They Can Smell Your Intentions

THEY CAN SMELL YOUR INTENTIONS
chapter six

Gregory Masters is a fucking slimy asshole who is about one notch above a mangy wet field rat and looks like he was the runt of the litter. Nigel had to hand it to Mason Verger, he sure knew how to pick his team members, and it was clear that Gregory was one of his major players. As an accountant for the Verger Corporation, Gregory had access to all of its funds, and his job was specifically outlined to be one that managed 'accessory' purchases, which were in actuality the buying and selling of captured Omegas. He sat across Nigel and Darko in sweaty worry and it was clear that it wasn't going to take much by way of threats to get the bastard to start singing every song he'd ever heard.

"I'm invoking international protection law, Section 1, article 5, in which I am assured the benefit of the doubt and legal council in accordance to international treatises with the United Main and all other Union regions..."

Darko laughed at this, and he crossed his arms as he leaned back in his seat and gave Nigel behind him a knowing grin. Nigel was standing in the corner, staring Masters down with as much threat as he could muster. He knew that his battered face was more frightening than pathetic, he gave off the air of a man just itching to be provoked so he could add some bruises of his own onto his prey.

"How about that, Nigel, this creep thinks he knows what he's talking about. Let me educate you, you snotty little fuck--That law was nullified in 2006 due to the United Main's repeated rejection of it and the unlawful arrest of Eastern Union region citizens by your GSF. Arrested citizens of the United Main are treated as hostile in the Eastern Union, you do not have rights here. Any other fucking legal lessons you need to learn on the fly, Mr. Masters? How about the fact we caught you at that warehouse red handed, your involvement in the death of eight Omegas is obvious, and you're looking at life in a Russian Siberian gulag without the wasted time of a trial."

Masters looked stricken at this. "The crime happened on Romanian soil."

"Doesn't matter," Darko said, and he pursed his lips at satisfaction at this. "Omega trafficking crimes are immediately sent to be processed in Moscow and punishments are metered out from there, Romania is just a go-between. We're all part of the same package, so don't go thinking you're going to slide past this one or that anyone is going to bail you out of trouble. Mason Verger is abandoning his projects, and I'm guessing you're one of them."

Gregory Masters was shocked at this, and he clenched his fists on the surface of the table between himself and the two Romanian inspectors, clearly carefully weighing in his mind just how much did he want to play along. Nigel wasn't an especially patient man with creeps like this and as far as he was concerned Masters getting accidentally murdered in custody wouldn't be such a bad outcome. The memory of the dying and dead Omegas were still furiously fresh in Nigel's mind, and the bruises on his body were smarting reminders of just how brutal this fucking business really was.

Masters wiped at his pale mouth, his other, cuffed hand following the gesture. "Verger is in some serious trouble with the FBI," Masters revealed and both Nigel and Darko exchanged curious looks.

"We know he's a sick fuck pedophile you stupid shitdick, you aren't telling us anything new." Nigel shook a cigarette out of his pack and eyed the accountant with a specific predator gleam. He lit his smoke and inhaled it with deep breaths, eyeing the amber end of his cigarette as he talked. "What we want to know is how much more is that fucker hiding? You know, you don't strike me as a man who has much going for him in the soul department, but you know enough to take care of your own interests. Are there more warehouses out there like the ones we found yesterday?"

Masters shook his head, his bottom lip quivering with sweat. "I don't know."

Nigel nodded at this, stringy lines of blond hair hanging in front of his face as he took another drag of his smoke. "Tell me something," he said, around his cigarette. He pulled it from his lips and again contemplated its fiery tip. "Are you an alto or a soprano?"

Masters gave him an odd look. "What kind of question is that? Is this some kind of joke?"

And it was then that Nigel leaned down, Darko pushing his chair aside to allow Nigel better access, and he put out his cigarette in the side of Masters' neck. The accountant shrieked in terror and pain, the stench of his salty, sweaty flesh sizzling beneath it wafting up into his nostrils, making him as pale as one of those Omega corpses Nigel had to help dig up out of the muck of the wet underground cell. Nigel put his cigarette to his lips and lit it anew before he took another drag, this time placing the amber tip dangerously close to Masters' watery right eye. "Just as I thought, soprano. You don't have a dick big enough to be alto. I think my associate here was pretty clear about what can happen, Mr. Masters. As a prisoner of United Main background, you have no rights on our soil. So here's what can happen. You can tell us where the other Omegas are, and how many pieces of pie that fucker Mason Verger has hidden around here. You know how it is, it's all fun and games until someone loses an eye."

