water sitting on it, and a bottle of ibuprofen. I narrow my eyes at it.
I glance across my room. On my chair there’s an outfit picked out for me.
I grab my cane and stand up, take two ibuprofen, close the blinds, and pick a different outfit out of my closet.
Then I grab my revolver out of my nightstand. I spin the chamber briefly to check it, and then take it with me out of my bedroom and into the kitchen.
“Mornin’, Fangs.” Morgan is sitting at the counter, eating a piece of toast.
I point the gun at Morgan’s head. “Get out of my house.”
“I love you, too,” they chirp.
I point at the wall behind them and fire the gun. “Get out.” The noise makes my ears ring. I regret shooting the gun.
Morgan takes a slow bite of their toast, and then a long drink of water. “Y’know it’s illegal to shoot a gun in a residential area,” they say, just as my hearing is returning.
“It’s not illegal in self-defense. You broke into my house.”
Morgan grins.
“Glad to see you’re just as full of sunshine and rainbows as always. You take the ibuprofen?”
“None of your fucken business.”
“Good,” they say, nodding slightly. “C’mon, then, Fangs. You’re gonna love this case.”
They shove the rest of the toast into their mouth and then make for the door. I don’t move.
“Twelve year old girl goes missing,” Morgan says, picking up their coat and putting it on. “Single mom is worried sick, grandmother comforting her. Flew all the way from Maine for this. No leads, until—” They hold up my coat.
“Until?” I ask.
They shake the coat a little.
“I’m not going with you.”
They shrug. “Your loss.”
Morgan puts my coat back on the hook, waves a little, and then turns to the door. I let out a small breath as they leave. Thank, god.
I open the fridge door, and reach for the orange juice. I slam the door shut.
“God dammit,” I mutter.
-
Morgan is waiting two doors down from my place. They hold out my hat, and I take it from them, glaring.
“The grandmother,” I say. “When did she fly in, exactly?”
Morgan grins. “Two weeks ago. Her flight back is tomorrow.”
“And when did the girl go missing?”
Morgan starts walking down the street. Annoyed, I follow.
“Two days ago.”
“But you said she flew in ‘for this’, didn’t you?”
“That’s what the grandmother said,” Morgan says pleasantly. I scowl. They’re far too pleased with themselves.
“The girl can’t fly without a ticket.”
“That’s what I figure.”
“Is this what you needed to bounce ideas off of my for? You might as well have talked to a wall,” I grumble, wishing Morgan would walk a little slower.
“It’s about the same, talking to you,” they said.
“There’s something else,” I say, ignoring them.
“Checked her finances, she’s only bought one ticket.”
“Maybe she’s not gonna fly back, then. Maybe she’ll drive back.”
“With what car?”
“Rental?” I offer.
Morgan makes a humming noise. We come to a crosswalk. They press the button.
“Drink before bed very often?”
“None of your business,” I snap.
“Bad habit to start,” they say.
“Look who’s talking.”
“Means you can trust I know what I’m talkin’ about.”
“Yeah, right. Whatever.”
The light switches to walk.
“You could barely stand,” they say as we start to cross.
I glare. “That’s normal, dipshit.”
They glance down at my cane. “You know what I mean.”
“I don’t think you know what you mean,” I say. “I was fine.”
“You nearly made my ears bleed with how loud you were shouting.”
Morgan has slowed their pace to match mine, I realize. I scowl at the ground.
“You threw rocks at my window.”
Morgan turns to the left when we reach the other side of the street. “You didn’t answer your phone.”
“For all you knew, I could have been asleep.”
“Nah,” Morgan says. They point at a door. “This way.”
I follow them up the stairs, into a dark building. “Hell you mean, nah? Where are you leading me?”
“Your lights were on. The place the grandmother was staying.”
“Why did you call me if you were already outside of my house? Was staying? Not is?” I look around at the pale yellow walls as Morgan leads me down a hallway.
“Thought it’d be polite. She’s staying with her daughter until she heads out tomorrow.”
“Polite? Like throwing rocks at my window polite?” Morgan brings me to a door, and then pulls out a lock-picking set. “She’s still planning on leaving tomorrow, then? Doesn’t family usually stay longer when a tragedy happens?”
“The rocks were my plan B. That’s what I thought. She’s not staying here anymore, so I figure, let’s check the place out.”
“Why wasn’t your plan B knocking on my door? Calling again? Leaving me the fuck alone at 1 A.M?”
Morgan swings the door open. “More fun to throw rocks.” They grin at me.
I open my mouth to snap at them, and then take in the room. “Oh, shit,” I mutter. There’s no sign of anyone living here at the moment. In fact, apart from the huge bloodstain, the place is spotless.
Morgan sighs. “You think a twelve year old can survive losing that much blood?”
