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In Tango’s opinion, you haven’t really lived until you’ve burnt down a building. What can he say? The rush of destruction in that split second of perfect adrenaline. The ecstasy of radial, skin-scorching heat. The golden glow of a spreading, devouring flame.It’s all just part of the simple joys that make life worth living. Tango knows he always gets too pretentious and sentimental whenever he talks about fire- Etho has bullied him enough for it after Tango's numerous hour-long rants on why arson was the supreme art form (which it was). In his words, "If you waxed poetic just a bit more, you'd melt with the buildings you burn."But it’s not Tango’s fault! Fire is just too beautiful not to admire, and too beautiful to keep all to himself.It’s… such a shame the cops never see it the same way. “Suspect spotted! Fleeing scene west-bound!” The shout of an officer hot on his heels pierces like a bullet through the siren wails and frantic cries of first responders that rattle through Tango’s head. He dashes past police barriers and startled onlookers with lightning under his skin, breathing labored and heart racing.Thoughts and questions rocket across his mind, propelled in their flight by panic, exhilaration, and sheer, fiery glee:
Damn it-
-They got here faster than normal this time…
How’d they know I would be here?
I swear if Etho talked-
No, he wouldn’t… would he?
Where am I even going?
It doesn’t matter, just run-
“HEY, STOP!” The voice from before calls, punctuated by heavy footsteps that pound after him. The steps are a rhythmic drum beat that urges him on and on, faster and faster. “Suspect is wearing a leather bomber jacket with blonde hair, face mask and red goggles- Possibly a blaze hybrid- He’s heading down Magenta now!” Tango’s abruptly aware of the fact that he’s laughing, a keening, mad cackle that probably doesn’t help him blend in with the crowd. But at this moment, he doesn’t even care. He’s untouchable, invincible- the hands that half-heartedly grab at him slide off his jacket like oil off linoleum. So much electrifying adrenaline pours through every nerve ending that he can almost swear that he himself was on fire. This was, after all, one of the many other joys of burning down a building- the chase. As he runs, his mind speeds along with him, a rushing river that snaps and flinches at every disruptive sound, sight, and smell of the bustling city. Something whizzes past his ear-
-A bullet? A taser? A thrown hotdog by a miffed city-goer?
Tango pumps his legs and feels the burning feeling bubbling inside him-
-Harder, faster, go, go, gogogo
The officer from before is gaining on him, but he only needs a little more time… a little more time-
-So close, just a little further…There!
He rounds a corner and dives into a cramped alley packed with dumpsters and discarded furniture. Squeezing himself under an overturned mahogany cupboard, he lets himself slip almost entirely into the shadows of the junk-ridden side street. Tango waits. Sirens, shouts, and patrol cars zip past on the street ahead, passing the thin crack between buildings without a second glance. He waits exactly one hundred and twenty-six seconds- no more, no less- before the last few sirens have receded down the street.And... he’s off: shooting out the alley and back the way he came, the labyrinth of back alleys and side streets sprawling before him in his mind. That sensation of heat within him is fresh and alive and pushing him to move- run- fly. Tango turns onto a narrow boulevard on the outskirts of the downtown area of the city, the street devoid of pedestrians this far from the urban center. The pick-up spot is just a little farther...
That is, if Etho hasn’t driven off by now
He pushes the thought from his mind. He’s going to make it out of this one- he always does. The cool Autumn air rushes past him as he sprints, but he doesn't feel the chill. That burning inside him is still hot, hot, far too hot, and just like before, he feels invincible.At least, that’s the last thing he thinks before a light gray car swerves around the street corner in front of him, rides up over the curb, and slams him spiraling into the brick wall of the building behind him.He feels his ribs with a sickening crack as his back smashes into the rough brickwork. Astonishingly, the sudden shock of pain jolts the cyclone of thoughts within his mind to an abrupt halt. In fact, only one coherent thought pierces through the buzz of adrenaline.
I’m going to kill whoever’s behind that wheel-
“Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod” Tango's eyes blink open to see a figure dressed in blue hurrying at him, face practically dripping with horrified regret. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry- I don’t know what happened but my brakes went out- I couldn’t stop and the street was ending- so I turned- but- uh- I-...” He trails off, clearly cognizant that any excuse he’s about to give won’t help the fact that he just hit Tango with a goddamn car. “Just- help me up” Tango manages to say, his voice strained and hoarse. Wild guess, but probably due to the aforementioned being hit with a goddamn car. “Oh sure- of course-” As the perpetrator rushes to support his weight, Tango gingerly lifts a shaking hand to his chest, wincing at the lance of pain that ricochets through him. Yup, he’s definitely just broken a rib. “Um, I would take you to the hospital but…” The man in blue gestures to what remains of his car, now a crumpled heap after it had the karmic misfortune of ramming headlong into the brickwork of the building opposite to them. Tango lifts a hand to his ear and pulls off his face mask, only half-listening to the man supporting him as he rambles on about ambulance response times and auto insurance. His shirt sleeve comes away bloody at his mouth.
Damn… This literally can’t get any worse.
In a fascinating display of situational irony, the crashed car’s radio immediately bursts to life with a glitch of static, filling the awkward space between them with news chatter. "Breaking: the serial arsonist behind this morning’s burning of Delta Terrace apartment complex is still at large. Officers at the scene reported an above average height blaze hybrid with blonde hair, a black leather bomber jacket, and red goggles, matching previous sightings around similar arson attacks. Please report any suspicious activity to…” It’s at this point that Tango stops listening to the radio and starts noticing the way the man next to him is staring at him with an odd look on his face. This is also, unfortunately, when Tango notices the incredibly obvious soot marks on his face and hands, along with the ash-smeared red goggles sticking conspicuously out of his jacket pocket. “...Okay, I know what this looks like-” Is as far as he gets before he’s unceremoniously dumped onto the asphalt.“Y-You’re- what- oh my god- I’m calling the police-” The man in blue backpedals frantically, patting his pockets for his phone, “Dammit…it was in the car…” He mutters under his breath. A spark of hope flashes in Tango’s chest, and he forces himself to stand and sprint down the street, ignoring the jolts of pain in his side. His escape is waiting for him just around the bend, if he can just make it around the corner-A heavy mass abruptly slams into his midsection, knocking him onto the rough cement and rattling around his already (probably) broken ribs. He almost screams- almost- but fear of unwanted attention overwhelms his pain, and he instead slams his jaw shut with enough force to shatter his teeth like ice cubes. “Are you trying to break more of my bones?” Tango wheezes out from under the blue-haired menace, writhing as much as he can without sending shots of agony racing along his body. “Was running me over not enough for you?”“I’m stopping a criminal. I think that’s as good an excuse as any.” “Yeah? Well then don’t blame me for this-” Tango concentrates on the lava-hot fire burning inside of him- all his rage, pain, fury- and feels his hair alight with flames of orange and gold. The man on top of him stumbles backwards with a cry, batting frantically at the small fires spreading over his clothes. “That was for the ribs…” Tango mutters, dragging himself to his feet by clutching the bumper of the man’s crashed car. But just as his fingers brush over the trunk compartment, he hears an echoing click, and the trunk lid springs open like a bear trap. A strange, distinctive smell abruptly fills the air, halting Tango in his steps.Like gaseous death…Like sulfurous rain after a wildfire…Like the dying breaths of a coal miner trapped underground…Like an illegal drug that any good, law-abiding citizen should definitely not be driving around with in the trunk of their gray Cadillac. “Is that… Wither Rose?” Tango swivels, hurling the accusation at the man now standing a few paces behind him. The look of absolute guilt on his face would’ve made Tango laugh if not for the fact that he’s pretty sure doing so would cause his remaining ribcage to collapse. The man doesn’t even deny it- how could he, when the evidence is literally sitting in front of Tango in the trunk of his car. Instead, he starts for the trunk, reaching up to slam it closed over the damning proof with a hurried, desperate intensity. Tango backs away, mind racing with a mixture of amusement and confusion. “Hold on…So you were planning to turn me in for arson- when you’re smuggling an entire truckload worth of drugs in your own trunk? Hypocrite much?” “Shut. Up.” The other man grumbles through grunts of effort, comedically struggling to force his broken trunk lid back down. “This is different…”Tango shrugs and stalks forward. He places a single hand on the trunk and slams it shut in a swift, forceful motion. “I don’t actually care.” He said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “But…you know what’ll happen if you report me now, right?”The other’s eyes widen at the words, mouth opening and closing in surprise. “Is that a threat?” “Uh, yeah, obviously. Honestly, you should be glad I’m not reporting you anyways. You did run me over.” "This is blackmail." "And that's approximately 13 pounds worth of illegal stimulants. So what'll it be?"“...You realize I know what your face looks like now, right?” He shifts his gaze pointedly to the mask now hanging uselessly from Tango’s left hand.“And I know yours. So keep quiet, or we both go to prison.” Tango retorts.He spins on his heel and starts down the street again, mentally calculating the odds of Etho abandoning him to get caught by the cops by now. After a moment, he feels a hand grab his wrist. “Wait. I really am sorry for running you over. If it hurts too much I could always…you know…” The man gestures vaguely at his car. Tango can’t help but grin despite himself. “So now you’re trying to sell me drugs? And you called me a criminal." It’s kind of adorable how red the man's face turns in contrast with his blue…well, everything else. “I was just- you know what, nevermind.” He storms back to his wrecked car and starts rummaging in the driver’s seat, stubbornly ignoring Tango’s soft chuckles. “Well, I hope I never see you again!” Shockingly, he gets no response. Finally rounding that stupid, godforsaken corner, Tango nearly cries as he finally lays eyes on the familiar black car with its beat up bumper and dusty windows. In that moment, it might as well have been the gates of heaven the way he rushes towards it with a religious fervor. “What took you so long? And why do you look like hell?” Etho comments as Tango throws open the backseat door and drops face first into the seat cushions. “I got run over, found a drug dealer, and broke half my bones.” He murmurs into the leather. “What?” Etho didn’t even have the decency to sound vaguely interested. “Shut up and drive me to a hospital.”
God, finally. There it is.
Scott dislodges his hand from between two heavy pieces of bent metal and pulls his battered phone from the metal carcass of his car. Miraculously, it still turns on with a press of the home button, which he briefly realizes is more surprising than literally everything else that has happened in the last half hour. He's totally late to the deal he had set up for this afternoon, but at this point he's more worried about if he'll get murdered tonight then any loss in customers. With a sigh, he nervously types in a number, fingers shaking at the coming storm.“Hey Pearl, I crashed the car…again. Please don’t tell Cleo…” “So, let me get this straight.” Jimmy pinches the bridge of his nose and rubs it in frustrated circles as he paces back and forth before the two officers reporting to him. “You failed to arrest the arsonist, even though we had that tip about his activity near the apartment complex way beforehand. And you didn’t intercept the Wither Rose trade, even though we literally had the time and location the deal was going to happen?” Jimmy glances up to see Grian and Joel wearing matching guilty expressions.“Well, let's hear it. What’s the excuse this time?”Grian speaks up first, feathers puffing out like an indignant tennis ball. “This time it wasn’t my fault, okay? I camped out at the deal location for hours- In fact, I should really get overtime for how long I sat on that gross pier. But the dealer never showed up! I just watched the maybe-buyer stand around awkwardly for half an hour and then leave. What was I supposed to do? Arrest him for not buying drugs?”“Wait- They didn’t show up? But we got confirmation from Lizzie that that was definitely the location the dealer had been using for weeks.” Grian just shrugs. “Maybe they got sick. Or there was too much traffic and they decided to go home. Or they suddenly had a morality crisis and realized dealing drugs is wrong.”“Okay, okay... Fine. I guess I can’t fault you for that one. How about you then?” Jimmy turns towards Joel, who leaps into his long-winded excuse with the practiced dexterity of an expert. “Okay, so maybe I don’t have as good an excuse as Grian…but I swear the guy just disappeared! I was so close to catching him- I was right on his blummin’ tail! And suddenly he rounds a corner and he’s gone. I had the whole squad looking for him for hours, but there was no sign of him.” “Also-” Joel adds quickly, seeing the unimpressed expression on Jimmy’s face. “I had to leave early to go deal with the car accident that someone reported.” “Car accident? What happened there?”“Oh, some idiot crashed their car into the side of an old factory down on Teal and fled the scene. It was weird though, the car didn’t have any license plate or identification or anything. Vehicle was wiped clean of residue, too.” “Okay, whatever.” Jimmy interrupts, rubbing exhaustion out of his eyes. “Just… do better next time.” He dismisses the two officers with a wave of his hand and collapses at his desk. His hands absentmindedly sift through the “Final Notice” letters from the bank with too many digits printed in red ink and the monthly performance reviews with too many Xs where there should be checkmarks. The report sitting at the top of the pile bears a clear warning: Position in Question.He’d been chasing dead ends and failing missions for months now, with nothing to show for it but poorly groomed wings and a lot of practice at avoiding his superiors in the halls.Letting out a frustrated sigh, he reaches for his phone and dials a familiar number. He feels a smile creep to his face, a long overdue tranquility settling over him as the line connects with a ding. “Hey, Scott.”“Jimmy!” A warm voice rings out from the other side, setting Jimmy’s heart fluttering on golden wings. Scott pauses for a second, seemingly sensing his mood. “Is something wrong?”“No- no, just trouble at work. These two cases I’m working on are proving to be a pain…” Jimmy responds, mentally berating himself for making his annoyance so obvious. “Oh! I heard about those. There’s that repeat arsonist, right?” Scott’s voice makes an odd inflection on the word “arsonist,” almost like a nervous hiccup.“Yeah... and there’s also this new spike in Wither Rose usage that we’ve noticed. We’re trying to find the source of the supply influx.” Jimmy's mind drifts off to location charts and demographic trends. “I think it might be a single dealer- maybe someone new to the scene.” “What makes you think it’s a single person?” Scott almost stutters, teeth set with a defensive edge.