Sweat pooled down the length of Masters' neck and he flinched as it coursed across the ugly, blistering skin where Nigel had burned him. He trembled where he sat, staring in horror at the two officers who were glaring down at him, as eager as hungry tigers ready to partake of a meal. The cotton collar of Masters' starched shirt was soaked, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat like a dry stone rasping against slate. "There was a shipment last night, it had been bought and paid for ages ago, but I have no idea what warehouses in the United Main they were heading for, other than that they were docking in the Baltimore area." He flinched as the cigarette Nigel held hovered closer to his eye, the burning end moving forward with him the more he tried to lean back away from it. "I can give you a bonus tip right now. If want Verger's home movies those are at the club. I can give you those." Masters nodded fiercely at this, snatching onto the questioning look that Darko gave Nigel. "They're VHS tapes, they're pretty old, but Mason was using them as insurance in case McBain ever tried to cross him. He moved them to the club here in Bucharest when the bodies started showing up on his main property at Muskrat Farm."

Nigel kept his cigarette hovering close, the ash brushing against Masters' eyelid. "What fucking bodies?"

Masters blinked, ashes spilling onto his cheek, and then catching Nigel's quizzical gaze he began to laugh. "You don't know about that? The Chesapeake Ripper singled Mason out, he left two mutilated bodies of Mason and Jeb McBain's associates strung up amongst the pigs. It was all over the news in the entirety of the United Main, you people really need to start keeping up on what's going on around there. They originally thought he was a serial killer, but with the way Jeb McBain was assassinated, they've bumped him up to domestic terrorist. They think he's running some kind of Omega based cult."

"These tapes," Darko said, his fingers steepled and gently pressed against his thin lips. "Where can we find them in the club?"

"Behind the bar, there's a safe. They're in there. Mason never thought anyone would care enough about shipped Omegas to go looking. He always paid his bills. It makes me wonder if it's finally happened."

Nigel narrowed his eyes at this, the cigarette tip hovering in a circle close to Masters' watery grey retina. "What do you mean?"

Masters laughed again and this time the threat of Nigel's cigarette tip did nothing to alleviate the sudden, renewed terror that erupted throughout Masters' being. "The Chesapeake Ripper got him and he'll be coming after the rest of Mason's inner circle. He's got me on that list. I can't wait to get to that Russian gulag, even if I die along the way. Anything is better than getting into that monster's clutches. Death. Prison. Those are reprieves." He laughed as Nigel leaned away from him and stood up, his cigarette now dangling loosely at his lips. Nigel was getting real sick of Masters' shit. Masters stared up at Nigel in antagonizing triumph. "You're not immune. You're asking too many questions, you're on his radar now. You're just as fucked as the rest of us."

~*~

Nigel spent three hours going over old Chesapeake Ripper news articles and editorial speculation over the killer's identity. He requested and had the FBI file on him faxed over to him and the file was so fat it damn near killed the ink in the printer. The main investigators were an FBI agent by the name of Jack Crawford and a profiler with a highly familiar name and an uncomfortable connection. Nigel didn't like that Will Graham, Adam's cousin, was so prominent in the notes of the investigation, the profiler's strange descriptions of the crime scenes not just overly detailed but betraying a latent admiration within his choice of words that Nigel found disturbing. There was no room for ethical polemics in homicide investigations and yet Will Graham's flowery language permeated everything he'd witnessed.

'The Chesapeake Ripper moves with the stealth of a deer, masked into the background and seemingly benign. McDermott's body is the instrument by which his artistry is displayed, the body cavity filled with pig hearts as a symbolic gesture of what the victim's human heart was comprised of. A sacrifice to his brethren, to the snarling boars at his feet. This was an Alpha, and as such was mired in his base urges, his soul reduced to cruel unthinking rut. The Ripper has pushed the boundary of punishment and created a tableau of suffering that is to make all who understand its message shiver in despair. This is not the battle cry of a general, this is the warning of a goddess. He is her conduit. Her subjects are empowered by this symbol of her strength...'

