Chapter Text
Hugin drew a slow breath, willing his body to look far more confident than he felt — He searched his memory for a melody he'd heard only a handful of times at the Midsummer ballroom, and began humming it beneath his breath, giving the clearing something to fill the silence besides the wind.
Right on cue, Rex stiffened beneath his hands at the first note, drawing Hugin's attention; his clear eyes easily caught the flush creeping over the tips of the officer's ears.
Still...
He knew with chilling certainty that one wrong move would have Rex striking for his jugular without hesitation.
Swallowing, Hugin kept the soft rhythm alive, guiding them across the clearing as their boots found stone, then grass, then stone again. He let Rex feel out each step rather than forcing them on him.
Far sooner than Hugin expected, Rex seemed to have found the rhythm.
Surprise flickered across his face before he buried it, relaxing instead into the familiar position, their movements falling into place so easily that Hugin almost felt he was dancing with Rose at the ballroom. With a faint smile, he lifted their joined hands, guiding Rex into a turn until the officer faced him once more.
The moment their eyes met, Hugin's heart lurched into his throat.
Twin carmine eyes glowered back at him like burning suns.
“. . .”
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit! Retreat!!
He was rubbish at planning, unlike Munin! Fuck!
Running and hiding suddenly seemed infinitely more sensible than dancing here with the tracking hound glaring holes through him.
Before he could even shift a step away — Rex’s hand snapped around his with bruising force.
The last thing Hugin registered before he was yanked forward was the sharp grin spreading across the Superintendent's face and the dangerous gleam flashing within those crimson eyes.
He felt his chest crushed into his, with instincts placing his free hand on Rex’s shoulder as his other arm was wrenched out, making him hiss in pain. A moment later, Rex's hand settled against the small of his back before pulling them into a motion.
There was nothing gentle about it. Where Hugin had guided with care, Rex handled him with brisk efficiency, utterly indifferent to whether the movement hurt or not.
For better or worse, Hugin had always been the adaptable twin. Instead of faltering as Rex undoubtedly expected, he slipped without hesitation into the follower's position of the strange tango.
Though, somehow, the fact that Rex knew how to dance at all was proved even more shocking than having Hugin's own trick turned back on him. And if Hugin's version had resembled dancing, Rex's felt more like being drawn into a fight by an enemy where the sharp clash of their boots replaced the music.
Hugin had little choice but to surrender to the Superintendent's lead. His arm jerked with each turn, his ankles pushed and pivoted wherever the lead demanded, and he was given no pause to work out what position they'd even ended up in.
He lost count of how many times he yelped at the pain, nor whether he had managed to follow Rex's lead at all before he was spun so abruptly the clearing blurred around him — only to be hauled right back without warning and dipped low enough to steal the breath clean from his lungs.
He struggled to steady his vision, the crimson blaze of Rex's eyes the only anchor he had as they hovered above him while the moonlight wrapped itself around the officer's silhouette in laughable gentleness.
Through the haze of his dizziness, Hugin could do nothing but stare up at him. "Can you... can you be a bit more..." Hugin stumbled over the words as he fought to ground himself. "I don't know, gentle— whoa!"
Before he could finish the sentence, Rex pulled him upright, spun him forward, and slammed his back against his chest. A sharp kick caught Hugin's ankle, making him click his tongue and force his foot exactly where Rex wanted it again.
Hugin drew a shaky breath, concentrating on following Rex's lead without provoking another painful correction, where moments later, he felt the fine hairs at the nape of his neck stand on end right as a warm breath brushed under his ear.
"If you wanted gentle," Rex bit the last word as he muttered, "you'd do well to use that famed deduction and choose your dance partner more carefully."
Hugin shot him a glare over his shoulder at the blatant sarcasm, only for it to vanish almost instantly as Rex's grip tightened over his.
