Chapter 3
“We are gathered here today…”
Jesus fucking Christ.
If it wasn’t Curt speaking, Frank would’ve turned on his heel and left as soon as the words left his mouth. Even though it was Curt, Frank still wanted to hurl something out the window, but the only things that weren’t tied to the wall were various items in evidence bags on the table, which Frank couldn’t touch unless he wanted to get a case thrown out in court and a scumbag to go free, Curt’s computer, which was his baby and off limits unless Frank wanted to end up on Red’s autopsy table because Curt would shoot anyone who so much as scratched it, and what looked like actual murder weapons on a table to Curt’s left. Most of those looked throwable and were the most likely candidates as an outlet for Frank’s frustration, but accidentally killing one of his colleagues by throwing a knife out the window would probably get him landed in prison, and his temper would inevitably lead to actions that disqualified him from conjugal visits. Plus, Red deserved better.
Perhaps it would be bearable, maybe even fun, if it was just Frank and Curt stood in his lab performing the experiment Curt had promised would help with Frank’s case, but Curt had gathered an assortment of the precinct’s finest and crammed them all in the room together. It was like Curt had gone around the station and poached whoever he could find for his little experiment, grabbed anyone who was free, and Frank hadn’t had a good enough excuse to not be included in that. He was waiting on information about a car that was seen driving away from the McDermott crime scene with tinted windows and, despite Frank's not-so-subtle threats to the guys who ran those checks, he didn’t expect the results any time soon.
Frank had grumbled and reluctantly stood, letting Curt know in no uncertain terms that he was complying under duress and because he had nothing better to do.
Curt had just twitched his lips in amusement and said, “Cheer up, your boyfriend is coming.”
Frank wouldn’t admit that he’d followed Curt with a lot more enthusiasm after that, or that it had put a spring in his step, boosted his mood, and made his day infinitely better, though from Curt’s smirk he knew it was probably obvious. Frank briefly wondered if Curt was gonna start using Red as a bribe. For years, people had been saying shit like Curt had: ‘hey, where’s your boyfriend?’, ‘you’ve got a face like thunder, what happened? Your boyfriend break up with you?’ or ‘saw your boyfriend getting chatty and awfully close to the new girl. You not worried he’s cheating on you?’ Before, it was a dig based on how much time Frank spent with the medical examiner - one he hadn’t really cottoned on too because it just didn’t feel false. Now, though, it was said as a fact and that made Frank so ridiculously happy, because that was his boyfriend, that was the man he loved, and everyone knew it. Red was his and he was Red’s.
So Frank had willingly walked to Curt’s lab, bribed with the promise of Red’s presence, and Red had the audacity not to have shown up yet and had left Frank alone with these degenerates. All Frank could do was keep to himself, stand away from the rest of the group, and pray either Red got here soon to save him, Curt would get this over with, or Frank would spontaneously combust.
If he was being honest, some of the group Frank could tolerate. Karen was there, but she was talking with Jones so he couldn’t seek refuge in her company. Frank had to be in a certain kind of mood to open himself up to the crap he’d get from Jones. Cage was bearable, but their relationship didn’t extend past polite nods and small talk, and Rand was too much like an excitable puppy for Frank to be happy to be around, preferring instead to gently nudge him away and hope he got distracted by something else. Amy, who Frank would never admit he loved, was his usual go-to if Red, Karen and Curt were unavailable, with her sarcastic comments and judging everyone bringing him a perverse amount of joy. Unfortunately, she was huddled next to Curt discussing something with him in hushed whispers, and Frank wasn’t about to interrupt that. He didn’t want the judgey comments to be aimed at him.
There were a couple of other people there that Frank didn’t know too. To Frank’s consternation, O’Connor had managed to persuade Madani to give him the afternoon off the tip line and let him help on the murder case because they needed ‘all hands on deck and he was an experienced and respected detective.’ Frank thought Madani might’ve only agreed to make O'Connor shut up and also she knew Curt needed all the help he could get. Frank also suspected that she might’ve agreed because O’Connor didn’t like Curt, and forcing him to spend time with someone he didn’t like would amuse her.