That’s weird…does he know something?
Jimmy catches himself and shakes himself out of his suspicion.
No, that’s just the cop in you talking. He’s just worried about you.
And underneath, quietly but firmly.
You’re such a bad boyfriend for suspecting him.
“Well, we don’t really know for sure. Just based on the rate of increase and the fact it would be pretty hard to hide a full-scale drug operation around here. Unless you know something I don’t?” Jimmy half-jokes, shoving down the thoughts that sit sharp in his mind like thorns. “Uh- Nope! Not at all- I guess I’ll leave the police work to you…” A loud crash abruptly echoes from deeper in the station. “GAH! Grian, you-” Joel’s voice cries from down the hall, followed by Grian’s all-too familiar maniacal laughter. “Ah- sorry, I think Grian’s just dropped a filing cabinet on Joel again.” Jimmy whispers into the phone. “No, it’s fine, go help him. I’ll see you at home soon, anyway.” Scott says with a light laugh, airy as breeze through spring grass. Jimmy’s feathers give a pleased rustle at the sound. “Alright, see you soon! Lov-” His tongue freezes in his mouth, words perched on the edge of his lips but mind seized with sudden regret. “B-bye!” He chokes out instead, slamming the red end call button. Damn it. Almost a year in and he still can’t say it. What is he, 7 years old? So afraid of the “L” word it’s pathetic. Pathetic. He calls himself in his head again, for good measure. He’s flooded with the same rush of shame he feels every time he hangs up the phone just a little too early, because breaking the silence with those heavy words might shatter so much more. Rudely, his dramatic moment of self-pity is disrupted by another burst of maniacal giggles from down the hall. For what seems like the fiftieth time in the past ten minutes, Jimmy sighs, running a hand through the bunched up clumps of agitated feathers in his wings.
So many problems… God, sometimes I wish I could just strike a match and watch it burn.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Before you judge him- Scott knows that drugs are bad, obviously. He’s seen all the anti-smoking PSA’s, the drunk driving advertisements, the “Say No to Drugs!” slogans splattered on every elementary school assembly. So he knows it wasn’t exactly a moral choice, when he decided to become a drug dealer. But what could he do? Rent prices were rising faster than his blood pressure after an unsolicited phone call, and it’s not like he could afford to support himself and his boyfriend on a florist’s salary. And sure, Jimmy had a job, but as much as he tried to hide it, it was obvious he was struggling to make ends meet for both of them. He’d come home enough times smelling of burnt ends and thinly disguised frustration for Scott to know that something had to change.Thus was born Scott’s ingenious plan: Win Jimmy’s undying love and eternal adoration by single-handedly stopping their impending bankruptcy!Just one small problem- He was a broke florist with no other job experience and nothing but a community college horticulture degree to his name. No special skills or talents to speak off, if you excluded instagram stalking and consuming mass amounts of double shot espressos. The only thing he could do well was… grow plants. And hey, as a nice bonus, a florist business makes an excellent front for a drug operation. “Yeah Becky, that cardboard box delivered in the dead of night leaking ominous black liquid and smelling like a broken radiator is totally just the hot new species of Swiss wildflower.”He’d rationalized it over and over again in his head. Wither Rose was relatively easy to obtain if you knew the right people (which Cleo did), and easy to charge highly for- but wasn’t the most dangerous drug circulating in the city's underbelly. It was a basic depressant: enough to slow the brain and numb pain, but not to cause the mind-bending hallucinations that those school documentaries portrayed.All this is to say that getting into Wither Rose distribution hadn’t been a good decision, by the broadly understood social norm that “drug dealer” wasn’t the ideal career path for someone with a college degree, but it had been a smart one.Until now, evidently. Turns out, any decision that leads to you sprinting through an abandoned warehouse chased by half a dozen heavily armed mob members is not a “smart decision.” "I can't believe Gem would do this..." Pearl spits venomously from somewhere beside him. She's normally faster than him, but today she runs with a distracted clumsiness, stumbling over straw pipes and broken lumber pieces."I can." Scott mutters, half to himself.The heavy, thudding metronome of several pairs of boots behind him is getting dangerously close- he can almost feel the metal of their weapons on the back of his neck. “Split up!” Pearl shouts as they round a corner out of the view of their pursuers. Before he can protest, he’s shoved hard to the right and tumbling behind a stack of heavy wooden crates. Scott clamps a hand over his mouth, daring himself not to breathe as he presses himself flat against the boxes. There’s a dozen sharp dings of stray bullets hitting metal, before everything goes abruptly, disturbingly still. Then- so gently that at first Scott thinks it’s just his heart beating, he hears the familiar clop of hooves on concrete snaking its way through the warehouse. “Scott! Pearl! Come out, I just want to make a deal!” That signature playful, innocent lilt of her voice sets Scott’s teeth on edge, but he’s smart enough not to take the bait. Unfortunately, Pearl isn’t. “We had a deal, Gem. Until you-” A smattering of gunfire cuts her off, echoing off the high warehouse ceiling like a cacophony of angry hornets. To Scott’s relief, the bullets ring harmlessly off metal, and he hears Pearl’s footsteps recede deeper into the warehouse. “Tch...Idiots! You missed! She's probably gone by now.” There's a metallic crash like a trashcan being kicked over, followed by a mildly annoyed sigh. "She was always the better runner, wasn’t she Scott?”His breath stills in his throat. “Scotttttt… I know you’re around here. Listen, I don’t want to kill you! I said very clearly, ‘If you just hand over your stash and give up forever, we can all be happy!’ Is that really too much to ask?”Scott shifts himself, almost imperceptibly, to the right, straying towards the warehouse’s fire exit that sits just past an old shelving unit. He silently thanks the universe’s bold decision to give all his enemies a penchant for villainous monologues. “I mean, it’s not even my fault. It’s your fault for trying to compete with me in the first place- which, by the way, gross, who let you do that. Plus, you guys are so obvious that the cops are already getting all over my case investigating! You’d have brought the whole scene down with you. So, really I’m the good guy here.”He’s almost to the door, shuffling centimeter by centimeter, when his hand connects with a metal leg of the shelving unit. The resulting clang rings through the room like his funeral bell. “Oh! There you are!” Scott is up and sprinting before the last syllable leaves her mouth. Something sharp streaks across his cheek and with a start Scott realizes his face is wet with blood. All of a sudden, everything becomes far more real.
They’re actually trying to kill me.
He bursts through the back exit and barely registers the harsh contrast of daylight before he’s sprinting again, this time towards the city’s downtown.
I just need to make it to an urban area…crowds, people, witnesses.
He really should have been paying more attention crossing that street. He knows it’s busy at this time of day. He knows cars very rarely slow down at that intersection, heck, he’d even seen a news report last night about an accident at that very spot. Still, all his mind focuses on in that moment is escape, so he steps off the sidewalk’s curb without a second thought. The only thing that crosses his mind as he looks to his left, just a second too late, and sees a truck bearing down upon him is:
Huh. Ironic.
Scott would say that time stood still in one dramatic moment, his whole life flashing before his eyes, but in reality he barely comprehends what’s happening before he suddenly feels himself yanked backwards. A hand grabs his waist and pulls him onto the sidewalk as the truck blows past his face, the driver’s shout of anger receding into the distance. Every muscle in Scott’s body locks in shock as he stares numbly at the spot in the road where he would’ve been reduced to a fine blue paste if not for…
Wait, who was that?
“Is vehicular misconduct your favorite pastime or something? I swear to god, do you think road safety laws are a suggestion?”
Oh.
Scott turns back to see… he never got his name. The anonymous arsonist from- was it a week ago by now? Somehow, it feels like yesterday. “I mean, they say once is an accident and twice is a coincidence, but I don’t think that applies to-” “What are you doing here?” Scott interrupts, jolting him out of his rant. “...What do you mean? I was just walking to work. Why were you running into traffic and almost getting turned into blueberry jam?” He tilts his head inquisitively, and with a start Scott suddenly remembers why he was running.He glances nervously back down the street... only to see a completely empty sidewalk. Briefly, Scott wonders if he’d imagined the whole encounter, until he lifts his hand to his cheek and feels it come away red with blood. He turns his attention back to the blaze hybrid standing in front of him, and abruptly feels his eyes well up with tears. I almost died. He thinks, the realization finally slamming into him full force. I. Almost. Died. Twice. Tears of mixed emotions- panic, shock, relief, fear- start flowing freely now. Unwittingly and unbidden, they rush down his face in rivers of salt.“Gah- uh- are you okay?” The man before him explains, suddenly looking incredibly uncomfortable. “Uh- Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you? Is that why you’re crying?” “No- no.” Scott chokes out with a dry laugh, “It’s stupid- Just…rough day.”“Do…you want to talk about it?” The blonde man’s voice is soft and soothing, a December bonfire. Scott wants to lean into it, even as muffled sobs wrack through his body. Yes. Yes. Yes. His mind shouts at him, desperate for some sort of outlet- but something holds him back. This was a criminal. Jimmy’s worst enemy. He was a lunatic who burnt down buildings in his free time!“Don’t you have to go to work?” Scott tries.The man waves a dismissive hand at the thought. “It can wait.”
I shouldn’t do this. He already knows too much. You can’t trust him. You can’t trust anyone. Don’t say yes. Don’t-
“Okay.” Scott’s mouth betrays, barely above a whisper. He glances down the road one more time, expecting at any moment to see a sociopathic drug lord with auburn hair and a cheshire smile come charging toward him. “But…can we go somewhere a bit further away?” Pearl gets an apology text from Gem fourteen minutes after she tried to kill her.
Hey, sorry for trying to kill you :(
We can be cool if you don’t call the cops, k?
But also know that if I see you selling again I might shoot you, like, in the head
Oh btw, I might stop by your shop later bcs I need a bouquet for Imp’s birthday
K bye, love you :D
Shoving her phone into her back pocket, Pearl flops heavily onto one of the many rusty stools in their cramped flower shop. “Cleo!” She calls to the zombie in the other room. “What’s our policy on delivering to attempted murderers?”
What the hell am I doing?
That’s the thought bouncing around Tango’s mind like a hyperactive DVD logo as he sits beside a guy he barely knows, watching awkwardly as he wipes tears from his eyes. He subconsciously averts his gaze, focusing on anything else in the small city park they’d walked to. The park is mostly deserted at this time of the day, a scarce oasis of stillness in a city of movement and noise. Normally, it was tranquil, a spot where Tango could catch his breath or gather his thoughts after a rough job. Today, however, the stillness has another effect. It makes this situation so goddamn awkward. Tango reaches out a hand gingerly, half unsure of what he’s even trying to do, only to pull it back with a snap a second later. Why did he offer to do this? Like he knew anything about comforting people…“What’s your name?” The man beside him says suddenly, nearly knocking Tango off the bench in alarm. “I’ve just been calling you ‘the arsonist’ in my head, but that doesn’t feel right considering you just saved my life.” The smart thing to do here would be to lie, or refuse to answer upfront. He already had Tango's face- a name would be deadly. But as he opens his mouth to refuse, he can't seem to force the words out. Here, in the golden noon sunlight and familiar green serenity of the park, the blue-haired man doesn't seem dangerous at all. He just looks... melancholy, and achingly lonely. “Uh…Tango.” He finally says, his face flushing at the way his voice quavers with deliberation.The man nods slowly. Tango can almost see him turning the word over and over in his mind like a foreign taste.“I’m Scott.” Scott. It's a minty name, sharp and bright on his tongue.“I’d say nice to meet you…but I still have bandages from the last time we ‘met’.” Tango attempts, squashing down a half-smile at his own joke. Scott gives a whistling laugh of wind through leaves of grass. As he does, something moving on the ground catches Tango’s eye. Little spots of white and yellow, sprouting from the ground.“Woah!” He whispers. A burst of multicolored wildflowers had sprung up within seconds from the grassy floor, trembling with quiet fragility. “I… swear that those weren’t there before.” “You’re not hallucinating,” Scott replies as his laughter dies. “This just happens sometimes when I feel strong emotions. Elf thing, I guess.” “I’ve never heard of any hybrid that could do that before” Tango breathes as he bends down to inspect the new blooms underneath the park bench. The tiny shoots sway with the breeze, minuscule and defiant. For a fleeting second, Tango imagines how easily they would burn. He jerks his hand back, just in case. “The white ones are for fear,” Scott explains, more to fill the silence than anything, “And the light yellow ones are…relief. At not being dead, probably.”“Flower powers?” Tango considers, “I guess it makes sense given your occupation.”Scott’s face falls for a moment, nearly invisibly, but his next words are laced with something sharp as spite. “Yeah. Growing flowers. That’s basically all I’m good at.” Before Tango can respond, Scott cuts in again, that edge of frustration disappearing with a dismissive shake of the head. “That’s not important right now. I’m just concerned right now on how I’m going to stay alive from now on.”“What? Why? What happened?” Scott nods slowly to himself. “I guess I did say I wanted to talk about it.” His gaze wanders downwards, feet shifting over the bundles of eggshell white and dandelion yellow below. “One of our old business partners tried to kill me this morning. For competing with her, I guess.” He admits reluctantly. “What?” “I got away, barely. But she’s definitely out to get us now. We’ll probably have to lie low, or shut down completely…” He trails off as he turns his attention away from Tango, eyes following an elderly couple walking down the path in the distance. “That’s…insane.” Tango says after a while, mind still reeling. “And insanely dangerous.”Scott snorts and whips his head back with an accusatory look. “Yeah, I’m the one in danger. Like recreational arson is the safest pastime.” “Safer than getting into gang wars!” Tango feels a burning rising up within him, a strange blend of anger, concern, and protectiveness that sparks through his nerves. “Why do you care?” Scott shoots back. “You don’t even know me. And besides- I have to do it, it’s not like I want to.” “What do you mean you have to? No economic incentive is worth putting your life at risk! That’s just- idiotic!” Tango’s aware that he’s yelling, but he finds that he can't- won’t stop himself.“Oh please. You don’t have to treat me like some damn delicate flower.” Scott scoffs, voice rising in turn to match Tango’s. “Do you know how suffocating it is when he does that? I just have to do something!”“Why!?” "So he doesn't realize he's better of without me!”Scott's angry veneer cracks down the middle and his emotional outburst snaps shut like a Venus flytrap. He flinches back, shying away from Tango's shaking, outstretched hand. "Scott-""Forget it."“No, you can't just say that and- You said you wanted to talk about it, right?”“I know but… It’s ridiculous.”“Scott, I’m not playing this game. Are you going to tell me or not?”Tango can literally see the war of conflicting emotions, desires, and fears contorting on Scott's face. He's silent for a long moment, completely still as the world seems to hold its breath in anticipation- everything slowing down to watch this single choice. :"O-Okay...Fine. It’s just- He’s always so insistent that nothing’s wrong when clearly that's clearly not true, how stupid does he think I am? So what was I supposed to do, just sit still looking pretty? I have to be do something - otherwise, he'll finally realize I'm useless...and lea- and I'll be alone again.” They’re both silent for a second, a heavy pause crackling in the air between them. “You’re not useless.” Tango says firmly. He’s pretty lost on who exactly the all-important “he” is at the moment, but for once in his life he’s fairly confident on what the socially acceptable thing to say is. “Anyone willing to go the lengths you have for someone else is definitely not worthless, at least to me.”“...Thanks,” A sad smile ghosts across Scott’s lips. “You didn't have to say that.” “Hey, I’m always down to compliment the people who run me over. You’re not that special.” Scott laughs again, clear as sunlight on morning dew, and those unfamiliar sparks shoot through Tango’s body, warming his face to an embarrassing flush.“What’s your excuse, then?” Scott makes out between laughs, “What’s your secret motivation for being the most notorious arsonist in the whole city?” Tango doesn’t even hesitate in his response- Why didn’t I hesitate?- “Some people will pay a lot of money to have a building burn down from a ‘random’ arson attack.”“Wait... really? So you’re like- a hitman for buildings?”“Let’s just say Mr. Jumbo is really interested in having his factory disappear in an unpredictable 'act of terror' before the sanitation commission's regulation lawsuit gets any further.” “I... guess I can’t judge you for that. I was sort of expecting a tragic backstory about how brutalist architecture killed your parents or something. But in this economy? Understandable.”Scott contemplates for a moment, considering something far-off Tango can’t see, before reaching down and grabbing one of the small white wildflowers growing at his feet. “Here, for saving my life. And also for not calling the cops on me for running you over” He says with a laugh, handing the tiny bloom to Tango. “Oh, and for not reporting me for all the drug stuff. Wow, I do have a lot to thank you for, don’t I?”Tango holds the flower in cupped hands, almost afraid to move. The gift is so simple- pale milky-white petals hanging off a green stem- but it still manages to set something within him alight. “I-” He starts to say, lifting his face to meet Scott’s. Scott suddenly snaps forward, as if he’s remembered something important. “Tango, there’s something you should know.” He starts, an expression of concern rolling in like storm clouds over his face.“Scott!” Someone calls from across the park, cutting him off. Tango turns towards the new voice and sees- Officer’s uniform- Sheriff’s badge- Weapon on his belt.