I look at the stain. “It’s a little hard to tell, without seeing her. And someone’s clearly tried to clean this place up. You don’t think the grandmother did this to her, do you?”
“Don’t know. Fuck,” they say. I glance over at them. They’d been pretty light about this missing persons case until now, but I knew them well enough to know they’d never forgive themselves if the girl was dead. I bent down over the blood stain, thinking.
“It’s not fresh,” I say.
“No shit,” xe say back.
“Fuck off, I’m thinking out loud.” I take in the blood again. “A day old, maybe. Still smells awful.” I crouch down further, my leg hissing in pain. I ignore it. I tilt my head. “We should check the other rooms,” I say. I grimace as I try to stand.
Morgan sticks their hand out to help. I glare, but grab their hand anyways. I pull my notepad out of the band around my hat and start doing some math.
“Any idea how tall she was?”
Morgan is silent for a minute, and then they say, “Five feet.”
I hum in acknowledgment.
Morgan searches the bathroom and kitchen while I stand in the living room, doing math. As they head toward the bedroom, I glance at them.
“I don’t think she’s dead,” I say.
“Cool. She’s just suffering. Yippee.”
“Alright, dick. Suffering and alive is better than dead and pain free.”
Morgan glances at me. “Not always.”
I look away.
Morgan opens the bedroom door, and I glance in after them. There’s nothing of note, not really. I wait for them outside while they search the room, wondering if they’re gonna be tolerable for the rest of this case. I hate it as much as anyone when a kid get hurts, but Morgan seemed to be especially sensitive to this kind of case. They didn’t have that helpful ability to derealize during cases and forget that you were interacting with real people.
Or maybe they did, and kids were just harder to do it with. Who’s to say.
They don’t find anything in the bedroom either. They call the police, and then gesture to follow them.
“You’re not gonna wait for them to show up?”
“They don’t need me there to tell them the obvious. Nothing there. Someone’s gotta look for the kid.”
“They might find something you missed.”
Morgan snorted. “I don’t think so.”
Privately, I agreed, but I wasn’t going to tell Morgan that.
Back out on the street, Morgan was silent, thinking. I sighed. “Well. As fun as this case has been, I think I’m gonna head home. Thanks for all of… that.”
Morgan sighed. “Yeah. Sure. Wanna get something to eat first? You didn’t even have breakfast.”
I hesitate.
“C’mon, Fangs. Your stomach’s been growling for the past ten minutes.”
“Has it?” I mutter.
“Besides, Ronnie might have come up with something on her end of the case.”
-
I stare at my sandwich. It’s good— when has a breakfast sandwich ever not been good?— but I had been craving a bit more meat, especially since it was almost dinner time. Perhaps a steak. Ribs. There was sausage on this, which was almost good enough, but…
“So there was nothing else in the place?” Roan Clarke asks, cutting into my thoughts.
“Nothing,” Morgan says, scowling at their own sandwich. They take a bite. “What about you? Figure out anything from that library card lead?”
Roan shakes her head. “The lady working there recognized her, but said she hasn’t been in there in weeks.”
“Library card?” I ask.
“She had a library card hidden in one of her books, under a different name.”
“Different how?”
“Seemed like a generic fake name.”
I hum, mulling over that new piece of information.
“Anything interesting in her check out history?” Morgan asks.
“Not really, which is weird. Nothing that you’d think her mother wouldn’t want her learning about. Books about animals, Maine, a few fantasy novels.”
Morgan asks a few more questions, and Roan answers them all. My mind wanders back to my own cases, the latest of which was quite frustrating. But, I suppose that’s what I get for trusting someone new with a job so important.
I tune back into the conversation in time to hear Roan say, “The fuck do you mean, they don’t know where she is?” I look up. Roan is on the phone, and she shoots Morgan look. Morgan frowns. “Well you better fuckin’ find her, don’t you think?”
I glance at Morgan, who is too focused on Roan to fill in the blanks for me. I sigh, and then mentally rewind my thoughts, sifting through my mental dialogue to try and remember what was said up until then.
Ah. Roan was on the phone with the police captain.
I narrow my eyes and look back at Roan. She slams her phone onto the table and scowls.
“They lost the grandmother?” I ask.
“Bloody incompetent idiots,” she says.
I open my wallet and throw a ten onto the table, and then stand. “You guys have fun with that,” I say. “I’m going home. Finally.”
I turn and walk off before Morgan and Roan can stop me, despite knowing that they both could force me to go wherever they wanted, if they felt like it.
Outside, I signal for a taxi, ready to go home. Maybe Morgan would think twice before breaking in to my house next time. Probably not.
