Fiction: Trust part 1

[kethni]

Name: Trust

Rating: R for violence and strong language

Sweet Charity Auction fic for Perdiccas who wanted: ‘a gen-ish fic that focuses on Matt and Audrey working a case together. The main theme is that it's early days of them as partners and despite everything with Molly, Audrey's still not sure she really believes Matt's whole telepathy thing. Whatever happens on this case is the turning point where she realises she can trust him.’

Part 1

The woman in the mirror looks tired and bitter. Blonde hair, raw skin, hollowed eyes. I woke up this morning and it wasn’t all a dream. Just like every morning.

The news is a constant scrabble for answers, for meaning. Six months on and things haven’t changed. Oh, they’ve cleared some of the rubble, reburied most of the bodies, but that’s only cosmetic. People have the same hunted, searching look when they see anyone they don’t recognise, anything out of place. We’re all waiting for the next explosion. The only difference between them and me is that I know it was a man, not a bomb.

Suspension was hard. Prowling round and round like a caged animal, itching to get out and do something, anything. Yeah, suspension was hard but going back to the bureau was worse; the assistant director and two suits looking at me like they weren’t sure if I was dirty, stupid, or just plain bad.

“We have to be careful. We can’t cause a panic. But at the same time...”

“At the same time we don’t want to... waste opportunities.”

“Can we rely on your discretion Agent Hanson?”

Lie, they meant. Pretend I didn’t know what I knew. Pretend I wasn’t going to be jailor instead of co-worker. Pretend he ever had a chance.

They’re keeping him, them, in what was the Primatech facility in Texas. There was one in Hartsdale once, before the explosion. Back when there was a Hartsdale.

Parkman’s shaving when they show me into the little cell he sleeps in. Stark white walls, floor, and ceiling: a huge one way mirror covering the upper half of one wall. It’s like a fucking laboratory or something. He’s had a shower; he’s naked but for the towel around his waist, and his skin is still damp. Parkman looks at the mirror he’s shaving in and meets my eyes. He rinses the razor in the sink and nods at me.

“One of us has their timing wrong Agent Hanson,” he says mildly.

“So I’m early. Sue me.”

“I’ll be flashing you if you don’t leave in a couple of minutes.”

“Please, you think I’ve not seen bigger and hairier cocks than yours?” I ask.

He smiles slightly. “Every time you shower.”

“Fuck you,” I say lightly.

He rinses off the shaving foam and dries his face before splashing on aftershave.

“This how you show me who’s boss?” he asks. “Because I had no illusions about that.” He pulls on an undershirt and then a shirt, buttoning it with a speed that surprises me.

“I’m not your boss, Parkman,” I say, turning around to let him finish dressing.

“No? Maybe not on paper.” I hear him pull up his zip.

“You always were my bitch,” I say dryly.

He laughs suddenly, like he means it. “It’s nice to see you Audrey. You can turn around now.”

“Where does Janice sleep?”

“Janice?” he blinks at me, putting on his tie without glancing at it. “Janice is long gone.”

Whatever, like any of that matters now.

“You ready?” I ask.

He waggles his feet. Socked but no shoes. “Two ticks.”

I grab his jacket as he pulls on his shoes and ties the laces. “Here,” I say, shoving it at him as he stands up. “Come on.”

He looks at me oddly, not the ‘I’m reading your mind look’, just like he’s trying to figure something out. “Are you mad at me Audrey?”

“Why would I be mad at you?” I ask, walking away.

My shoes, his shoes, echoing along the cold, white corridors. He’s a few feet behind, trying to catch me up. He grabs my arm and I spin, pulling it free.

“Don’t maul me Parkman,” I snap.

“I just want to know what the problem is.”

“What my problem is? Have you seen what’s left of New York? Have you seen that fucking crater?”

“What, that’s my fault now?” he asks disbelievingly.

“You people, yeah,” I say, walking away.

“You people,” he says quietly, somewhere behind me. “Thought you were better than that.”

I turn around, still walking. “You going to stand there all day?”

“Do I get a choice?” he asks, he’s still standing in the same spot, looking at me like a kicked puppy.

“I lost friends.”

“So did I,” he says quick, harsh and ugly. Tone I’ve never heard from him before.

He’s not looking away. He never meets my eyes this long, he always looks away first.

