Archive of Our Own

10:32 PM PST

"I want my phone call," Jake says. The cop leading him toward the holding cells raises her eyebrows at him. "I know my rights."

"And you'll get it," Officer Asshole tells him. Well, it's Officer Ashbey by Jake thinks asshole is a fair assessment. He's still pissed that he got arrested along with the dumb ass who hit him. It's not Jake's fault he defended himself. If anything, he did that guy a favor—if Jake hadn't hit back the dude could have really hurt him and that would probably make any charges against him worse. "When the line has cleared up."

Jake sighs internally, but doesn't say anything. It's bad enough that he got arrested, he doesn't want to make it worse by pissing off the cops. His grandpa raised him to respect authority, his mama raised him to give it the middle finger, his sisters taught him to know the time and place for each option. Right now respect is winning out. Ashbey opens the cell door, she un-cuffs Jake before he steps inside. That's nice, he can see a couple guys still cuffed in the little row of holding cells.

His cell is blessedly nearly empty, only a big bald guy with a face tattoo, handcuffed to the bench he's sitting on, and a a mustached guy wearing a shockingly nice suit, the top button undone and an ice pack pressed to his forehead. Jake's a little jealous, all he got was some tissues to shove up his nose to stop the bleeding. Baldy and Mustache are sitting on opposite sides of the cell, so Jake takes the bench in corner, far enough away from Baldy that he can't reach him, far enough from Mustache that he hopefully won't start a conversation. Jake's not sure why, but he's got a feeling the dudes a chatter.

Across the way he spots Dicky—the real, actual name of the guy who punched Jake—he's sitting with an ice pack on his face. Jake bets he's going to have a hell of a shiner; he can't help the smirk on his face Dicky catches his eye across the way. He's still spitting mad, but that's not on Jake. Not his fault the guy can't handle his darts. Or losing. Well, that part might be Jake's fault. Whatever. He leans his head back against the wall, nothing let to do but wait now.

"What are you in for?" Mustache asks. Jake tips his head to the side to look at him. He seems to be asking earnestly; Jake wonders how long this guys been stuck in a holding cell for him to be trying to make casual conversation.

"Being too damn handsome," Jake says after a beat. "Can't imagine you've ever had that problem though."

To his surprise, the guy looks delighted by Jake's snippiness, his eyes widening and a smile blooming across his face. As soon as the smile starts, the guy grimaces, rubbing at his jaw. "Maybe you just have bad taste."

"I'll have you know my taste is impeccable," Jake crosses his arms over his chest, biting back a frustrated frown when his busted up knuckles bump against the sleeves of his tee shirt. "Better than yours at least. Did a squirrel die under your nose?"

"Har har, I'll have you know that people love the stache," Mustache grins at him despite what must be a lot of pain if the bruise already starting to show along his jaw means anything. "You didn't answer my question though."

"Darlin' I am not stupid enough to talk to anyone in a holding cell. I've seen enough cops shows to know you're probably undercover," Jake says, mostly to see what the guy does. "That would explain the mustache."

"Smart kid," Baldy grunts. Huh, Jake thought he was sleeping. "But he ain't no cop, just an idiot."

"You two know each other?" Jake can't help asking. He's curious and there's nothing else to do. Ashbey is finger printing someone else and there's still a line of people waiting for the phone. Jake would rather be in the cell where he's no longer handcuffed than standing and waiting in cuffs.

"Idiot over here," Baldy nods toward Mustache. "Got brought in fifteen minutes before you along with another dumb ass. The other dumb ass," Baldy jerks his head across the way to the cell where Dicky's being held, "started yelling about keeping his hands off his girl. Blah blah blah. All pretty boring if you ask me."

"Which I didn't," Mustache says.

"Mighty confident," Jake can almost respect it. Almost. "Bet you wouldn't be so sure of yourself if he wasn't locked up."

"You willing to put money on that?" Mustache asks, eyes sparking under the florescent lights. Good lord, this should not be working on Jake but god help him if fucking is. Maybe Dicky hit him harder than he thought.

