Archive of Our Own

 Elsa's smooth, contralto voice serenaded the crowd of The Blue Room like a bunch of desperate sailors lost at sea. While some found love, for a time, in that beautiful siren's call... the poor bastards eventually came crashing against the jagged rocks at shore, never the same again.

Roy was currently the latter of the two.

God, that junkie bitch certainly wasn't helping his mood...

Cole was beside him, staring straight through the contents of his half-empty glass of bourbon at the edge of the table. He seemed a little out of it, and Roy couldn't have blamed him for being in such a state after the day's events.  It was the usual suspects, as far as a day in Vice was concerned. Drugs, hookers, and scandals galore ... even a couple of good old fashioned on-foot chases. And to top it all off,  an evening spent leisurely drowning the day's events with copious amounts of alcohol.

That used to be Roy's favorite part of the job. Until tonight...

... tonight, he was sinking, and it would take a little more to get his spirits to float again.

The kid might have no idea how unsubtle he was being, but Roy knew that his partner's current daze had nothing to do with a hard day's work. Not one bit. It was clearer than day that it was induced by the German, just like every other schlub in the place. He was already captivated by her spell... falling head over heels for the god-damned broad, right into deep waters.

"Hey, Cole." Roy nudged him with his elbow, to which Phelps didn't budge. His speech was only somewhat more monotonous than usual, though he played his liquor off well. "You planning on finishing that?"

Cole's youthful features flashed confusion, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from the stage before he noticed that Roy was gesturing to his glass.

"What?" Cole shook his head. "No, no I'm not. Why don't you just buy yourself another drink?"

"Alcohol isn't cheap, Phelps," Roy countered smoothly. "What, are you gonna get stingy on me? Surely being an army boy taught you how to share."

He couldn't really seem to argue with that, and so Cole slid his glass over to him with a shrug, returning his gaze to be fixated on Elsa's sultry figure, and even sultrier tones...

Roy's body stiffened at the sight, and not in the good way, retrieving Cole's bourbon and holding it in one hand as he swirled the ice cubes around in the amber liquid. On the tumbler's rim, he noticed the imprints of Cole's lips upon the otherwise flawless glass...who had lips like that, anyway? Girls, mostly.

Before he could question himself, his own lips lined up with one of the imprints almost perfectly. Roy slowly tipped the glass, allowing its contents to pour into his mouth. He paused for only a moment, the ice cubes cold against his lips, and his blue eyes glanced over the edge of the tumbler to see that Cole was still utterly captivated by the club's singer. His brow knitted as he downed the rest of Cole's beverage, slamming the glass upon the table a bit more aggressively than he'd intended. The glass protested with a loud clink! against the solid wood, but no one, least of all Cole, cared to notice...

Roy was about five seconds from storming off... hopping in his Cadillac and driving until the sun came up. But by some mystic stroke of luck, Elsa had apparently sung her last set for the evening, leaving him some much-desired private time with his fellow detective.

Time to throw him a life-saver.

As Cole turned in his seat, he instinctively reached for his glass, sheepishly noticing that it was empty. A casual smirk instantly returned to Roy's features.

"So, helluva day, huh partner?" he asked, resting an elbow against the back of his chair and staring off into the distance, rather than making direct eye contact.

"Yeah. Sure. Though, nothing too out of the ordinary, I suppose."

Compared to military grunts spilling their guts all over each other, Vice probably seemed like a walk in the park to him. LIttle did he know...

Just then, a waitress appeared out of the corner of Roy's eye, and he waved her over.

"I'll take a scotch, straight-up. You want another drink, Cole? Yours was getting warm, anyway." Roy chose to ignore the fact that the three ice cubes in the glass were still only half-melted. But he doubted Cole would notice. He was off the clock, after all, with a couple of drinks already in him and a hell of a fixation on Elsa. His investigative powers were sure to be weak, at best.

"I'll have another bourbon, please. On the rocks. Thank you, miss."

Good grief. The manners of the man... Roy was about to think of an appropriate insult, when Cole leaned over the table, his weight resting on an elbow.

 "Roy..." he started, in a conspiratorial whisper after the waitress disappeared back into the shadows of the club. The close proximity made the hair at the back of Roy's neck prickle. His mouth was inches from his ear, and though his breath was warm in his face, smelling strongly of bourbon, Roy played it cool as a cucumber. For a half-second, he thought that something of weight and importance was about to be said. But speak of the devil, the next words out of Cole's perfect little mouth made Roy's blood run colder than a block of ice. "Do you know if Elsa's coming back onstage tonight?"