What kind of fucking bullshit was this to be putting in a homicide file, this was about a murder not a fucking poetry essay! Fucking moron, it's no wonder they never caught the Ripper with this kind of shit unnecessarily padding up the file. Unfortunately, Will Graham's name was all over most of the notes and Nigel was having a hell of time trying to decipher the convoluted, abstract mess that was his thought process, not the least of which was further complicated by the overly academic observations of the psychiatrist on scene, Dr. Hannibal Lecter:

'...Will Graham's astute observations as to the nature of the Chesapeake Ripper entirely encapsulate the problem of dividing the nature of Alpha ego from its intrinsic need to destroy. I would add to Mr. Graham's assessment that the grandiose display of the Ripper's work is one of carefully constructed layers, not the least of which is a smaller message hidden deep within the body, hiding behind the noise of pigs where the fluttering beat of a wren's heart encourages the viewer--in this case, apparently, Mr. Graham himself--to extract a message that is highly personal. The plea is obvious, the Ripper says this tiny heart is what I have expected you to seek and find. The question it commands is such--Do you dare to listen to my song?''

Nigel tossed the note to one side in angry impatience. For fuck's sake, it was no wonder the two of them started fucking each other, they both spoke the same incomprehensible language, fucking never saying what they mean and god forbid a plainly open thought pass between them. Nigel snatched at his smokes and angrily placed a cancer stick between his lips, not lighting it and hoping he could just let it sit there for a while and he could glean the nicotine he craved out of the filter alone. He didn't want to smoke just before going home, he was supposed to be cutting down and he'd burned through an entire pack already. He sighed, the cigarette lazily stuck to his bottom lip as he took in the reams of paper and copies of crime scene photos from Muskrat Farm that had told him nothing. There was a contact number for Will Graham in the upper corner of one of the reports and though it was a long shot, Nigel wondered if talking to the obtuse son of a bitch would be easier than reading his purple prose.

He picked up his phone and started dialling. He checked the time on his watch. Six o'clock. Adam was expecting him home by eight. He wondered what the time difference was between Baltimore, Maryland and Bucharest, Romania. Probably a good chunk of time, come to think of it, and this was confirmed by the sleepy voice that groggily answered the phone on the third ring, the sound of a wailing baby erupting in the background.

"H-Hello...?"

"Yeah, is this Will Graham?"

He could hear an exhausted voice, heavily accented, close to Will, and probably sharing a pillow if the huffed squeak of a bedspring was any indication. "Will, who is it calling us at this hour? They woke the baby, tell them this intrusion is not appreciated." But the infant's startled wailing was quickly reduced to soothed cooing and Will Graham, for that's who it had to be, cleared his throat to speak, only to be interrupted again, this time by a far more alert and angrier partner. "Why is there a dog biscuit in her cradle? Are you giving them to her again? I don't care if you think they are good for teething, they are terribly inappropriate. Really, my dear Will, what were you thinking?"

"They aren't dog biscuits," the long suffering, groggy voice on the other end of the phone replied. "They're Num-Num Bars, they're made especially for teething, I gave her one last night, I thought she finished it."

"They smell and look disgusting, you're absolutely sure you didn't get these in the pet food aisle? She's covered in slimy crumbs, William, seriously, what a mess." The foreign voice descended into baby talk. "That's right my little precious, your daddy thinks moldy cookies are appropriate for his little princess. Maybe he needs a reminder of what it's like to be in the dog house since he is so determinedly canine around you."

"You lock me in that shed again and so help me...!" Will cursed and the cell phone was dropped and then picked up again. "This is Will Graham. Who are you?"

Nigel fought to keep the expletives out of his voice and sound more professional, no point getting reprimanded by Subcomisar Gorecky for foul language when trying to smooth talk potential leads. "This is Chief Inspector Nigel Ionescu of the anti-skin trafficking brigade with the politia Romana in Bucharest. We have been looking into the potentially illegal activities of Mason Verger, specifically Omega trafficking, and considering he is on your radar I am hoping you can help us track down his whereabouts."

"Mason Verger?" Will's voice was artificially light and Nigel picked up on the latent falsehood within it immediately. "Sorry, can't help you. Haven't seen him since the McDermott murder."

"The Chesapeake Ripper," Nigel said, and didn't miss the small whispered aside to his bedmate, the coo of their baby revealing how close she and her Omega parent were to the phone. "Made quite the mess on his property, twice, according to your own reports. Just to be clear, I don't give a shit about the murders or why they occurred, I just want to know how possible it is that Mason Verger is still alive."

Will Graham hesitated at his, the child next to him making soft noises that soon descended into lazy suckling. "Do you have to do that right now?" he heard Will harshly whisper, unaware that his hand over the phone's speaker was ineffective. "Can't you go in another room?"