"Putting money on things is exactly what got me into this mess, I'm not keen to do that again," Jake admits. He's not sure why he's telling a virtual stranger, probably because he's also a yapper.

"Bookies can be brutal," Mustache nods in sympathy.

"It wasn't a bookie, you really are an idiot," Jake sighs, shifting forward to brace his forearms on his knees. "I put money on a game of darts, when I won the guy got pissed and lost his temper. Not my fault when he came up with nothing he decided to take it out on my face."

"I've got to ask —"

"Do you have to?" Jake interrupts, narrowing his eyes.

"Yeah, I really do," Mustache is still grinning. "Did you happen to play a couple of games before you put money on it?"

"Sure, who doesn't love a friendly game of darts."

"And were you perhaps throwing poorly on purpose in the first couple games," he continues as if Jake hadn't spoken. What a fucking dick.

"That's a mighty rude accusation to throw out," Jake says, but he's got to bite back a smile. "I would never hustle a game of darts."

"Never?"

"I might throw left handed and with an eye closed when there's no money on the line, but I would never intentionally throw off," Jake shrugs. "Not my fault Dicky wasn't paying attention to how I was throwing, he was too busy watching where my throws were landing."

"Is Dicky is real name?" Mustache laughs sharply.

"So he said," Jake shrugs. "Can't imagine lying about a name like that."

"Speaking of names, what's yours?" Mustache asks.

"Gonna take more than a five minute conversation for me to give up that information, buddy," Jake leans back against the wall feeling self satisfied. It's not comfortable, nothing about this is comfortable, but he's having more fun than he'd expected to when he'd been unceremoniously thrown into the back of the cruiser. Honestly, he's half expecting them to come in and tell him it's all one big misunderstanding.

"What's it going to take, then?" Mustache leans forward, his elbows digging into the fabric of his slacks.

"You could start with yours," Jake suggests.

"Bradley," Bradley says, leaning forward even more and extending his hand. There's easily eight feet between them even with Bradley's long arms trying to bridge the gap and Jake's not getting up to shake it. "Come on, I can't keep calling you Handsome in my head."

"You think a name is going to stop you from doing that?" Jake barks out a laugh at the audacity. "How hard did you get hit."

"Not that hard," Bradley shrugs.

"What are you in for, then?" Jake asks, unable to stop the question from coming.

Bradley has the decency to look a little abashed, "Nothing really. I was at this fancy fucking party, feeling pretty out of place since that's not really my scene. I started chatting with a woman, just about the art and shit, her boyfriend didn't take kindly to me 'moving in on his territory'."

Even though he doesn't use air quotes, Jake can hear them. "Rookie mistake."

"What, and getting caught hustling darts isn't?" Bradley shoots back.

Before Jake can say anything officer Ashbey is opening the door to the cell, "Bradshaw, you can make your call now."

"Your parents named you Bradley Bradshaw," Jake asks as Bradley stands.

"When I get back you owe me a first name," Bradley says, letting Jake's teasing just bounce off him like water off a duck's back.

"Didn't peg you as a the type to be charmed by a pretty face," Baldy says. When Jake's head snaps toward him, his eyes are closed, looking unaffected.

"Didn't realize you knew me well enough to peg me for anything," Jake shoots back. Probably a mistake. This guy could kick Jake's ass if he weren't in cuffs.

"You look like a cocky asshole," Baldy shrugs. "Not usually the type to fall for the whole bumbling dope thing."

"I'm not falling for it," Jake huffs, but it tastes like a lie. He hadn't planned on talking to anyone in here and he's already knee deep in a conversation. Sue him, it's boring in here and Bradley's at least more interesting than staring at the wall. "I'm just bored."

"It's gonna be a long night for you if you're already bored," Baldy shakes his head. "For what it's worth, I don't think he's lyin' about why he's in here. You on the other hand, I'm not so sure about."