In one swift motion, Rex folded Hugin's own arm across his throat, locking him in a chokehold, while his other arm wrapped around Hugin's abdomen, his hand clamped firmly around Hugin's wrist and pinning it against his stomach, leaving him unable to claw at the arm crushing against his throat.
Sick bastard. Hugin growled inwardly as he glared at the carmine eyes watching him over his shoulder with open glee.
Grinding his teeth, he drove his heel down onto Rex's foot, making the shorter man hiss, opening his mouth in response.
For one alarming moment, Hugin could have sworn Rex meant to sink his teeth into his neck — but rather than dwelling on that image, he instead twisted hard against the loosened grip, tearing free, he caught Rex's wrist before he could tighten it again, and hauled him forward off balance, driving his knee into his stomach.
The blow drove the air from the Superintendent's lungs in a muffled grunt as Hugin glared down at him. Only when Rex lifted his gaze, meeting Hugin's eyes over the brim of his hat, did he realise the man was grinning.
It was a wide, almost manic grin, as those crimson eyes blazed up at him.
And without realising it, Hugin returned it.
Afterwards, their "dance" dissolved into a constant struggle for control.
One moment, Rex was wrenching Hugin's arm through the middle of a spin. The next, Hugin clamped both hands around the man's wrist and used the hold to drive a high kick straight into his side — only for Rex to counter with a kick of his own, the impact forcing the two of them apart with neither relinquishing their grip; their hands remaining locked, straining as raw strength decided who would seize the next advantage.
At some point, Hugin managed to sweep Rex's legs clean out from beneath him. Before the man could hit the ground, however, Hugin caught him by the front of his collar in a dip — realising a beat too late that his fingers had snagged the black tie at Rex's throat, the knot loosening beneath his grip, as he tugged it loose in the next moment.
Accidentally, and then deliberately, the tie had become another part of their performance. They looped it around wrists to restrict movement, jerked it sharply to throw the other off balance, or twisted it just enough to drag pained sounds from one another.
It happened so often that Hugin eventually lost track of who had the possession of it, or whether either of them still ever used it.
It reached the point where Hugin blinked and realised he was smiling. Actually smiling. Already in motion, he stepped closer to the other, using Rex's shoulder for leverage; Hugin lifted his leg and drove his knee towards the man's ribs.
Rex caught it neatly against his own knee with neither of them looking away from the other. Those crimson eyes remained fixed on his own, where the Superintendent's grin matched his almost perfectly.
Undeterred, Hugin yanked the navy cap on Rex’s head over his face before shoving him backwards — in the same breath Rex caught Hugin's wrist, dragged him forwards with him, whipped the cap back off his own face, and promptly smacked it against Hugin's with an infuriatingly smug grin.
Hugin didn't waste another second. He seized the tie, now hopelessly tangled around Rex's right wrist, and gave it a hard, unforgiving tug. The pull lurched the man off balance, dragging him sideways and forcing him down onto one knee. Yet this time, the Superintendent did not so much as blink in surprise. If anything, the grin never once left his face.
Returning the grin with far too much ease that should be concerning, Hugin took the cap next from Rex’s hand and rammed it firmly back over Rex’s face until the brim swallowed the man’s eyes entirely, leaving him fumbling to show it back into place with only one hand.
In that split second of stillness, Hugin realised his lungs were burning. Above them, the stars glittered coldly; bearing witness to whatever it was they had been doing. Heat flushed through his body as he drew in ragged breaths, and yet the fact that he was smiling was what jolted his mind back into place.
Wait… what are we—
His heart skipped. He ignored Rex and looked around before quickly locating the alley opening where he had last seen the journalist lying unconscious. He could not be sure how much time had passed, and the thought that the man might have woken up made his stomach tighten.
Worryin his lower lip, Hugin glanced back down at the officer, who was still struggling with the cap. It would be fixed far too soon for his mind to piece anything together.
He needed to end this and fast. But how?