“For fuck’s sake,” Jones said before Curt could explain why they were all there. “Do we have to do this? I’ve got important things I could be doing right now.”
“Like what?” Cage said, turning to her with his arms crossed, eyebrows raised and a smirk dancing across his lips. “You’ve closed all your cases and spent all morning tormenting the IT guys with fake IT problems just to watch them squirm.”
Jones gave him a smile that was all teeth. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
It was just play-fighting, Frank knew the two of them were close. In fact, Red had told him they used to date, and by ‘date’ he meant ‘fuck each other’s brains out’ before some apparently weird shit went down and Cage met his fiancée. They’d somehow managed to become friends again because, in Red’s words, ‘even weirder shit went down.’ Half the department thought they hated each other though.
“Nah, everyone already knows,” Amy said, hopping up onto one of Curt’s machines (risky) and swinging her legs. “You’re super busy trying to glare the wall into submission and get all broody when it doesn’t.” She paused and tilted her head to the side, her legs stopping their movement. “Guess there’s little else to do when the bar’s closed, right?”
Ouch. Low blow. Frank was impressed. Jones was gonna destroy her though.
“At least I’m old enough to drink,” Jones said casually. “Must sting when we all go out and you have to stay behind because the bartender thinks you’re a twelve-year-old. Didn’t you get IDed going to see that kid’s film last year?”
And point to Jones.
Amy could hold her own though. She turned to Curt. “You hid the ethanol, right? You know what she’s like.”
“Oh, fuck you.”
“Don’t be mean, Amy,” Curt said with a smile. “It’s always locked away when Jessica is in.”
“Jokes on you, you think I don’t know how to pick a lock?”
Frank watched them with amusement, thinking at least his day wasn’t being completely wasted.
Out of the corner of his eye, Frank saw the door to Curt’s lab swing open and Nelson skip into the room, heading straight to Stahl who was leaning against a table examining her nails.
There was movement beside Frank as Red sidled up to him, their shoulders brushing and Red pressing against his side wordlessly. Frank smiled but kept his gaze fixed on Jones, Amy and Curt.
“They started already?” Red said quietly, his own head turned as if he was watching the three bicker.
“The experiment or the fight?” Frank mumbled in reply. His fingers twitched slightly, touching Red’s just the tiniest amount in greeting.
“The fight, obviously. I don’t expect the experiment to start for another hour or so.” Frank snorted. “Who do you think will win?”
Red was closest to Jones, so he was probably betting on her. It had surprised Frank when Jones had appeared at Red’s birthday party a couple of years ago as he hadn’t realised they spoke to each other if there wasn’t a dead body involved, and their personalities didn’t match at all. In his mind, Red was the sweetest, most innocent person in the world with a slight dark streak who cared about everybody whereas Jones was brash, blunt, and didn’t give a fuck about anything or anyone. Frank thought Red needed protecting from Jones’ harsh comments and they shouldn’t be drinking and laughing together. Frank had quickly realised that Red gave as good as he got; the two of them bounced insults off each other and made jokes at the other’s expense frequently – or Red made jokes at Jones’ expense and Jones insulted with a smile – and god help anyone who went against the two in a drinking competition. The last time someone had tried, they’d ended up in the emergency room with two broken bones, a busted nose and a severe concussion whilst Red and Jones were still doing shots at the bar.
Red was one of the only people Frank had seen Jones openly care about, even if she tried to hide it, and that made her ok in his book.
“In a physical fight?” Frank asked, considering the two women arguing in front of them seriously. “Jones, unless Curt jumps in. In a verbal fight? Amy.”
Red hummed thoughtfully and tilted his head in a way that let Frank know he disagreed.
“All right, hot shot, what'd you think?” Frank said, folding his arms.
“In a physical fight? Jess. In a verbal fight?” Red paused then shrugged sheepishly. “Jess.”