"What? I don't look like I can win a game of darts?" Jake's offended, he's pretty sure you can't tell how good someone is at darts by just looking at them though, so he tries to tamp down the annoyance. This guys clearly just trying to get under his skin.

"You look like a smooth talker," Baldy shrugs as best he can with one hand cuffed to the bench. "Wouldn't shock me if it got you punched. Often."

A quick glance at the phones tells him Bradley's still chatting with someone. He's not quite frowning, but he doesn't look happy about what he's hearing. Jake files that away for later, turning his attention back to Baldy. "Not that often."

"Often enough to knock a couple screws loose," Baldy counters. "Don't worry your pretty little head about it, I'm sure you'll be out of here soon enough. Straight laced guy like you probably already has a lawyer on retainer."

Jake scoffs, "Pretty sure that's for rich folks who get let out on bail before they're even in a holding cell."

The look he gives Jake clearly says 'fair enough'. They fall into silence, the sound of conversation from the clerks and cops washing over Jake like white noise. He wonders how long he'll be stuck here. It's already after 11pm, assuming the clock on the wall is right, and there are more people getting brought in than let out, which doesn't seem like a good sign for him.

Before he can spiral too far down that path, the cell door opens again and Bradley strolls back in. Any trace of frustration or discomfort from his phone call are gone, replaced by the easy confidence he's been wearing since he started talking to Jake.

"So, how about that name, Handsome?" Bradley asks, sitting down on the bench in the middle of the room, facing Jake. They still aren't close enough to touch, but if Bradley were to extend his hand again, this time Jake would be able to reach it. Baldy sighs from next to them. "You have something to add, Dan?"

"Just wondering why you two can't take whatever the fuck this is to the other side of the cell so I can at least try to sleep," Dan says.

"Fair enough," Jake laughs, heaving himself off the bench and walking the long way around the cell so he doesn't have to get any closer to Bradley. When he sits down, Bradley's already turned around to face him, grinning. "What?"

"Come on, baby, what's your name?" Bradley's still grinning. Jake wills himself to not blush at this chuckle-head calling him baby.

"Mighty familiar for a guy who admitted he got thrown in here for hitting on someone else," Jake stretches his legs out in front of him, crossing his ankles.

"If I'm actually bothering you, I can fuck off," Bradley says and then adds. "Or well, fuck off as far as I can given our current circumstances. But here's the thing; I don't think I'm bothering you at all. In fact, I think you're having fun."

"Whatever," Jake breathes out. "Jake."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Jake," Bradley's grin makes him look younger, eyes crinkling and cheeks rounding. "So, you're a big darts man, huh?"

"Fuck off," Jake laughs though because he is a big darts fan. He paid his rent in college more than once doing trick shots for money. "Just for fun, I'm not a pro or anything."

Before Bradley can ask him anything else, Ashbey's back and this time calling out "Seresin."

11:41 PM PST

Jake walks out of the cell without looking back, tossing the tissues into a trash can when he reaches the phone bank. He's got maybe four numbers memorized, which sucks. Calling his dad is a non-starter, he'd leave Jake to rot to teach him a lesson. It's not like he can call the afterlife to talk to his mom. Fiona is out east, so she's no help. He sighs, punching in the last number he knows by heart.

"Hello?" Cece's sounds annoyed. Jake would be too if he got a call from a random number at nearly midnight on a Friday. "Who is this?"

"Hey Celia," Jake breathes out. "I got myself into a bit of a bind."

"Jake? What number are you calling from?"

"I got a little bit arrested," Jake admits. It's embarrassing having to call his baby sister, but she's his best option. His only option, really. He'd have called Javy if he knew his number, but Jake's phone along with his watch, wallet, and belt are all in an evidence bag.

"You got arrested?"

"Repeating back what I tell you isn't actually helpful," he tells her. It's maybe not his best move, pissing off the person who might have to come down to bail him out is stupid, but Cece loves him enough that she'll do it. Probably.

He can hear her moving around in the background, like maybe she's grabbing her keys to drive from fucking L.A. to San Diego this late. "I just needed to clarify! You're such an asshole."