As he stared down, his sharpened gaze caught on his scuffed boots, making him lift it and take in the rest of the scene more thoroughly — his gaze shifted to Rex’s spear, then to his own top hat, and then his… cape?
Hugin furrowed his brow in confusion.
As though confirming that he was not as mad as he felt, the evening wind passed through him, making him shiver. He lowered his gaze to his grimy white shirt and the half-unbuttoned waistcoat hanging loosely over it, which did little to keep out the cold now that the adrenaline was steadily ebbing from his body. A short distance away, he also spotted Rex's leather coat lying where it had been cast aside, its silver trim catching the faint light and betraying its place in the darkness.
Hugin did try to piece together everything that had happened, but his mind refused to — or rather, it felt almost as though it had nothing to work with, as if it had stay in the moment during whatever had occurred between them, reacting instead of stepping back to view it from above as he usually did.
Breathing more heavily at what that suggested, he slowly let the tie slip from between his fingers and took a careful step back, just as Rex pulled his cap off, throwing it to the side, and leaving Hugin with no time to look for his two dobermans.
Rex’s eyes immediately lifted to him, blazing with a heat Hugin had not registered before, making his face feel warm at the sheer intensity of those carmine eyes staring up at him with pupils blown wide.
Hugin swallowed as clarity settled more firmly behind his eyes, and with his growing awareness came the physical proof of their scuffle: the sting and bruising along both sides of his body, aching in protest. Rex, by contrast, simply cracked his neck after he fully straightened, his red shirt just as grimy as Hugin's own with the throat half unbuttoned.
At some point, then, the two of them must have rolled across the grass and stone — which that, too, Hugin found impossible to piece together and confirm.
Oh, how he loathed this feeling of not knowing.
Think. Think. He pushed past the pain, refusing to fall back into whatever had possessed him, once he caught the movement of Rex advancing slowly towards him, the intent clear enough that he needed no words for it. He could practically hear it: Ready for round two, detective? The officer’s smooth, authoritative voice supplied itself so vividly in his mind that his body heated even more in response.
Hugin pointedly ignored the possible reason and greedily let himself feel warm because of it.
No longer matching the playful, intense energy the other man was clearly emitting, Hugin thought quickly. Rose's usual tricks of seduction would clearly not work on Rex — Leaving him with only one very clear way out.
Very well, then. Hugin schooled his expression into a false reflection of Rex's own, though the one thing he would never admit was that, with every step Rex closed between them, the sharp grin on his face felt a little less like a performance, with anticipation thundering through his chest in the silent night.
In a blink, they were standing a breath apart, where Hugin found himself meeting the Superintendent’s bright carmine gaze with unsettling ease.
This close, it took Hugin little effort to study the man properly. He stood two, perhaps three inches shorter, a stray strand of hair jutting up from the crown of his head that his cap usually kept hidden, where without it the shadow it normally cast across the upper half of his face was missing, making him also look younger than usual. Yet given his position, Hugin had long suspected he was a few years older than he appeared.
What nearly made Hugin choke on his own breath, however, was the light kindling within those usually subdued eyes — a light that made Rex seem alive rather than the cold officer Hugin had grown accustomed to seeing.
His still-recovering mind, though, couldn't quite grasp why, where he knew that he needed tea and peace before he could properly categorise what had taken place tonight with the officer who was—
Wait.
Hugin blinked, his clearing eyes settling on the gaze that was now scanning him rather than simmering with playfulness. The narrowing of those eyes carried an assessing edge that made his whole body tense — proof enough, if he had needed any, that Rex’s sadistic streak was every bit as much a part of him as his impartial justice.
Unlike me. He tried to push away the possibility that he would ever enjoy violence without proper justification. He would not.
Unintentionally fuelled by part annoyance at himself and part irritation at the situation, Hugin latched onto the shift in the air with sudden clarity. Before Rex could react in whichever way Hugin currently couldn't predict, he moved first, driven purely by desperation and his frustration.