Frank grunted in acknowledgement. “Well, you’re biased. That is blatant favouritism, Red, if ever I saw it.”
Frank wasn’t going to admit Red was probably right. Whilst Amy got under people’s skin and didn’t have a filter, Frank had seen Jones make grown men cry and he knew the guys down in Evidence fled from her whenever they heard her coming.
Frank didn’t need to admit it though, Red’s little smirk told him that Frank was completely transparent, and he knew he had him.
“Do you want to make a bet on it,” Red said, turning his body and slowing stepping forward until his front was pressed to Frank’s side, his head tilted up so his mouth was right next to Frank’s ear, brushing against it when he spoke. Frank swallowed.
“What do I get if I win?”
Frank wasn’t going to win, but he’d play along if it kept Red talking and his body so close to Frank's. Besides, when Red got that look on his face, he was usually scheming something, and often those schemes ended up very pleasurable for Frank.
“I’ll get you a new pair of handcuffs.”
Frank snorted. “I already have a pair of handcuffs, love, I don’t need-”
The wide grin that suddenly spread over Red’s face was all teeth, and his eyes crinkled in a way that left him with an expression caught somewhere between mischievous and pure evil.
Frank tried to ignore the sparks of pleasure that shot straight to his cock and the way it became harder to breathe at the implication. Red moved slowly so he was now standing chest-to-chest with Frank, his mouth dragging from Frank’s neck to hover just over his lips, close enough that they were breathing the same air. Frank’s heart stuttered as Red’s tongue flicked out, catching Frank’s own lips briefly, and one hand made its way down Frank’s chest and towards his belt.
“Or, if you prefer, I picked up some spare rope from Fogwell’s a few days ago. I was going to use it as some makeshift hand wraps for practicing boxing at home, but I suppose I can gift them to you. They’re quite sturdy and will be very tight, but I’m sure we can find some use for them.”
Red’s hand aborted its journey to Frank’s belt, causing Frank to groan in frustration, but quickly settled on Frank’s wrist where he squeezed tightly, his intentions clear.
“Or perhaps the bet is high stakes enough that you deserve both,” Red said. “We can make sure the handcuffs are…effective,” he squeezed Frank’s wrist hard again. “And the ropes could be useful in testing your escapology skills. You know, in case a bad man ties you up.” Red lifted his cane and gently ran it around one of Frank’s ankles and then up his inner thigh, and Frank had to resist the urge to slam his thighs shut over it.
They’d done restraints before, obviously, but not full bodied like that and fuck Frank wanted it. He wanted Red to tie him up and use him, run his hands over Frank's body and his fingers through his hair whilst Frank bucked desperately against him, completely at his mercy. He wanted to drag Red back to his apartment, grab the handcuffs and rope and anything that even remotely resembled a restraint, and fling them at Red, having him tie Frank to the bed so tight he couldn’t move an inch whilst Red had his way with him. He wanted him to be there for as long as possible, stuck until Red decided to let him go, and then return the favour.
Red’s head suddenly snapped around and he cringed back into Frank, Frank’s hands automatically coming to wrap around his waist to steady him. He turned to see what had grabbed Red's attention and grimaced when he found it.
Nelson was looking at them pointedly with a raised eyebrow, thoroughly unimpressed. Red couldn’t see that Nelson was unimpressed, but Nelson had probably said something quietly enough that only Red could hear.
Fuck. Frank was considering whether he could get away with murdering Nelson without Red noticing and then, deciding that no, he couldn’t, made a note to think of all the ways he could make Nelson’s life miserable; preferably by giving him blue balls the way he had Frank.
Red put his hands on Frank’s chest and pushed away, ignoring Frank’s grumbling and grabbing hands trying to keep him close.
“Later,” Red whispered to him, turning to face where Jones and Amy were still throwing insults at each other but not straying far from Frank.