"Prison has hardened me," Jake quips. Officer Ashbey visibly rolls her eyes, which weirdly makes Jake feel better. "Listen, I don't need anything from you yet. Well, actually I need you to call Javy for me. I know he isn't a criminal defense attorney but he is a lawyer."

"He's not right in there with you?"

"Jav had better plans than hanging out with me tonight," Jake huffs. "I went out with Billy and Logan."

"Those two have always brought out the worst in you," Cece says, like she doesn't go along with Billy's idiot plans whenever she's in town. "I'll call Javy. Where should I tell him to go?"

"I'm down at precinct 5. Tell him to call someone here? I don't actually know how this works," Jake rubs his eyes, a tension headache coming on. "I didn't actually do anything wrong, by the way. Some dude started hitting me, I just defended myself."

"Then why'd they arrest you?"

"Hell if I know," Jake shrugs. Ashbey taps her watch signaling him to wrap it up. "I gotta go though. Don't worry about me, just give Javy a call. I'll text you when I'm a free man again."

When Jake gets back to the cell, there's another person sitting in it. Bradley's not talking to him though, he's literally twiddling his thumbs like they're in a fucking movie.

"Honey, I'm home," Jake drawls as he steps back into the cell. It's an objectively insane thing to say, but the words are already out of his mouth before he can stop them. Maybe he's got a concussion after all, the EMTs cleared him before he got put in the back of a police car, but there's always a chance that they missed it. Bradley doesn't seen to mind though, he's got his head tipped back against the wall, eyes on the door like he was waiting for Jake to come back.

"So, who'd you call? Wife? Girlfriend? Husband maybe?" Bradley asks, grinning at him. He's got a split lip that's sluggishly bleeding, Jake's half tempted to reach over and wipe it off. "Come on, what else are we going to talk about?"

Jake drops onto the bench next to Bradley, mostly because he doesn't want to sit next to Dan or the new guy. He smells a bit like he pissed his pants while drinking a distillery dry, there's no way Jake's risking sitting next to him and getting any of that on him. "We could play a game."

"But then I don't get to learn all about your dark, sordid past," Bradley nudges his shoulder against Jake's. Jesus, how did they get so close together.

"Nothing sordid about it," Jake admits. "I called my sister. I only have a couple numbers memorized and I sure as shit wasn't calling my dad or my sister who lives out in Boston."

Surprisingly, Bradley doesn't ask why Jake didn't call his mom. Instead he says, "I called my uncle. He laughed for a solid two minutes before telling me he'd come by in the morning if I was still stuck here."

"Sounds like family," Jake says after a beat. He doesn't have any uncles he'd call after getting arrested. "So I'm guessing you don't have a wife or anyone to call. Seeing as you're in here for hitting on the wrong woman."

"In my defense, she wasn't wearing a ring," Bradley exclaims, hands flying up as if to say it wasn't me. This is the weirdest way Jake has ever made a friend, but it kind of feels like they're friends now even though it's only been a couple hours. "I would have called my mom, she bailed me out when I was 17 and got busted smoking weed behind the high school."

"I would have called mine too," Jake admits. "Not because I was some juvenile delinquent though. She was just always the first call when any of us were in trouble. She picked me up from a party in high school because I got too drunk to bike home. Real top notch lady."

"Was?" Bradley asks, sounding like he genuinely cares what Jake has to say.

Maybe it's because a holding cell feels like a liminal space, maybe it's because it's been six months since his mom died and he hasn't really talked to anyone about it, maybe it's that he's probably never going to see Bradley again, so it's okay if he sees him at his most vulnerable. Or maybe it's just that Bradley's face is so open and earnest that Jake can't help but match his energy. Whatever the reason, he starts talking.

12:24 AM PST

When Jake tells Bradley how recently his mom died, Bradley doesn't offer any platitudes, instead he extends a fist, "Welcome to the Dead Mom Club, Jake. It fucking sucks."

