Work Text:
Colt finally gets his coffee. In fact, by midnight he’s sucked down about a gallon of bitter dredges all by himself. Around one in the morning an officer complained that he was going to run them dry. By two a.m. he was missing Jody terribly and by three a.m. he was bouncing his knees so jaggedly beneath the table in an attempt to keep his blood pumping and his eyes open that they finally cut him off and cut him some slack.
“You’ve had a rough few days, Mr. Seavers. We should be done for tonight. This is all being used as evidence in a case against Gail Meyer and Gail Meyer Productions. You won’t be charged for anything related to the murders, since the autopsy proves you were forty-thousand feet above LA just after his time of death.”
“Kinda hard to put a guy on ice when it’s five bucks a pop,” Colt mumbles somewhat hysterically into his empty coffee cup.
“A cup of ice is really five dollars?”
“Dunno, the exchange rate changed halfway across the Pacific.”
“I… don’t think that’s how it works, Mr. Seavers.”
Colt rubs grit from his eyes with rough fingers. “Is Jody here?” The borrowed ibuprofen he’d shoved down his throat eight hours ago had long since dissolved, and the adrenaline of proving that Hollywood’s sweetheart Tom Ryder was actually a scumbag narcissistic murderer by scraping over every painful detail of the past two years of Colt's life was really starting to crash down around him.
He wants to see a familiar face, take a shower, and pass out for the next week.
The officer scrolls through a few notifications on his phone. “Looks like Ms. Moreno wrapped up about two hours ago.”
Colt wants to feel glad, but really he just feels sick.
His ears are ringing from how long they’ve sat in this bare interview room, talking the same events in circles until he’s sure he could recite it all back to the officer by heart, like lines in a script. He vaguely remembers someone saying something like that halfway through his story about Ryder’s penthouse being shot up- that this all sounds like a movie, that ‘you actor types are drama magnets ain’t ya? Can’t help yourselves.’ And really Colt couldn’t argue, because he throws himself off buildings for a living just for the rush of it.
“Can I see her?”
The officer looks up from his phone, frowning, “You understand everything we covered, yes? There will be a secondary interview within the next forty-eight hours that you’re expected to complete. Failure to do so will result in possible detainment. You’ll be given updates on the court process, but things like this involving large companies like Gail Meyer Productions usually take a few years to wrap up. I’d recommend investing in a reliable coffee maker.”
Colt’s fingers wrap around his long-empty paper cup and he shuts his eyes against a growing migraine, “got it.”
The officer shoots him sympathetic look, “You doing okay Mr. Seavers?”
Colt tosses him a clumsy thumbs up and heaves himself to his feet on the count of three, letting his vision clear for a moment while he thanks the man and then he’s out. Free from that cold interview room with its blank beige walls and rotating cast of uniforms.
He blinks against the harsh fluorescents of Surry Hills Police Centre and shuffles his way down the hall, not really caring which direction he’s headed as long as it’s away from that goddamn room. He feels like a punching bag beaten to a bruised pulp, hanging upright to dear life by shredded seams. He very nearly trips over a plastic chair crowding the hall and catches himself on it, sliding to sit on its edge while he squints at the labels on the wall, trying to get some sense of direction.
Level two, Witness Interview, Investigation, Audio and Records, Equipment, Cafeteria- The words swim but he thinks the elevators are at the end of this hall.
He realizes he’s still holding the empty coffee cup. Should he get another refill? He should get another refill. He sucks a tired breath through his bruised, swollen nose. (Not broken, the set paramedics had assured on while detectives had worked on separating everyone for immediate questioning, but please see your doctor as soon as you can for a full check-up, Mr. Seavers. We know how you stunties are.)
His head aches and his face feels swollen and his limbs are stiff and his spine- holy fuck his spine-
“You’re not about to throw up, are you?” A woman in a smart pantsuit stands before him with arms full of laptops and binders and a steaming coffee cup. She nudges a nearby trash can his way with the toe of her loafer. “Not looking too hot.”
“Long day,” Colt shakes his head, grimacing a smile. “Just got done with my interview.”
“I know, I recorded the whole thing. Crazy stuff. You need help getting out of here? It’s a maze.”
Colt must make some sort of face because she nudges the trash can an inch closer just as an elevator dings pleasantly at the end of the hall.