“Fine,” I say, dropping my gaze.

He walks forward suddenly, taking me by surprise and shoving past me. “Long as we’re clear where we stand.”

“You’re pissed at me?” I ask, following him. “You don’t get to be pissed at me.”

He spins around to face me. “Really? Why not? Because I’m not quite human enough to have feelings?”

“Grow the fuck up,” I say.

“Like you?” he asks.

The doctor injects a tracker under his skin: stretched skin pale and fragile over the ugly shape.

“You couldn’t make it any bigger?” Parkman asks wryly.

“The technology is a little...youthful,” the doctor admits. He’s got dark skin but the accent is English. No man should be that pretty. What the hell chance is there for the human race when the men are prettier then the women?

Parkman obviously thinks so, simpering away.

“Will it work?” I ask.

“Mmm?” the doctor asks, blinking huge brown eyes at me. “Oh, yes.”

“I’m not gonna bolt, Audrey,” Parkman says.

“Let’s go then,” I say.

For a big guy he’s quiet; doesn’t breathe heavily or loudly. I’ve been stuck with some mouth-breathers in my time; now there’s a nails on chalkboard experience: trapped in a car for hours on end with that gasping, whistling noise never ceasing for a moment. Most vics get killed by lovers, spouses, family. How more people don’t killed by co-workers I can’t figure. If I was going to kill someone it’d probably be one of the dirty, sweaty, stinking, guys I’m partnered with. They insist on driving, they sprawl across the driver’s seat, one lazy hand on the stick shift, chewing gum or breathing through their mouth.

Parkman’s looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

“What?” I ask, changing gears. “You reading my mind?”

He rolls his eyes. “Because you’re so fascinating.”

“Never noticed that being much of a motivational factor for you before,” I say. “It just happens right? Without rhyme or reason.”

He shakes his head. “Why do you have to be so hostile?”

“Don’t you know?”

“No, Audrey, because I’m not routinely invading your privacy like that. I have much more control now than I used to.” He shakes his head. “I forgot how much of a pain in the ass you can be.”

“Right Parkman, you’re the mind reader and I’m a pain in the ass.”

He looks at me. “The two things don’t automatically go together you know.”

“They do in your case.”

“Nah I was annoying far before I started reading minds,” he says lightly.

“Don’t try and be cute with me, Parkman,” I scowl.

“You don’t fool me Audrey,” he says, tipping back his head and closing his eyes. “Wake me up when we get there.”

The car is skewed across the road, two doors wide open. The body is sprawled out of the front passenger door. She’s young, maybe twenty, long dark hair fanned out across the tarmac.

Parkman is making notes, pages and pages. I’m still looking at the car when he wanders away, like twenty feet behind the car, looking at a tree with a bemused expression.

“What’re you doing? The body is over here.”

“State line,” Parkman says, nodding at something.

I walk over to where he’s standing. The sign marking the state line is on the tree.

“So what?”

He shakes his head. “It doesn’t seem odd to you: the car abandoned barely twenty feet past the state line?”

“What’re you suggesting?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” he says blowing out his cheeks and shrugging. “It just seems... odd.”

“Well, great. That’s helpful. Come and look at the body.”

He trails after me and chews his lip as he stares at the woman. “What am I looking at?”

“Lividity.” I tap my pen on the back of her legs where blood has pooled.

“She was shot in the back,” Parkman notes, nodding at the entry wound in her back. “And then someone laid her on it? That’s vicious.” He touches the blood staining her back and frowns.

“Which means she was dead far before this happened.” I stand up and run my fingers through my hair. “Someone placed her here. Placed the car here like this.”

“Dead body on display, car abandoned in the middle of the road, and all barely a spit over the state line,” Parkman says thoughtfully. “Someone’s playing games, Audrey. They want FBI attention.”

“Well they got it.”

There’s a little cough: the forensics team waiting impatiently to haul the body away and attack the car.

“Are you finished with the body?” one asks, pushing glasses up on her nose.

“Just a sec,” Parkman says, holding up a finger.

He rolls the body onto its back and peels up the shirt.

“Pervert.”

“Funny lady,” he says, sounding distracted. “Look at this.”

The skin across her stomach is browned almost crispy.

“What the fuck? How did you know?”