Jake bumps their fists together, "It really, really does."

"That why you went out looking for a fight?" Bradley asks. It gets Jake's back up a little bit, because who does Bradley think he is acting like he knows Jake. Except. Except he does seem to understand Jake, at least a little bit.

There's still a bit of venom in his voice when he responds, "I didn't go out looking for a fight."

"I kind of did," Bradley shrugs. "I guess I didn't go looking for one, but when one found me I didn't try to defuse the situation at all."

"Why not?" Jake asks, curious about why Bradley would admit that to him.

Bradley lets out a gusty breath, "It's a long story."

Jake just looks around the cells, "I don't have anywhere else to be and I've suddenly found myself with plenty of time to kill."

"Fine, but then you owe me a story after," Bradley grumbles, shifting, trying to get comfortable on the hard metal bench.

"We’ll see how good your story is," Jake says, knowing full well he'll be telling Bradley a story no matter what. He's going to blame his eyes—there all soft and brown and doing a great job lulling him into a false sense of security.

"Asshole," Bradley breathes out, but it sounds fond to Jake. "My best friend always has really good intentions, but she got me a ticket to this art gallery opening tonight which really isn't my scene and guilted me into actually going. I was looking for an escape route and when I started flirting with that woman I thought maybe that was it. Her boyfriend coming over and punching me in the face wasn't ideal, but at least I'm not surrounded by pretentious assholes, eating the tiniest appetizers ever made, being forced to talk about art I don't understand."

"I probably would have punched someone just to get out of that," Jake admits with a laugh. "Sounds fucking terrible. Are you sure your best friend actually likes you?"

"I would hope so, I'm her kid’s godfather," Bradley smiles softly. "I think she just worries. She met her wife in college, they've been together for over a decade. Meanwhile I'm chronically single."

"Well, what's wrong with you?" Jake asks before he can stop himself. Jesus, where the fuck is his brain to mouth filter tonight.

"Nothing!" Bradley exclaims. "I mean, I guess I come on a little strong sometimes. And fall in love fast and hard. And occasionally that scares people away. But my mom always said I was special and the right person would like it."

"I hate to speak ill of the dead, Bradshaw, but I think your mom may have been lying to you," Jake says. He wishes he had a toothpick, a straw, anything to put in his mouth to stop it from running. Bradley shoves him, but not hard enough to move him. "Guess you just haven't met the right person yet. Some people are really into your whole thing."

"Are you one of those people?" Bradley asks with a bashful smile. It splits his lip again, blood slowly oozing before his tongue darts out to lick it. It really shouldn't be hot, but it's really working for Jake.

"I can't go giving away all my secrets," he says, which is an answer in and of itself.

"I'll take that as a yes," Bradley's smile looks awful smug for someone actively bleeding.

1:28 AM PST

The drunk, piss smelling guy has been drifting off, his chin nodding against his chest. Jake and Bradley have bets on how long it'll take before he falls off the bench. Jake put it at before 1:30, Bradley seems to have a lot of faith in the guy though, he said after.

"Oh fuck me," Jake gags as the guy leans forward and pukes. "That's fucking disgusting."

"And I won," Bradley grins even has he pinches his nose. His voice comes out a little stuff, "So now I get your number."

"You gonna memorize it or something?" Jake asks, pinching his nose too.

"If that's what it takes," Bradley shrugs.

The door to the cell opens and a janitor pushes a bucket and mop in, Officer Ashbey hot on his heels. She gets the drunk guy up and when it's clear he's just fucking wasted, leaves him in the cell. The janitor sprinkles some white powder over the puke, but Jake turns away as he cleans it up. He's a bit of a sympathetic puker and he really doesn't want to add to the mess.

2:03 AM PST

"I'm bored," Bradley whines. "I've been here for like four hours."

"And I've been here for three and a half, is it a competition or something?"

"I told you why I'm here, your turn to tell me," Bradley suggests. It's a fair point, even if it's a boring story.