In one swift motion, he seized the tie looped around Rex’s wrist and swung behind him. Rex was already turning to meet him, but Hugin gave him no chance — he wrenched the officer’s arm back hard enough to draw a wince, then caught the other arm and twisted it back to match, tearing a curse from Rex’s throat. Quickly and messily, Hugin bound his wrists behind his back, then swept his legs from under him and brought him down.
However, once it was clear Rex had lost his footing, Hugin reeled back against his own frustration, and instead of letting him hit the ground, he caught him, one hand supporting his back while the other steadied his bound arms as he lowered him carefully onto the grass, mindful not to hurt him further.
His gaze lingered on the bruises already blooming across the other man's skin, and guilt twisted uncomfortably in his chest.
It's not fair to take my irritation out on him. The silent promise came easily. Once this was all over, he would buy Rex something sweet from that famous bakery little Cynthia had told him about and have it delivered to his office — right after he kept the rest of the promises he had made himself tonight—
"Whoa — hey, hey, calm down!" Hugin sprang backwards as Rex twisted beneath him with startling speed, jaws snapping for his hand — or any part of him they could reach, the sudden movement sending Rex pitching onto his chest once more.
Hugin could see the fierce crimson blazing in his eyes, now burning with confusion and fury instead, and somehow the sight only sharpened his guilt.
That guilt was replaced by horror quite quickly, though, when Rex planted his forehead against the grass and drew his knees beneath himself to—
"No, no — I can't have you doing that!" Hugin scrambled behind him just as Rex pushed himself upright onto his knees with unsettling ease. Before he could rise fully and lash out with his legs, Hugin — his judgement evidently still absent — tepped in behind him, slipping one leg between Rex's own and hooking his hand beneath his jaw to wrench his head back until their eyes met. Pushing down the fear rising in him, he flattened his other hand against Rex's chest, pulling the man's back firmly into his thighs.
The only response from the painstakingly furious man was the sharp clack of teeth snapping shut in his direction, the blazing red of Rex's eyes seeming to burn even hotter.
"Treating one of the Navy supervisors like this will land you in far more trouble than jail, Hugin!" Rex snapped.
"Yeah, I know." His brain entirely elsewhere, it left his mouth to run as freely as his expression, where a faint smile tugged at his lips as he stared down into Rex's crimson stare, where he could have sworn a flicker of the dormant lightning sparked brighter within it.
Still, he felt a bit safer knowing Rex needed a Nexus before his reactor could be used safely.
Unlike me. The familiar thought widened the gulf between Rex and his twin sister. Looking down at him, his smile lingered as he pushed aside the thought of using his own reactor on the officer. "Good thing I've got one very capable high-ranking officer at the Constabulary on my side, as well as a Superintendent of said Navy to shield me, hm?"
At that, Rex's thrashing stopped dead. His eyes widened as though the words had struck him across the face. Shock gave way to recognition, and recognition rapidly curdled into disbelief, bewilderment, and finally a look of absolute, reality-shattering horror.
Hugin could not resist leaning in to watch it unfold.
He'd meant it as nothing more than a provoking jab, but it seemed to have struck like a bullet through whatever glass ceiling had been shielding Rex from a truth he'd seemed to have been ignoring.
Whatever revelation the man had arrived at, though, he was clearly not pleased with it. In an instant, his lips began to shape a familiar whistle.
Without pausing to think, Hugin pulled his hand from Rex's chest and reached instead for the small black bag fastened behind his holster. He flipped it open, pulling out one of Alf's so-called "first aid supplies".
Catching the end of the black tape between his teeth, he tugged it free from the roll. The first note of the whistle had barely sounded before Hugin let go of Rex’s jaw to take the tape from his mouth and pressed it firmly across Rex's lips. He tore it free with a sharp pull, then smoothed it down, making certain it would hold.
Only once the deed was done did the full weight of it sink in.
