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mariamariquinha · 6 months

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Bossa Nova (Benny ‘Borracho’ Magalon x f!reader) - Nine

Eight

Summary: The LASD couldn't sustain its reputation as an honest police officer if it tried hard. In that case, no one tried.

Word count: 9.1k

Warnings: Bad words, talks about corruption, talks about sexism and racism, mentions of oral sex, mention of drug crimes, violence and other things related, strip clubs, sex workers, use of weed and... did I say sexism?

Author’s Note: I think this got a lot more personal than I thought, so I'm sorry if anyone has family members within the LASD who aren't corrupt - this isn't about them. This chapter doesn't have much romance, I'll warn you right away, but it's an important progression in the main characters' relationship. Give it a try!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

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You were in the business a little while ago; a few years, nothing that still didn't stop you from getting suspicious looks or incessant questions to make sure your work was well done. Emma, at least, who was the one who mattered at the moment, trusted your instincts and your ability; at best, she said you had good directions.

At worst, that you were very witty. The moment she called you into her office, you were sure this was the version of you she was hoping to meet.

“What did you do over the weekend?”

On Saturday, after finishing the initial report on the Ballard case, you realized you'd only slept for 4 hours when your brother made a ridiculous phone call to a tennis match with probably very wealthy friends. You went. After a scraped knee and sore thighs, you found that it was enough for his office to get a big case of something you didn't pay attention to. Then you enjoyed what felt like an uncomfortable sea spray from your air conditioner, which ended up going out for good and you had to walk in shame to Target to buy a fan. You had seen what looked like a seepage in your bathroom while you were brushing your teeth and that was the last clear vision in your memory of how your weekend went.

But maybe that wasn't what she wanted to know - no, it certainly wasn't that. And you treated the situation as such: deliberate disinterest to speculate.

“... Nothing special.” You shrugged, averting her gaze since she wasn’t even giving you the satisfaction of looking at your face. From the time being, Emma was always busy. You being there didn’t make sense.

“Not making good use of the day offs?”

“My phone keeps on like I'm with the President himself,” Your tone wasn’t soft, nor polite. That grabbed her attention, enough to turn her eyes to you over her glasses, eyebrows raised. “Occupational hazard.”

“Mm.”

And she went back to her computer, typing and clicking and watching the screen as if you weren’t there. That made you scoff. Irrationally, you felt a twinge of disappointment and frustration with her.

“I won't tell you about what happened.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

“Thinking of ordering?”

“When you haven't used your authority for a long time, it becomes rusty. It's never a good idea in this line of work. Learned that from my mentor when I started.”

“And of course you thought you'd start this with me.”

“You are my main concern right now,” Emma made a scene to turn to you again, impatient and bothered by your behavior. “At first I thought you were fraternizing with the enemy too much, but then I'm pretty sure I lost you along the way. I don’t like this.”

In fact, you had gotten relatively invasive as the case progressed. Nick was never easy, that was a fact, nothing surprising or expected. The recent developments with Isla had left you in a position of naivete, as if you were as new to the business as an intern, deluded by TV advertisements and oblivious to what was really going on in the Department. If you got there and said everything, Emma would take you off the case. Maybe O'Brien even hinted at it, which could have led to that conversation, but the truth was that far from it or not, they both seemed to have a hard-on putting you in situations where they treated you like an avatar of personal control.

You noticed that your reports were right there on her desk - that she read them. Still, you shifted in your chair uncomfortably and looked away again, a grim expression crossing your face as you heard her sigh.

“You should have taken the days off I told you to.” The comment grabbed your attention after a beat of silence.

No, don’t you dare-

“... I'll pretend you're not implying what I think you are.”

“It happens, you know? Maybe we did you wrong for not bringing the subject up for so long.”

“Don’t bring Theodore into this.”

“I’m trying to understand what’s happening!”

“What's going on is you've got a fucking cop on the verge of corruption taking the pomp and shitting rules around here,” You snapped, your voice quick and full of venom as you leaned in to make yourself heard. “What's happening is there's a girl who almost died because she was helping Nick and now she has a huge target on her back. The biggest problem is that these things happen around here as if they were routine and when a fucking person gets shot in the face, you have the indecency to call it a side effect when everything was nothing but irresponsibility.”

There were things in your life that were untouchable, things that Theodore had done or that circumstances had only presented - things cruel or subtle, but things either way. That was from your father's side, people said, of being reactive to the unfair. He's always been on that part of the spectrum, even if the cops with questionable ethics and ambiguous behavior were in his basement collections.

You had chosen that career for the sake of the right thing and your cynicism carried you far enough to pass certain contexts in silence. Emma never got it out of your mouth that you knew what Nick and the guys did at the weekend parties or how the cocaine bust counts never rallied because someone ended up taking some for themselves. That even happened in the DEA as far as you knew. And you let all that go, because in the end that would be your job and there would always be a smaller percentage of subversion than of solution. O'Brien still caught the bad guys. Circumstantially, Mathias too. But one of the two always had a bit of powder in their nostrils or their cock inside an addicted whore.

“Don't tell me it's the job. I’m aware.” Emma shut her mouth as soon as you said that, one hand raised to stop her. “But you and him make it all seem like a game of who's going to budge some kind of boundary you set. I’m not obligated to go through this.”

“What do you want me to do?”