A quick glance around showed that nobody else had noticed Frank and Red’s intimate moment, all thoroughly engrossed with the show Jones and Amy were putting on. Rand was bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet looking like he very much wanted to get involved, which was odd for someone who was usually quite gentle despite his hyperactivity. Cage was stood in the same position as before, his arms crossed and leaning against the wall, but his eyes were watching the ‘fight’ intensely, ready to jump in and pull them apart if it were to get physical. There was a smirk on Stahl’s lips as she regarded the two with curiosity; Frank knew she wouldn’t get involved but was hoping for it to progress to a physical fight. O’Connor – fuck him – and some of the others around him were egging the two women on, some catcalling, others saying things that Frank thought should get them an appointment with HR. He’d love to see their faces if Jones and Amy turned on them: a fate worse than any reprimand the captain or administration could give them.
Nelson was the only one who had noticed, which was probably because, loathe as Frank was to admit it, he and Red were so in tune with each other, or maybe the protectiveness Nelson felt towards his best friend. He was trying to get Red’s attention, staring at him and making jerky hand movements he knew Red would be able to ‘see’, with Red playing blissful ignorance.
A sharp elbow to his side dragged Frank’s attention back to the front, where it seemed the fight had ended without any bloodshed.
“Who won?” Frank ground out, his voice hoarse from Red’s earlier words. He hoped desperately Amy had, otherwise he wasn’t getting the handcuffs.
“It wasn’t a competition, asshole,” Amy said cheerily.
“Jessica,” Curt confirmed.
Goddamnit.
“Never mind,” Red said quietly enough that only Frank could hear. “I’ll still give you the handcuffs. It can be my prize for winning.” Red squeezed Frank's wrist in promise.
Frank smiled and stuck out his arm for Red to take. He didn’t need to, not only because they were stationary but because Red could find his way around better than anyone else in the department. However, it gave Frank the excuse to hold him, and he'd take anything he could get. Red’s lips quirked up and his hand ran from Frank’s wrist and up his arm, squeezing gently on his bicep before settling near his elbow. Red shuffled closer and started rubbing circles into Frank’s skin, which was probably teetering over the ‘professional’ line, but Frank didn’t care.
Frank shot a quick glance at Nelson who was eyeing them suspiciously, clearly thinking the same thing Frank had been but not having enough evidence it was unprofessional to say anything. It could be completely innocent, just a guy assisting his legally blind work colleague and said colleague massaging his arm due to a tense muscle.
“Can we hurry this along,” O’Connor said. “As much as I’d love to see you two beautiful women get into a catfight, this murderer isn’t going to catch himself. I can’t solve this case without hard evidence, and if you can’t provide that I have better things I can be doing.”
“What, like shooting kittens and harassing old ladies?” Rand said. “I heard about poor Mrs Cardenas calling up to report a drug deal outside her apartment and you telling her she was senile.”
Frank hadn’t heard that one and made a mental note to ask Rand for more information later or, more likely, ask Red to ask Rand so Frank didn't have to interact with him. He wondered how much worse O’Connor could get, because you had to be a total asshole to piss off the usually mellow Rand.
Wing gently nudged Rand in the side – and when did she come in? Frank swore that woman was a secret ninja - whispering “not now.”
O’Connor had gone red in the face and looked about ready to blow his top. “Yes, listen to your girlfriend. She may be one of those and only here for the free ticket, but she’s at least old enough to know how to respect her elders and her betters.”
Rand took a threatening step forward, only stopping when Wing held out an arm in front of him. That was probably for the best; whilst Rand was young, he was a talented detective and had risen through the ranks quickly based on his own merit rather than his family name, no matter what some people said. He was almost as good a fighter as Red was, just lacking the experience and brutality the M.E. had in fights, and like Red he would defend those close to him with a viciousness he didn’t usually let out.
Red’s hands tightened on his cane and Frank knew what O’Connor had said had gotten to him too. He didn’t need the cane, he just carried it around for appearances and to stop unwanted questions from strangers (and occasionally to use as a potential weapon), but Frank was glad he brought it. Frank might need it to beat O’Connor over the head with it. That’s unless Red beat Frank too it; he looked about ready to toss the cane over to Rand so he could use it to attack the man.
