Cause and Effect

by Brooke Edwards

  Kay pouts at him until they move out of her line of sight. She hopes that James still won’t have pants on when they get there. Nothing like shared awkwardness to forge a bond, after all. Those two are going to need all the help they can get.

  Peter is regretting most things about his life as he gets dragged through a maze of desks manned by very obviously staring strangers in police uniforms. Daniel’s hand is unreasonably warm where it’s clasped around his wrist, but that’s helping Peter keep a somewhat tenuous grip on reality. Apparently he’s developed a thing for manhandling too. The thought makes him snort, but Daniel is too intent on hauling him toward an office on the back wall to notice. He doesn’t even knock when they reach the door, just pushing it open. Peter recognizes Derek Moore and James Carter after a second. Derek looks taller than Peter remembered, and the scars are a silvery color now, rather than the dark, angry red that they’d been when they were new. James looks exasperated, if Peter had to put a name to the expression, but his face is a lot more open than Derek’s.

  “Peter,” James says after a moment of hesitation on all of their parts. One of his eyebrows goes up and his eyes slide across to Daniel. “Daniel.”

  “You need to figure out how to control that woman pretending to be a receptionist,” Daniel says. He still hasn’t let go of Peter’s wrist.

  “I think I’ll stick to things I can actually, well, possibly achieve.” James looks back at Peter. “How can we help you today, Peter? Once you get your circulation back, of course. Want to drop the cuff impersonation, Danny?”

  Derek crosses his arms across his chest, and the movement draws Peter’s eye even as Daniel drops his wrist with a sound somewhere between dismay and anger. Somewhere between anger and dismay pretty much sums up all of their encounters to this point. Peter doesn’t get much further along that train of thought before he’s distracted by the sight of a blatant hickey peeking out from underneath Derek’s unbuttoned collar. “Uh,” he says.

  Daniel’s sudden intake of breath makes all three of them look at him. “Have you seen Fairhall?” he asks Peter. His eyes are wide instead of narrowed, and it changes his whole face. “Has he sent you anything?”

  Peter shakes his head, half because it’s true and half to take away the stricken look on Daniel’s face. “No—no,” he says and ignores the relieved sigh from James and the loud exhale from Derek. He watches as Daniel’s face softens, the tightness around his jaw slowly easing. “I mean, I feel like he’s hiding somewhere just out of sight pretty much every time I leave somewhere, but that’s probably just anxiety.”

  Daniel’s gaze flits sideways to Derek for a second, just long enough for Peter to notice, before refocusing back on Peter. “That’s good,” he says. “Not that you’re anxious, I mean, but that you haven’t seen him.”

  “No one has seen him.” Derek’s words are barely audible. “That’s half the problem.”

  James reaches out but his hand falls halfway between he and Derek, like he thought better of it before he made contact. Daniel opens his mouth, but snaps it closed with a clatter of teeth a second later. Peter looks between the three of them, wondering what he’s missing, before Derek leaves the office without another word. The silence left behind hangs heavy in the air. Daniel and James look at each other for a long moment and then James breaks the eye contact to smile at Peter, pinched and worn-out. “I’m sorry about that—”

  Someone hammers on the closed door and cuts James off. Daniel throws it open, James surging to his feet, and Peter stumbles backward a few steps, further into the office. Kay is standing in the doorway, eyes wide and trembling, and she taps at her headset. James almost plows straight into Peter in his hurry to get to the phone on his desk, and Peter scrambles back into the corner of the office as the back of his throat tightens. A voice suddenly blares from the speaker of James’s phone. “—sure you can conference him in, sweetheart?”

  Daniel whirls around from the doorway, and Peter’s eyes zero in on the way his hand goes to the gun at his hip. “I’m here, Fairhall,” James says from the desk. He’s braced over it, arms locked, and his eyes are trained on Kay in the doorway. “Couldn’t get a hold of my cell number?”