"Your persistent need to sexualize my breasts is not appreciated, Will, and I'm uncomfortable how much you are turning them into your favourite fetish. This is what they're designed for, I'm not going anywhere."

An exasperated Will Graham returned to the phone call. "This is kind of a bad time...But if all you need to know is if the Chesapeake Ripper has offed Mason Verger, well, chances are very high that has happened."

"That creates a serious problem for me, Mr. Graham," Nigel said, the papers spread before him telling him a far uglier tale that reached well onto his own shores. "I just spent the whole day yesterday pulling Omegas out of an underground bunker, several of whom were corpses by the time we found them. They were neglected and starved and from what I can figure it was due to Mason Verger not being able to get to his pet projects and ensure they were running smoothly. There's rumours he may have some warehouses with Omegas trapped in exactly the same way on United Main soil, specifically the Baltimore area, and I'm wondering if you have any idea where he would keep them. We put the screws to his accountant this morning, apparently these prepaid shipments went out last night but there's no word on where the Omegas went."

He could hear Will Graham softly curse and then apologize to his baby. "How many are we talking about?"

"Twenty yesterday, here on Romanian soil. Could be triple that on yours."

Will let out a long, measured sigh at this. His voice was shaky on the other end, sleep banished no doubt for quite some time as the puzzle Nigel presented had some serious consequences if it wasn't solved. It was a heightened sense of worry that Nigel wasn't above taking advantage of, for he knew himself how powerful he felt about his own Omega and he could only guess what Will, with his similar Alpha instincts and not only with a mated Omega but a child in the mix, was now plunged into the same miasma of outraged care that Nigel was. "It says in these files that you were their criminal profiling 'consultant'. You're familiar with Mason Verger. We could really use your expertise right about now."

"Mason Verger is a hands on man, he won't want to leave the Omegas somewhere he can't get them." He heard the bed springs ease as Will stood up away from the bed headed into some unknown dark corner of his house. "I can give you possible locations due to his movements, but with the way things are around here I won't be able to get law enforcement to do a thing about it. I don't know if you've noticed, but this area of the United Main has been plunged into near martial law while the civil war starts ramping up between the Mainland and the Coastline. We got GSF on our front doorstep right now, and I can tell you flat out that I don't want them involved in this." Nigel could hear the buzz of a computer as it was turned on. "Your best bet is to contact Jack Crawford, the acting chief agent on the Chesapeake Ripper case. But even he can't go tearing apart people's property without cause and there would need to be an international liaison in order for him to get clearance to do so. Otherwise, he's at risk of incarceration himself, and believe me, the forces in power around here can't wait to undermine the FBI."

"Sounds like you're in the shit," Nigel observed.

Will grunted an assent. "We're in a war zone here in Baltimore, Inspector Ionescu, and my mate and I are at its epicentre. If I start asking questions about trafficked Omegas I could alert some very high, corrupt officials to my family and I can't risk their safety. Whatever has to be done has to be done very, very carefully."

"Yeah, I fucking get it. It's the same story all the time with those GSF fucks. They have no friends here, make no mistake. They've hindered our investigations before." He frowned as he looked at the images of death before him, wondering why the Chesapeake Ripper had to be such a fucking drama queen about it all. The assassination of Jeb McBain, at least to Nigel's outsider perception, was furiously self indulgent and he had to wonder if the Ripper had a personal stake in killing him, using his Omega accomplices as worshipful tools for his highly stylized agenda. Cults were common enough for well adjusted people to get embroiled in, it wouldn't be a huge stretch to discover Omegas were falling into the same traps. Nigel had to wonder what the United Main would look like if the Chesapeake Ripper got his way. He had a real problem with Alphas, at least that's what the surface of his murders suggested. He could tip the gender scale all the way to the other side and end up creating a society just as oppressive as the one he clearly hated.

"You got knocker trouble, hunh?" Nigel chuckled into the phone at Will's uncertain silence. "Yeah, it's always a surprise when they sprout tits after the babies are born. One of the chesters in our precinct just got back from maternity leave. Still can't find a suit that doesn't nearly pop the buttons and that's the only part that got bigger. He's been wearing plain black t-shirts for now. Hides the leaks, too."

"Over here we're told male Omegas are barren. It's been quite an education since I've been involved with one."

"They're a bit more fragile, and it's not that common. That chester I mentioned was off work for over a year while he was being monitored by a whole shit ton of doctors. I guess you had the same problem."