No- Did He-?
Tango whips his head back towards Scott, dozens of accusations hanging on his tongue, when something catches his eye. At their feet, the same place that Tango had seen the bursts of white and yellow, there now bloomed smatterings of bold red. Scarlet poppies, springing from the earth. Tango brings his gaze up and sees Scott’s face…wistful and wanting. The sheriff is right in front of them now, stepping forward to the park bench wearing a suspicious glare at Tango. “Who are you?” He asks bluntly, eyeing the space between Tango and Scott with an odd look on his face. “This is my…friend, Tango,” Scott explains in a rush, before turning to Tango, “Tango, this is Jimmy, my-”“His boyfriend.” Jimmy finishes. “Scott, what are you doing here? I thought you had work today.”
Boyfriend.
There’s a roaring in his ears muffling Scott’s explanation as Tango’s mind rushes and tumbles like a speeding lava flow. He tries to stop it, but the tide pulls him under before he can focus- before he can breathe.
His boyfriend is a cop-
Not just a cop- the sheriff
He could have told everything by now-
How could I be so stupid-
I thought I could trust-
And above it all, piercing through the cacophony of thoughts:
I need to leave
“Uhh- you know what?” Tango announces suddenly, rising from the bench. “I’ve really got to go to…work! Yes, work, right now. So I’ll be seeing you! Good, nice excuse Tango, ok, bye!”He takes off down the path, futilely attempting to smother the biting wildfire raging in his brain.Tango barely makes it out the park exit when a hand grabs onto his wrist, hitting him with a sudden wave of deja vu. “Tango, wait- I can explain-” Scott pants, hands raised in supplication. Tango tells himself to stay calm- but there’s this poisonous stabbing in his chest that he can’t quite explain- that’s not exactly anger, or betrayal, or sadness, but stings more painfully than all three. “Explain what?” He explodes as he whirls towards Scott, uncaring for whoever was in earshot. “That you’ve been dating the one person that could get us both thrown into prison? Or wait- You wouldn’t have to worry about that, would you? Because even if Mr. Sheriff over there knew that his boyfriend was off handing out drugs to junkies during his free time- which judging by your reaction, he doesn’t - he’d make sure you never see the inside of a jail cell.” Tango’s eyes are burning up now, his pupils tiny concentrated suns on his face. “I would've told you if I had the chance! I was about to, right before he showed up.” Scott retorts defiantly, “And Jimmy would never-” He stops, as if catching how unconvincing his next words would sound. Tango snorts at the thought. “Yes, he would.” His hair is crackling now- small sparks drifting down onto the greenery below. The falling embers burn dark brown holes in the flowers wherever they land. He stalks forward till they’re close- way too close for comfort- but Tango doesn’t care- he wants Scott to feel the heat- that dry crackling animosity. “I’m going to ask you this one time. Did you tell him anything about me?” Scott averts his eyes from the intensity of his gaze, but refuses to step back, standing planted before him, so close their chests are almost touching. “...No.” Scott says at last, shifting his head to stare up into those twin, burning suns. “Good.” Tango voice is the sizzling of hot coals- low, dangerous, and glowing with heat. “Keep it that way. Or I’ll tell every police station in this city what exactly you keep in your trunk- and which lousy sheriff has been letting you get away with it. I hear they don’t condone professional entanglements in the force... good luck getting your boyfriend to save you from that.” Before the heartbroken, guilty look in Scott’s eyes can force him to apologize, Tango spins and storms away. Sharp, stabbing tears bite at the corners of his vision, but he stamps down on the stinging feeling in his gut that wasn’t quite anger or betrayal or sadness, and tries desperately to push from his mind the name that tastes like mint on his tongue.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
If Jimmy had a nickel for every night he's spent alone in his office silently contemplating his life choices, he wouldn't need this stupid job in the first place.
Okay Jim, take a breath- Assess the situation.
Facts:- He’s barely slept in 3 days.- His left wing is still aching from when Grian shut a door on it earlier today.- Joel will not stop blasting ABBA music through the paper-thin walls of his office.- He is still no closer to solving this aggravating, inscrutable arsonist case. Conclusion:- There’s an 80% chance he’s about to lose his mind and/or strangle everyone in a 20 meter radius. He plops his head down on his desk with a heavy thud, eyes drifting open and closed to a hypnotic rhythm.
Why am I such a screw-up...
It's all in his head- he knows that. It's just paranoia, or stress, or insecurity- he's heard it all. But still, the doubts and fears latch onto his mind like leeches and sit, fat and content, with their blood-sucking weight. It's almost comforting, in a pathetic sort of way, knowing that in a few days he'll be just another unemployed nobody in an ocean of failures. It certainly saves him the trouble of wondering if he'll ever get that promotion. He's considered many times if he should just quit- hand in his resignation and get it over with early. But Scott... Scott doesn't deserve that. Scott, who showered him with compliments like the April rains that his poppies bloomed under. Scott, who was confidence and charm from the tips of his hair to the soles of his feet. Scott, who asked him every night how his day was, even if he already knew the answer and knew that Jimmy would repeat the same, tired lie.
"It was fine."
Scott would want him to try, until the end. So he tries.The piercing cry of his ringtone jolts him out of his spiral. With a groan, he brings the phone up to his face, brightening at the familiar contact on the vibrating screen.“Hey Lizzie,” He sighs, stifling a yawn. “Any new info on the arsonist?”“Well, actually yes!" Lizzie's voice is far too enthusiastic to be delivering an arson tip at 11:45pm. "I got a tip from a pedestrian that a blonde netherborn in red goggles was spotted near Jumbo’s Factory on the corner of Cyan around twelve minutes ago.”Jimmy shoots forward in his chair, suddenly alert. “Has he made a move yet?” “No, not yet. He was seen with a white-haired man, possibly the accomplice you suspected he was working with. They seemed to be preparing for something.”“Thanks Lizzie,” He breathes, relieved. “Where would I be without you?”“Honestly? Probably fired.""Wha-""Oh, and one more thing,” She continues before Jimmy can retort, “I might have some leads on that Wither Rose dealer you were looking into.”“What!? How?” “There was some activity in an abandoned warehouse on the edge of town a few days ago. A routine patrol found some traces of Wither Rose residue, as well as some clothing tatters and dried blood. They could still have some DNA on them, so I’m having them tested now.” Jimmy silently thanks whatever being in the sky had just answered his prayers for this many leads all at once. “That’s amazing! You’re the best, Lizzie- I’ll convince Joel to take you on that Scarland trip, promise. ” Lizzie gives a pleased hum in assent before the line goes dead with a click. Jimmy reels back, nearly in disbelief at this seemingly miraculous turn around in luck. If there’s one thing he’s learned over the last few years, it’s that chances like this are almost always too good to be true. And when they’re not- they must be seized. “Grian!” He yells, sticking his head out of his office door. “Lock up for me tonight- I’m heading out early to investigate a tip. Joel, with me!” “Okay! Don’t die~” Comes Grian’s singsong from the back of the station. Jimmy rolls his eyes as he steps out into the evening street, strangely optimistic. Things are finally turning around…right?A ready army of street lamps light the road with a pleasant glow, and above it all Jimmy can hear their calming song, a quiet, electrical:
Hum…
Hum…
The buzzing of the factory generator thrums through Tango’s head, building pressure upon his already splitting headache. “Are you sure you want to do this tonight?” Etho’s voice cuts through Tango’s anxious reverie with a sharpened point, uncharacteristically concerned. “We can always wait for another day if you’re not feeling up to it.” “No, I’m fine. Let’s… let’s just do this quickly.” The last thing Tango needs right now is sympathy.The night air is hushed as he grabs the first rung of the rusty fire escape, as if the city itself is keeping his secret. As he climbs, he feels an anticipation prickling under his skin, sending shudders of desire racing along his limbs. He can feel the approaching desolation like a physical need in his body, pulling him higher and higher on the ladder, drawing him closer and closer to the impending rain of ash. The can of gasoline clenched tight in his hand is his brush, the empty rooftop, his canvas, and this fire- well, he wasn't much of an artist, but tonight he would paint the heavens in velvet and gold. After that afternoon in the park…this is exactly what he needs. To forget all of it in a blaze of euphoria, to be subsumed by so much destruction that the nightmare would be just that- a distant dream. It’s an addiction- it's obvious- that high of adrenaline more enticing than any drug Scott could offer him. But tonight, he doesn’t care about the moral implications of his occupation, or the unhealthy desire he feels eating away inside him- urging him to climb faster, faster, faster. Tonight, all he wants to do is burn. He’s on the roof now, the gasoline canister open and waiting in his hand. As he upends it over the roof, snaking amber promises of ignition spread slowly over the poorly maintained brickwork. It’s almost ready. All he needs now is a spark. But just as he kneels down to send those anxious embers flying into motion, he hears behind him, ever so lightly:The flap of thin, agile wings-The tap, tap of two feet landing on stone-And then, a deadly, subtle-
Click
Click
The sound of Jimmy’s finger on the safety of his pistol. The secretive gloom of the night shatters in an instant, an invisible shock that causes the arsonist in front of him to snap up in surprise. “Don’t move.” Jimmy commands, his voice far more confident than he feels. “Put the gasoline down.” The man whirls to face him, eyes narrowed. And his pupils…red as molten coals. “So you are a netherborn.” Jimmy whispers. Guess I owe Joel 20 bucks… The arsonist on the roof with him stays disturbingly silent, hunched dangerously and arms hanging low by his sides. The gasoline canister is still clenched in his left hand, his fingers tightening stubbornly over the rubber handle. When he finally speaks, his voice is growly and strained, like a child trying to make himself sound deeper. “Don’t try anything. Or this whole building is going up in flames- with you on it.” He threatens in that forced, low growl. He raises his right hand, and on his index finger flashes a small, intense flame. It’s almost cinematic, how the moment is framed in that half a second: Jimmy standing between the arsonist and the fire escape down, gun raised and finger hovering, the blaze hybrid on the opposite side of the roof, flame in hand and gasoline slowly pooling at his feet. Jimmy steps closer, calling his bluff with every inch of distance that he closes between them. “You’re lying. Blaze hybrids might be resistant to fire, but even you wouldn’t survive the building collapsing with you on top of it.” One inch.“And you wouldn’t be able to fly off like me.” Another.“Put out the flame and no one gets hurt. You’re under arrest for-”The moment Jimmy’s foot hits the ground a third time, the blonde man flashes forward- a red streak of spreading flame- crossing the gap between them in fractions of a second. Jimmy’s mind floods with pure instinct, his finger tightening around the trigger, and-
BANG!