  A chuckle comes over the speaker and Peter backs further into the corner, fighting back the urge to cover his ears with his hands. “New phone, I’m sure you understand. Your receptionist was most helpful. How have things been, James? It feels like such a long time since we last spoke.”

  “Prison’ll do that to your social life.” James’s voice is steady but his eyes flit to Daniel and he jerks his head toward Peter. “I’ve very much enjoyed knowing you were locked up. I’d love to return the status quo.”

  Peter looks up at Daniel in shock when he crouches in front of him. “C’mon,” he whispers, urging Peter to his feet with far gentler hands than the last time they’d touched. “Out, you don’t need to hear this.”

  The thought of fighting to stay crosses Peter’s mind, just fleetingly. The curiosity dies under the weight of the panic still sticking in his throat. Coy’s laughter comes over the speaker again as Peter gets his feet under him and Daniel guides him to the door, where Kay is still leaning against the doorframe. There’s another officer there by the time Peter blinks away the haze threatening his vision. He’s the better part of a foot taller than Peter, and there’s an easy smile on his face as he puts one arm around Kay’s shoulders and the other around Peter to lead them back into the bullpen. “There are some donuts left in the break room,” he says. His voice is warm. “Are you hungry?”

  It takes a couple of seconds for the words to make it to Peter’s brain as a stern-looking woman takes the headset off Kay and they get steered left down a hallway. “Where’s Derek?” Kay says suddenly. She ducks under the officer’s arm and looks around wildly. “He—he wasn’t in James’s office.”

  “He left a couple of minutes ago,” Peter says automatically. “Before the call.”

  “I didn’t see him go past me,” Kay says, and she hurries toward the front desk, calling out as she goes. “Derek!”

  A couple of the other officers look up. Peter can see their gazes sharpen when Derek doesn’t appear. “He might have gone out the back way,” the officer with his arm still around Peter says. Peter can feel his muscles tense where they’re pressed together. “Did anyone see?”

  Peter is still waiting for a response when he feels smooth, cool linoleum underneath his cheek and a heaving pressure all along his back. Everything is white noise, slowly clearing over the sound of shouting and echoes of slamming doors. “Hey!” Hands close painfully tight around his shoulders and drag him up. The big officer’s face swims in his suddenly blurry vision as he tries to adjust to being up, then down, and up again within the space of barely a second. “Are you okay?” a voice demands.

  “Holy shit.” It takes Peter a second to realize that the words are his. “What happened?”

  “Something exploded,” the officer says grimly. Peter focuses on the way his mouth looks around those words, to ignore the fact that something exploded.

  Another door slams and then Daniel’s face is taking over Peter’s field of sight, his hands replacing the other officer’s. “I’ve got him, Bailey,” he says, curt and rough, and then his voice softens. The change in his eyes is more dramatic than the change in his voice. “Hey, Peter, you with me?”

  “Yeah.” Peter clutches at his arms and holds himself back from just face-planting into Daniel’s chest. “Yeah, I’m okay, but—” He swallows. “What blew up?”

  “Squad car.” A muscle in Daniel’s jaw jumps but he grips Peter’s shoulders just as tight as Peter is holding his arms. “Not sure whose yet, but bets are on mine or James’s. Fairhall laughed right before it went off.”

  “Did someone find Derek?” Peter drags his gaze away from Daniel’s face. His heart hasn’t slowed down at all.

  “Jumped back through the door when it exploded,” Daniel says. His thumbs rub over the bumps at the front of Peter’
s shoulders steadily, a counterpoint to the rapid pounding of his heart. “He’s fine. Explosion was on the street-side, not the back. We’re waiting for a team to sweep for anything else out there and keep the civilians away.”

  Peter lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Daniel shifts his grip until his arm is all the way around Peter’s shoulders, heavy and warm, and starts urging him back toward the offices. “Let’s get out of the open,” he says, and Peter flinches, although whether it’s from the words or the sudden press of their sides together is anyone’s guess.