"Yeah, it was...Difficult." Will hesitated slightly before he let out a wistful sigh. "Don't get me wrong, this is a nice bonus, though he doesn't see it that way. They really are fantastic. He doesn't like me touching them and it's...They drive me crazy. They are...You don't understand, they are *perfect*."

Nigel rolled his eyes, wondering if every fellow Alpha he knew thought this much with their dick. "We have someone in common, by the way," Nigel said, testing the waters of Adam's mysterious family connections. "Adam Raki. He's a...He's a good friend of mine."

"Adam?" Will sounded confused and Nigel could practically see the twisted face he was making. "What's Adam doing in Bucharest? Really, he's a 'friend' of yours? He has autism, and the last time I saw him I don't even know if he knew I was there. Poor Adam. Haven't seen him since he was five, but he was a handful for his dad. Does he still do that thing with his hands when he's upset? His dad had a real challenge there, I guess Bucharest was a safer place for him to be raised than Two Cent, seeing as how he's an Omega. I wouldn't have thought you guys would provide disability allowances for ex United Main citizens, though. How's he doing?"

Nigel could feel his rage boiling up inside of himself, so hot it could melt fucking metal. He was spinning in his fury like a white dwarf imploding. What the fuck was this shit, was this bastard trying to say that Adam was, what--delayed? Stupid? He checked Will Graham's credentials and yes, the fucker was still a supposed criminal profiler and yes, he was bonded to a goddamned *psychiatrist* for fuck's sake, he ought to have some understanding about his long lost cousin who was kind enough to send him a fucking Christmas present every year, one that Will Fucking Asshole Graham didn't appreciate.

"Adam's doing just fine," Nigel coldly replied. "He's an astro-fucking-physicist."

Will laughed lightly at this, and it took a few moments for his mirth to falter when he realized that Nigel wasn't kidding. "I...What?"

"He was in the space program at Roscosmos, he's hoping to get back in there soon. He said you've been out of touch for a while, since you were kids. It has been thirty fucking years, I guess a lot has changed since then."

"I guess..." Will was acting like he couldn't believe it. Just what the fuck, he hadn't seen Adam since he was five! He'd like to know how many times Will Graham was pissing his pants at that age, or was he just as much of an asshole right out of the womb? "I never would have thought him capable..."

"What do you know, he's something really special now. Goes to show what happens when you underestimate someone. He's gearing up to be an astronaut and he's going to do it, you watch. He's a motherfucking genius."

"I..." Will stammered and Nigel could practically feel the confused frown winding its way through his cell phone. "I really don't know what to say."

How about 'Way to go!' or 'Congratulations!' or 'I knew you could do it!', you fucking judgemental asswipe.

"Adam was hard for me to read," Will said, and the confession didn't make much sense to Nigel, he was a fucking tiny *kid* at the time, after all. "He was completely closed off, didn't say a word until he was six. I had no idea that kind of brilliance was hiding under there."

"Yeah, well, what do you fucking know, people change."

"Yeah," Will said, reflexively and to himself, though there seemed to be a hint that he was catching on to Nigel's annoyance and how about that for an empathic fucking clue bus. Empathy disorder. What the fuck ever.

They said their goodbyes and Nigel was left staring at his cell phone and wondering, not for the first time in his life, how seemingly intelligent people could be such stupid shits.

~*~
He'd sent Darko to the club earlier to pick up the VHS tapes and while he was busy going over their contents Nigel decided to make a quick stop at the hospital before he went home. He needed to check on their Omega victims, he wanted to see if any of them were conscious and willing to talk, medical teams hovering over them be damned. Key information was lurking in their trauma and the last thing he was going to do was let that kind of heads up slip out the door the second they were well enough to escape. It's usually what they did, thinking they were still being hunted, and they'd end up in hospital gowns in coffee shops, shivering and getting picked up by religious nuts trying to save souls. They made Nigel uncomfortable with their fawning talk of higher powers, and he knew the Omegas didn't buy it no matter how traumatized they were, and he figured it was a tough call selling them that what happened to them had a purpose. They weren't all bad, though, and the religious charities had deep pockets. At least the Omegas they took in got their way home paid for.