"Wow, Phelps," Roy said, loudly enough for everyone within earshot to hear. "You've got a serious hard-on for that broad."

He'd called him out on it before, and he had no problem doing it again. Hah... as if he cared. Cole immediately recoiled, pulling a face and looking disgusted by Roy's choice of words. On his high horse, as always. The younger detective glanced around warily, as if all eyes were on him... but the place was so drowned out by chatter and booze, nobody gave a shit. He always had a way of making it all about him."If you didn't happen to know," he said, voice dropping to a lower, harsher tone that he often adopted during interviews with suspects. "I'm a married man."

The hint of pride to his tone took Roy by surprise, and his own laughter sounded strangled in his throat.

"I'm well aware, what with the way that ring of yours is always so polished and pristine. Like some fucking medal of honor."

At that one, Cole looked like he'd eaten something very sour. Or possibly poisonous, as his face scrunched up in anger. Before the words slipped past his lips, Roy knew that he was about to get the third degree. Too bad he worked in Vice, not Arson. 

"Don't you even dare. That's a symbol of my commitment to my wife, Roy," Cole spat, a scraped-up finger pointed at his face, attached to his equally battered knuckles. He remembered the minor injury from earlier in the week, when Cole had literally dumpster-dove to apprehend a suspect. Roy had laughed his ass off, and he found it difficult not to start laughing again in the middle of a 'serious' conversation. He forced himself to tune back in. "...it was a simple question, and I don't appreciate you twisting my words around. Elsa is a very talented woman. I was merely curious if I'd hear her sing again tonight."

"Yeah, you and every other sorry sap in here," Roy scoffed, rolling his eyes. He leaned further back in his seat, clearly unmoved by Cole's little lecture. "Give it a rest, will you? Even if you weren't committed, you're not her type, anyhow."

Cole visibly bristled at the remark, his mouth forming a thin, straight line that could rival a ruler for a straight-edge. Luckily, he couldn't pout for too long, because the waitress arrived with their drink order.

The glasses had barely made contact with the table before Cole was downing his, taking a couple of long sips. Roy, tumbler in hand, was easily amused by the sight of LA's poster boy kicking back drinks like a true pro.

"Hey, take it easy there," he half-mocked. He spoke a little louder, over the sound of a big-band act starting their set. "We've got a long night ahead of us."

Cole sat placidly, staring into the contents of his drink as he sloshed it around. "Do we, Roy? Well, that's news to me."

"You never know when Central will call the calvary in."

"At the moment, I wish they would."

The words were said so emotionlessly, Roy was left wondering if the man had any personality at all when Cole was being bitter.

"Jesus, Cole... lighten up. Just because your broad isn't around, doesn't mean we can't have a fine night out on the town."

Cole didn't seem convinced, and an awkward silence fell between the two of them. The next half hour passed by in a haze. By the time he'd downed his third scotch, Roy felt weightless in his seat, the familiar lull of alcohol making his head swim. Unsurprisingly, it did nothing but further dampen his spirits. Meanwhile, the entire club was a cruel juxtaposition to his inner thoughts. Sometimes, he really hated the place.

The club was really hopping, the band at full swing as the denizens of Los Angeles congregated on the dance floor, showing off their latest moves. They shouted and sang, jumped and jived, gyrated and laughed with their partners like a bunch of chumps. Not a care in the goddamn world. Must be nice.

Out of boredom more than an an actual need to smoke, Roy pulled out his lighter and brought a cigarette to his lips. Against his better judgment, he glanced at Cole. He must have really pissed him off, with all the mentioning of Elsa. He hadn't expected him to get so morose. He wondered, for some unknown reason, if he was a decent dancer. It was almost comical imagining the uptight detective dancing and swaying amongst the throng of people moving about.

Taking a few long drags of his cigarette, the smoke huffed past his lips in a billowing pattern... purposely in Cole's direction. It did nothing to distract his partner. In the background, the chatter died down a bit, and a slow tune started playing with an amorous saxophone solo. Roy had heard it on the radio once or twice. Pretty recently, too. The Blue Room had a reputation for keeping up to date on the latest jazz tunes, so he couldn't be surprised. His eyes looked out over the crowd as the singles retreated back to their seats or garnered up the courage to ask the nearest pretty thing to dance with them... and the couples danced with the ones who brought them. It all made Roy feel ill.