  5

  Daniel watches Derek and Peter through the open blinds of James’s office. The adrenaline still hasn’t worn off, an electric thrumming underneath his skin that could launch him off the face of the planet any second. James is out the front of the building, barking at the bomb squad while Rhys mourns the remains of his car. Mistaken identity, he’s pretty sure, but close enough that there’s some superficial damage to both his and James’s too. Daniel wants to be out there, at James’s side where he knows he belongs, but he can’t face the thought of leaving Derek and Peter under anyone else’s watch. He’d trusted Cohen Bailey to watch James’s back once, and look where that got all of them. James has enough eyes on him out there; Daniel needs to keep his on Derek and Peter. The inside of his cheek twinges and he shakes his head until his jaw unclenches.

  “So.” He smells the coffee in Kay’s hands before her voice reaches him. He takes it when she boosts herself up onto the desk beside him. “That was an eventful afternoon.”

  He snorts, swallowing half the scalding mug in two gulps and barely feeling it. “I am never coming in on a Saturday again,” he says bluntly.

  “You’re telling me,” she mutters. “I don’t even get overtime for this shit.”

  Derek is saying something to Peter that looks serious, and Peter looks like he’s regretting ever walking through the precinct’s doors too. Finally, Daniel thinks. It’s the first sign of sense he’s shown since they met. The thought of him coming to his senses enough to get the hell out of Dodge while he still can brings a simultaneous sense of relief and dread all at once. “We can’t just let either of them go home after this,” Daniel says. He leans into her and she leans back, clinking their coffee cups together.

  “Kind of telling that it happened when they were both in the same place, huh?” she says quietly. “Like he’s following one of them and was just waiting for the other.”

  “Points for paranoia,” Daniel acknowledges. “Who’d that rub off from?”

  “Don’t even pretend it’s not from you.” She kicks at his ankle. “Am I allowed to go home on my own? Because Morgan and I haven’t agreed on who we’d choose for a threesome yet, and things could get awkward real quick if I bring someone home and we end up disagreeing.”

  Daniel tries to bite back the laughter but a little bit spills through. “I’ll make Bailey escort you home,” he promises. “Morgan will eat him alive.”

  “You need to get over whatever issue you have with that kid,” Kay says, but she’s snickering too. When it stops and they’re both staring through the window at Derek and Peter, still deep in conversation, she continues. “He’s part of the team, and a team is the only way you’re gonna keep them safe. You and James are only two guns, and that’s not going to take this one down, Danny.”

  “Stop being rational and let me whine,” he mutters, kicking at her feet gently. “My car might have been parked far enough away to still be intact, but she’s still beat-up. It’s been a tough day.”

  “You’re a baby.” She hops off the desk, putting her coffee cup down, and comes to stand in front of him, hands braced on his thighs. “Just remember he’s trying too. James would have slipped anyone to get Derek back if that was the only way he knew he could. You included.” The kiss on the cheek surprises him, and she’s halfway across the bullpen before he shakes it off and wipes at the lipstick on his face.

  They’re both silent for a long time after James and Daniel push them into the office. James hovers for a long moment, leaning in to kiss Derek quickly and mutter something before bolting back out into the bullpen and disappearing into the throng of other officers.

  “I’m sorry you got caught up in this,” Derek says quietly. He’s still looking the way James had gone with glazed-over eyes, and Peter nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of his voice.

  “What?” he asks. “Why are you apologizing to me?”

  “Because a serial killer broke out of prison and killed three more people, just to come back and ruin my life, and you’re stuck here?” Derek blinks at him, the trance-like gaze mostly broken. “I mean, okay, theoretically that apology probably goes to the entire city, but you’re literally right in the blast zone.”

  Peter squints back at him, more concerned than anything. “Did you get thrown clear in the explosion? Hit your head?”

  Derek blinks again. “No, not really. Not enough to worry about.”