Nigel's nerves were on edge, his mood sharp and unpleasant like the gleam of a razor seeking skin. The hospital held all the smells he hated, antiseptics and a pervasive sickness masked with Detol. There were so many things cutting into him today, the little razor's edge of information shearing into his memory and leaving tiny scabs in its wake. He didn't like that Adam was linked to Will Graham or to his Omega mate Dr. Lecter. The phone call had been innocuous enough, but he'd detected something unpleasant in Will Graham's voice when he'd talked about Mason Verger, as though he was hiding highly valuable information, and though his mate was playing Mama beside him just fine, he had to wonder why Dr. Lecter was compelled to listen in so closely, even offering deflection distractions. It felt like a ploy to Nigel and his gut was rarely wrong when it came to these things. The two of them imprinted one word on Nigel's consciousness: Sinister.

It was a word that brought dark feelings with it as it crept with him while he walked down the hospital corridor. Nurses hurried past him carrying syringes, medicine, clipboards, and machines and IVs attached to pale, miserable patients who slowly paced in between the bustle. The fluorescent lights were never in perfect working order, and there was always two or three that either flickered or had burnt out completely, surrendering chunks of the corridor into shade. Nigel wasn't sure why it bothered him. Maybe it was because a burnt out light bulb suggested a certain vulnerability in this big ass building that was supposed to heal the sick. Burnt out lights gave the suggestion of its hard working reality, that there was just as much death here as life.

The ICU was full to capacity, and he slipped past the nurse's desk and into an adjoining room that housed a couple of the Omega victims that had been fully stabilized. There was still a sickening plethora of wires and tubes stuck in them, giving them fluids and nutrients intravenously, they were too starved to take it in the natural route. A feeding tube pumped beige liquid into their stomachs, their sole source of feeding for now. He stood at the side rail of the young, brunette Omega closest to the door, and pulled the curtain over just in case one of the nurses quickly walked by.

The young woman in the bed rolled her head to one side and Nigel grabbed a chair, sitting beside her at the head of the bed, close enough to hear her if she actually talked. The pink and blue curtains swayed slightly and he peered underneath them, hoping he could stay undetected for a long enough time to get what was needed.

'Hey," he whispered to her, her sick body making his stomach churn as Omega pheromones wafted off of her, the stench of death close by. "You probably don't remember me, but I'm Inspector Nigel Ionescu, I was the one who found you and your friends. The doctors say you're doing better. You're a strong girl, getting through a shit deal like this. We're closing in on the sons of bitches, but we can't do that unless we have some more information."

Her lips were cracked and bleeding and when she tried to speak her tongue was a strange, blue hue, contrasting deeply with her white mouth. "I know you..."

"I'm Inspector Ionescu. Tell me, do you remember anything about your captors? Can you give me a description? We took out the two gorillas in the bunker with you, were they the ones who captured you?"

"You're the Bearer of Light. You have a job to do, and you'll be called to battle, just as we all will. We will stand tall and proud before the Demons and we will vanquish them. They will worship at *our* feet."

She was trying to smile and it came across as a bleeding grimace. The Omega scent of her was practically a stench in the curtained space around her bed, and it was difficult not to look at her and think of his sweet little spaceman in her place. The thought of him suffering even in theory like this made Nigel curl his fingers into tight fists. "It says here on your chart that your name is Darlene?" She nodded. "That's nice, Darlene. It's a pretty name. Darlene, I need to know what the men looked like who first picked you up. Were you drugged?" He pulled out his cell phone and brandished an image of Mason Verger in her direct line of sight. "Was one of them this man?"

She continued to eerily smile, not seeing him or any facet of the world around her. "We will sing such beautiful songs, they will make ballads of our accomplishments, they will harken us as the New Beginning. We cannot be vanquished."

She was gone into the fucking batshit crazy cave. Nigel sighed and pinched his brow and wondered how long it was going to take him to get home, he didn't want to be late for dinner again, he couldn't afford to disappoint Adam. He sat back in the chair and leaned his head back, sighing into the ceiling. All this suffering for nothing, and Mason Verger had created every bit of it, the probably dead son of a bitch. Well, fuck the asshole who took him out, that was supposed to be Nigel's job.

A cold hand wrapped weakly around his wrist and he looked down to find Darlene moving her mouth, her words barely a whisper. He leaned in to listen, humouring her madness. The poor thing needed to be heard, even if it was all gibberish.

"Valhallah is opened and her warriors are spilling out, from all over the world, we are a part of her great design, our goddess, our Mother. Male and female in one and supreme in power, s/he guides us. The GSF won't stop us, we'll charge the borders and slaughter them like we did McBain, we'll break into their homes and free Her captive daughters. They thought they brought us into slavery, but we allowed them to take us. We are trained and ready to fight. We have our mission on the United Main...Our Mother awaits her daughters..."