"I told you already, I put money on a game of darts, the guy didn't take kindly to losing," Jake shrugs.

"How much money?"

"Started with a hundred bucks," Jake says with half a smirk. "When he lost I offered up double or nothing. He didn't take kindly to losing two hundred dollars so he decided to punch me about it."

"And I'm sure you were a very gracious winner," Bradley huffs a laugh.

"I'm always gracious, darlin'," Jake bats his lashes at him.

"Show me how you beat him," Bradley says. Jake has no idea what he's asking for though, so he furrows his brow in confusion. Bradley rolls his eyes, miming throwing a dart.

"Well not like that," Jake adjusts Bradley's wrist and then demonstrates himself. "It's all in the wrist."

"You'll have to show me sometime," Bradley says casually, like he isn't trying to make plans in fucking jail. Who is this guy? And why does Jake want to climb him like a tree?

2:41 AM PST

"I'm so fucking hungry," Bradley grumbles. Dan's gone, replaced by a surly and drunk looking guy who keeps looking at them like he's considering a hate crime. Jake figures they could take him if it came down to it, but he'd rather not get into another fight. Two in one night seems like a little much.

"Can't help you there," Jake says. He's hungry too, and fucking exhausted.

"Distract me, then," he suggests.

"With what?"

"What do you do?" Bradley asks, tucking one of his ankles under his thigh trying to get comfortable. It won't work, they both know that by now, but they can try to get less uncomfortable. "For work. Or do you hustle darts and pool to pay the bills."

"I'm only good at pool, not nearly good enough to hustle," Jake says. Bradley rolls his eyes, nudging Jake's ankle with his foot. "I'm a civil engineer."

Bradley whistles like he's impressed, "So you've got a big brain in that pretty head of yours."

"Fuck off," Jake laughs. "I'm good at math, numbers have always made sense to me. My dad wishes I would have gone into a more lucrative field, but," he shrugs. "I like building bridges and roads. I'm even working on updates to the sewage system."

"Smart, pretty, and altruistic," Bradley teases him.

"Don't push it, I'm also in it for the paycheck," Jake says. "I'd just make a lot more money if I went into designing weapons or airplanes."

"Yeah, but then who would build our bridges?" Bradley smiles at him. He looks sleepy, eyes a little droopy. Jake wants to see what he looks like when he wakes up in a bed—he bets Bradley's a slow riser, the kind of guy who needs four alarms to get up.

"What about you, huh?" Jake kicks at Bradley's foot.

"I'm a doctor," Bradley admits after a beat. "Oncology. Most of my research is in brain tumors, but I treat anything that effects the spine, brain, and nervous system."

"Christ, Bradshaw. And you called me smart," Jake's actually impressed, but then he can't help a laugh.

"What?" Bradley pouts at him.

"I'm just wondering how you're going to explain all of this," Jake gestures at Bradley's face, "to your patients on Monday."

"I walked into a door, obviously," Bradley says with a grin.

"That explains the black eye and bruised jaw, but about your lip?"

A slow grin spreads across Bradley's face, "My new boyfriend got a little over-zealous, obviously."

The audacity of this guy! Jake rolls his eyes, but even he can feel how fond it is, "Obviously."

3:09 AM PST

"How long can they keep us here without feeding us?" Jake asks.

"Probably longer than five hours," Bradley sighs. "Didn't you say your friend's a lawyer. Can't he come and bail us out?"

"I used my phone call already, remember," Jake reminds him. He has no idea when they became a package deal, but here they are. He can't even bring himself to correct Bradley, he's too fucking charmed by him. "Why can't your uncle come sort us out?"

"He's probably busy trying to decide if he should tell my dad," Bradley admits. "Probably should have just called him, but I always called Pete when I was in trouble as a kid and didn't want my parents to find out."

"You and your dad close?"

"Yeah, he's one of my best friends," Bradley says with a little smile. "Losing my mom—it was really hard on both of us. I'm not sure how I would have survived it without him."