Cole seemed equally subdued as he stared blankly out into the sea of bodies moving in a trance-like state... almost like a calming wave. Roy wondered if he'd ever danced with anyone like that. His wife, more than likely.   It seemed far more his style. Personally, Roy wasn't one for the sentiments of slow dancing.... but part of him couldn't help but entertain the thought. A head against his shoulder, swaying to the tune, bodies up close and his hips pressed to Cole's--

The unexpected visual had hardly crossed his mind when Roy aggressively put out his cigarette on the table's ash tray. God, he needed some fresh air, a change of scenery. Now.

As usual, Roy played it off with humor as he stood from his seat. The room spun, the result of the alcohol and a hell of a head rush from standing too quickly.

"May I have this dance, Phelps?" he deadpanned, extending a hand to his partner.

Cole stared at him with glazed eyes before he smiled faintly, downing what remained of his bourbon. "Very funny, Roy."

"It's getting stuffy in here," he said, shifting his weight and swaying a bit. He opted for adjusting his jacket once he'd retreated his hand.  "I'm gonna take a walk out back."

His partner's drink was set down as he stood up determinedly, a palm resting upon the table to keep himself steady. "I'll go with you."

Now that was a surprise. Roy cocked an eyebrow at him. He'd fully expected Cole to remain inside, seeing as he'd got him so ruffled earlier. But he certainly wasn't going to call him out on it...

"Come on, we'll take the scenic route ..."

Since Roy was a regular and a cop, he had access to every area of the establishment without being questioned. He swerved through the crowd, occasionally glancing behind him to be sure that he hadn't lost Cole along the way. They passed through a door near the back of the main stage, and then through a dimly lit hallway with several doors, one of which was Elsa's dressing room. Roy looked over his shoulder for a brief moment to see that Cole faltered near her room for a half-second, but ultimately followed his lead.

At the end of the hallway was the maintenance door that led to the back alleyway, and a small set of stairs back down to street-level. There wasn't much to see, really... just the walls of several grungy-looking buildings facing them, a dumpster with cardboard boxes tossed around it, and a nearby grate hissing faintly with steam.  Still,  the (somewhat) fresh air was a nice reprieve from the claustrophobic atmosphere of the club.

"Nice view, huh?" Roy said, with a sardonic chuckle. He leaned against the metal railing and removed his hat, only feeling the sweat around his hairline once it had been taken off.  "This town's certainly got a way of setting the mood."

Cole was silent, as he often was. With little room left to lean on the railing beside Roy, he took a couple of steps down the stairs before he stumbled, arms flailing to put himself back into balance.  On any other day, he had no doubt that Phelps could have succeeded in the task... the man had the same finesse as a tightrope-walker. But not tonight.

Despite the fuzziness in his vision, Roy's reflexes kicked in and he managed to grab Cole by the arm, pulling him clumsily back to safety before he fell.

"Whoa there, sailor!" He smirked, now face to face with his partner on the first step. Still wavering on his feet, Cole instinctively clutched at the lapels of Roy's jacket in order to keep himself upright. "Almost fell right on your ass. Remind me never to get you near a boat..."

"What?" Cole blinked at him, seemingly at a loss. He let go of Roy's jacket, but it was Roy's turn to stumble as he placed a hand upon Cole's shoulder to steady himself.

"I'm just saying, if you can't stand on your own two feet after a couple of drinks, you've probably got some lousy sea-legs."

"Well, I guess it's a good thing I wasn't in the Navy, then."

There was a pause before Roy laughed again, much more genuinely this time.  "That a sense of humor, Cole?  Didn't know you had it in you."

Cole's reply came in the form of a grin, looking downright pleased with himself that he'd made a joke. With his face mere inches from his own, Roy could see every detail of his smooth, boyish features, courtesy of the overly-bright streetlights. His pencil-straight eyebrows were raised in an amicable sort of way, his blue eyes shining with reflected light... and the corners of his mouth were tugged upwards, his teeth showing a bit behind his lips. Roy could feel his hot breath against his skin every time he exhaled, and he knew that the cool nighttime breeze didn't stand a chance at cooling him down.