He shakes his head, carefully smoothes the shirt down, and rolls the body back onto its front.

“I didn’t.”

“Parkman!”

He looks up at me and blinks puppy dog eyes. “The blood on her back was odd, cooked maybe. That’s all.”

Fucking smart ass has been watching too many detective shows.

“They can’t have gone far,” I say. “They left their transport. Nearest town is about four miles away.”

“When was the car dumped?” he asks, standing up and brushing off his trousers.

“We’re not sure, first report wasn’t long ago, but she’s not been dead more than a few hours.” Even as I’m saying it I know it’s bullshit.

“We don’t know that do we?” Parkman says. “She was obviously exposed to a high temperature and...”

“And so we can’t be sure how much the body has cooled,” I chime in, waving a hand. “I ain’t your grandma and I don’t need teaching to suck eggs.” I turn to the forensics team. “We got an ID on the vic?”

“Drivers license says Tina-Marie Stansmere, address is way back on the other side of Texas.”

Hate talking to the family. It’s all ‘of course Uncle Johnny was an absolute saint and everyone loved him. What? Beating his wife, oh no just a misunderstanding. Hmm? Robbing banks and murdering priests? Oh, just a mix-up.’ I tell yah, you want to get your sins forgiven you don’t have to go to mass, just get yourself killed.

“You want me to talk to the family?” Parkman asks and has the grace to redden.

“Don’t do that.”

“I can’t always help it,” he says sheepishly.

“Where’re you guys based?” I ask the forensics team leader.

“Regional office.”

“How far’s that?” Damn geeks, anything other than Star Wars and Babylon 5 and it’s like pulling teeth.

“Twenty miles,” she says waving a hand vaguely. “In Harrisville.”

Parkman starts walking back to the car.

“Where’re you going?” I ask.

“We’re not going to the regional office to set up an incident desk?” he asks. “Ask the local police to watch out for car thefts or other robberies?”

“Who’s the agent and who’s the detective?”

Two of the forensics team snigger and one makes a whip-cracking sound. Oh yeah, because any guy taking orders from a woman must be pussy whipped.

“Be quiet and do your work!” the team leader snaps before I can say anything.

“I want your preliminary results by the end of the day,” I say to her. “No excuses. Come on Parkman.”

As I walk to the car I hear the whip-cracking forensic guy whisper something to Parkman. I can’t make out what it is but there’s a hand gesture that involves him grabbing his own balls. Parkman rolls his eyes and walks off without replying.

“What was that about?” I ask, starting the engine.

“Could ask you the same thing,” he says, looking at me. “I don’t want to get into a pissing contest with you, Audrey. I’m local law enforcement and you’re FBI, I’m one of ‘them’ and you’re one of ‘us’, I’m me and you’re you. You’re in charge. I got no problem with that, I didn’t the last time we worked together. I don’t know why you’re suddenly all alpha dog on me.”

“You know your problem Parkman?” I ask. “You want everyone to like you. You’re what, thirty-eight? You’re too old to be thinking you can make everyone your friend.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“I... I don’t know,” I admit.

“Doesn’t it get tiring?” he asks, looking at me.

“What?”

“Being you.”

“Yeah Parkman, being me is fucking exhausting,” I huff.

The regional office is bigger than I expected. They look at Parkman like he’s some kind of alien visitor. What, a regular police detective here, working with us the mighty FBI? Cocksuckers; stuck out here in a pimple of a town on the ass end of the country and they’re lording it over a detective from LA? After an hour or so of being condescended at he starts messing with them. It’s too funny and too deserved to stop him.

“I’m going to organise us some accommodations,” I tell him. “You get in touch with the family; see if you can find out her movements. Usual drill.”

“Yes Ma’am! Glad to be of service!”

He practically salutes.

“Okay, look, you can take the piss out of them,” I say. “But not me. I’m onto you.”

He waits until I’m out in the main office, in front of them all, and I’m reaching for the front door before he shouts after me.

“Can we have two rooms? It’s real flattering and all but when you’ve had a couple of drinks and your hands start wandering... it’s hard to sleep.”

Asshole.

Stupid one horse town. One hotel and that’s got three damn rooms, and all of them are booked. I end up booking us into the one motel around; it’s just out of town and Norman Bates would’ve thought twice goddamn it. Tiny rooms, no TV, no facility to cook and no restaurants nearby. Peachy pie.