BANG!
There’s a sudden sting in Tango’s left shoulder, but he doesn’t stop, barreling into the officer in front of him even as his shoulder burns with pain. Their bodies crash into the hard brickwork of the roof, breath momentarily leaving Tango’s lungs as he struggles to restrain the man underneath him. Great, out of all the cops in the world, they send HIM . Glaring back up at him, every feature clearly defined in the moonlight, is the face of the sheriff- Jimmy. Scott’s boyfriend. Tango silently thanks Etho for insisting he wear his mask tonight, despite Tango’s protests.
Just hope he didn’t recognize my voice...
A hard knee slamming into his midsection abruptly snaps him out of his musings. Jimmy rolls away, slippery as a songbird, leaving Tango reeling on the ground. The dropped gun lies between them, shining pale in the silver moonlight. Jimmy lunges for it with a ferocity that Tango would never have expected, grabbing the pistol and tackling him to the ground again before he can catch his breath.
Damn it Damn it Damn it DAMN IT-
Tango can’t move, his arms pinned to his sides and the cold metal barrel of the gun pressed sideways against his neck. Everything is unwinding, and he's trapped- trapped- trapped. He’s overcome with an odd sense of deja vu, back to that afternoon weeks ago with Scott. Except this time he’s facing up, looking straight at his captor’s face. The only thing he can see is Jimmy’s cold, determined gaze staring down at him. Panic floods through him- followed by anger- then a frantic, blazing desperation. Heat rises in him, from his core, up his body, through his neck, molten rage bubbling to the surface from within him until-
WHOOSH
WHOOSH
Flames burst to life from the arsonist’s mouth beneath him, forcing Jimmy back as fires lick at his clothes and face. His senses burn with soot, and everything fades to messy blurs of gray and black. As the smoke clears, he feels the arsonist shove past him, diving down the ladder before Jimmy can blink the ash out of his eyes. “Hey! Stop!” He launches himself- half-flying, half-leaping- to the edge of the roof, coughing burnt, hacking coughs out of his lungs. Aiming his pistol blindly at the street below him, he searches for any sign of movement... but he’s too late. A black car pulls away out front, rounding the corner in the darkness in a matter of seconds.
No. No. Nonononono-
Joel is flat on his back on the ground below him, rubbing his head with a pained expression. The patrol car they had come in lies useless on the road, tires slashed and slowly leaking air like an untied balloon. A quick glance back down the road confirms Jimmy's suspicions. The arsonist is long gone. His only lead. And he’d wasted it. Another failure, another wasted opportunity, another missed chance. He had half a mind to take a lighter himself and let this building burn with him on it. Rid the world of just another failure. As he sinks to the floor in exhaustion, his eye strays to the side and spots something…strange. A withered white wildflower petal, glowing gently under the night sky. Its eggshell white edges are stained amber with gasoline. Beneath him, he can hear Joel’s agitated cursing, a matching harmony to the symphony of frustration playing within him. Jimmy takes a deep breath, glancing up at the now shattered stillness of the night sky.
Goddammit.
Goddammit.
I can’t breathe- I can’t breathe- I-
Tango heaves deep, frantic gasps of air as he sits in the passenger's seat, clenching the car’s armrest like a lifeline.He can vaguely hear Etho talking next to him, telling him to “calm down” and “take a breath.” Like he isn’t trying that already.
Very helpful, Etho.
He’d been so close to getting caught today- so close.
How did he know I would be there?
There were only two people who knew about the job tonight- Him and Etho. Who else could have known? How else could he hav- The explanation strikes him in a flash of horrible memory.
“Let’s just say Mr. Jumbo is really interested in having his factory disappear in an unpredictable 'act of terror' before the sanitation commission's regulation lawsuit gets any further.”
Three words pierce through the boiling rage quickly overwhelming his system, three traitorous, venomous, words.
Scott. Told. Him.
Tango isn’t sure which emotion hits him first- several are in close competition. Betrayal: Because somehow, despite how many times he had tried to prepare for it, despite how he had told himself it would be inevitable, he still didn’t expect how deep it would cut for his paranoia to be proved right. Regret: At his own stupidity for letting his guard down for a second, for handing himself over to a pretty-faced stranger over a flower and a warm laugh. Anger: Because he made a promise. And he was going to follow through. He turns to Etho, a picture of tranquility. The rampaging fury inside him is directed now, it has a fixed point to aim at. “I need you to find someone for me.” He says calmly. “Who?” Etho seems taken aback by his sudden shift in tone. “You better not be looking for trouble, Tango. I’ve already had to knock a cop over the head once tonight.“This is worth it. I need you to find the person who sold me out.”The name that he once savored on his tongue he now spits like venom. “Scott.” “Scott.”Jimmy's voice cracks on the familiar name as he pushes open their apartment door. His limbs weigh heavy with exhaustion, and his footsteps are lead as he drags his feet through the hall. “Hey, I’m back.”“Tough day again?” Scott’s voice floats out of the living room door, welcoming and concerned in a way that Jimmy knows he doesn’t deserve. Not after today. “I- It’s not important. How was your day?” “Fine.” Scott hums, grabbing Jimmy by the wrist and leading him to the couch. “Just ran the shop and did a few errands with Cleo. Lilacs are in this season, apparently. That, or some especially obsessed lilac enthusiast keeps buying out our whole stock.”Jimmy laughs at the joke, but even to him the noise sounds hollow. It floats half-heartedly around the room, bouncing off the walls without substance. Scott clearly notices it too. His hands tense uncomfortably in his lap. “If something’s wrong, you can tell me, you know.”“Don't worry... Nothing’s wrong.”Something fragile between them snaps, with those two small words.Jimmy doesn’t know why this time is so different- he’s repeated that well-worn lie too many times to count at this point- but this time around Scott doesn’t back off as he normally does. He doesn’t nod his head with understanding, whispering soft pleasantries and affirmations. He doesn't give up. “I’m not buying that, Jimmy. You know just as well as I do that’s not true.”Jimmy’s eyes flick up to Scott’s in a panic. The quiet melancholy he’d seen so many times before is now replaced with a sharp sort of frustration- a new kind of fire that's pointed straight at Jimmy, hungry to burn. “What?”“Something’s wrong. Something’s been wrong for months. And you always just- hide it from me!”Jimmy doesn't understand why Scott's so angry all of a sudden- what's changed?“That’s- that’s not true. Nothing’s wrong.” “No! It’s not! Please, just- tell me what’s going on with you. Stop pretending everything’s fine, okay?”“I-...”“Just tell me anything, please. Isn’t that what I’m good for?” Jimmy’s lips are frozen, any sound he tries to make catches in his throat like tar. Scott’s gaze is just so- desperate and pleading and angry- he can’t take it. His mouth forms into a single phrase, a quiet, regretful one that he delivers like a funeral declaration. “I’m…sorry.”“Sorry for what?” Scott practically screams.
I’m sorry I’m a failure. I’m sorry I’m hurting you. I’m sorry that I made you love me.
Jimmy can feel Scott’s frustration reaching a boiling point, he can almost hear it crackling with ozone in the air- this isn’t fair to him, he knows that. But why can’t he just… say anything? He tries, once again, but he’s just left gasping for air.
Say it, just say it. Say it and this will be over- say it and he’ll be free.
“Jimmy, please.” Scott is literally begging now, his hands clasped around Jimmy’s with some sort of terrifying fervor. “Stop being a- a coward! I can’t hear you say it’s ‘nothing’ one more time-” Jimmy’s a lot of things. But at that moment, smart isn't one of them. Scott was right. Coward, is. The next thing he knows, he’s tearing himself from Scott’s grip, backing away while repeating those empty apologies like a mantra. He hears Scott yelling after him, telling him to wait, pleading to ‘not leave him,’ but he’s out the door before he lets the pounding, aching of his heart hold him back. He races down the stairs, head spinning and motions clumsy. He takes a step- Failure. Another, shaking, trembling step- Coward. A third, thudding step that puts him on the ground floor. He’s leaning against the cool concrete of the apartment complex now, standing outside under a starless night. Without thinking, he rears his fist back and throws a wayward punch into the plaster.
WHAM-
WHAM-
Etho throws open the kitchen door with, frankly, way more force than necessary. He’s dragging Tango roughly by the wrist, ignoring the blaze's exclamations of indignation. “Etho, you’re overreacting-” “You got shot, Tango. Sit down.” Etho crosses over to the kitchen cabinets, pulling out a roll of bandage and an off-smelling bottle of disinfectant. “Roll up your sleeve."“It’s a shallow cut! It doesn’t even hurt anymore, really.” Etho doesn’t even respond, just waits silently until Tango reluctantly pulls up his shirt sleeve to expose the wound in his shoulder.“Jerk…” He mutters under his breath. He can’t see how bad the cut is from his angle, and Etho gives no signs, wiping down his shoulder with a robotic regularity. Still, the disinfectant sure stings as if the cut goes down to bone. “So?” Tango asks, as Etho’s wrapping bandages around the wound. “You didn’t answer my question from earlier. Can you find the guy?” “Depends. Are you sure he’s the one who sold you out?” “Who else would’ve known we would be there?”“Maybe someone saw us at the factory. It’s not like that part of the city is completely empty at night.”Tango considers this momentarily, but shakes the thought off like clinging cobwebs. “Etho, you don’t understand. This guy’s boyfriend is the sheriff- obviously he told him! And what do you think is more likely, that some passerby spotted two hidden people behind a massive factory while on a midnight stroll in the most remote part of town, reported it to the police for some reason, who proceeded to show up within 10 minutes, or-”“Okay, okay. I get it.” Etho interjects, but his concerned expression doesn’t fade. “I’m just saying, Tango, you have a tendency to go… overboard.” “What’s that supposed to mean? Do you think I’m going to set him on fire? Because I wasn’t planning on it, but now maybe I am…” “Just- maybe talk to him first? Don’t jump straight to the nuclear option? From what you told me, this guy isn’t all bad. He didn’t seem like the type to betray you.”Tango had thought of that, of course he had. But he had brushed it off as another one of his naiveties, just a wild fantasy that wouldn’t hold up to the cruel reality that people were selfish and protected only their own. But now that Etho was bringing it up... The hopeful, naive thought reared up again. A stubborn flame that Tango just couldn’t stamp out. “That still requires me to find him, though.” Tango points out, just as Etho cuts the bandage from the roll. The masked man sighs, rolling his eyes as he gathers the medical supplies from the kitchen counter. “I’ll call Impulse. But you’re not doing anything tonight- You need rest.”“What I need-” Tango retorts, wincing as he wiggles his arm back and forth. “Is an Ibuprofen and copious amounts of alcohol.” Etho’s quiet laughter recedes down the hallway, leaving Tango alone in the kitchen, nursing his stinging shoulder.