The sigh that left your mouth was tired, suffocating.

“Stick to my reports if you can. And if you're taking suggestions, don't try to be my friend. You're not very good at this.”

When you got up to leave the room, Emma didn't stop you, but you didn't have any sense that you were winning anything. There was no relief. Your face was hot and your steps erratic.

Certain reputations had to come from somewhere, after all.

-------------------------

“My husband was a member of the group.”

Isla had a calm voice despite the context in which she was inserted. There were no handcuffs on her wrists or a guard inside the room; everything was done very smoothly. There was, however, a palpable tension in the air, as if a black cloud of violence or distortion hung within that interrogation room.

Really, you shouldn't even be there, watching. Henderson was sitting to one side as he watched through the glass the conversation Zapata and Gina were having with the woman, and that should be enough for them. Even so, it was Gina who suggested that you participate indirectly, presumably to find out details about the photography issue as she had a curious background in the business. She was good, you could tell. Depressed too.

According to the file, Isla was of Albanian origin. The parents were immigrants and ran a small textile business in Coney Island, but they weren’t anything but a fast topic of conversation. The features of her face, such as the more rounded nose and the full face, were half erased by the bruises. One eye was swollen with purple and yellow hues, her jaw was bruised and her lips were dry. One of her arms had been broken, as well as the shoulder on the same side had also been dislocated. You didn't see her coming, but you guessed that she walked with difficulty because of the wound in her left calf. It was the only shot she took, grazed but painful.

Looking at it that way, she didn't look so much like Debbie. Maybe their comparison was in the look: the two seemed equally taken by a feeling that hovered only in Nick. One that you didn't know what it was and that maybe nobody could put their finger on.

She spoke of everything. Kosovo, her relationship with a man named Oliver Clark, her marriage and children - Selim, with 5, and Dafina, with 9.

You just noticed that Nick entered the room when you smelled his cologne. Bad smell, as always, enough to break any serious moment with that fragrance. You couldn’t help but make a face, pinching your nostrils once and clearing your throat. He ignored you, of course. Benny appeared right behind him with two cups of coffee - you two shared a brief look.

“We have the search warrant,” He said to everyone in the room, eyeing the scene in front of you with a stern face. “I also got WPP.”

A little late for that, you thought but decided not to say anything.

“Anything important?” Took you time to understand that the question was directed to you. When the silence became too much, you turned to him and saw everyone staring.

“... Nothing I didn't already imagine. I'll have better luck when I have the equipment,” You leaned over the table, just a touch, and read the notes you’d taken. “Leica M6 35mm, Pentax K1000 and… Nikon 35 Ti. Analog. This Leica is a rarity, I think it was the one she used for her first Homicide case.”

“Couldn't it have been someone else?” Henderson asked.

“Is that just a stupid question or do you want to make sure we've tested all options?”

“Both. So?” Nick pressed, arms crossed and nothing but harshness on his tone.

You observed him for a beat, considered your chances there.

“... The Leica is from the beginning of the last century, like, the 30's to the 50's. At least this model she said she has. In addition to being rare, not everyone nowadays can handle it because the resources are basically mechanical. It would be an absurd coincidence, which is not quite the case.”

“We've dealt with coincidences before.”

“Are you fucking with me right now?”

O’Brien didn’t answer. You rolled your eyes, going back to the notes before giving Isla another look.

“How long has she been doing this?” The question was kind of thrown up in the air, as no one dared to answer. You glared at them, specifically at Nick, who huffed in annoyance before saying something.

“One year.”

“And the case landed in your lap…” You said. “It seems that you really work with coincidences.”

Again, no answer. Feeling like you couldn't get from point A to B with anyone there, you jotted down some more information on paper and stretched your back, rolling your shoulders.

“It will be manual stuff then. They’ll have to look at each negative.”

“If it can be done then I don't see a problem.”

“Of course not,” You conceded, voice contained to prevent any progression there. It was like swallowing a fucking lamp.

Everyone was quiet when they heard Isla speak again, attentive as they watched every detail of the story that should no longer be news to Nick's ears. You were so concentrated that the noises of chairs dragging on the floor didn't even call your attention. Someone said something, the door opened and closed, and suddenly there was a cup of coffee right next to you.

Benny tapped the lid twice.

“Decaf,” He mouthed discreetly, just for you to understand, before retrieving his proximity and leaving the room.

-------------------------

Benny didn't have a very organized routine, but he could count how many times he thought about you after that shitty lunch: two.

1. That coffee wasn't for you, but he thought of you when he noticed that the Starbucks server had made the wrong order. It was kind of spontaneous. Suddenly you were there, at the front of his mind, like you were hovering around and ready to just emerge. He put it there, left the cup as if saying ‘you can have it if you want, but if you don’t it’s fine’. No one brought the subject up.

2. Nick had gone to the store to meet an informant and someone, probably Connors, saw a familiar figure at the register when they entered. Benny knew it was Murph who commented, but he saw Zapata turn his head to look at the guy.

“Do you know who he is?”

“Who?” Benny frowned, unaware of the commotion. He turned his head, saw the dude standing there staring at his phone - like a normal person.

“This is Theodore Park, our trouble girl's ex.”

There was only one person Connors called 'problem girl' and it wasn't usually the kind of comment that came from beyond the grave. However he recognized the guy, whether it was a run-in at office parties that Benny barely attended or some private investigation that bordered on a stalker personality from Murph’s part, it seemed to be true. When Magalon looked back again, Theodore Park was gone.