Frank gave Red’s arm a comforting pat and Red’s grip loosened.
Jones snorted. “You were talking about a catfight, Danny would turn you into a stain on the floor, which would make Curtis very unhappy. It’s extremely unhygienic.”
“It is, so let’s get down to business before there’s actually any bloodshed,” Curt said. “Thanks to the flawless work of Matt and Foggy,” Nelson took an exaggerated bow and Red lowered his head, a smirk dancing on his lips. “We know that the head wounds of the two victims we have are very similar with almost identical patterns. It looks like the instrument that caused the fatal blows was the same, not the nearest heavy object or whatever the killer found lying around like we originally thought.” Curt exhaled slowly, showing his frustration. “We do not, however, know what that object is.”
“Isn’t that your job to figure out?” O’Connor said.
Gosnell and Wilson snickered. Great. O’Connor had made friends. Honestly, Frank had expected better of Wilson. Sure, the food thievery ring he’d set up with Stein was fucking annoying and kinda evil, but he was young and naïve and easily influenced. Frank had thought he would know better than to listen to O’Connor.
“We are a team,” Curt said, with more patience than Frank possessed and more than O’Connor deserved. “We are going to solve this case together. We need to find the weapon used, which would seriously help us narrow down the suspects.” Not that there were any yet. “The weapon is obviously something the killer owns and is important to them if they’re not dumping the murder weapon and changing things up.”
“Detective now, are you?”
“So what we’re going to do is this,” Curt said, ignoring O’Connor. “Amy?”
Amy hopped off Curt’s machine and disappeared into another area of the lab, coming back seconds later pushing a cart full of fake heads and posing like a gameshow assistant as she planted them in front of the group.
“We’re gonna bash these heads in to see which one matches,” Curt finished with a sheepish shrug.
“Sounds like fun,” Jones said.
“Sounds like a long shot,” Frank grumbled.
“Imagine it’s O’Connor’s head,” Red said happily from beside him.
Yeah, that would work.
“Okay, choose your weapons,” Curt said, gesturing to the table of weapons on his right.
Jones was the first one forward, instantly grabbing a broken beer bottle and ignoring Amy’s snort. Amy picked up a brick. Frank distantly wondered where it had come from. Cage chose a gym weight, Rand, a lead pipe, Wing, a Katana – what the actual fuck, Curt -, Stahl, an ice-pick. Frank made a note to be more cautious around her in future because the glint in her eye was worrying. Nelson chose a hideous vase which he held carefully in his hands, and again Frank wondered what poor idiot Curt had snatched that from. O’Connor and friends grabbed tools – screwdriver, spanner, bolt cutters – and Karen decided on a gun (that Curt assured everyone wasn’t loaded) much to Frank’s disappointment, as that was gonna be his choice.
Instead, he walked forward with Red still on his arm, and considered what was left, trying to remember what the head wounds had looked like and guess what the most likely culprit for the murder weapon was. After a moment, he took the hammer. Red’s hands skimmed over the weapons, finally landing on a couple of batons that looked like they could do some serious damage. Frank nodded in approval and turned them to join the back of the line that had formed.
“On your marks, get set, go,” Curt said, gesturing Jones forward and picking up his notepad to make notes.
Jones was worryingly enthusiastic, not just smashing the bottle over her fake head but stabbing it too. Curt took a step back and held up his notepad defensively to stop the fake blood splattering him (why was there fake blood?). She kept going and only pulled back when most the head had caved in. One by one, they each stepped forward and smashed at their fake heads, Curt scribbling notes as they went. To Frank’s surprise, when Nelson lamely dropped his hideous vase on the head it didn’t leave marks that resembled those on the bodies. That had been his guess; vases could be special to people (fuck knows why) and were something a killer might want to use symbolically, and they were easily hidden. He started reworking some theories in his head as Wing took her turn and stabbed through the skull. Instead of retreating after she’d made her stance, Wing then flipped the katana and used the handle end to bash at the head. Red made an interested noise next to him and tilted his head, and Frank flagged the katana as a likely candidate for their murder weapon.