Talk to him…
He'll try, but only because he wants to hear Scott’s excuses before he gets rid of him completely. It'll be closure, in a way. Closure, and that’s it. …Tango has never been a good liar.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Jimmy, are you alright? Because if you’re going to be sick I’d rather you do it outside of my bar.” Wary, flattened ears and a furrowed brow of concern break into Jimmy's vision. To be fair, Ren’s concern isn’t completely unfounded- Currently, Jimmy would place the state of his physical and mental wellbeing somewhere between Hell and non-existent. “I’m fine, Ren. Can I just get another drink?” After the evening he'd had, he'll forgive himself for drinking so egregiously late on a work night. No matter how much he might hate himself in the morning. Ren grimaces, but takes his cup without further complaint, retreating back behind the bar.Jimmy buries his head into his arms, feeling his thoughts fade away in a pleasant buzz of drunken stupor. He isn't normally a drinker, but everyone needs to turn off their brain once in a while. His problems bite with duller teeth here in his little bubble of nothing.The reluctant thud of another glass landing on the mahogany counter draws Jimmy out of his shirt-sleeve cocoon, only to be met with Ren’s judgemental stare pinning him to his seat. “If you ask me-”“I didn’t.” Jimmy interjects before he can hear another lecture on “going easier on himself” or “letting things be." “This was my last chance- if I don’t catch this guy in the next few days, I’m losing my job. They’re just itching to kick me out, I can feel it.” “Well-" Ding! The jingle of the opening bar door interrupts Ren again, who cuts himself off with a huff. “Ren, after the night I’ve had, I seriously need a drink.” An oddly familiar voice bounds across the room, dripping with exhaustion.Jimmy swivels his head, lethargic as flowing honey to see- What was his name again? Terry? Tanner? From the park."Tango." Ren grumbles, "I thought I told you to stop coming here after you set the jukebox on fire last time you got drunk."Tango doesn't respond to the jab. Instead, his eyes remain fixed on Jimmy in thinly veiled panic. “J-Jimmy!” He stammers out, backpedaling. “I didn’t expect to see you here!” “No better place to drown your sorrows in mid-quality alcohol.” Jimmy murmurs, his loopy, buzzing brain barely processing the frantic tone of Tango's voice. “No offense, Ren.” “You know what- I’d hate to interrupt whatever you’re doing- and Ren's right! I think I’ll just…leave now.” Why is he so nervous? Call it his sheriff brain talking, but even through the mist of alcohol clouding his judgement he can tell that there’s something off about Tango’s behavior. His eyes dart and his feet shift like a cornered animal, and his arm is clearly recently bandaged. Jimmy can still see spots of dried blood along the edges.“What happened to your arm?” He questions cooly, gesturing to the bar stool next to him for Tango to sit. Tango freezes, his glowing, dilated pupils flicking anxiously from the stool, to Jimmy, and the door in a dizzying carousel. After a beat too long, he seems to finally realize leaving now would be the most suspicious option. He tentatively sits down, gaze fixed on Ren wiping tables on the far side of the room. “So, how’d you injure your shoulder?” “I, uh— got stabbed! With a knife- A bread knife! Yesterday morning. While making…bread.” “You got stabbed yesterday morning? And it’s still bleeding?” “It was a very sharp bread knife…?”“I'm sure.” Jimmy can almost see the smoke billowing out of Tango’s ears as he squirms anxiously. “I guess that means I can’t complain about my day too much then. It won’t beat getting stabbed by an extraordinarily sharp bread knife.” “O-Oh. I’m sure it’ll be better. I mean worse. I mean better? I mean- what happened?” Jimmy briefly considers lying- making up some equally fantastical story to match Tango’s, but finds that for some reason, he actually does want to talk about it. Maybe it’s Ren’s mediocre alcohol cawing like a mad crow in his ears, or maybe it’s the way Tango is looking at him with an empathetic kind of anticipation that reminds him of someone he is definitely not thinking about right now, but the lie hangs off his tongue, unwilling to leap into the open air. He swallows deeply. “I’m just having... problems at work. You know I’m a sheriff, right?” “Yeah, that must be really stressful. Are you okay?” There it is again, that genuine edge of concern in his voice that punches a gaping hole in the wall of distrust and suspicion blocking up Jimmy’s chest. “I mean- it’s not just the stress. It's just that I seem to be failing in all my cases.” Jimmy lets out a self-deprecating laugh, blinking back hot, angry tears. “ Like today, I let a criminal get away, again. I had him, but he slipped away and now all I have to show for it is bruises and smoke stains.”Tango looks like he wants to interject, but it’s all pouring out of Jimmy now, and he can’t seem to stop the traitorous secrets from leaping from his mouth, harried by tears that tasted of alcohol.“And the worst part is- it’s my fault. All of it. At least if it was stress I can write off as my brain being ridiculous, making problems where there is none. But this? This is just me. Me failing.”Tango is silent for a moment, and Jimmy fully expects him at any moment to just get up and leave. Honestly, he wouldn’t even blame him- who would want to listen to his unsolicited workplace missteps. When Tango speaks again, the softness of his voice startles him.“I’m sure… you weren’t that much of a failure.” “...What do you mean?” “I mean- just based on what I know about you, ‘failure’ is probably going a bit too far.”“Really?” Jimmy’s mouth unwittingly quirks up to a slight smirk. “And what do you know about me?” “Well... you’re persistent, for one. You won’t give up for anything, and you can definitely be tough when you need to.” As he speaks, Tango’s voice grows more and more confident, as if he’s saying things he knows to be true. "You're fierce, too. Even when I- other people don't expect you to be."“Did Scott tell you that?” “Maybe.” He responds smoothly. “Or maybe I’m just really good at reading people. Either way, I’m sure you totally kicked that criminal guy’s butt.”Jimmy lets out a chuckle, the sound free and floating like the pop of champagne bubbles. “You might have a bit too much faith in me. I got pretty roughed up as well.” “That just proves my point- Like I said, you’re persistent as heck. And all that matters in the end is how the other guy looked anyway.” Jimmy turns to Tango and sees- really sees- the man sitting next to him for the first time, lit warmly by the dim bar lights. His crooked smile that sloughs awkwardly off his mouth; his concerned, softly knitted brows that crumple in genuine concern for little more than a stranger; the way his eyes widen in anticipation after every sentence, like he’s constantly waiting to hear what Jimmy has to say.“You really know how to cheer a guy up, you know?" The words come to him before he can process what he's saying. "I can see why Scott likes you.” This seems to catch Tango off guard- His breath catches in his throat as he sputters. “Scott likes me?”“From the way he yelled at me after I was rude to you that day in the park? He must. You should’ve seen him.” Jimmy shudders at the memory of the “jealous boyfriend behavior” lecture he’d gotten that night. This time it’s Tango who laughs, a rattling noise that bounces off the cramped bar walls and ricochets like lightning through Jimmy’s bones. “I can see why Scott likes you, too.” He says as he regains his breath. “Tough and funny. I mean, what more could you want?” The pair are silent for a while, and though Tango’s anxious intensity never quite fades, Jimmy can feel it…changing, like a fireplace dimming from volatile heat to a soft, intense burn. “Can I buy you a drink?” Jimmy says abruptly, surprisingly himself with his forwardness. “Oh! You really don’t have to- why?”The canary just shrugs, his feathers giving a soft rustle at the motion. “It's the least I can do after dumping all that on you. And I really needed to hear that I was... worth something, you know? To get out of my own head.” “You don't have to repay me for that, Jimmy. I know what it’s like to be stuck with your thoughts- It's suffocating.”“Don't I know it... Sometimes it's like I can’t even breathe on my own.” Jimmy doesn’t know where this sudden, radical honesty is coming from. But knowing that someone else has been in the same place he has, knowing that Tango understands... it fills his heart with something soft that flutters and flits, sparkling like gold.He feels a warm hand on his shoulder, heavy and firm as a weighted blanket.“I’ll always help you breathe, if you need me to.”Tango’s face bears no sign of mockery or deception. His words are as pure and sincere as an open flame, and Jimmy feels like he can stay by the fire forever. “Thanks. You’re… a good guy, Tango. ” Astonishingly, he finds that he actually means it. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” He turns up to meet Tango’s burning red eyes, and for a moment, a fleeting, almost negligible second, Jimmy sees a flash of deep seated guilt. Like he knows something Jimmy doesn’t.But then it’s gone like a mirage, and all he does is smile that gentle smile of his, and whisper- “You too, Jimmy” Someone’s tapping Grian’s shoulder at 4:37 am in the morning, which frankly, should be a federal crime. “No…” He mumbles, swatting away at the insistent hand. “Come back in the morning.”“Grian, Jimmy’s calling you.” Scar whispers, shaking him a bit harder. “You know, your boss?” “Timmy’s my friend before he’s my boss. And as my friend, he can kindly come back in the morning. ” Still, Grian drags himself upright in the bed, rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he takes the phone from Scar. “What do you want?” “Hey, so, I need a favor,” Timmy’s voice rings out from the other side, teeth chattering. “Can you pick me up from outside Ren’s bar? He closed and… I can’t really go home. It’s freezing out here.”“What- Why-…You know what, I’m not even going to question it. Sure, I’ll be there in ten.” His palms are bleeding. Scott becomes vaguely aware of this fact as his eyes blink open, painfully slowly. His face is pressed against cold linoleum- the kitchen counter. He must’ve fallen asleep. A glance at the bright LEDs of the microwave clock reveals it's 11:32 am. Had he really slept in that long?Slowly, he raises his hand up to his face to inspect the damage. There are four blood red crescent moons embedded deep into the flesh of his palms, where he had clenched his fist with some sort of rage that even he didn’t know he had. Why had he even done it?It wasn’t Jimmy’s fault- Scott had pushed too hard. He had insisted on more than he was entitled to. Jimmy didn’t have to tell him anything, and now- and now… Scott will be alone. And he’ll deserve it. He languishes in how much the thought stings, letting the pain claw at him in some twisted form of punishment. His phone is buzzing… Probably Pearl or Cleo, ready to yell at him for not being at work. He decides they’d be fine without him for a day. They’d all be fine without him… He tries to go back to sleep.
Why did I do it?
The thought stabs at his consciousness again like an incessant weed. He had been so good at keeping it under control- of giving Jimmy his space, of letting him keep his secrets. It had been so easy to keep his mouth shut, for so long. But last night- it was like there was a new fire inside him, something scorching and angry and new that made him want to scream, want to fight, want to finally say something. Where did it come from? ...Did he want it? Fourteen seconds tick by aggravatingly slowly, like time itself is moving through choking mud.His phone's still buzzing. Why hadn’t they given up by now? Surely they’d realized at this point that Scott wasn’t going to pick up. With a groan, Scott pries his cheek off the kitchen counter and makes a half-hearted grab at the phone. Miraculously, his hand connects. It’s an unknown number. Scott in any other situation would have hung up and went back to sleep. Scott in any other situation would have assumed it was a spam caller or telemarketer, declined the call without a second thought. But Scott is in this situation, and for some reason everything seems the opposite of normal.“Hello?”“Oh! I thought I wouldn’t get through to you. Is this Scott Major?” “...Yes? Who are you?” The voice on the other end seems friendly enough, but there's something about his cheery attitude that sends warning bells ringing in the back of Scott’s mind. “Um- Hi! My name is Impulse. I’m just calling to- I guess…warn you?” “Warn me about what? I swear, if you’re about to say my credit card’s been hacked I’m going to-”“No, no. Um…more like my friend might be on his way to murder you?” It’s funny, after everything that’s happened over the last few weeks, Scott isn’t even shocked. A prank call is the least of his concerns right now. “I’m hanging up.”“Wait! I swear this isn’t a prank. My friend Tango had me find you for him- which by the way, I only did because I owed him for taking care of a competitor one time- nevermind. But basically, he seemed pretty upset, at least according to Etho, and I know Tango, okay? When he’s upset, he’s... volatile. So I-”Scott probably should have been paying attention to everything that Impulse was saying, but at the moment he was hung up on two words. “What do you mean ‘find me’? Did you give him my address? Are you stalking me!?” “Um…Would you believe a no…?”Scott slams the End Call button before Impulse finishes his sentence. He sits in shock for a minute, processing what had just happened. There are a few possibilities here. Option A: Impulse was lying, and the whole thing was a prank in poor taste. But then how would he know that I knew Tango? How did he know my name? Option B: Impulse was right, and Tango was on his way to murder Scott at that very moment. What the hell did I ever do to him? Why would he be mad? Option C: Impulse was wrong, and Tango did want to find Scott, but for a not-murder and hopefully much nicer reason. Still creepy though… Jeez Tango if you wanted to talk to me you could’ve just asked for my number. Is he willing to risk Option A or Option C being the case? Or should he call 911 right now? The more he thinks about it, the more Option B made sense. Isn’t that what criminals do- tie up loose ends? And Scott is just that to Tango- someone who can bring him down at any moment. A sharp rap on the door interrupts his deliberations.
If I was going to murder someone, I wouldn’t knock… right?
He peers in the door’s peephole, expecting to be met with a gun barrel or heavily armed mass of goons…only to see Tango standing there, anxious and unarmed. Eyebags heavy under his glowing red pupils. Don’t open the door. Don’t let him in. His common sense whispers. His common sense really should’ve learned by now that Scott wasn’t going to listen to him. Tango nearly jumps out of his skin as the door swings open. He seems shockingly unprepared for what he was going to say, considering he’s the one who showed up on Scott’s doorstep. “What are you doing here?” Scott demands, blocking the way into his apartment. The blaze’s face abruptly shifts, a tough facade closing over his anxiety like a castle gate. “You know exactly why.” He hisses. His words are oddly slurred, and there’s a familiar smell in the air...“Are you drunk? Listen, I’m not going to listen to your hungover ramblings-”A hand slams into the doorframe next to Scott’s head, cutting him off with a yelp. Tango’s eyes are piercing into his now, abruptly sharp and focused. The stench of alcohol fizzles, replaced by the stinging scent of smoke polluting the air. “I trusted you. You promised not to sell me out. Guess the word of drug dealer isn't worth much.”Scott is surprised by how deep the words cut, but he's not backing down over Tango's paranoid accusations. If this is how Tango wants to play, then he’s happy to oblige. “I have no idea what you’re talking about- I never told anyone about you. I don’t know how you got that idea, but unlike some people, I have decency. Maybe the gasoline fumes are finally getting to your head.” Tango’s sneer turns into something sadder- angrier- he pushes towards Scott, jabbing him in the chest with a finger that burns hot against his skin. “Seriously? That’s your excuse? I came here because I thought you would at least have some sort of explanation. But you’re just going to stand there and deny it?”“I’m denying it because I didn’t do it! It’s as simple as that, can you get it through your flaming skull?” “Then I guess I’ll have to tell the police about what’s going on in the flower shop of yours. And your sheriff boyfriend too- don't you think he deserves to know?"Scott freezes, his retort dying before it leaves his mouth.
Wait wait wait-
The jabs and insults and mockery to himself, he can take. Even imprisonment- he knows he probably deserves it. But Jimmy- if Tango cost him his job, if Jimmy found out it was all because of Scott. He rushes forward, grabbing a hold of Tango’s wrist for what seems like the third time this month. “Wait- don’t-”“That sure got your attention, huh?” Something bitter rang out in Tango’s voice, biting and... jealous?“You- You can’t. I’ll tell him about you, too. It’s mutually assured destruction!” Tango shakes off his hand, whirling to face him with renewed vigor. “Go ahead, do it! I don’t have anything to lose. But you do, don’t you?”“I swear, with everything I have. Tango please. I didn’t tell him anything.”Tango's face softens, barely noticeable through the smoke and anger. Maybe it's just delusion, but Scott can almost tell that deep, deep, down- past the fury and apathy that Tango projects, he wants to believe it.Scott jumps onto that sliver of doubt, seizing it with renewed intensity.“Think about it Tango- if I told Jimmy, I would have to explain how I know, which would require me to explain why I was driving around back alleys with a trunk load of drugs in my car that afternoon. Plus, even if I did tell him, what evidence do I have? My own testimony? You know that wouldn’t hold up.”His words are having an effect- Tango’s heat recedes, and his face shifts from that bitter glower to a conflicted doubt. But there’s still something pained in his expressions, something paranoid and wary embedded within that causes him to back into the hallway, shaking his head.“Even so- even if you didn’t, this isn't safe. None of this is safe. Just being here, talking to you. It’s not safe.”“Then... why are you here?”The way Tango flinches back at the question tells Scott that he’s been asking himself that from the beginning. “To return something. So this can all end.” He pushes past Scott into the apartment, stalking over to the kitchen. Scott follows him, letting the door click locked behind. Tango reaches into his pocket and pulls out... a small fragile flower bathed in off-white. Pressed and preserved, but graying around the edges. The same one that Scott had picked from beneath their feet, what seems like months ago.