The second time, then, he discovered who your ex-husband was while listening to what seemed like irrelevant information to the investigation. In the midst of Nick's reticence and failures, Theodore Park was the object of his interest.

He was tall; compared to the 5'7 that Benny was. Maybe 6'2, compared to O'Brien. There were some university articles about him (three paragraphs at Berkeley, two large PDFs at CSULB that he didn't read, and good references at Caltech) and he seemed successful with an information systems company or something. Benny could never speak properly about these things because he was never interested; as long as he had a phone that worked, he knew how to use the most intuitive social media and that was it. But not Theodore, no. The guy was a successful man indeed in that aspect, indeed. A rich guy on the way. Without much effort, Benny would see this dude doing TED Talks and making Forbes in a few years.

Which had nothing to do with him, or what seemed like your type of guy. If Theodore was on one side of the spectrum, Benny was on the other in every way.

Well, that was distracting. Still, Magalon didn't do much with this information. There wasn't much he could do with it anyway.

It was only later - days later - when they had agreed to go to a 'club' to 'decompress', that he found himself thinking about you for the third time.

Earlier that day, he saw you talking to Lennon over what seemed like conventional pleasantries between friends. You were wearing jeans, both hands in your back pockets as you paid attention to something that was being said. Your usual lab coat was gone, probably because Benny could clearly see that your shirt was tighter, had a wider bust and the position of your arms gave a subtle view of your breasts. Nothing indiscreet, because you weren't indiscreet. That outfit, however, made Benny have a sudden indiscreet thought, and it stayed in his head all day.

He hadn't looked for you anymore - he hadn't had the chance to do that. Things escalated and suddenly there he was talking about how similar he was to Nick, pushing you away with the worst of comparisons. You didn't even react, which he understood as full acceptance of the fact that he was an asshole, as if that was the one thing that Benny and a technology nerd like Theodore had in common: being a scoundrel. You treated him as always, even though what had already happened between you should have been enough for that 'always' to change.

The girl standing next to him was called Lindsay. She sat down, started a conversation; they talked very little. Lindsay was wasted, not even bothering to clean the traces of cocaine from her lips or the way her eyes were dark; Benny asked if she wanted to go home and another friend, named Tracy (or Tara), who was visibly lucid, said she would take her. He paid for the taxi, made sure they got into the car safely, and discreetly showed the driver his badge. Like any other night.

He watched the taxi disappear down the street, then, on the other side, the movement of cars on that side of the city. It was late summer and the breeze of the change of season was a sure sign of the arrival of autumn, so he felt the wind hit his face.

Benny didn't go back up to the hotel room with the guys. He handed the parking pass to the usual guy, got in the car and headed home.

No, not like any other night. That time, Benny felt another wave of what someone once said was a ‘midlife crisis’.

-------------------------

You weren't a fan of bathtubs. Well, you had one, but it was that kind of thing... borrowed into your life, shoved down your throat because it wasn't so bad after all. Just like the coffee table. And the kitchen window. And the kind of lamp that lasted so little but, look, it was chic. So like all things, which seemed to be the biggest provocation that accompanied a 'gift' from a big son of a bitch, or a reminder of how there was a sense of ease in making your life miserable, you enjoyed it.

Something like that.

You had plans to get rid of each of these things soon, because all in all, the financial part of your life was also… complicated. A visit to the bank, a mortgage proposal, expenses for the large yard and the last remnants of your student fund. You looked through apartment websites for sale and just that idea left you incredibly depressed because, on top of everything else, you were a crybaby who lost the comfort of a husband who paid most of the household bills. And not to mention the job, because… damn, the fucking job. It had been days since you closed your eyes and saw Nick, Isla, Emma, Ballard, Mathias; what kind of fucking burnout was that?

So that night, when your heels were swollen and your back was sore, you allowed yourself a few minutes of privilege. Bath salts, then the heat of refreshing water and, among other things you haven't done in a long time, you felt a little sorry for yourself.

Connors had posted a photo with the guys on Instagram - you saw it by chance, one hand resting your head on the edge of the bathtub and the other scrolling through your phone. ‘bday party w/ the fella 🔥🔥🔥’, with Benny below his arm in what looked like a half drunk pose, in what also looked like a strip club in the background. You stared at it for a moment. Then another. Then another. There were easy smiles, joyfulness, even happiness; like it was just a standard day, as if the world was okay as soon as the first beer landed on their tables.

There was never a question with them, a doubt. It was as if, arbitrarily, the main characteristic of a cop wasn’t useful for them to become the ideal professionals that everyone thought they were. There is no need for moral duty, responsibility and care, as proof that the world, in itself, was also not moral, responsible and careful.

That was it. It was this pain, this itch, that disturbed you, because you knew that no questions were directed at Theodore when things ended. He, above the law, with money in his pocket and a successful career ahead of him, didn’t receive any dirty looks for having cheated on his own wife, who in turn would, in fact, receive condescending comments, pats on the shoulder of comfort and an unfair response from a boss, who attributed your problems to the great evil of having lost an idiot husband. That was what you always hated the most.

You abandoned the phone at the closed toilet seat.

“Alexa, turn up the music!” You said after a moment, listening to ‘Life on Mars’ in full volume and with your eyes closed.