Nigel frowned at this, and he gently took her hand off of his wrist to lightly embrace it in the warmth of his hands. She felt like paper beneath his palms. "What are you saying, Darlene? What does this have to do with the assassination of Jeb McBain?" He frowned. "Is this some kind of online network, where you meet a bunch of people online and chat with them?" He latched onto this as her silence grew. "A newsgroup or something like that? This Mother you're talking about, what is it she wants?"

He could feel his veins freeze in anticipation and he closed his eyes before asking his final question. "This Mother...Is she the Chesapeake Ripper?"

"Yes." Darlene licked her lips and she shuddered, her vitals stressed to their highly limited endurance. Nigel got to his feet, knowing he had to get the hell out before the nurses found him. "Valhallah for all who help us. She knows of you, Inspector Nigel Ionescu. She admires your tireless pursuit. You will be greatly rewarded. You will be exalted and all will know the importance of what you have done."

He slipped out from behind the curtain and out of Darlene's room before the nurses spotted him, a harried looking one already heading for Darlene's room to check on her mild distress. His head was reeling with the information he'd been given and he didn't have a fucking clue what to do with any of it. The fucking Chesapeake Ripper was involved, and he couldn't wrap his head around it. Just what the hell was he thinking right now because it was looking like these Omegas were fucking *moles* in Mason Verger's vile system and the only reason they didn't make it to the United Main was because Verger was too fucking dead to send them off.

Shit, this was fucking scary, it was bad enough having the smell of Verger's piss all over everything now he had to contend with the fucked up crazy that was the Chesapeake Ripper. A rational part of him told him to take it easy, to think carefully on what the hell he'd just heard and remember it was the speech of a dying girl who'd also mentioned goddesses and Valhallah. But Nigel's gut was wrenched tight and he knew, without needing any further evidence, that it was true, the Ripper had spread wings wide across the globe and was calling her daughters home to join in the slaughter. Jesus, this was some kind of fucked up. He had to get home. He needed to bury himself in his precious little spaceman and forget that self serving evil had the most purchase in this world.

~*~

Adam's smile didn't falter when he answered the door and Nigel rushed in, quickly closing it behind him and slamming the half dozen bolts in place before scooping Adam into his arms and giving him a nuzzling kiss. "It's been a long day, my darling. Tell me you have something good for me."

Adam's grin was wide and infectious in his excitement. "I made spaghetti. Without a recipe!" Adam took Nigel's hand and led him into the kitchen, not giving the officer time to get his shoes and coat off. "I might have made a bit too much, but it turned out like it was supposed to. I hope you enjoy it. I used to only eat macaroni and cheese and chicken and broccoli, but when I left Two Cent I decided it was very important to try new things, and one of the easiest was a new diet. So, I made it a point for a whole year to never eat the same thing twice. But I really missed spaghetti after I'd tried it. I had it in Italy and it was very good."

Nigel saw the steaming pile of pasta and deep, rich red sauce placed in a casserole dish in the centre of the breakfast nook and his heart swelled with appreciation. "You are one big little miracle, you know that?" He slid off his coat and shoes and carried them back into the hallway, towards the closet by the front door. He hung up his jacket, making sure it was near the far right as per Adam's preferences, and neatly placed his shoes next to Adam's Converse sneakers, on the left, the way he liked it. "I was talking to your cousin Will Graham today. You're right, he's an asshole."

"Really? How is Will?"

"Pussy whipped and obsessed with tits. He didn't believe me when I told him you were an astrophysicist."

"I'm not one," Adam said, frowning. "Though I did apply at the University of Bucharest, for a teaching position. I may be a practising one by the end of this week." Adam sat at the table but not before Nigel swung close to him and stole a quick kiss from those pursed lips, his forehead pressed against Adam's as he nuzzled playfully against his nose, his little spaceman burning hot at Nigel's touch.

"Fuck me, gorgeous, I've been looking forward to being here with you like this all damned day. You are very special to me, Adam," Nigel confessed.

Adam grinned at this and shyly hid his face in the crook of Nigel's neck before returning his attention to dinner. "I used a sauce that contains parmesan, basil and mushrooms. I was worried that perhaps you would be allergic to mushrooms, because there was a Beta at Roscosmos who was allergic to mushrooms, beets and kiwi, and even though statistically it is unlikely it was a concern. I haven't asked you if you are allergic to anything."