Had he kept it this whole time?
“Here.” Tango declares, setting it on the counter with finality in his movements. “Now, we don’t owe each other anything anymore. We can go our separate ways and pretend we never even met.”“Just like that?” Scott whispers, not really expecting an answer.Once again, in any other situation, Scott would’ve said yes in a heartbeat. He would’ve snatched up that flower, shoved Tango out the door, and forgotten about him in a matter of days. But now, a gnawing feeling in his gut makes this whole decision feel... wrong. Just leaving things like this- with someone who he had told some of his greatest insecurities, someone who knew some of his deepest secrets. It didn’t feel right.Before he can make any decision, however, another knock at the door sends both of them startling.“Scott? Are you in there?”
Jimmy.
Tango jolts next to him- hair sparking in alarm. Scott’s no better, his feet rooted to the floor at the familiar voice. “Can you open the door?”
Why isn't he at work-
“Why isn’t he coming in?” Tango hisses from next to him, eyes dilating in panic.“He left his keys here after he ran out last night…” Scott whispers back.“He- what? Is that why he was getting drunk at a bar on a Thursday night?”“That’s where he went?” “Scott?” Jimmy’s voice comes again from the door, softer and more pleading. “Listen, I’m sorry about last night. I was just- overwhelmed. Can we talk about it?”“What do we do?” Tango is getting desperate now- Scott too.“I know you’re in there. Cleo told me you didn’t go to the shop today.”Tango creeps slowly over to the door, as if to look into the peephole, until a sudden hard, sharp knock on the door shocks him back. “I can see your shadow moving under the door- Are you really just going to ignore me?”Scott’s frozen in place- what is he supposed to do in this situation? Probably open the door right now, play Tango off as just a friend that he had called over. But then Jimmy says something that shatters everything. Not just this situation, not just their fight- but everything.“I know what you’ve been doing with Pearl. The drugs, the 'flower deliveries', the going behind my back. All of it. Open the door. Now, Scott.”Tango's head snaps toward Scott, the same thought clearly echoing through his head. How the hell-Scott can’t be here- he needs to leave, needs to run. He whips towards Tango, grabbing his forearm in a vice grip.“Get me out of here.” He pleads, uncaring of how pathetic he looks. “Please- Get me out of here and I won’t tell the cops anything, we can work something out.”Tango opens his mouth to protest, but as his eyes scan Scott’s desperate face, he only nods grimly.“Does this apartment have a back exit?”“No- and we’re on the second story.”“That’s fine.” Tango strides over to the kitchen window and throws it open, leaning out over the street below.“What are you doing-“ Before Scott can grab him, Tango tilts out the window, sidling down the drain pipe and landing with a smooth somersault.“Come on!” He shouts from the ground below, wearing a hopelessly smug expression.“I am not doing that-“A hard slam at the door nearly jolts him over the edge. “Scott? Seriously, are you okay? What was that noise?”“I’ll catch you!” Tango yells up again from two stories down. Another hard knock. “Is there someone else in there? I’m coming in!”There’s no time to consider, no time to rationally think through the options. Scott jumps.Then, he's f a l l i n gJust as he’s convinced he’s about to slam headfirst into the ground, warm arms wrap around him in a bearhug.Tango doesn’t so much “catch” him as “become a living crash mattress,” but either way Scott’s on the ground, relatively intact.Tango lies under him, still holding onto his torso and… laughing. “That was awesome-“ he breathes, his shaking shoulders pressed close into the grass. He looks up at Scott, eyelids fluttering in some mix of adrenaline and excitement. Scott’s winded breaths catch in his throat, and he suddenly becomes aware that he’s- on top of Tango, arms interlocking and foreheads nearly touching. He doesn’t want to move, in fear that any attempt he makes to leave will draw attention to their position… but Tango’s clearly noticed already, his face flushing from something other than exertion. “Uh- we should go.” Tango announces, shoving Scott off of him in a hurry. “R-right.” He agrees, turning away so Tango doesn’t see the scarlet bloom flowing across his face.Tango rises to his feet and offers Scott a hand. His smile glints in the early morning sunlight. Scott takes it without hesitating, and for the first time he doesn’t hesitate when he feels their skin touch. He lets himself be pulled up into Tango, effortless.
This… feels right.
Without another word, Scott turns and sprints down the road, beside a criminal and away from the man he loves.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
7:25 AM
Lizzie is good at a lot of things in life. One of the skills that she especially prides herself upon: Minding her own business. …Still, that kind of goes out the window in this situation, doesn’t it?“Sorry, could you repeat that again?” She hopes- prays- begs that she had just misheard the lab tech on the other line, the result of sleep deprivation or a caffeine overdose or a momentary auditory hallucination or anything .“Like I said, detective Shadowdarity, the DNA residue on the blood and cloth samples you sent in matches two individuals by the names of Scott Major and Pearl Moon. I can send over the lab reports if you need.” “T-That would be great, thanks.”“Of course. Would you also like for us to forward the results to the sheriff?”"No... I think I better tell him myself."She hangs up without another word, sitting in silence for a moment as frizzy pink hair falls over her eyes.
Gosh, poor Jimmy...
11:02 AM
Nonononono- This can’t be happening- Think Jimmy, think
There was definitely someone in here-
Scott- Where’s Scott?
Robbed- Kidnapped- Murdered?!
Hecouldbedeadorgonebynowandicantdoanythingtosto-
…Wait, was that window always open?
11:20 AM
For the amount of times he’s found himself running for his life through these streets, Scott's surprisingly bad at... actually running.“Wait- let’s stop for a second.” Scott pants, feet pounding to a halt against concrete. His back thuds against the cracked surface of an alley wall. “Any farther and you’re going to have to carry me.”“C’mon, we’ve barely been running for ten minutes! You need to work on your stamina.” Tango’s jab bounces lightly off Scott’s chest. It’s nice- an insult that doesn’t sting, but invites him to bite back.“I’m a florist. Unlike you, my job doesn’t require me to run from the cops on a daily basis. And besides…” Scott's mouth quirks, eyes narrowing mischievously at Tango’s indignant expression. “Stamina isn’t something many people complain about with me.” The blaze’s hair sparks an electric yellow at this, mouth snapping like open and closed in shock. “W-what! That’s not what I-” Impressively, his face manages to flush a brighter red than the sunbaked brickwork burning against Scott's back. “I’m just joking,” Scott reassures with an airy laugh, and even though he’s sure Tango knows it, it feels like the right thing to say. The fragile, necessary words separating friendly teasing from something… more. Something that he feels taking root like a stubborn daisy in his heart, that he definitely isn't ready to confrontSome part of him knows that just being here is wrong, smiling and laughing while leaving Jimmy behind in the dark. But the sun is high and the clouds have cleared- his worries seem to fall to the shadowy corners behind him. Tango’s smile is a summer breeze, and Scott lets himself be swept away.
11:37 AM
This is your fault.
Why are you always so idiotic about these things?
His blood being at the scene- It could just be a misunderstanding. It has to be a misunderstanding.
He wouldn’t have run if you had just calmed down- If you’d let him explain
But you never let him talk to you, did you?
He wouldn’t have hidden things from you in the first place… If you had been better to him.
All of this, your fault.
12:21 PM
“...And then Etho found out the guy we were going to make a deal with was actually working for…”Tango’s talking right now, about criminal business dealings or flammable factory architecture or something or another, but Scott isn’t really listening. He finds himself just watching Tango’s face, cataloging the way every angle smoothes and creases as expressions morph their way across his features. Brows knit in concentration as he struggles to pronounce the name of one of Impulse’s mysterious "connections":”Ze- Zedaph? I think it was?”Eyelids shoot skyward as he recalls something in a flash of chagrin:“Oh! I forgot to tell Etho I’m going to be late to…”Lips purse in concern as he squints curiously at Scott’s direction:“Scott? Are you okay? Scott!”“Uh- Huh? What?”“Oh, nothing. You’ve just been… staring at me. For the past 2 minutes.” They’ve stopped walking, pausing in a part of the city Scott doesn’t recognize. “Sorry, I just zoned out. You were saying?”“I’m not boring you, am I?” A self-conscious wrinkle traces across his forehead.“No, I’m really interested in… um… razing the capitalistic regime and building a new system from the ashes. Or whatever.”“Were you even listening?” Almost a pout, this time. A lipped grimace dripping with faux offense. “I’m not sure you’ll like the answer to that.”Tango just sighs, gesturing at a small cafe across the street from them. “I was wondering if you wanted to get lunch? It’s almost half past noon.”Scott blinks for a moment, uncomprehending. Has it really been that long? He glances back down the road the way they’d come.
I should probably go back to Jimmy…
He turns his attention back towards Tango and sees… hope. Pure and bright and bursting, splattered across Tango’s face like spilt golden leaves. Scott found himself enraptured by those hopeful eyes, clear as blown glass and cruel to shatter. “Sure, I’ve got time.”
12:30 PM
…Why does it smell like smoke in here?
Smoke and cheap beer.
Kinda smells like Ren’s- No. Don’t think about alcohol right now.
Wait, what’s that on the kitchen counter?
White with brown edges…
A... flower?
12:47 PM
“So… are we really not going to talk about it?” Tango's voice cuts through Scott's satisfied reverie, causing his gaze to snap up to the other man's expectant eyes. “Talk about what?” Tango contemplates this, leaning back in his chair and taking another sip from a tall glass of soda. “You know- Us. Jimmy. Everything?”“Everything.” Scott repeats, the enormity of his problems contained in a single word.“I mean- you don’t have to.” Tango’s chair legs hit the ground sharply as he leans forward, face set with anxious resolve. “But, I don’t know, it just seems like you’re dealing with a lot right now, and I know this is probably overstepping but- um. I’m worried about you…?”Scott sits in silence, dragging his plastic fork around in circles on his now empty plate. Tango’s staring at him like he’s expecting Scott to burst into tears or punch him in the face at any moment. Scott, on his part, just feels exhausted.“It’s not your problem, Tango. Not your fault, either. I messed up- really badly. And honestly, all I need right now is to not think about it.” He stands abruptly, dropping his fork onto the table with a clatter. “Come on, let’s go.”“What? Where?” “I don’t know, away! To the park or to the moon or to burn down city hall- anywhere but backwards. Be my escape, okay? Just for this afternoon.”Scott’s hand finds Tango’s wrist, warm under his hand. This time, he’s the one who pulls. And it’s almost euphoric how easily Tango follows.
12:50 PM
Why does this all seem so familiar- like I’m missing something obvious?
Come on Jimmy, you’re a sheriff. Analyze the case.
The smell of cheap, mediocre alcohol... where have I smelt it?
A white flower, with wilted brown edges... where have I seen it?
The bite of smoke in the air, like gasoline just lit... where have I tasted it?
I’ve seen all of this before.
1:02 PM
Scott's wandering the warehouse districts, trailing behind Tango as he jumps from the shade of one building to the next under the relentless early afternoon sun.For the first time since this morning, they’re both quiet, basking in the tranquility of the silent streets. No one comes to this part of town anyways- especially not on a weekday in this heat. Abruptly, the wailing sounds of sirens pierces through the silence of the deserted road. Without thinking, Scott reacts, dragging Tango flailing into the shadows of a small parking inlet out of view of the road. “What the-” He clamps a hand on Tango’s mouth, heart pounding as the police car shrieks past- going way over the speed limit, mind you. “What was that for?” Tango hisses, face sizzling in several hues of red. “Sorry.” Scott exhales, body rigid with tension. “I just- panicked, I guess.”“Panicked because you thought it was Jimmy coming to arrest you… or panicked because you’ve developed some weird phobia of fast-moving cars after everything you’ve pulled?”Scott smiles despite himself, his racing heartbeat calming as Tango’s joke soothes the panic streaking through his veins. “You’re never going to let me forget about that, are you?”“Nope. Not unless your next crash takes me out for good.”“Don’t tempt me. I’ve got a driver's license and a lot of patience for petty revenge.”Tango breaks into a roaring laugh, a blaze that beckons for Scott to lean in, to let the warmth subsume him. He’s overcome with a sudden urge to brush against the fire before him, to get just a little closer to the heat. He reaches out a hand, brushing Tango’s face just under his ear. Tango starts, flinching back at the touch. “Woah, what are you doing?” He says with a nervous chuckle. “Oh- Uh- I don’t know, I just…” Regret shrieks through his mind, his face turning the brilliant red of a tulip bloom in April. “You’re… warm.”
God, how did I make that sound weirder?
“Sorry, that came out wrong-”“No, I know what you mean. I’ve been told that before.” There’s no malice in his gaze, and his eyes settle on Scott’s without judgement. It makes him bold, somehow, and certainly more stupid.“Can I-?” He bursts out after a moment.Without hesitation, Tango grabs Scott’s hand, lifting it back up to his cheek. “I’ll try my best not to burn you.” He says with a smile, eyes glowing softly. The world stops spinning, the moment Scott’s hand meets his skin. He realizes with a start that it's the first time they've touched normally- rather than clumsy football tackles, impromptu window diving, and fleeting contacts between anxious hands.Electricity shoots through his veins, a warm, exhilarating shock that passes through from Tango’s body to his own, racing down to the soles of his feet. The touch is over in a second yet the warmth lingers, and Scott barely feels it when Tango finally lets go of Scott’s hand, letting it fall back to his side. Tango stumbles back, staring accusingly at his own hand as if it’d moved on its own. “Um- Sorry, I should have asked before I grabbed your hand-” He sputters, embarrassed sparks floating out of his fiery hair. “I’ll go... check if the coast is clear! Right- yes Tango, great excuse.”He’s around the corner before Scott can protest, smoke trailing behind him and muffled curses muttered under his breath. Scott stands in shock for a second, and his heart swells with something odd and new- a nascent growth pushed to bloom by the strange, intimate contact. As he shifts his feet, he feels something soft, crushed beneath his heel. Icy cold realization floods through him as he lifts his foot, paling at the sight he knows awaits him. Freshly bloomed poppies, bursting stubbornly from the cracks in the rough asphalt. Tiny shoots that glare pointedly at Scott, flaunting their undeniable red, red, red.