-------------------------

The first sip of coffee was distracted. When the taste hit your tongue, you immediately grimaced and threw the drink back into the cup, staring at the totally undrinkable dark thing.

Great. No good coffee as well.

You wiped the corners of your mouth with your fingers and left the cup on the table, a little unsure whether you should throw it away or not. Just… Ugh. You threw it in the trash can, massaging your eyes with the heels of your hands before taking a long breath.

The break room was naturally busy in the morning, with people on double shifts taking a break and those who were arriving, like you, in and out of the tiredness of the end of the day with the beginning of another. Everyone was chatting amongst themselves, exchanging details about cases they were working on or the new bar that had opened nearby, so it was a bit strange that as soon as you rolled your shoulders to ease the tension, everyone turned their attention to a Lennon out of breath who entered the room with an urgent voice.

“Did you know?” That's all he said, then turning on the TV and stopping in the middle of the tables to pay attention. You, who were further in front and close to the coffee machine, had to lift your head a little more to understand what was happening.

“Recognized for the successful work carried out on the Merrimen case, Los Angeles County Major Crimes, coincidentally on the day of the closure of one of the most intense operations carried out in the city and credited in its name, hands over the most recent drug trafficking case to the Drug Enforcement Administration, the DEA…”

You could hear some gasps from your colleagues, murmurs and shushings, so that they remained quiet and could listen carefully to what was there as if it wasn't obvious. After that, you just stared at the screen in disbelief, your brow furrowed and your hands outstretched at your sides. When they cut to the scene of the press conference in the building's press room, which appeared to have taken place not long before you arrived, you could only see Nick standing next to the sheriff, Walsh's team, and Mathias himself at the lectern making the announcement.

Mathias's voice was a background sound, almost like an irritating noise in the silence of that room that seemed huge. No commotion, no direct press releases, just a 'peaceful transition' (Walsh's words) to 'a more prepared and complete team' (also Walsh’s words), which indirectly could mean more than cutting spending by the County government but rather a nudge coward of someone who didn't have the balls to chest someone basically… male.

You felt a little bad about that.

But, heavens, everyone thought that. And when Gina, of all those present, said mid Walsh's phony speech right after he highlighted the inefficiency of the forensic team (a part you only realized when he used the terms 'difficulty communicating with experts' and 'inadequacy expert with the magnitude of the case'), you blinked and saw her standing for herself, arms crossed and ready to fight.

“Yeah, but you're not in front of the fucking San Francisco Chronicle, Walsh. For someone who always speaks your mind, you're putting on a bad act.” She said to the TV.

Look, the system was a curious thing, clearly presumptuous and obviously selective. It has always been like this, world to be world, human beings to be human beings. And perhaps that was what generated discontent that soon disguised itself as responsibilities and survival, at least on the part of people like you, Gina and Emma, in the sense of gender, and in Henderson or Lennon in the sense of race, for example. It was like a constant obstacle, often exposed like a ghost that could lie dormant until it struck again.

No one there got caught up in it because they didn't have time, but everyone recognized the mechanisms and adapted to them. Neither you nor Gina whined much when the sheriff organized annual running competitions and didn't stay to reward the winning women; from what little you knew of Henderson, you didn't see him complaining, for example, about the fact that Nick always put him in for questioning black suspects, tapping him twice on the shoulder and saying 'you know what to do', but heavy in a condescending tone. Hell, you always saw the same ridiculous type of episode happening with Lennon as well.

Taken back to reality by the commotion bubbling between your colleagues, you noticed Emma standing in the doorway as if she had sneakily appeared to observe the reactions and the two of you exchanged very tense silent looks. She didn’t look defeated, but averted your gaze as soon as it became just a staring contest.

You turned to the TV - to the takes of Nick and the guys during the Merrimen case, then at their faces during the press conference.

Huh.

-------------------------

The atmosphere was burial-like, to say the least. You had spent the day in the laboratory, like a forced routine return, and it was as if no one had the balls to open their mouth and speak verbally about the subject. There were official emails from the DEA requesting evidence that had already been collected, reminders from Emma about other cases you were working on in parallel, one thing or another from Ballard (who didn't know how to create an email conversation and ended up answering each of your responses with a new email). There was a sepulchral silence from Major Crimes, but not the kind that left them untainted in the precinct's dome of recognition and social hierarchy; it was a shameful silence.

If you could bet on a collective concern, perhaps everyone was tense at the idea of having been publicly exposed as incompetent, and if even the best team of detectives in the county had failed, there was no certainty of the stability of the Department's resources. This would not only make the LASD incompetent (or corrupt), but also incomplete.

You have a new text! Your phone said, right when you were in the middle of a photo digital treatment of a license plate from a robbery case, even if your mind were wandering. In one of the browser tabs, Zillow was open with apartments in the central area of the city and, in another, your aunt's Facebook because your mother said she had done a hair atrocity (she had dyed her hair egg yellow, which could be an atrocity indeed). You looked at the phone screen lazily, already expecting another question from Ballard about anything that was already written on your reports, and when you saw who it really was, you were surprised.

-------------------------

“Is this a bat cave or something?”

In fact it didn’t even look like a cave, it was just the rooftop of the building. From afar, you could see the maintenance guys working in the electrical system on the top floor (which was where the Department's technology section was located), so if O'Brien and the others were trying to create some kind of reflective scene after a defeat like Zack Snyder, you could only read how pathetic and improvised the attempt was. It almost made you laugh. Almost.