Still, when it was Frank's turn he reluctantly unlinked his arm from Red’s and stepped forward, raising the hammer as he did. It was a hefty thing, one found at a construction site rather than in any suburban family’s household. He brought the hammer down, smashing it onto the head. It made a dent and some weird fake blood shit started leaking out. Frank instantly knew that the hammer wasn’t the murder weapon but he brought it down again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
He used it to let out all his frustration, imagining it as every issue and every person he hated: O’Connor and his stupid ableist, racist, and arrogant remarks and that nobody had taken him down yet, the fact that Madani had called him into her office earlier to discuss his ‘conduct’ and how she ‘really didn’t want to put one of my best officers on desk duty with O’Connor’, the lack of progress on the case, that some fucking sicko was going around bashing people’s heads in and shooting them for fun, and that he couldn’t kiss Red until they both clocked out which was hours away and far too long to wait.
Eventually Frank stopped, running his sleeve over his head to wipe away the sweat that had built up and regarding the results of his frustrations – a head that was now nothing more than a stump covered in goo.
“I think he’s dead, Frank,” Red said, his face scrunched up as he tried not to laugh. Frank noticed he was one of the only ones, most of the others were looking at him with various expressions of alarm. Wilson was even backing away slightly.
Frank snorted, leaning the hammer against the table before turning on his heel and strolling back to Red, hands deep in his pockets. “All right. Your turn, Sunshine.”
O’Connor huffed. “It’s not like he can aim it anyway. What a waste of time. Can we go whilst he has his playtime trying to hit it? We won’t get any useful information from it.”
Oh, Red was gonna make him eat those words.
Red pocketed his cane and pushed his glasses further up his nose but didn’t move, instead he gripped the baton tightly, pulled back his arm, and then in one, fluid movement propelled it forward and released.
The baton hit the target dead centre.
Frank could hear O’Connor spluttering behind him and a quick glance showed him and his little followers’ jaws dropped in shock. Perhaps the smarter ones would take this as a lesson not to underestimate his Red, or he would take them out; Frank doubted it though, not with O’Connor talking shit.
Nelson gave a whoop and there was a smattering of applause, only Jones’ being sarcastic.
“Fucking show off,” Frank grumbled with a smile. Red tilted his head and smirked at him.
Red sauntered towards the head, twirling the second baton effortlessly as he went, and had stopped in front of it for barely a second before he raised it like Frank had his hammer, and ploughed it down.
The head exploded and Red’s face splattered with the specks of fake blood, droplets speckled all across his face from his hairline to one delicious one just at the edge of his lips that Frank wanted to lick off. It didn’t deter Red, as he chose a different angle and brought the baton down hard again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
Fuck, Frank loved him.
“What?” Red asked, turning to Frank and trying to brush his now ruffled hair back into some semblance of control. “Your heartrate has spiked and your breathing is short. You feeling okay?”
Frank smiled, walking to meet him and touching his elbow lightly, desperate to pull Red closer and wrap his arm around him. Red’s face lit up at the contact and he returned a soft smile of his own.
“There’s something about you covered in blood that really does it for me, Red,” Frank said. He had the horrible feeling he sounded besotted.
He was proved right.
“You two are sickening,” Jones said, her nose scrunching up in disgust. “Seriously, you make me want to puke.”
Nelson also looked a little green.
“I think they’re sweet,” Karen said, grinning at the two of them fondly. “Besides, anyone or anything that shows the slightest bit of happiness makes you want to puke.”
Frank had been right before: Jones and Karen were dangerous together.
Red chuckled and stuck out his arm for Frank to take. Frank instantly obliged and they strolled back to where the group were herded together, all waiting for Curt’s next instruction and to find out whether they were dismissed. Some would stay to hear the results of the test, others didn’t give a shit and would’ve been out of there already if they didn’t think Madani would rip into them for leaving early.