Oh.
1:03 PM
Is this Scott’s phone?
Why is it on the bathroom floor?
I shouldn’t... it’s an invasion of privacy-
-But he could be in danger...
Just this once. Because I have to.
…huh?
Call from an unknown number… 10:34 am this morning.
1:04 PM
This is bad. Really, really, really bad.
Poppies only ever meant one thing. It was why Scott had always been so quick to rush into relationships- why he never doubted his love for his partner, never doubted his love for Jimmy. But this- for Tango?What did this mean? Well... I know what this means. He's in love with Tango. Or at the very least, close to it. But Jimmy- he didn’t feel like he loved Jimmy any less than before, no matter what he had said last night. And how could that ever be possible?Scott almost snorts at the thought. Sounds like the start of a bad joke. A drug dealer, an arsonist, and a police sheriff walk into a love triangle. Doubt rages in a whirlwind inside him, all the while his gaze remains fixed on those petals of treacherous scarlet underfoot. I can’t let Tango see this- Scott realizes with a start, quickly kneeling down to yank the damned weeds out of the cement. He saw me with Jimmy that day in the park- he could know what they mean. Because the universe hates him today for some reason, it’s this exact moment that Tango chooses to walk back around the corner. “Okay I think it’s safe to- woah, what’s wrong?”Scott’s eyes are wide as sunflowers as his feet stumble conspicuously over the crack in the ground. God, why couldn’t he ever just be subtle?“You should leave.” He blurts, lightly shoving Tango back the way they’d come. “What-? Why?”“We’re done, aren’t we? Thanks for helping me, really- but you should… you have to go now.”“Wait- did something happen?” There’s no anger in Tango's words, just disorientation. “No! I just realized that... you were right. You were right the first time, what you said back at my house. This isn’t safe. None of this, knowing each other. Just- we’ll go our separate ways, and we’ll never have to see each other again.”This is selfish of Scott. He knows. But he can’t be around Tango any longer, he can’t stand the sight of the bloodred blooms growing at his feet. “You’re not making sense. Scott, I thought-” Tango’s voice is pleading, and his eyes pin Scott with a familiar hurt confusion that reminds him too much of last night and shed tears and angry things that he should not, would not, have said. He shies away from Tango’s attempts to grab his hand. He has to use more force, he’ll never convince him otherwise of how wrong this all is. “Well you thought wrong! You’re… changing me, and I don’t know what to do about it! I yelled at Jimmy last night, called him... things that he wasn't. I would’ve never done that- until you.”There’s no force in Tango's hands when he grabs Scott by the shoulders. His eyes burn with intense concern, but his hold remains gentle despite the molten blood flowing beneath his skin. “What do you mean? What did I do?”Scott lifts an accusatory finger, jabbing it into Tango’s chest. “You told me I wasn’t useless.”“You’re not-”“It doesn’t matter! I don’t care if I’m worthless or made of uncut emerald. What matters is I'm hurting Jimmy- cursing him, running from him- because of these stupid fiery, angry thoughts that you put in my head. And now…” His voice trails off. Nothing he said had been untrue, but somehow speaking it into the universe felt like a step too far. “Now everything’s going wrong.”Tango stands there, frozen for a long, tense moment. The air shivers with anticipation, as if every molecule in the space between is waiting for the blaze to speak. But before he can say anything, something else shatters the silence. That sunshiny, damn cheerful clop of hooves on concrete. “Hey Scott!” Scott startles as if stung, swiveling to see Gem's antlered face smiling from ear to ear. The sight of someone familiar would’ve been strangely comforting, if not for the fact she’s currently holding him at gunpoint. “Who are you?” Tango snarls. “We’re kind of in the middle of something.”“Wow, rude! You’re the ones that came wandering into my territory when we didn’t end off so well last time! Right, Scott?”“Gem! Uh- Hi… Can we put the gun down… please?” Scott’s shoulders bump into Tango’s chest as he shuffles back slowly, holding out one hand in some desperate ward against evil. “That depends,” Gem shrugs, the motion causing the pistol’s barrel to bob up and down like a viper about to strike. “You never did give me an answer on if you would take my deal or not.”“Hold on- She’s the one who tried to kill you?” There’s something new in Tango’s voice. Scott’s seen him mad before- he’s felt the radial heat. But this was more. The anger he’d felt before was a match compared to this crackling promise of wildfire.Before Scott can respond, or explain, or even breathe, he feels movement behind him and Tango pulls out a gun. An actual gun. Everything goes white in panic, even Gem rearing back in surprise. Her own gun, however, never moves from its position locked straight at Scott’s heart. “Wait, Tango-” “She’s trying to kill you! This is self-defense!” Tango’s eyes are burning, his hair a hornets nest of hissing embers. Somehow- it seems that none of Scott’s words are reaching him through the haze of smoke. “No- Everyone just calm down-”He’s not sure who moves first- Him or Tango or Gem- but Tango suddenly lurches forward, as if to put himself between Scott and looming barrel before him. And then something sharp shoots through his side, from behind him, and his legs give out from under him as his brain goes dark with pain.
1:05 PM
Tango just wants to say in his defense: bringing the gun was not his idea. “What are you doing? Are you crazy?” Gem screeches, feet stamping indignantly towards him.“I-I didn’t mean to- it was an accident! You were trying to kill him!” “No you idiot! You think I have the energy to deal with an actual murder charge? Why do you think he got away all those times!”Tango’s head is spinning, his mind barely comprehending whatever the hell Gem is saying because there’s blood on his hands and it’s Scott’s and it’s all his fault and he’s a monster- a horrible person- a criminal-Something sharp knocks him back to reality, a stinging sensation on his cheek. “Ow- Did you just slap me?”“Oh my god, shut up and lie him down before he bleeds all over your shirt.”“Is he- Is-”“He’s not dead, stupid.” Gem grumbles, reaching into a bag Tango hadn’t noticed she’d been carrying. “Your bullet barely grazed the drama queen. He probably just passed out from shock.” Tango watches as she pulls out several lengths of bandages from that tiny bag- brain churning slow as melting butter. “Why do you have those?”“In case something like this happened, apparently! When some stupid lug with a hero complex and zero situational awareness causes things to get complicated. Ugh- I can’t work here. Pick him up.” “What- where are we going?” “His shop’s only a block away. I’d call his coworker to pick us up… but she blocked me. So we’re walking.” Tango looks back down at Scott’s body, and his heart swells with guilt sharper than the sting of a bullet. Wait- poor analogy. When he finally works up the nerve to gingerly lift him, one hand under his neck and the other under his knees, the solid, limp weight in his arms does little to ease his nerves. “Hurry up!” Gem mutters impatiently, “Or do you want us to get spotted by some patrol car and arrested for attempted murder?”He turns, whispering soft apologies into Scott’s still face. Tango takes one last look at the alley- a fleeting, hasty glance. His gaze lingers on a spatter of Scott’s blood on the cement, a spot of ash and burnt embers on the far wall… and on the ground, a collection of trampled poppies, flattened and crushed but still flaunting a vibrant red, red, red.
1:15 PM
Click.
"Oh hey! Didn't expect you to call me back.""Who is this?""Oh... You're not Scott.""I'm his boyfriend. Who are you?""Um- I don't think I should tell you that.""Why not?! Do you know where he is?""He's missing? Geez, should've known Tango would take it too far-""What?!""Shoot- I mean! No clue, sorry!""Wait, what did you just say?""I'm hanging up now! Bye!""Tang-?"
Click
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
MYPD Code of Conduct in Cases of Interrogation, Proceedings Should Abide By The Following Rules-
Rule One: Maintain Your Composure
Jimmy’s heart is beating out of his chest, spiking with every rapid swerve of his hands on the steering wheel. The traffic lights fade into messy blurs of green, yellow, and red, red, red. He can’t hear the brakes squeal and horns blare over the buzzing in his head- the pounding in his ears. A voice message is playing through his mind. Round and round it turns, roasting over hot coals at a feverish pitch. It was from Scott’s friend- the one with the mysterious expression and draping hair that hid secrets in her eyes. Her words echo again, just a little more charred over the flames. There was an “accident.” Scott was “hurt, but fine.” Fine. What a uselessly non-descriptive word. His feet find cement, cracked stone sidewalk in front of a florist’s shop. The door is ajar, even though a cardboard sign tucked under the handle announces that the store is “Closed, Super Sorry!” The cardboard is crumpled violently as Jimmy grasps the handle and throws the door all the way open. He’s seen the inside of this shop a thousand times before, but he’d never remembered it being quite so pale, or sickly. Maybe it was just his own panic. He hopes it's just his own panic. Rough, strong hands grasp his shoulder. He jerks back, but no, it’s just Cleo. Their face is impassive, non judgemental. They say something- or at least, their lips form words- but Jimmy’s mind refuses to comprehend. A hand on his back guides him deeper into the shop, into a break room in the back. His eyes dart, focus, and suddenly... The pounding of his heart comes to a screeching halt. Jimmy’s always had a mind that could sort things into facts: crime statistics, location trends, pieces of evidence and paperwork. But what he saw now, didn’t make any sense at all. There was Scott, lying asleep on the couch with something around his chest (bandages?) and spots of red along his jacket (blood?). And next to him, kneeling down with an undeniable expression on his face (guilt?) was- “Tango? ”Tango shoots up, whirling, and with his face in the light it’s so much easier to see the dripping remorse that seeps from his face. Jimmy doesn’t have to ask, but in the spirit of courtesy, he does anyway. “Did you do this?”
Rule Two: Remove Disrupting Factors From Your Surroundings
Jimmy is vaguely aware of Cleo talking at his left shoulder, shaking him gently and explaining in that steady, reasonable tone of theirs. The wound was “shallow” and would “heal quickly.” Scott was just “in shock” and “resting.” But her objective, surgical words are drowned out by a gnawing anger making itself known in Jimmy’s gut. “Cleo, can you leave us alone for a second?”The zombie shoots Tango an apologetic look, but leaves without protesting. Tango flinches as the door clicks behind them, and some small part of Jimmy delights in the fact that he’s scared . And then he’s alone. With someone who he just can’t seem to get away from. Tango at least has the decency to grovel properly- his frantic apologies start almost before the door fully closes. “Look, Jimmy, it was an accident-”A raised hand cuts him off. “Save it. Pearl already told me.”“Everything?”“...Enough.” Tango seems to be expecting him to elaborate, but in truth Jimmy doesn’t really know anything. He knows Scott had been injured in some sort of accident involving a gun, but whether it was criminal in nature, or who had been at fault, he had no idea. A part of him didn’t want to know. Because a part of him couldn’t stop thinking, ever since he had seen Scott’s face staring back up at him from that DNA report. What if it was his fault? He had hidden so much from Jimmy, so just how much about him did Jimmy know? Would Scott initiate something like that? Attack? Hurt? Kill, even?Jimmy didn’t know, and that scared him far more than the possibility it was a simple robbery or mugging. But he couldn’t worry about that right now- when there was a more pressing issue standing in front of him. One that seemed somehow tied to every one of his problems, with hair like burning straw and eyes that bore holes red-hot in his skin.
Rule Three: Eye Contact Is A Weapon. Use It.
“I need you to answer these next few questions honestly, okay?” Jimmy says after a long silence, pinning Tango’s gaze with his own. The eyes always betray dishonesty. He barrels on before Tango has time to respond- time to slip away again. “Where were you at midnight last night?”Tango seems startled from the sudden inquisition, but chokes out an answer nonetheless. “Home, I think. Why?”“Can anyone confirm you were there?”“Um- Yeah. My roommate, Etho. Jimmy, what does this-”Another raised hand, another cut-off sentence. Jimmy steps forward, closer, closer, closer.
Narrowing the distance increases the pressure- makes them more likely to crack.
“Did you go to my apartment around 8:00am this morning?” “...Yes. To see Scott.” Tango’s voice hitches on his name.“Why?” “He…wanted to tell me something?” He’s lying- it’s obvious. But there’s no point pressing a question that won’t be answered.
I’m not getting any more out of him… Switch lines of questioning- disorient the suspect.
“Do you know how to light a match?”“What-?” Tango swallows, confused. An edge of panic is appearing his voice. “I mean, yeah, conceptually? But-”“Have you ever handled a can of gasoline?” “Jimmy, I really don’t think-”“How long does a building take to burn?” His face goes completely pale at this- his jaw locking in stubborn refusal, like he expects any answer he gives will further incriminate him. “Do you recognize this? ” A crumpled white flower, stored in Jimmy’s pocket, now appears in his hand.“Wha- No!” It was a lie, Tango’s eyes told Jimmy so. Recognition is always one of the hardest emotions to mask. Jimmy hisses his final question like viper venom- the only further question he needs. “How did you actually injure your shoulder? And don’t you dare say it was a goddamn butter knife.”Tango doesn’t respond. “I think you know where I’m going with this, so why don’t you just save me the trouble of asking?” Jimmy knows he’s being cruel, but there’s still some desperate part of him that hopes Tango will deny it- show him undeniable proof he’s wrong. Tango betrays him again, it seems. “How did you find out?” Soft, morose words are all he mutters. A choked laugh frees itself from Jimmy’s throat. “It was all speculation, honestly. Until you just confirmed it. Nothing that would hold up in court- but it was just too many coincidences not to ignore.”He marches forward again, closing the distance as Tango backpedals frantically. “Netherborn. Same build, same height, same hair. Injuries that just so happen to be the same age and appear in the same places. The constant smell of gasoline that follows you around- so much so that you can smell it in my apartment even over the lingering odor of Ren’s beer.”Jimmy lifts a hand and presses the flower- now a crushed, decaying mess- to Tango’s chest. “Objects that link you, a voice that sounds just a bit too similar, eyes that are just a bit too fiery. And of course, a call from an unknown number in Scott’s phone, warning about someone named “Tango.” It’s all just a bit too convenient , don’t you think?” They’re almost face to face now, and Jimmy can feel their hands brushing. So close, that it’s easy to snap the handcuffs around Tango’s wrists with a click . “What- Jimmy!” Tango stumbles back, his face shock and betrayal and fear and everything that ignites Jimmy with that exhilarating rush of success. Of prey caught . “Tango Tek, you’re under arrest for-”A shoulder slams into his chest before he can finish- but he’s ready for it this time. He stays on his feet and jerks Tango hard to the right, the taller man’s weight carrying him straight into a shin-high coffee table. Tango hisses with pain, stumbling back- but Jimmy’s on him before he can make another move, shoving him hard against the wall of the breakroom. His eyes briefly flick to Scott- who is, miraculously still unconscious on the far side of the room.