“Jody,” His entire face softens, eyes warming, the seams snapping. It’s like he forgets the detective hovering around him entirely when the woman runs over to him and takes him in her hands, palming at his face and shoulders before wrapping around him in a desperate hug.
“Are you okay? You flipped a car Colt. You fell out of a helicopter!”
“You got all that in there, right? Records were broken,” Colt musters enough energy to raise his brows at the detective, “eight and a half flips. Two hundred and twenty five feet- Jody is brilliant. I want that on the record.”
“Colt,” Jody uses a gentle hand to drag his attention back to her, “Colt they’re done okay? They’ve got all they need from you. What do you need? How can I help?”
Colt’s blue eyes filter into sudden, intense focus at her words (they echo her words from so long ago, and last time he’d been too goddamn stupid to hear the love behind them-) and his face is unnaturally serious for a few seconds before he smiles crookedly, hopefully, “A kiss?”
“Jesus,” Jody breathes, and tugs his head into her arms, pressing his cheek into her ribs. He melts beneath the buzz of white fluorescents.
“You two are free to go,” the detective reminds quietly, “We’re sending more details on what to expect in the next 48 hours to your lawyers, so keep in touch.”
“Of course, thank you,” Jody breathes out in relief. She runs a hand through Colt’s sweaty, dusty, disgusting hair. “Let’s go, Seavers. I have a hot shower and a hotel mattress with your name on it.”
Colt mumbles something into her belly and Jody can feel exhausted tremors in his arms where they wrap loosely around her hips.
“What was that, baby?”
“S’long as it’s not the fruit-plate treatment.”
Jody scowls, swallowing back sudden, panicked tears swelling hot behind her eyes. Colt is warm beneath her hands. Colt is here. Colt is alive. it’s the second time she’s nearly lost him. She has no intention of letting him out of her sight anytime soon. “No fruit plates. Only clean sheets and all the coffee and kisses you could reasonably want.”
"What if I want an unreasonable amount of kisses," Colt grumbles.
She shakes him gently, smiling awkwardly at the detective pretending not to notice Colt’s obvious shut-down now that the investigation is over. “C’mon tough guy.”
“Mm’kay.”
The detective leads them back into the elevator and towards the lobby, and Colt tears up a bit when he sees Dan sitting there, waiting for them.
The man brightens when he looks up and rushes to greet them, squeezing Colt’s shoulder to drag him into a hug. Colt’s other arm doesn’t leave it’s place around Jody’s shoulders and for a moment, he’s surrounded on all sides with warmth and beating hearts and unshakable faith that these are his two best friends in the entire world, and he would do anything for them. He’d fucking die for these two, he thinks in exhausted hysteria- he has nearly died for them. He’d do it all over again.
“I hope this gets settled quickly, and quietly, for your sakes,” the detective says, “Thank you all for your time tonight, you’re all champs for letting us keep you this long.”
Colt hears them swap goodbyes before Dan pulls back, hand still resting heavily on his shoulder, “God man, you look awful.”
“Feel awful,” Colt admits, running his palm along the scruff on his jaw. He leans a bit heavier against Jody, fighting the urge to just crumple at her feet and weep in exhaustion and relief.
“Get some rest,” Dan clamps a big hand on his shoulder, dipping to meet his eyes, “‘tomorrow is another day.’”
“I know that’s a quote but I can’t even begin to guess,” Colt admits.
They swap hesitant goodbyes and one last hug before Jody calls an uber and shuffles him inside. The cab is dead silent between them, and his chest feels tight and the muscles around his spine are starting to spasm in small, unavoidable patterns of misery. He doesn’t dare move from his spot slouched against the seat, lest his body realize what he’s done to it these last few days and finally voice its mutiny.
After the shower after the shower after the shower- he pleads internally.
Turns out, he can’t even make it that far.
Jody supports him all the way to the elevator, and down the hall, and into the room, and onto the bed, before he collapses back onto the mattress and holds out an arm with a rough release of breath from aching lungs. “Please.” And hopes his voice doesn’t reveal how desperate he is to have her close, but the taste of gasoline is a ghost on the back of his tongue and he can still hear Ryder saying Jody’s name while gunshots echo through Colt’s skull and-
Jody’s fingertips are cool where they trace the tired, thin, bruised flesh around his eye sockets, thumbs brushing along his brow-line. He leans into the touch, wraps an arm around her waist, and lets the exhaustion consume him entirely.