Unwillingly, the details of the case spread out in my mind. I huff, annoyed. I didn’t have enough of the details to make any theories that were grounded in reality. It seems like Morgan and Roan had already decided that it was the grandmother, so there was no need for me to be there, like some sort of leashed dog.
I pay the taxi driver and walk up the stairs to my place, my leg flaring up again. In the living room, I sit down. The phone rings. I ignore it.
Morgan sticks their head out from the bathroom. “Glad to know it’s not just me you’re ignoring.”
I jump up, dropping my cane. “God! Fuck! You can’t just do that!”
The phone stops ringing, and then makes a clicking noise. The answering machine starts up. “Hey, Moriarty,” the voice starts. Morgan looks at the phone. I jump up and lunge for the phone before I even process that I’ve moved. I stumble and fall against the counter, the edge hitting me in the ribs. I gasp in pain.
“I went to the—”
“How many times do I have to tell you?” I hiss, holding the phone up to my ear and grabbing my leg, trying to massage the soreness out of it. I lean on the counter, breathing hard. “You don’t leave a message. If I didn’t answer, it’s because I’m busy.”
Morgan walks out of the bathroom, looking curiously at me. They’re half naked, a towel around their waist. I glare at them. When did they have time to take a shower?
“Sorry, boss,” the voice on the line says. “I just wanted to let you know that I checked in at the orphanage. Didya, uh… Know it’s not there anymore?”
“What?” I hiss into the receiver. “If you’re fucking with me right now, I will find you, and I will cut off your d—”
“I’m not, I’m not!” they say. “I mean it. I got one of my boys working on figuring out where the kids ended up.”
“Get me answer by the end of tomorrow.”
“Yes, ma’am,” they say. I growl and then slam the phone down.
Morgan tilts their head at me. “Impressive growl,” they say.
“Shut the hell up, Adams,” I snap.
“What was the phone call about?” xe ask.
“None of your damn business. Do you ever keep your nose to yourself?”
“Not usually. You’re out of shampoo, by the way.”
“Brilliant. Absolutely fucken brilliant. Go get dressed.”
“Yes, sir,” they say. They walk back into the bathroom, and I sit heavily down on the couch.
I grab my leg, frustrated. I wasn’t going to be able to walk on it after lunging across the room like that, cane or no. I stare at the ceiling, pissed. I debated standing up and going into the kitchen to get my wine again, and had just decided to force myself up when Morgan came back out of the bathroom.
“How the hell did you get back to my place before I did?” I ask, gritting my teeth and ignoring my leg. I swing it up and lay back on the couch, taking slow breaths.
“Taxi,” they say.
“I took a taxi here.”
“Mine was faster.”
“Could not have been that much faster that you had time to take a shower,” I say.
Morgan shrugs. “It was.”
I glare at the ceiling. “You are the worst. You know that, right?”
“Thanks, Fangs. Means a lot, coming from you.”
“You’re welcome, dipshit.”
There’s a silence. I close my eyes. Maybe if I ignore Morgan, they’ll leave me alone. Their phone dings. I frown.
“They’re arresting the grandmother,” Morgan says.
“That’s nice.”
“Wanna come in for the questioning?” they ask.
“Nope. Get out of my house.”
“Alright, babes. Have fun drinking yourself to sleep again.”
“Will do.”
Morgan stands and makes for the door. I hear them pause at the couch. I don’t open my eyes.
They toss something at me, and I startle and blink down at my chest. It’s a bottle of pills.
“For the pain,” they say.
“What is this?” I ask.
“Nothing addictive.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Just take one. For your leg.”
“My leg is fine.”
“You planning on sleeping on the couch?”
“Maybe.”
“Take one.”
“You won’t tell me what they are.”
“I made ‘em for you.”
“Real sweet. What’s in them?”
“Just take one.”
“Morgan,” I say.
Morgan shrugs. “Or don’t. I’m not your dom.” They grab their coat from the coat rack— how I didn’t notice it earlier is beyond me— and leave.
I take the bottle of pills and chuck it into the kitchen. I shift on the couch and try to get comfortable. My leg screams at me. I groan and rub my eyes. I look up at the ceiling and then sigh. I sit up.
There’s a second bottle of pills on the coffee table, and a glass of water sits next to it. There’s a folded piece of paper next to them. I grab it angrily, already knowing what it’s going to say.
For when you toss the first one. Take one tonight, and then one tomorrow if it still hurts. - M
I take one. I stare at the paper. I sigh, refold it, and tuck it into my pocket. I close my eyes again as the pain melts out of my leg, and start rotating the case in my mind again. Just once, I wish Morgan would offer something that would stop me from thinking all the damn time, but I’m not stupid enough to ask for it.
-
I wake up with a start. My leg hurts again. I reach for the bottle on the table and take another pill. I stare at the ceiling, waiting for it to kick in.