Did Cleo accidently give him chloroform instead of tylenol or something…?
“Careful.” He grits out, pinning him against the solid plaster. “You wouldn’t want Scott to see his good friend Tango resisting arrest, would you?” At this, Tango doesn’t look scared in the slightest. Instead, his mouth lifts into a knowing smile, smug and infuriating. “Oh, you don’t know, do you?”
It’s bait- don’t fall for it.
“Know what ?” Tango leans forward, pushing him back with frustrating ease. It’s his eyes- red and burning- that now bear into Jimmy’s, still full with that taunting knowing. “You really think Scott doesn’t know what I do?”
No…
“Yeah. Makes you wonder why he never told you, doesn’t it?”Jimmy sets his jaw, refusing to let doubt cloud his judgment. “That- that doesn’t matter. I don’t care if he knew or not, I care about the criminal in front of me. Stop trying to get out of this.”“What- like I’m the only criminal in this room? Every person in this building is a criminal- including your precious boyfriend! You know they don’t just sell flowers here.”“That’s… different.” It was- it had to be. But can you explain why? “How? ”“I know he had his reasons. He wouldn’t do it if he didn’t have to.”“I have my reasons! Why can’t you see the same thing about me?”“Because I don’t know you!” It’s a genuine act of divine intervention that Scott hasn’t woken up yet, but keeping his volume low is quickly becoming the last thing on Jimmy’s mind. “I thought I was starting to- but it was never real, was it? Keep your enemies close, after all.”“Jimmy, I didn’t- I wasn’t trying to-”“Of course you weren’t.” Sarcasm and spite are excellent disguises for vulnerability, Jimmy knows that well. “You genuinely meant it when you said I was determined and tough and a good-... and a good person.” “I did.” Tango says, so solemnly that Jimmy almost believes it. Was he that desperate for validation? “Yeah, well a whole lot of good that does now.” Jimmy’s stopped pinning Tango in place a while ago, but the blaze has made no attempt to move. Somehow, the whole scene feels fragile, held together by silence and string and tension, razor-thin. “Do you know why I’m so angry at you right now?” Jimmy finally spits out, stepping back with a sigh. “Because… I burn down buildings?” “Well, yeah. But I deal with criminals every day. It just… hurt less when I didn’t know their names. When I didn’t think I could ever like them.” He takes a step back, shooting a glance at Scott’s blue hair falling over his face. “And when they didn’t confirm all of my greatest fears.” “What- what fear?”“Scott did know, didn’t he? And he never told me, because he doesn’t trust me. After I pushed him away.” There’s something in the way Tango looks genuinely remorseful, as if every word Jimmy said really mattered to him. He’s an admirable actor. “Well…” Tango starts cautiously. “I’m not denying that’s what happened. But don’t you think he also might not have told you because he was scared of you finding out about him ? I mean, I did blackmail him.” “What?! ”“I would never have gone through with it! I’m not that kind of person- you have to believe me. But he was so… scared that you would hate him for it. Leave him for it.” His eyes are honest, yet Jimmy is still taken aback by the statement. It was shocking to imagine that he could mean so much to someone.
But could he ever underestimate Scott’s ability to care for people who don’t deserve it?
“He’s just so scared of being alone, you know?” Tango finishes, like its some blithe observation. Jimmy snorts, rolling his eyes as he turns back towards Scott’s tranquil face. “Of course I know that… It was the first thing he ever told me.”
Rule Five: Do Not Reveal Confidential Information
[Int. Flower Shop, 1 year, X months ago]Scott’s not drunk, but he’s so sleep-deprived at the moment he might as well be. He’s not sober by choice, mind you- Ren’s banned him from his bar until he stops ‘self-destructing.’ Whatever that means.
Drowning your sorrows in alcohol after a breakup isn’t ‘self-destructing,’ Ren! That’s a perfectly normal reaction!
He’s working the check-out counter today, though his obvious eyebags and permanent scowl didn’t make for a very “customer-friendly” image. Pearl had offered to take over his shift, but he’d ended up feeling too guilty to agree. Whatever! He tries to tell himself. That guy was an idiot anyways- not worth his time or attention. Scott probably didn’t even love him, not really. Except… that was a lie. Those treacherous, aggravating poppies had confirmed it two months into their relationship, bursting out from the grass between their hands during a picnic date. Scott had never doubted it since. It was a shame the same couldn’t be said about him.A nervous cough calls his attention forward, to where a tall, dirty blond man is pacing impatiently before the counter. “Um, hey. I need some advice.”“Sure… If you don’t want to end up sad and single forever, don’t date guys you meet at dive bars.”The customer is only vaguely taken aback, which Scott appreciates. Normally an interaction like this would tank their yelp rating for months. “Um…what?”“What? You never experience the clinical terror of dying alone?”“I…can’t say I have.” The man is observing him like he's unsure if he should flee the scene or call in a wellness check. “Then you’re a better man than me…” Scott very abruptly becomes aware he’s supposed to be doing his job right now. “Sorry, rough week. What can I help you with?”“Ok, I guess we’ll just ignore that! Um- it’s my sister’s birthday today, and I totally forgot to get her something… so I thought, flowers! She loves flowers, and like the great brother I am, I remembered her favorite flower was… um” He whips out his phone and scrolls furiously through the notes app. “Moth orchids! Right. So I was wondering if you had any of those?”“You remembered her favorite flower but not her birthday…? Nevermind. Yeah, we have some in the back. We also have birthday cards if you’re interested- they’re over by the left wall.” The customer makes some vague statement of interest at this, but Scott’s sleep-deprived mind is already tuning him out as he trudges tiredly towards the shop’s back storeroom. Maybe I should’ve let Pearl cover me… When he returns, the man is somehow looking even more anxious, his pacing becoming almost feverish and the birthday card he’s now holding nearly crumpling in his grip. In a more sociable mood, Scott would’ve asked whether he’d just thrown back three double-shot espressos or desperately needed to use the bathroom. In his current mood, all he does is silently ring up the orchid and the card, pushing it across the counter to the man. “I’m Jimmy- by the way.” The stranger blurts, his face flushing instantly. “Oh… um. My name’s Scott.” “Haha- it sure is.” ‘Jimmy’ mumbles awkwardly, before grabbing the orchid and bolting for the shop door. “Thanks, bye!” Before Scott can contemplate on how weird that entire conversation was, he notices the birthday card he’d bought- a red one with a cartoon graphic of a smiling poppy on the front- has been left sitting on the counter. He glances up, but Jimmy’s long gone. The only indication he’d even been there is a solitary sentence and phone number written hurriedly on the inside flap of the card. “A flower shop’s better than a dive bar, right? XXX-XXX-XXXX” Scott just stares at the message, blank-faced, for an embarrassingly long amount of time. He’s not sure if he should be offended or flattered, but he’s sure as hell surprised. He didn’t peg the man as the forward type… though it did explain why it looked like he was trying to eat his own face in anxiety. He flips to the back, where another message awaits him- this one much more revealing. “Sorry, I know this is inappropriate since you seem to be going through a lot right now, but you miss all the shots you don’t take, right? …God, why am I doing this. You can hate me now, I won’t mind - Jimmy” Despite himself, Scott chuckles, re-reading the nervous, cramped scrawl of words. I mean… What's the worst that could happen?
Rule Six: Be Alert And Aware At All Times
It can’t have been more than three minutes before Tango speaks again, but to Jimmy- lost in memories and recollection- it feels like hours. “Um, I don’t want this to sound wrong but… why haven’t you called the police yet?” To be honest, Jimmy’s asking himself the same thing. “I am the police.”“No- I mean, why are we still… here?”“Scott’s still unconscious.”“You’re waiting for him to wake up? That seems against protocol.”“Yeah, well so is getting drinks with a serial arsonist. Guess I’m just a rebel.”That shuts him up for a few more seconds… but not long enough. “So what’s stopping me from running right now?”“Try it again.” Jimmy snaps. “Let’s see if it ends differently this time.”“Come on, why do you even care?” Tango’s voice is rising with Jimmy’s, their volatility feeding off each other’s. “You’ve studied my case- you should know that I never hurt people. What does it matter if a few abandoned buildings get burned to ash?” “You can’t just break the law because ‘no one gets hurt.’ Besides, it’s my job .”“Jeez- how are you so loyal to the cops? All the ones I’ve met have ignorant idiots with their heads up their own a-”“Enough.” “And I really thought you were different from them.” “I am.”“Really? Because from what I’ve seen you’re more than happy enough to run around doing their dirty work.”“It’s not- you think you have it bad? Try being a part of them.” “What does that mean?”Jimmy inhales sharply, his eyes narrowing at the biting memories. “You think it’s fun working for people who couldn’t care less about justice or order? People who just want you to fail so they can replace you with someone who’d sooner throw a thousand innocents in jail than find the truth. You should see the looks they give me, like they’re constantly waiting for me to screw up again, to prove them right.” Tango opens his mouth to respond, but the built-up wall of grievances is tumbling down inside Jimmy, and his frustrated sentences pour like magma flows. “And if that weren’t enough, you should see the amount they expect me to do. Jimmy, handle this. Jimmy, investigate that. Jimmy, sacrifice your time and relationships and mental stability so we can chase down another lead that probably means nothing, so you can spend another thousand sleepless nights poring over spreadsheets, reading and rereading letters warning you that you aren’t good enough-”Then, Tango does something truly unexpected. He steps forward and grabs Jimmy’s wrist with his bound hands, shaking him suddenly out of his rant. “You know what? Screw them.” He growls, fury in his eyes.“What?”“Why are you so desperate to hold onto a job that treats you like crap anyway? Why be loyal to them at all? Screw them all- screw everyone who thinks you’re not good enough.”“It’s not that simple- I have responsibilities. I need a job .”“Do it on your own then. You figured me out in a matter of weeks, why do you think you need them?”“But-““No responsibilities, no limits, no one telling you what to do. I know people who can find anyone with just a name and a face, or break into any building with a spark and a paperclip. You can do so much if you just stopped clinging on to this broken system. Just think-““Tango, stop .”His mouth snaps closed, the excited stream of ideas cutting off with it.“That’s an… idea, definitely. And I’ll try to ignore how obvious it is you’re just trying to stop me from turning you in. But… there’s just so many uncertainties. I can’t just leave everything, run off and pursue some form of vigilante justice. And- above all, I could ask the same question you just asked. Why do you even care?”Tango's gaze is tired, like he’s exhausted from trying to communicate a message Jimmy just isn't getting. “Because you don’t deserve this, Jimmy. I know it sounds hard to believe, but I care about you. I wasn’t lying that night at Ren’s. You’re a good person.” A good person. Right. Like a good person would fail at everything he tried to do. Like a good person would be so unaware of how unhappy he was making the only person he cared about. Like a good person would be having such a hard time trying to hate a criminal. “No, I’m not.” Tango’s eyes widen, as if expecting Jimmy to explain. But he doesn’t. What else is there to say? The blaze surges forward, and every muscle in Jimmy’s body tenses in preparation for another fight. Tango raises his arms and brings them down, but not to strike. They fall on either side of Jimmy, wrapping around him in a… hug. He startles back, but his back strains against the metal chain of the handcuffs connecting Tango’s wrists behind him. They hold him in place- close, surrounded, trapped. “What the- What are you doing?!”The Tango that Jimmy had met previously had always been bright and sharp- sometimes angry, sometimes comforting- but always glowing red hot with angles that threatened to cut if you got too close. This Tango is soft, and the warmth that emanates from every part of him feels impossible to cut yourself upon, like the very thought of making you bleed is anathema to its nature. “I don’t know how to convince you that you’re a good person. And I don’t know how to convince you that I’m a good person.” Tango’s breath stalls, like he’s balancing on a razor-thin tightrope, ready to fall. “But I need you at the very least to believe I’m an honest person, and that I’m telling you the truth about two things. I would never hurt anyone- never hurt you. And you deserve better than what you have now.”Do I? What have I ever done to earn something better? The words of a criminal don’t make it so. “You know I can’t trust you.” Jimmy mutters, the words glass in his throat. “I’m not asking you to. I just need you to trust yourself.” Impossibly, inconceivably, Jimmy is pulled closer, and Tango barely needs to whisper for him to hear. “Do you want to turn me in? Collect a paycheck, get a stamp of approval from some higher-up, and go back to what it was like before? Do you want to keep living the life you’re in?” The answer comes easy, like ice water slipping off his tongue. “No.”“Then what do you want?”
What do I want?
Rule Seven: Remain Objective and Impersonal
“I… don’t know.”
Rule Seven: Remain Objective and Impersonal
“Are you going to turn me in?”
Rule Seven: Remain Objective and Impersonal
Rule Seven: Remain Objective and Impersonal
Rule Seven: Remain Objective and Impersonal
Rule Seven: Remain Objective and Impersonal
“No.”