Well… I'm fucked…
Hugin's wide eyes settled on Rex's motionless figure. The man remained kneeling, his head now bowed as though even he had been stunned — whether by the sheer audacity of what had just happened, or by the fact that Hugin had apparently been carrying a roll of tape in the first place.
Whatever the reason, Hugin had already dug his own grave; all that remained was for someone to shovel the earth over him.
I'll ask Dr Firtho to do it. He thought, knowing, unlike his other confidants, the doctor would have no objections to burying him alive if it meant gaining another test subject for one of her experiments.
He silently tucked the tape back into his bag before swiftly setting off towards the alley. If the journalist was still there, he wanted this finished quickly so he could disappear before calling Gratia to help Rex, since if he called Lorin it would no doubt only bruise the Superintendent's pride further and give him more reasons to track him down; though, this time, Hugin would feel deserving of being cornered into a fight. On top of it, asking anyone else would just drag them into questions about their relation to him.
Especially considering how furious Rex might still be after he leaves.
Hugin considered this as he peered into the alley, relief flooding through him when he found the man’s unconscious body lying there. Without pausing to wonder how much force Rex had put behind that baton to leave him so thoroughly out cold, he briskly walked up and crouched beside him, immediately beginning his search. Having neglected to bring the Revealer light with him, Hugin had little choice but to rely on touch alone.
Pocket after pocket, each unsuccessful search made it increasingly plain that none of this — any of it — had been worth the trouble.
Hugin could already feel a tight knot forming in his chest, the unease tightening with every passing second. He clicked his tongue, trying to ease the tension, before rolling the unconscious man onto his side so he could breathe more easily. Rising to his feet, he let out a quiet sigh. Great... he thought. He must have hidden it somewhere before, or during the chase.
The reel itself had certainly been genuine. His intelligence had simply failed to account for the journalist returning home far earlier than usual, where Hugin had ended up confronting him in the open with the evidence already in hand, only for the man to wrest it free and bolt, forcing the pursuit that had led them here.
As he turned all this over, he reached up to fix the brim of his hat, only to meet empty air. Lowering his gloved hand to inspect it, his wide eyes eased into understanding. His fingers curled into a loose fist, then relaxed again. Right. His gaze drifted towards the mouth of the alley.
It was eerily quiet, which left only two possibilities. Either Rex had freed himself and was waiting to jump him the moment he stepped back into the clearing — in which case retreat would be the sensible option— or…
Curiosity, tempered by guilt, won out, and Hugin made his way back with measured steps. Leaning just enough to peer over the wall, he looked towards the place where he had left Rex, and—
Huh. He blinked.
Rex was exactly where he had left him, only now he sat on the grass with his knees drawn up and his boots planted firmly against the ground. The strip of black tape still sealed his mouth, his bindings remaining intact, though he somehow appeared more rumpled than he was before.
He looked, Hugin thought despite himself, remarkably like an irritable dog being fussed over by an anxious pack. The two Dobermans had evidently taken the opportunity to emerge from the shadows to check on their keeper, one nudging insistently at Rex's cheek while the other sniffed along his leg. All the while Rex was enduring the attention with obvious irritation.
Although…
The distant look in his eyes made it clear that whatever was grinding on his nerves had little to do with the dogs' persistent fussing.
Seeing no immediate danger, Hugin stepped fully into the clearing.
It took everything in him not to freeze, let alone jump, when his otherwise silent footsteps proved enough to wrench Rex from whatever distant thoughts had claimed him. The moment those carmine eyes found him, they ignited with unmistakable fury.
The Dobermans, having to sense the shift in their keeper, abandoned their inspection and turned as one to face Hugin; their dark eyes fixed upon him with quiet vigilance, making him sweat all the more. Please don't let them share some telepathic link, or a signal I haven't accounted for.
Not that it would have surprised him if Rex had trained them to also obey the stamp of his foot.