"That's good, that you had each other," he feels a little lost about what to say. He and his dad can tolerate each other on a good day. Mom was the glue that held the family together, without her Jake's not sure he'll see his dad outside of Christmas and maybe at birthday parties for the nieces and nephews.

Instead of responding, Bradley just puts a hand on Jake's knee and squeezes. A silent comfort, something Jake isn't used to, but finds he likes.

3:48 AM PST

"I'm going to eat the biggest fucking breakfast burrito after this," Bradley tells him apropos of nothing.

"Get me one too," Jake says, stomach rumbling like it knows they're talking about food.

"Anything for you, baby," Bradley says, sounding like a promise.

4:36 AM PST

"I have to piss, don't look," Bradley winks at him as he stands up and walks over to the toilet along the wall. It's wild that they get no privacy. If Jake disliked the U.S. justice system before, he hates it now. Maybe it's selfish that it took him sitting in a jail cell for hours without an update on what's going on, but he's never denied being selfish. Jake averts his eyes, not that he was planning on looking, but he doesn't want to catch a glimpse even on accident.

Hearing it is unavoidable though. Bradley clearly really had to go, it sounds like fucking Niagara Falls on the other side of the cell. "Did you drink an entire ocean or something?"

"I've been holding it for like three hours," Bradley admits. "I was really hoping we'd be out of here by now.

We. Jake shakes his head to hide the way the word we makes him a little giddy.

"Can't imagine it'll be too long," he says. He looks across the room into the other cell and sees Dicky practically passed out against the bars. Good, Jake would be pissed as hell if that shithead got out of here before him. "From what I know, neither of us should be getting charged with anything, anyway."

"Maybe you," Bradley runs a hand through his hair, his knuckles look raw, scabs are already starting. Jake's don't look any better, so he can't even tease him about it. "I bet I accidentally got in a fight with some city counselor or something."

"You implying the system's corrupt, Bradshaw," Jake grins at him. "I expected better from you."

"Not sure why," Bradley shoots back.

"Must be something about your face, you look deceptively innocent."

"You looking at my face?" Bradley's smile is slow. If they were in just about any other context, Jake would already be trying to fuck him, but instead he just grins right back.

"Not much else to look at," Jake says.

"You can say you think I'm hot, I won't tell. Cell mate privilege."

"That's not a thing," Jake laughs loud enough that Hate-Crime-Face glares at them. "But fine, I'll admit it. You've got a pretty nice face. Besides that fucking caterpillar on your lip."

"I think you like it," Bradley puffs his chest up, clearly feeling a little proud of himself.

"I plead the fifth."

5:17 AM PST

The sun isn't starting to rise yet, but there's the tell tail pre-sunrise haze creeping in through the little, tiny window in the room outside of the holding cells. Jake's all but given up on getting out early enough to text Javy that he doesn't need his help after all.

"Bradshaw," a new officer who isn't Ashbey says from the door to the cell.

"Yeah?" Bradley wakes with a start, his head jerking up, almost clipping Jake's jaw. Jake's pretty sure there's a drool spot on his shoulder, but he can't bring himself to care.

"You're free to go," Officer Not-Ashbey says. "Come on."

"I—," Bradley looks at the door and then back at Jake.

"What are you waiting for man, go on. Be free," Jake shoos him. Bradley stands, but he's still hesitating. It would be sweet if he wasn't being so fucking stupid. He knows Jake's name, he can look him up after he's out of fucking jail. "Before he changes his mind."

"I'll wait for you," Bradley says dramatically.

Jake's not sure if he's joking or not so he says, "Don't. Look me up on Instagram or something."

"As cute as this is, get a move on," the officer says from the doorway. He doesn't look like he finds it cute, he looks a little disgusted. That's not Jake's problem though, his problem is Bradley being insane and weirdly romantic. He can't believe he just met this guy a few hours ago. It feels like he's known him his entire life.