“Was that supposed to be funny?” Zapata asked with a scowl, to which made you raise your eyebrows at the animosity.

“I think so, but if you're offended I think I'm on the right track.”

“You really are a bitch.”

“Tony-” Benny intervened.

“Yo, there’s no need to-” Connors said.

“Yeah, Zapata, watch your fucking mouth,” Biting back wasn’t exactly the best idea, because you knew the spirits were agitated, but it was obvious that the context didn’t allow for that type of behavior against you. Everyone there knew that that reaction was the remnant of misdirected anger.

You two shared a silent glare. Tony considered your face for a moment and you did the same; when Magalon pushed him to avert the attention, Zapata waved him off and walked away - you and Benny shared a small glance, one he soon ended to look at Nick, who watched the scene while lighting a cigarette.

“We done?” He asked.

“Don’t know, Nick, are we?” You sighed in defeat, sitting on a concrete support and looking anywhere but him. Again, you did what seemed like a copying mechanism: brushed your hands over your face, leaned over your knees and just… accepted. “How?”

“He used Isla.”

And so, being a somewhat literate person in the context of dealing with police officers, you could see the pattern and tone of the conversation that had just begun: it was almost an interrogation. Everyone there, kind of around him, looking for the person who would go to the guillotine. It took a while, between the silence that followed, the way everyone (except Benny) was staring at you and Zapata's reaction so spontaneously explosive, but when you lifted your head and looked at that scene, connecting the dots, you frowned and felt truly offended.

“Wow.”

“We need to be sure.”

“And who do you think you are to act like that? A fucking Corleone?” That made you scoff, giggling in disbelief. You adjusted your stance, arms crossed and erect back. “Believe me, O’Brien, if I had anything to do with this shitty show, you would know it by my own mouth.”

“You reacted to Isla.”

“Because I’m a human being, Nick, the fuck.”

No one said a word. There was this soft breeze flowing around, given the time of the year and the area where you were, one that you noticed that made their hairs flow and you shiver a little. If you paid close attention, you would see frustration and rage and that regular disappointment of a kid when they have lost a toy they like or are denied a candy. The loss, whatever it was, hurt for them but not for professional reasons but for honor. A very uncompensated and arbitrary honor, but an honor nonetheless. And it was always easier to blame someone else. You knew it was easy to make a calculation that would work for you because there would always be the feeling that you were impulsive, stubborn, even cruel - because men hurt you, because you still resent things in your personal life.

“I think it's common sense that almost no one here likes you very much,” You said in a low tone. “And we can agree that ethics and professionalism aren’t exactly the main pillars of what we do.”

Nobody said anything, because you were right. It was actually impressive that you managed to maintain a calm, almost soothing tone right after being basically accused of something so serious. Deep down, you felt that, at least, Nick didn't put much faith in this hypothesis, that this was a demonstration of power in front of others because his hands were tied and this was truly new to him.

And you didn't ask what the plan was, what they were going to do next. You didn't care about that. No one needed to cry because they lost the case, it was obvious that it wasn't the first time this had happened - it certainly wasn't the last either.

Nick puffed some smoke out of his chest, eyeing you for a moment. Then, with a ‘tsk’, he walked closer and crouched down in front of you, eye to eye, making you realize how much he hadn't been getting a good night's sleep.

“He promised exclusive protection. For her children, for her… Even for the fucking cats she has,” He said, but you knew it was a personal talking, something the others knew but didn’t quite understood. “I can't offer that.”

“It became personal.”

“... Yeah.”

“And do you like her?”

No answer. Nick looked at you for a moment, then averted his gaze to the floor. You saw Benny there, watching, expecting, and you didn’t know why that made you sigh in some kind of compassion.

“You’re tired,” Not a question, but a statement. One you did calmly, almost whispered just so he could hear.

You two looked at each other. Nick was clenching his jaw, holding words in his mouth and turning them around enough so they could come back in a dry swallow. When he looked away first, looking at the floor, blinking a few times, it was the first time you really saw genuine frustration, a moment of weakness that maybe, one day, Debbie had seen, or that the co-workers who were around you at the moment also witnessed in a rare way.

Your brow was furrowed and you were truly confused by this gap. Looking around, above O'Brien's head, you saw Zapata looking at the city around him with an annoyed look, his back to the two of you; Murph kept his hands in his hoodie pockets, Henderson had his arms crossed. Benny watched you, then looked at the ground, shaking his head.

No, this wasn't about you, nor was it your fault. In that context, you were just a part of the realization of something you hadn't touched until you saw every defeated feature on that terrace.

“... Are you sure?” You asked, blinking a few times with a shaky voice.

Nick shook his head.

“And you expect me to do something about it?”

“No,” He said with a firm tone, getting up on his feet. “No one here is sure.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” It was directed to Tony, who just tsked and averted his gaze.

When everyone kept quiet, not daring to admit their mistake or even apologize, you were the one getting up, still not sure how to react and uncertain of how to end that conversation.

“Never do that to me again, don’t-” You collected your voice, clearing your throat. “If you're disappointed with how things ended, don't expect me to help put out your fires.”

“I didn’t ask you that.”