Parkman rings, he’s finished setting up incident desk and got some intel on the vic and her family. It’s late so I tell him to get a pool car, grab us both some food and come here. We can make an early start in the morning.

“The food’ll be cold by the time I get there.”

“It’s cold food or no food,” I say. “And bring a pack of cards or something. There’s no TV or any damn thing in these rooms.”

“Wow, that bites. Can we make coffee at least?”

“There’s a coffee machine, yeah.”

“Urgh, okay. Won’t be long.”

He turns up with cooling pizza, potato chips, and a six pack of beer.

“You planning to get me drunk?” I ask, taking one.

“Like you wouldn’t drink under the table,” he says, still hovering by the door.

“Siddown Parkman, my ‘wandering hands’ are entirely a figment of your imagination,” I say.

He smirks and sits down on the bed next to me. “Didn’t know if I was supposed to go to my room, eat my cold pizza, and play solitaire.”

“You can go play with yourself later,” I say tartly.

“Gee thanks mom.”

I take a gulp of beer as he toes off his shoes and takes off his jacket.

“What the hell is this?” I ask, pointing at the slice of pizza I’ve picked up.

“It’s a meatball,” Parkman says, taking a huge bite of his slice. “It’s a meat feast pizza, sausages, steak, meatballs. I’m starving.”

“On a pizza? Who the hell puts meatballs on a pizza? What’s next pasta?”

Parkman just laughs. “You should patent that, ‘pasta pizza’s’, maybe you could branch out into noodle pizza’s. Or won ton dumpling pizza’s.” He looks at his slice of pizza. “I could really go for a won ton dumpling pizza.”

“What did the vic’s family say?” I ask.

“Hmm? Oh, well apparently she was on her way back from her job. She was a...” he pauses, licks sauce of his fingers, and flips through his notepad, “a technical clerk at a chemical firm. She worked in the lab, admin stuff. She was due home three days ago around six but never showed.” He looks at me. “Home being ten miles from work and around five hundred miles from where the car was found.”

“That’s some detour. She get carjacked?”

“Her temp is still high but she’s got full lividity and the rigor mortis is definitely passing.” Parkman shrugs. “She’s been dead at least twelve hours. At least. If it was a carjacking why not just throw the body out of the car?”

“I hate this stuff.”

“The pizza?” he asks, surprised.

“No, numb nuts, weird ass murders. I always get the creepy shit, why is that?”

“Cos you’re good at it?” Parkman suggests. “And you know me.”

Does he know? He said he wasn’t reading my mind.

“Are you reading my mind?” I demand.

He rolls his eyes. “Oh come on, Audrey. You always know when I’ve been reading your mind because I’m so useless at hiding it.”

“What the hell are you talking about: I’ve got this case because I know you?” I ask suspiciously.

He shrugs. “That girl, she was cooked internally. Not in the car because boy that smell would’ve been... anyway, she was cooked inside. Who the hell can do that? Someone like me maybe. That about the size of it?”

“Wow Parkman, some actual detective work, will wonders never end?”

“You don’t stop do you? Not even for a second. Never let those walls down,” he says, shaking his head.

I take another swig of beer. “That joke at the regional office, it wasn’t funny and you shouldn’t have done it.”

He looks at me blankly. “What?”

Fuck, I can feel myself reddening. “Implying I was going to try and touch you up. It’s hard enough without you coming out with bullshit like that.”

“Oh gimme a break, you can’t have it all ways Audrey. You can’t swing your big dick around and then whine because you get treated like a guy.”

“Suggesting I’m some pathetic horndog is treating me like a guy?” Smart Audrey, real smart. Of course that’s treating you like a guy.

He rolls his eyes at me and reaches for a beer. “Do you even want an answer to that question?”

“You have no idea what it’s like being a woman in the FBI,” I say tightly.

He chugs a mouthful of beer and looks at me. “No, of course not. I’m just a Jewish bisexual who reads minds. What would I know about being different?”

“That’s not the fucking same and you know it! You can walk into that office tomorrow and tell them you’re a straight Catholic who’s no special talent but chewing gum and walking at the same time. You can do that. If people know you’re Jewish or bisexual or a mind reader it’s because you choose to tell them. You think I have the option to walk in and pretend I’m something I’m not?”