Bradley gives him a little wave as he walks out of the cell, leaving Jake alone with Hate-Crime-Eyes, Pukey, and the latest addition to their cell, Hippie. Jake just tips his head back against the wall and prepares himself for another few hours in here before he's finally free. He's positive that he's not guilty, that Dicky started it and all Jake did was act in self defense, but he's also no lawyer, he has no idea if that's actually how the law works.

Jake's surprised to find he's sad to see him go. Not just because it was nice having company, but because he likes Bradley. He's funny and mean and gentle all at once. It doesn't hurt that he's hot as fucking hell, but that's not even in the top ten reasons Jake was enjoying Bradley's company. If Bradley doesn't end up looking Jake up, Jake might just have to look him up instead.

6:04 AM PST

"Seresin," the same officer who released Bradley says from the cell door.

"Yes?" Jake blinks his eyes open. He wasn't sleeping, not really, but he's pretty good at pretending. Hippie was starting to get chatty, faking sleep was a good way to get him to shut up.

"You're free to go," he nods at him. Jake scrambles to his feet at follows him out of the cell. He finally gets a look at the guys name tag and sees "Linden" printed on it. "Thanks for you patience while we reviewed the evidence and spoke to witnesses."

"No problem," Jake shoves his hands in his pockets. It is a problem, but he's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Are you interested in pressing charges?" Linden asks as he takes Jake's stuff out of an evidence locker and hands it to him.

"Not particularly," Jake shrugs. Dicky might have been a bit of a dick—no pun intended—but he doesn't want to fuck the guys life up over a bar fight.

"Suit yourself," Linden looks like he wants to protest. Jake bets he's the kind of guy who thinks people who smoke weed should be in jail even though it's legal now. "If you change your mind, here's my card."

He slips the card into his pocket, but he's got no intentions on using it. Instead he pockets his keys, puts his belt on, and says, "Where's the bathroom?"

Linden points him in the right direction so Jake follows the signs until he finds it. He takes a piss, washes his hands, wipes the dried blood off his face and hands, and then texts Billy and Logan to let them know he's fine. He also shoots Javy a text telling him it's a false alarm, but he knows he'll have to call him when it's not ass-o'clock in the morning. He's half tempted to go straight to Instagram and search "Bradley Bradshaw" right a way, but he decides against it. He doesn't want to seem too desperate, plus Bradley's probably passed out in his own bed by now.

He's so caught up texting Cece that he almost misses it. Bradley looks somehow more beautiful and more rough as he leans against the building, the golden morning light making him look almost ethereal.

"Fancy seeing you here," Bradley grins, pushing off the wall and walking towards Jake.

"How long were you standing there?" he can't help but laugh as he steps closer.

"Don't worry about it," Bradley shrugs.

"No that's not the right question," Jake says after a second. "How long were you going to wait? An hour? Two hours? 10-years with good behavior?"

"I was thinking 25-to-life, actually," Bradley grins, putting his hands on Jake's hips as soon as he's within reach and reeling him in.

"You're certifiable," Jake tells him, mostly meaning it too.

"You like it," Bradley says confidently.

"I have no idea why, but yeah, I do," Jake admits. He's the one who closes the gap, pressing his mouth against Bradley's. He's careful to not reopen his split lip, but Bradley's not taking any such precautions with himself. He licks into Jake's mouth even though they must have horrible breath right now, whines when Jake pulls back. "I'm fucking starving man."

"Good thing I'm forward thinking," Bradley says. "I found a 24-hour diner around the corner."

"What are we waiting for then," Jake goes to start walking, but he's stopped by Bradley's hand on his hip pulling him in for another kiss.

It's a good kiss, really fucking good. Soft enough that Bradley isn't hurting his cut, but firm enough to make Jake feel something. The next time they separate Bradley looks a little daze. Jake chuckles, pressing a thumb to Bradley's lower lip.

"When this is healed, you're going to have to show me what your mouth can do," Jake says.

Bradley's face lights up, like he wasn't expecting Jake to be thinking that far into the future. "Breakfast first though."

"Please," Jake says with feeling, allowing Bradley to link their hands together and lead them away from the station.