“So what are you asking? Mm? Because I know you don't want me to pat you on the head and tell you everything is going to be okay,” There was harshness in your tone, almost a fury. And surprisingly, he didn’t answer that equally. “Share the weight of your conscience with those who are really at fault. And, I don't know, investigate, prove, don't do anything. You're Nick O'Brien, Big Nick, the badass. From what I see, everyone here has the right to doubt, so if it's worth the advice, start asking questions in the right place.”

“Maybe you won't like it if I start doing that.”

“Oh, is it a threat?” With raised eyebrows, you walked a few steps closer, staring at him in the eye.

“It wouldn't be the first time you tried to harm my team with your shit. You were the first to point the finger at me because of Isla, but you didn't hesitate to make a scene with Walsh and put Benny in the middle of whatever it is you have with the guy.”

“Listen now-”

“Excuse me?” You frowned, not even letting Magalon finish the interruption he was doing while getting closer. “I didn't ask anyone here to defend me! If this fucking case went wrong, try to consider your incompetence or the fact that no one asked you to fuck a suspect.”

When he kept quiet again, you scoffed, shaking your head.

“It’s so easy, isn’t it? Walk around like you rule every place, do whatever the fuck you want, put the blame on everyone to feel better… I've always seen Walsh that way, but he's not an exception, he's a rule. You come here, accuse me, then insinuate something so…”

“So what?”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Then I was wrong. You’re dumb and naive enough to not see that. Or a coward.”

You nodded.

“You always had all the tricks in hand and let a widowed single mother almost get killed by a gang. Who really is the coward here, Nick?”

Turning your back, you walked away from him, already opening the door to leave the terrace. Before you could, though, you eyed him one more time.

“Whatever your plan is, when and if they ask me, I'll be sincere. About you and about her. Because I can do that.”

“You would never say anything against Emma.”

“And I don't blame you for not believing that. It’s clear that it's been a while since you've been able to understand honesty.”

-------------------------

“You called her a bitch.”

Hearing Benny's voice break the silence was strange, so everyone was confused before understanding what he was saying. When they understood, he saw Zapata shift uncomfortably on the couch, looking at the coffee table.

“I didn't think straight at the moment.”

“It seems like no one here has done that.”

“You want to say something?” Nick pressed with a rough tone, as if ready to snap at the detective right away. Benny measured him, shrugged.

“I told you it was a bad idea.”

“We needed to be sure. This shit is going to get ugly soon.”

“And you pushed away one of the few people who could keep us from getting screwed over too.”

The intimacy created that kind of unexpected conversation, even though everyone there saw Nick as an older brother or a symbol of leadership. When they exchanged glances after Benny's response, there was a silent consensus that the disagreements were slowly getting bigger, something that had been surrounding the group long before you showed up or the case.

Everyone continued smoking in silence and the tense atmosphere didn’t dissipate. Things weren't going well.

-------------------------

Who were you to point the finger? To define people by a standard of behavior? To say 'you’re good' or 'you’re bad'?

You knew Nick could and did play dirty. You would imagine, given recent events, that Emma had learned to play this game from the position she had. This left you in a spiral of personal conflicts because, in the end, you felt like a hypocrite for wanting so much for things to be as per the booklet. Hell, you knew what you were getting into when you started your career there - you always did. And at the same time, after all that, you felt a hint of disappointment, of suffocation, as if you didn't have a shred of rationality.

It was an explosion of things, of sensations; you didn’t know how to deal with anything and you couldn’t tell anyone. Maybe you were a little paranoid too. Sometimes you were watching Emma, waiting for something, as if at some point she let out a more strategic and 'selfish' nature.

The marijuana stash (that's what your brother called it) was in the drawer next to the bed. When you were with Theodore, he also used it, although he didn't really like it because he had headaches, so it was a common thing in the house.

You were on your third or fourth drink, staring at the ceiling and releasing smoke into the air. There was no music, just the low light in the room and the brightness of Kojak's aquarium. Someone had been trying to call for half an hour, but you didn't answer, keeping your eyes distracted on the ceiling - There were some stains from the beginning of an infiltration near the window. You would have to fix this too before considering selling the house. The idea made you grunt and grimace.

Before you could put the cigarette back in your mouth, someone knocked on the door. The doorbell had stopped working a while ago and that was another thing that had to be fixed.

“Who’s it?” You asked in a high voice, not moving from your spot.

No one answered. That made you frown, then sit - which gave you a small discomfort. Seconds later, your phone had gone off.

“... Hello?”

“It’s me. Lemme in?”

Everything was screaming for you to say no, to hang up and leave him waiting outside until he gave up and disappeared. It would be very convenient for him to be there, ready to convince you of something, to change sides or be more malleable; it made sense. Still, you were a little out of orbit from the weed, slightly sluggish and relaxed, so you calmly got up, abandoned your phone on the couch and walked over, opening it but not waiting too long to see him enter.

You took slow steps into the room. There was the sound of the door closing, then being locked, and then his footsteps coming behind, but keeping his distance.

“Weed?” He asked.

“Are you going to arrest me?”

“I could,” That answer made you snort. “But it’s Cali. And you’re literally my teenage wet dream right now, so I can let it pass.”

Teasing or not, you looked at yourself and noticed your clothes (or lack thereof): panties, a long t-shirt. When you turned to him, standing in the middle of the room, Benny was staring at your legs, but he wasn't smiling.