“Grandmother isn’t telling us where the girl is.”
I don’t startle this time. I just look over at Morgan. Their face is arranged in an almost calm expression, but I can tell they’re worried. I sigh and sit up. “Any hints?”
“She all but admitted to kidnapping her. Asked for a lawyer after we caught her in lie.” Morgan rubs their face.
I lean forward on my knees and look at Morgan.
Their eyes are a clear blue, looking back at me. I tilt my head slightly, and then glance at the clock. It’s 7 A.M.
“Have you taken a break since starting this case?”
“Time matters too much in kidnappings.”
“Right,” I say. “Have you slept?”
“Here and there,” they say, waving a hand.
I sigh. I wasn’t going to harass them into self-care, even if I thought I could. They’re a full person, capable of taking care of themselves, and aware of how to. I stood up. “You’re gonna keep harassing me until the girl is found, aren’t you?”
Morgan didn’t respond.
“Morgan?” I say. “We’re gonna find her.”
“It’s been three days.” They run a hand over their face. “The likelihood of finding her plummets with every passing hour.”
I make a humming noise, and then sigh. I reach for the phone on the counter. This was gonna hurt.
-
“Here you go, Morgan.”
Morgan looks up.
“What?”
“Called in a favor. An expensive favor, mind you. The grandmother’s renting a place downtown.” I shake the file at them.
Morgan takes the file and flips through it.
“She’s paid three months out. Doesn’t seem like the action of someone who was planning on getting on a flight back home, does it?” I watch Morgan scan the information. “Well, go on. Call it in.”
“Was this legal?”
“Do you care if it was?”
“No. It’s just harder to call in if it wasn’t.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. I’ll call it in.” I pick the phone up again. Morgan watches me.
“Yeah, I’d like to give an anonymous tip? I saw—” I swallow hard, putting a nervous lilt in my voice. “A young girl, eleven, twelve, maybe? All alone in this building… She was…” I glance at Morgan. “She looked injured, and… she was on the third floor, waving out the window at me. Yeah. I couldn’t make out what she was saying, no. She seemed scared. Yeah… 456, N Windle Street…”
The person on the other end of the line takes down the address. I hang up. “There you go, Morgan. All worked out.”
Morgan leans back in the chair.
“What sort of connection do you have to have to find that out?”
“Didn’t you look at her finances, too?” I ask lightly.
“Yeah, we did. Didn’t see any place she was renting.”
I shrug. “Maybe you did a shoddy job of it. And maybe she was using a fake identity to do it. And maybe you don’t have enough eyes in enough places.”
“You’re not gonna tell me how you got that information.”
I sigh. “If I told you, you’d have to report me. I called in a favor, that’s all.”
“I wouldn’t have to do shit.”
I grin lazily at them, glad to finally have the upper hand. My stomach twists slightly, knowing that if they ever figured out the extent of my connections, something was going to break.
“I have a guy for this sort of thing.”
“And if I wanted to get in contact with ‘em?”
“Then you’d owe him an arm and a leg just for the meeting.”
“Which doesn’t explain how you could afford the information.”
I laugh. “I don’t know why you can’t just be happy knowing that you found the girl. Go get Roan and celebrate.”
Morgan tilts their head. “You got the information. Come with us.”
“No, thanks. I’m gonna celebrate by finally getting some peace and quiet.”
Morgan watches me walk into the kitchen. I lean on the counter, and then grab an apple and take a bite.
“Thank you,” they say.
“Yeah, anytime.” I wave a hand. “Get out of here.”
Morgan nods, and then grabs their coat, hopefully for the last time. I watch them leave, and sigh. Part of me wants to follow them out, but the stabbing feeling in my stomach was growing.
The door closes behind them, and almost immediately, my phone starts ringing. I grabbed. “Morgan, I swear to god—”
“No, boss, it’s me.”
“Ah.” I straighten up. “What’s the word on the kid?”
“They’re in a new place. The old place had a gas leak, and the kids all got divided up. The kid ended up at this place called Western Banks Foster Homes. Run by one nurse lady… Thing. There’s some nasty rumors about this place.”
“Like what?”
“Like… well, ghosts and things. Some rumors that the nurse is… some sort of monster. An angel of death. And the building used t’ be a hospital, and—”
“Ghost stories?” I ask. “Please. Get a grip. Is the kid safe?”
“I think so, boss, but we’ll keep an eye on ‘em.”
“Good. Let me know if something seems off.”
“Will do, boss.”
I set the phone down and sigh. Guilt seeps through my bones, and I rub my eyes. I look up, and my eye catches on the hook where my hat usually sits. It’s missing. Again.
“Morgan, I swear to fucken god,” I mutter. “I’m going to punch your lights out.”