"Just being away from you," Nigel said, and Adam's smile faltered. "I'm not allergic to anything, my angel," Nigel clarified.

"Okay, good." Adam nodded happily and they both sat down at the small table affixed to the wall and began to serve dinner. Large plates took up ample amounts of pasta and a thick, sweet smelling sauce. Adam was the first to break the silence, his curiosity plain. "Did Will ask about me?"

"No, I told him that I knew you. He was very surprised you were in Romania." Nigel tried not to let his irritation at Will Graham's dismissal of Adam show. "He seems to think you came here with your father, that you were on some kind of fucking disability. I made sure to correct him on that."

"Oh." Adam's lower lip softly quivered and Nigel felt a renewed hatred for this fucking idiot cousin who was so stupid he couldn't see the hurt he caused even though he was supposed to be some kind of 'empath'. Fucking bullshit, Adam was right, there was no science involved there, he was just a jerk.

"Will doesn't know me," Adam said, and he was doing that thing where he was carefully choosing his words, each one paused over and thought about carefully before they slipped from his lips. "When we were kids I was very different from how I am now. I had a lot of behaviours. I was non-verbal and I was so overwhelmed by outside stimuli that I retreated inside of myself. It is likely he thought I was going to be like that forever, and that was a risk. If my father hadn't been so diligent and did so much early intervention, I could have remained that way." Adam poked his forked through his spaghetti, twisting the noodles onto it in slow movements as his thoughts drifted. "I wouldn't judge Will too harshly for not expecting me to resemble someone who is neurotypical."

"There is nothing fuck all typical about you, darling, and that is what I love about you."

Adam sat very still in his chair, his fork poised over his plate of pasta. The ghost of a smile curled across his lips and it was as if a whole little galaxy of possibility was opening between them as they sat there at the breakfast nook, and Nigel held his breath, wondering how he'd let something so intensely guarded slip.

"You love me?" Adam asked, and the words were fragile filigree that hopped across moons and stars.

Well, fuck, he was cornered now, it wasn't like he could lie or deny it, not when they'd argued already about Adam staying in his life, and how they in a relationship and dammit, the spaghetti was good, and if Adam ever disappeared from his life right now, well what kind of fucking astronomical catastrophe could ever compare to that?

"A whole fucking lot, my little spaceman," Nigel confessed.

"It made me very upset seeing you hurt last night. And I like it when we kiss, that is highly pleasurable. You like it when I talk about space and you didn't want me to leave and get my own apartment, and I'm very glad about that, because I like being around you, Nigel. You are very comforting to me. I would feel a terrible absence if you weren't in my life." Adam smiled over his plate of spaghetti that was near neglected now. "There are certain patterns of compatibility and expectation that are required between partners and I am pleased to see that we fall under a highly parallel measure of feelings and..." Adam framed his plate with his wrists, his hands shaking slightly. He fleetingly caught Nigel's eye and smiled into its patience. "What I am saying is that I believe I love you, too."

They both sat in silence at this, plates of spaghetti toyed with as the universe and its possibilities expanded into incomprehensible, beautiful stretches of stars between them. There was relief and tension all at once, and Nigel felt immobilized by it. Fuck, what was this love doing to him? He could feel a lump in his throat thick enough to choke him dead. How was it he could wander all day around the ugliest fucking shit piss of the world and yet the second his little spaceman welcomed him home it was like all that hideous black muck of his life disappeared.

"Nigel?"

Soft, tentative fingertips reached across the casserole dish of steaming pasta and sauce and Adam touched just underneath Nigel's eye, capturing moisture. And he couldn't stop then, all the hurt just came gushing up and out, all the disappointment that was Gabi's need that he couldn't fulfill, all the torture and death that reached out for his help and he couldn't do a thing about it, all the blows he took and it didn't make one lick of difference, but he had Adam, and he had him in his arms and Nigel was fucking crying into his shoulder, into his neck, and kissing him and smoothing back his feather soft dark hair with his strong, nicotine stained hands and telling him everything will be all right, everything was going to be okay. But he wasn't talking to his precious little spaceman angel when he said it, he was talking to himself.

It was in that moment, when he himself was so fucking overwhelmed with all the shit he had to wallow through, he understood what Adam's day was like, he fucking *knew* how hard it was, and fuck if he didn't want to wrap up his little spaceman in the tightest little cocoon of love he could and keep him feeling safe and happy. Fuck, that's all he wanted. Come on, universe. That's not such a big order, is it?