To Frank’s disgust, O’Connor shuffled up behind him and Frank resisted the sudden urge to grab Red’s baton and beat the guy unconscious. That would also cause Madani to rip into Frank, and he didn’t want the woman’s ire.
“You should be careful, Castle,” O’Connor said condescendingly. “If you keep being so…handsy with the little blind ‘doctor’, people might think you’re,” his voice dropped to a whisper “a homosexual.”
Oh good. He was homophobic on top of everything else. Frank’s eyes flickered to the baton. Perhaps Madani wouldn’t mind being an officer down; Frank was sure she’d understand once he explained things to her, and he had witnesses.
Unfortunately, Red seemed to notice his intention as he flung his baton to the side out of Frank’s reach. Frank would have to use words to destroy O’Connor. That was more Red’s thing but Frank had picked up a thing or two.
“Well, I doubt it’d be me getting ‘handsy’ that made them think that,” Frank huffed and looked O’Connor directly in the eye. “Probably more my sticking my tongue down his throat that would do it.”
“I can vouch for that,” Nelson muttered. “That, and the fucking each other in Autopsy.”
“We’ve stopped doing that,” Red defended, his tone matter of fact.
“I…what?” O’Connor spluttered, his head snapping quickly between Red, Frank, and Nelson. “You’re doing...you can’t be!”
“How the fuck did you not notice?” Jones asked incredulously, her lip curled. “They’ve been eye-fucking each other for years. The guys over in Cyber Crimes had a bet going on how long it’d take for them to get together!”
“Who won?”
“Fucking Liberman,” Jones said, crossing her arms. “I think he was hacking your social media for intel.”
“I don’t use social media,” Red said, sounding slightly dazed.
“Oh, so he must’ve just stalked you on the precinct CCTV and waited to see when you started fucking in the Autopsy freezer.”
“We’ve never done that.”
“Sadly,” Frank said.
Nelson sighed. “I was out by over a year on that bet. You were both a bit slower than I thought.”
“The next bet is how long it’ll take for them to get engaged and who proposes to who,” Rand piped up. “My bet is it’ll be Matt dropping to his knees and it’ll be less than a year.”
“That long?” Cage said with a grin. “I’ve got six months.”
“Frank, one year, 2 months,” Karen said with a smirk.
“Oh…fuck off the lot of you. Just because you’re not getting any action,” Frank grumbled.
“I…you’re…you can’t be! You can’t be…together!” O’Connor said, worryingly red in the face and looking like he was ready to blow.
“And why not?”
“Because it’s fucked up!” O’Connor said.
He ignored the way everyone in the room straightened and glared at him. Even Wilson was watching O’Connor with growing scepticism.
“You’re like this strong, stoic, respectable guy who is physically fit, looks after himself, keeps his emotions in check, does he job and moves on, not caving to the demands of the ‘woke’ crowd; a proper man, and he’s…” O’Connor gestured to Red with a grimace, as if that said it all and was all Red was.
Frank growled under his breath, the only thing stopping him from knocking the guy out was Red squeezing his bicep to ground him.
Karen snorted. “Sounds like you’re the one who has a crush on Frank.”
O’Connor looked between the two of them again and shook his head. “No, no, you know what? This,” he gestured between Frank and Red and then pointed at the floor. “This is not real. It’s not happening and you’re clearly trying to make me look stupid.”
“Doing that all on your own, buddy,” Jones muttered.
“There is no way someone like you would touch someone like him, would want to fuck him or touch him or bend over for him. I don’t believe it.”
“What, you want pictures?” Frank growled.
Red gasped dramatically and Frank glanced at him worriedly. It wasn’t Frank O’Connor was being the most offensive too, after all, and Red might genuinely be upset. Frank would take him out of the room if that was the case, and lock them in the Autopsy room where they could eat ice-cream and calm down and snuggle, fuck what Nelson demanded. If his partner was upset, of course Frank would be there for him.