For now, though, Rex did nothing beyond glaring at him from under his fringe. The pair of Dobermans also planted themselves firmly in silent defence, watching as Hugin began to circle carefully around the clearing to collect the belongings scattered across the ground.
Only once he had gathered everything did he approach again.
Keeping what he judged to be a safe distance, he lowered himself onto one knee and set Rex's possessions in front of himself, before meeting the pair of blazing crimson eyes that had not left him once since his return.
Being prevented from speaking, Rex expressed every ounce of his irritation through the intensity of his stare alone, the silence between them growing heavier with each passing second.
Left with no choice but to fill the silence himself, Hugin cleared his throat softly into his fist. "I do apologise for all this, Superintendent." His quiet voice carried loudly through the still night.
He avoided Rex's gaze as he stood, settling his cape back over his shoulders before fastening his waistcoat and smoothing it, before finally placing his hat atop his messy silver hair. Once done, Hugin's eyes settled no higher than Rex's chest, watching he slow, measured rise and fall of the man’s breathing; the controlled movement making it painfully clear that Rex was restraining himself from launching himself at him.
The thought alone drew a faint quirk to his mouth, feeling a simple admiration for the Superintendent's undying determination.
Stubborn man. He closed his eyes briefly before opening them again, forcing his voice into its usual calm. "I intend to call one of the Argent Knights to aid you, so don't wor—" A quick glance at Rex's face made him stop short, his gaze narrowing in turn at the man. “Don’t look at me like that.”
The deeply offended, thoroughly judgemental glare Rex levelled at him was enough to make Hugin frown in return.
"Gratia is a sweet woman. She cares very little for hierarchy within the Knights, let alone the Navy or Constabulary. If anything, she'd be more concerned about you once she sees you in such a... ridiculous state." Hugin sighed with his arms crossed.
Rex's glare eased just slightly, as he instead raised his brow that Hugin read without difficulty. He ignored the pair of Dobermans, who had settled with their tongues lolling, and answered the silent query instead. "Yes, I'm fully aware you could report me to her, but…" A faintly mischievous smile found its way onto his face as he turned to look at Rex from the side, rather pleased by the collection of acquaintances he'd gathered during his time in Silverium.
"By now, Officer, I would have expected you to know I have quite the unique set of connections." Including you, was what he thought — but, "You can't possibly have believed you were my only special contact," was what he said instead.
Close enough, he thought, turning his back on Rex before he could catch whatever expression the man had made. He reached for his grappling hook, aimed it towards a nearby rooftop, and fired.
Holding the brim of his hat, Hugin glanced back, eyes sitting on Rex's shoulders. "See you around, Superintendent." Activating the hook, he was smoothly hauled skyward, the familiar rush of cool night air washing over him, easing the tension coiled in his body, settling his racing heart and quietening his restless thoughts as he began crossing the rooftops towards the main street with concerning ease.
What a night… Hugin sighed; the exhaustion that was held at bay by the events finally settled over him as nothing demanded his attention.
At least that strange, oppressive feeling he had sensed before had faded with the one-sided conversation he'd had with Rex.
Even so, something had lingered stubbornly at the back of his mind. An uneasy sense that he should have said, or perhaps done, something more. But what, was the question that followed him all the way back to Morgue Street, refusing to leave him in peace even after he returned to his quiet home.
Hugin found Alf asleep on the couch, her soft snores filling the living room. Without disturbing the girl, he draped one of their fluffy azure blankets over her before turning his attention to sending a quick letter to Gratia through the Silverium tube mail system installed in his office.
Once the message regarding Rex’s location had been sent, Hugin finally allowed himself to focus on easing some of the ache weighing down his body. After tending to himself, he completed his nightly routine with slow, heavy movements, the exhaustion he had been carrying finally settling over him in its entirety.
By the time he finally collapsed face first into his bed, his mind was too tired to hold onto any coherent thoughts. That night, he dreamed only of darkness, broken occasionally by the distant rumble of a storm in the background.