“You spend your life doing that!” he retorts. “I never knew anyone so terrified of being seen for what they really are.”

“I don’t have a hell of a lot of choice.”

“Oh boo hoo, poor woman FBI agent,” Parkman says sourly. “Well I’ve met other female FBI agents and they don’t all walk around like they need to show they’ve got balls of brass.”

“You’ve been helping out other FBI agents?” I ask quietly.

“No,” he says with a small smile. “Don’t be thinking I’ve been cheating on you now with other agents or agencies.”

“Shut up smart ass,” I grunt, and grab another slice of pizza. “What other FBI agents?”

“After the explosion I was questioned for two weeks straight,” he says sourly. “Cops, FBI, CIA, the whole alphabet soup. It was great fun.”

“Orgy huh?”

“Yeah, I was taking up the ass all day every day,” he says with a shrug. “It’s fun to be called a liar, a terrorist, and a mass murderer over and over again.”

I grab another beer. “How’d you survive?”

Parkman blinks at me. “They didn’t really...”

“The explosion.”

“Oh, I dunno. I was too busy bleeding to death from being shot four damn times. They pulled me down a side street and into the subway. I guess that protected us from the worst of the blast.”

“They, who’s they?” I ask.

“Mohinder and Bennet, you remember that charmer right? Fucker saved my life.”

“That was nice of him,” I say dryly.

Parkman lies back on the bed, holding the beer can balanced on his stomach. “Wasn’t for my benefit I’m sure.”

“Doubt he ever did anything that didn’t benefit him.”

Parkman sighs and turns the beer can around. “The subway caved in, did you know that?”

“I heard a lot of people were trapped, yeah,” I say. “But they must’ve got you out okay.”

“Down the tunnel and out an access tunnel. We all got a nice dose of radiation. But all things considered being sterile beats being dead.”

“Shit, really?”

“Hmm mmm. Who’d you lose?” he asks.

“My parents,” I say stiffly. “My baby sister. Friends. You?”

“My mom, an aunt, two uncles, five cousins.”

We both drink our beer in silence.

“I didn’t know you had family in New York. Why were you living in LA?”

“I was raised there,” he says. “My mom was visiting her sister in New York.”

His phone rings and breaks the uneasy silence that’s fallen. He puts his beer aside, checks the caller ID, and gets up. He walks to the bathroom as he answers the phone.

“Hey.”

I can’t hear much of what he’s saying; just the tone really. Affectionate, wistful, a little worried. Obviously his lover checking up on him. Wonder if he’ll tell them he’s in my room.

I go and get us both a coffee from the vending machine. When I come back he’s finished his phone call.

“Thought you’d done a bunk,” he says lightly, taking the coffees from me and putting them on the bedside table. “I can’t believe you’re still taking it black.”

“Dark, strong and rich, as I like my men.”

He groans good-naturedly and goes to throw the empty pizza box away. “What’re we playing, gin rummy?” he asks, sitting down and grabbing his coffee.

“Sounds good,” I say, leaning across him to get my coffee. “Did you tell him you were in my room?”

“Did I tell who, what?” he asks, unwrapping the deck of cards.

“Him, her, whatever: your partner, significant other, whatever the phrase is now.”

Parkman looks at me blankly. “What’re you talking about?”

“Your lover, on the phone just now. What is it a state secret?”

He shakes his head, seeming honestly bemused, and deals the card. “I don’t know where you got that idea from. It was just Mohinder. He wanted the address so he could check the calibration on the tracker is working right.”

“Mohinder? The guy who dragged you down the subway?”

“Yeah.” He looks at my face. “You met him this morning? Dr Suresh at the facility? He put the tracker in my arm.”

“The annoyingly attractive guy you were making goo-goo eyes at? Oh yeah,” I say.

Parkman frowns. “You don’t actually have to say every thought that crosses your mind you know.”

“What, are you embarrassed I caught you making eyes at your boyfriend?” I laugh.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Parkman says shortly, genuinely upset about something. “I am allowed to have stupid crushes you know. Everyone has them. Even you I dare say, once upon a time.”

“You were happy enough to make fun of me before,” I point out.

“That’s not the same and you know it. Are we going to play cards or what?”