"Heh... should smile more often..." Roy said quietly, as his fingers drifted upwards a bit from Cole's shoulder to lightly brush against his neck. "It suits you."

It was far nicer than that high and mighty facade he was always putting up. He could get used to it...

Before his partner could form a response, Roy had leaned in close, his head tilted sideways to duck beneath Cole's fedora. There was an inexplicable force driving his actions, like the moon affecting the tides, which he'd later blame on the alcohol. But he couldn't care what drove him. What he did care about, however, was that for a few lingering seconds, their lips were pressed together... warm, wet, and mingled with the bittersweet tang of bourbon. His palm at the base of Cole's neck, he tested the waters at first, but then brought his mouth eagerly against his at full-force.. going in for a deeper kiss.

Roy didn't remember Cole actually pulling away, but whatever the case, something had compelled him to stop. Inhaling deeply from the sheer rush of it, Roy broke away and searched Cole's eyes, who seemed to be utterly stunned. He had that look on his face when he was thinking hard, struggling to fit the pieces together. No doubt, the alcohol was slowing down his quick-wits. He didn't make direct eye contact for several long moments... but when he did, Roy saw realization flash in his blue eyes.

"Roy," Cole said at last, sounding as if he was purposely attempting to remain calm. "You're obviously very drunk."

It was an accusation, not a suggestion.

"Hey, no more than you, partner." He couldn't deny that was true. With a grin, Roy allowed his weight to rest against Cole, bodies flush together as he slumped into him. His knees were failing without the railing to hold onto, and he was longing to taste the softness of Cole's lips again... to kiss him even harder, assert some dominance, stake some claim...but this time, a firm palm was against Roy's chest as Cole gave him a shove.

"Roy! No. Listen to me... just... stop."

He'd forgotten how strong he was... military boy and all that, so for the moment, Roy backed away. He prayed he didn't look too wounded as he leaned with his back against the bar of the railing, trying to appear unmoved.

 A finger was pointed accusingly at his chest, but the berating never came as Cole struggled for words. Still, he was surprisingly composed as he shook his head and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

"It's late," he said simply. "I should probably be heading back home."

"You're going to drive yourself around in this sorry state?" Roy's tone was mocking, exuding an easy confidence, but he was grasping at straws. "Say, here's an idea... why don't we head back to my apartment? I've got more than enough room... and plenty of scotch, to boot--"

Cole shook his head, lips turned downwards into a frown. "I'm calling a cab, Roy."

Roy shrugged, arms crossed with his hat over his chest. He was torn between backing down or forcing himself upon him... but he settled for the middle-ground of getting the last word in. "Fair enough," he drawled. "But don't act as if you have a safe haven, Phelps. I know you don't. You'll be right back to your office... napping at your desk, like the chump that you are. You can't go home."

While he had hoped to get a rouse out of him, one last flicker of fleeting emotion, Roy was left wanting. Cole was already backing away... choosing not to return fire to Roy's antagonizing.

"I'll see you in the morning," Cole said in a businesslike tone, giving a polite nod of his head. "Thank you for the drinks. Good night, Roy."

Just like that, the night had reached its bitter end. As Roy watched Cole's retreating form disappear down the steps and around the side of the building, his figure casting shadows as he left, he found himself reeling. A thousand scattered thoughts came crashing through his brain like a tidal wave, but for now, he had alcohol on his side, a long-time companion. For now, he wouldn't dwell on it. He'd just keep on washing it back until he didn't have to think about it any more.

With nothing better to do, Roy looked upwards at the night sky, finding that it was particularly clear. Huh. It was a rare sight for a city-dweller, as any celestial bodies were blockaded by smog, neon lights, and the essence of sin herself. But tonight, it looked like a vast ocean up there... big enough to get lost in.

As if on cue, Elsa's voice, a truly unexpected sound, carried through the wooden doors of the club, slightly muffled and accompanied by the blare of trumpets.

The siren's song.

While it captivated most, Roy ignored it entirely, having a different course set for himself. He ambled down the steps and replaced his gray fedora on his head. Hands in his pockets, he wasn't sure where he'd wander, but he intended to walk until he was sobered up.  With any luck, he'd make it back to his place, and then he'd start drinking all over again. Tonight, he had little choice but to drown his sorrows...

... because tomorrow, it was sure to be rough waters ahead.