  “I literally hung around crime scenes,” Peter says. He makes sure the words are clear even though his mouth feels like he’s been eating dry rice. He isn’t sure there’s any adrenaline left in his body, and everything inside and around him is a strange kind of hollow. Sort of worried about Derek’s possible brain damage, but mostly hollow. He’s got no idea how to do CPR if the other man decides to suddenly keel over, and a brief spark of anxiety breaks through the hollowness. “Like… you remember that I actively went down an alley that I was sure a police officer disappeared in, right? I have the self-preservation instinct of an especially stupid moth. Dan—I mean, Detective Callahan, literally said those exact words once when he was trying to convince me to go away. There was a ‘fuck’ somewhere in there too, I think, but he still has a point.”

  “Danny’s got no patience for normal human curiosity,” Derek says, but his mouth twitches just enough for Peter to be sure he’s biting back a smile. “Don’t take it personally. The apology still stands. I have a feeling we’re about to be slapped with police escorts.”

  “Why is that a bad thing?” Peter asks. He’s having trouble following these jumps of nonlogic. “Wouldn’t you feel safer with someone with a gun near you all the time? I mean—” He scratches his nose, cold curling through his insides suddenly. It takes a lot of effort to fight off the urge to curl in on himself. “—just in case, right? That was—blowing up a police car in front of a police station is pretty bold. Like he doesn’t care about getting caught, even.”

  “He cares.” Derek looks down and he flexes his fingers. Peter watches, not sure whether he wants to know what the next words are going to be. “Getting caught was not part of his plan. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t be toying with us like this. He would have just gone after what he wanted in the open.”

  Peter doesn’t know Derek anywhere near well enough for the sudden urge to hug him to be appropriate. The hypothetical shame of being knocked back for a hug is too much for him to deal with so he just tucks his arms around himself and hugs there instead. “I don’t think the NYPD are going to let him just have what he wants,” he says. “Not that you’re not, you know, valuable as a lawyer or a person all on your own. It’s just, well, James doesn’t really seem like the sharing type?”

  “He’s not,” Derek agrees. Peter keeps watching him, waiting, but he doesn’t say anything more. Casting his eyes around in desperation for something to stop him from opening his mouth and babbling more nonsense, Peter hooks his ankle around one of the legs of the chair at the front of James’s desk and tries to drag it toward him. The chair isn’t as solid as he expects and he pulls too hard, the chair skidding toward him. It makes impact with the inside of his other thigh. The blow to his crotch is glancing, not hard enough to be crippling but enough to startle a punched-out gasp from him.

  Derek laughs, the sound too-loud in the small space. Peter looks up at him, hands clenched around the side of the chair to keep it away from the defenseless bits as the echoes of his laughter bounce off the walls, a
nd Derek’s eyes are wide, edging toward glassy. Peter knows exactly how easily shock can sneak up on a person and figures that almost getting blown up is as good a reason for shock as any. “Hey, hey,” he says and flings an arm around Derek’s shoulders, urging him off the edge of the desk and toward the door. Close enough to a hug. “Coffee sounds like a good idea, right? Is there a coffee machine somewhere?”

  “The coffee here is terrible,” Derek says as Peter squeezes through the door after him, still hanging on around his shoulders. “Like watered-down tar.”

  “That’s the one thing mainstream media got right.” Daniel is suddenly there, on Derek’s other side. His arm is warm and solid, spanning across Derek’s back and pressing against Peter’s arm. The warmth radiates out from the points of contact. “But some hot tar sounds like a good idea to me.”

  “I always wondered if those shows were actually based on reality,” Peter blurts out in an effort to distract from the hot weight of Daniel’s arm against his. “I mean, surely criminals don’t leave behind all that DNA evidence every time?”

  “You’d be surprised,” Daniel says and snorts out a genuine laugh. “People are always gross, it’s just rarely useable evidence.”

  “And crime scene technicians aren’t actually magic,” Derek adds. The side of his face that Peter can see looks a little less chalk-white than it had.

  “Shut your mouth.” Daniel looks around the bullpen, jerking them sideways into the kitchen. “If O’Hare heard you say that, I’d never get anything out of him ever again.”