“You're like a broken record, you know that?” You raised your eyebrows, hands on your hips. “All you say is that I'm in your dreams. This is cheesy as fuck.”

“You didn't complain about that when you were riding me.”

“Oh, so this is my fault?”

“Well, you’re being quite hypocritical.”

“Fuck off.”

“Stop it.”

“What do you want?”

“You didn't answer my calls.”

“That doesn't answer my question, so I guess we're even.”

He was tense, stressed. You could tell. Benny wouldn't talk to you like that if he wasn't angry about something, maybe even frustrated because you weren't 'clear-headed' to talk at all.

For a few seconds, he considered you while licking his lips, as if the gears were turning in his head. Yours was also moving, but more gradually, slowly, which left you a little unresponsive when you saw him take off his jacket.

“This must be good, you didn't even hear me.”

“Mm?” You blinked, taking in the sight of his forearms while he lifted his shirt sleeves. That made him crack a giggle.

“Can I have some?”

Oh. Oh. The weed. He was already walking closer to the coffee table to grab the joint between two fingers, so you watched in awe as he put the cig on his lips and took a long drag, eyeing the burning tip with curiosity. Benny hummed and nodded while puffing the smoke.

“Shit’s really good. How did you get it?”

“... My brother,” And before he could take another drag, you pick the joint from his hands. “Smoke, hold and pass. That's the rule, smartass.”

“Are we in college or somethin’?”

“Shut up and sit down.”

That's what you two did (or at least he did). You took another drag, handed over the cigarette and lay down on the floor again, next to his feet, and faced the ceiling again.

-------------------------

It was a very silent few minutes, almost making you forget that Benny was there. When the effect of marijuana hit him, he was already lying on the sofa, without his shoes or his top shirt, limiting himself to showing his arms in a white tank top. This gave you a period of lucidity, very brief, and soon there was no more marijuana to smoke, despite the joint not being finished.

All your caution was being thrown out the window, you knew, but it wasn't like it was going to make any difference.

“Hey,” You called him in a low tone.

“Mm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

Benny stayed quiet for a moment or two, as if gathering his thoughts, then you listened to him squirming on the couch, getting on his side to look at you. Sensing the attention, you did the same.

“Shoot it.”

“What happened with Walsh wasn’t on purpose.”

Silence. For a beat, you even thought that he didn’t hear you, given the fact he was already zoning out a little. You started to feel embarrassed - weird. Well, you were high, which could lead to a version of you who would babble about a lot of nonsense and shit, but that was something that came from your lucid mind, probably a thing you wouldn’t say so softly without the weed.

“It wasn’t a question,” He teased in a calm voice, smiling at you.

“... I know,” You smiled back, but it turned into a bunch of stupid giggling while you hid part of your face in the carpet.

It cooled down soon.

“I didn’t see it this way, you know. Walsh is a stupid motherfucker.”

“Jackass.”

“Dickhead.”

“Yeah… His head looks like a dick. An ugly one.”

“And there’s any pretty dicks somewhere?”

“Just as there’s pretty pussies.”

“Have you ever seen others?”

You looked at each other, a small smile playing on your lips. When realization started to slowly creep on him, he opened his mouth in shock.

“It was in college-”

“Always in college,” He rolled his eyes, grinning like an idiot.

“I had this friend, Kennedy. We were roommates, I was single at the time, you know… It happened. But now we’re just good friends.”

“Mm.”

“I’m serious!” You laughed.

“So you’re telling me that if this Kennedy comes up here tonight, ask to go down on you or whatever, you would say no?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Fuck, I would. I’m not cold blooded, gatita.”

A series of laughs filled the living room again.

“We’re going out of the question here, yeah? Having a serious conversation.”

“You were the one talking about dicks here!”

“Because you called Walsh a dickhead!”

“Okay,” He sighed, adjusting his body to lean over his arm and have a better look at you. Little by little, Benny started to frown, as if thinking hard on something. You would be lying if you said it wasn’t a beautiful sight.

“So?”

“I know you didn’t do it on purpose,” His voice was soft, calm, even if a little concerned. “Plus, you had just signed a divorce and Walsh was there talking about it, humiliating you. That wasn't right.”

You considered his words calmly, blinking heavily but still paying attention.

“Nick wasn’t in his right mind when he said that.”

“You think?”

“Mm-hm. And Zapata too. He acted like a fucking animal when he called you a bitch.”

“You’re not just saying that, are you?” The question was serious, probably the first serious question you said since he came to your house out of nowhere.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re with them. Like… you know. With them.”

Benny nodded, taking in your words carefully.

“Fair enough.”

But he didn’t push the topic, nor tried to apologize or something. He let you have your doubts, probably because he himself couldn’t help but agree that maybe, if it was the other way around, there would be uncertainty on his part as well. You sighed, then, returning your eyes to the carpet and poking it every now and then, as if looking for something on it with false concentration.

“Hey.”

“Mm?”

“Come here.”

“What?”

“‘Wanna feel you,” He almost whined, extending one of his arms to grab you.

“That’s why you came? To feel me?”

“Are you fucking mocking me, woman?”

“I am,” You sat up carefully, smirking at him lazily. “Looked like you just waited for the best opportunity to come back here and fuck me.”

“But I don’t wanna fuck you, I wanna feel you.”

“What’s the difference?”

The position you stayed couldn’t be more convenient: him, starting to sit as well, legs spread while you rose on your knees, ready to get up. It gave him some time to stare at you with a lazy grin.

“Saying I wanna fuck would imply that I just came here for it,” He explained. “Feeling you could lead to sex, but with some warm up.”

“Both times we had sex had some warm up,” You argued, hands gripping his thighs lightly.

“And it was so good, wasn’t it?” Benny asked when you rose just a little to get closer to his face.

You observed his face for a moment before pecking his lips lightly. When he just sighed, melting into it, you smiled and gave him another kiss, this time a little longer, wetter - enough to, when you part ways, it made a muah. The fabric of your shirt was worn out, old enough to make it more thin and give you a better feel when you gently brushed your chest on his. It made you sigh against his lips, doing it again when he groaned a little, unable to move a muscle but reacting in slow breaths.

Both of you, silly high adults, brushing your noses, kissing soundly and ready to fuck each other’s brains out as if the world wasn’t basically on fire.

“I didn’t come here for this.”

This made you move your face, just a little, and the look on your eyes scrunched up in confusion. It felt like a spontaneous burst of lucidity, almost like a punch, and when he turned his face to the side, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, you felt brutally rejected. You moved your hands away from his legs. Suddenly, the carpet was hurting your knees and you stood up, muttering a 'sorry' as you sat on the edge of the sofa, a little away from him.

“Did you come to defend Nick or something?”

“This has nothing to do with Nick.”

“So why are you here?”

He considered your face for a moment, still taking in the effects of the weed - even if you both started to feel more buzzed then properly high.

“You don't want to go to war with him.”

“Oh,” You raised your eyebrows, scoffing a sarcastic giggle. “So you came to be a gentleman and defend me from the evils of disagreeing with Nicholas O'Brien? I thought you made it clear that you didn't have much chivalry in your personality.”

“I don’t.”

“Mm.”

“But that has nothing to do with chivalry. You’re not being rational.”

“About…?”

Benny sighed.

“We both know it was Emma.”

“That shit again…” You groaned, getting up brusquely from your seat and wobbling a little before starting to walk away to the kitchen.

“What happened was-”

“A mistake. A fucking mistake.”

When you turned, Benny was up too, standing a few feet closer to the kitchen entrance with his arms hanging loosely on his sides. The lack of answer made you shake your head, grabbing a glass bottle of water from the fridge and drinking a good amount.

“I'm not naive to think she couldn't have been involved in this, but I'm not naive or stupid to absolve Nick of the shit he should be responsible for,” You noticed his dry lips, the way he just blinked at you with a stern expression. With a tsk, you caught hold of a cup in the sink for him and poured some water in it, not daring to give, but letting it rest closer.

He came, grabbed the cup.

You could feel the effects of the marijuana, which were already weaker before, start to leave your system. You were sick, you made a face, but you swallowed your discomfort with more water.

“I'm not Isla.”

It slipped out of your mouth like a slim and unstable thought, one that made him just nod, sipping on the water calmly while leaning on the sink beside you, eyeing the other side of the room.

“Didn’t think you were.”

“No?”

“Nn-nn.”

“But it would be easy to pretend that I am, wouldn't it? I’m alone, recently divorced, dedicated enough to work but very reticent about my boss.”

You knew you had offended him the moment you said it, but Benny didn't show any anger. He stayed quiet, sipped the rest of the water and stood in front of you, face to face, in such a firm way that you almost backed away if you weren't so irritated.

“If I were as much of a son of a bitch as you think I am, I would have let you finish what you started on that couch,” That made you avert your gaze, but he gently pushed your chin, bringing you to eye his face again. “I'm not Nick.”

“I'm sorry if you made it clear otherwise. I'm not very good at reading between the lines of someone who literally said they’re just like him.”

“With other people. I never crossed the line with you, did I?”

“Because I never expected anything from you. I don't expect anything from you, actually, but I get a little offended if you show up at my house and say things like that.”

Before he could answer, you kept going.

“She's just a bargaining chip, Benny. She always was. And despite our visibly very different lives, I know what it's like to be used and then discarded as if you’re nothing, as if every promise was nothing more than a lie to achieve something very personal, something that never had to do with you,” You said. “I don't want you to come here and expect me to point fingers or accuse people. If it was Emma, if it was Walsh, it doesn't make any difference if the person primarily responsible for this doesn't take the real blame.”

“You know the world isn’t a fairytale, don't you?”

“I do. And Isla knows it too, better than anyone. This has nothing to do with an imaginary, but with commitment. When was the last time Nick used his badge for anything other than taking it out of his pocket while a whore gave him a blowjob?”

Nothing. Just silence. For a long, perceptive, heavy moment - silence.

“Emma received a letter of recommendation from the DEA forensic department,” He said in a low tone, catching you completely by surprise. That felt like a test, the way he observed your reaction with care, looking for an answer. When he found it, Benny nodded. “That's why I came here.”

“... What? I don’t understand.”

“I can't remember the last time I had five minutes of conversation with someone who had nothing to do with this shit.”

You could barely process the information, what that implied, because you had every right to disbelieve and have your doubts. There was a suspicious look on your face, he knew that because you didn't hide it, but he didn't take offense this time.

“Stay away. Things are going to get fucked up.”

--------------------------------

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