Luckily it seemed Red was not offended, or at least he wasn’t offended and upset. He had a hand to his chest and a surprised expression. “Frank! You can’t show him pictures before I’ve seen them! Those are personal.”
The joke went right over O’Connor’s head. “But you’ll never see them you crippled f-”
Fuck no!
Frank wrapped his arm around Red’s waist and tugged him flush against him, bending down and smashing his lips to his in a kiss that was more violent passion than chaste and sweet. To Frank’s joy, Red kissed back just as hungrily, one hand gripping the back of Frank’s shirt and scrunching it up and the other on the back of Frank’s head as he pulled Frank impossibly closer. Frank’s hands lowered to rest on Red’s hips and he walked him backwards until they bumped into the evidence table, knocking a few of the weapons to the floor. Frank mentally debated whether he could get away with lifting Red up onto the table so he could lie him down, or so Red could wrap his legs around Frank, which is what Frank really wanted to do and he didn’t care about the audience. However, it would mess up Curt’s lab and didn’t look like it'd be too comfortable for Red. Instead, he let his hands wander lower to Red’s ass, delighting in the sharp exhale that elicited from Red.
There was no way in hell O’Connor would ever forget this, Frank wanted it seared into his brain and for him to remember how much Frank loved Red, how much he meant to him, and how he was his; his to protect, his to touch, his to kiss, his to love.
For good measure, Frank made sure his tongue was very visible as he licked Red’s lips when he pulled away.
A quick look around the room showed a range of expressions from amused to bored to curious. Frank shot a glance at Nelson. The man was pointedly looking away from them but not saying anything. Clearly, O’Connor being a homophobic dick was an exception to the ‘no goo-goo eyes at work’ rule.
“You’re disgusting,” O’Connor sneered, before turning back to his friends and bemoaning the decline of the true American alpha male.
Frank spun and started to storm forwards with every intention of pounding O’Connor’s face into the floor and fuck the consequences. He wouldn’t let anyone talk to them like that. Ever.
Red grabbed Frank's arm and tugged him back, pulling Frank against his body and holding him gently in his arms.
“That’s right, do as your little pet whore tells you,” O’Connor said, quiet enough that he could deny it later.
Frank fought against Red’s hold but Red grasped one of his hands and started rubbing calming circles into his skin. He dropped a quick kiss to Frank’s lips before kissing his way up his neck to just below his ear: a spot that he knew Frank loved (the asshole).
“Good things come to those who wait,” Red muttered next to his ear.
“Good things also come to those who beat up assholes: instant gratification,” Frank grumbled.
Red chuckled, his breath tickling against Frank’s ear. “I think we both know from experience instant gratification is overrated.” He nipped at Frank’s ear, letting him know exactly what he was referring to and what waited for Frank if he behaved.
Sometimes, Frank really lamented that Red knew him so well: it meant he knew exactly how to get what he wanted and how to get Frank to agree.
Frank also lamented that he was often led by his dick when it came to Red.
“Right, whilst we’re all here, can I get a list of who’s coming to Fight Night Friday?” Cage asked, pointedly changing the topic.
Frank looked at Red questioningly and Red nodded. Not that Frank had really needed to ask; Red never missed a Fight Night.
“In,” Frank said.
One by one, everyone confirmed their attendance. It was a popular social event, even if it did leave people with bloody noses (Frank), multiple sprained limbs (Nelson. Red had been teaching him new moves and how to avoid injuries since then), and broken bones (that one memorable time Liberman had attempted to take on Wing).
“No thank you,” Nelson said, after an elbow to the ribs from Stahl. “As much as I love seeing grown adults beat the crap out of each other, I plan on spending my off time with my amazing girlfriend celebrating our moving in together.” Nelson pulled Stahl to him and grinned. Stahl giggled then whacked him on the arm hard. They had an odd relationship, but Frank supposed he couldn’t judge.
“What’s this?” O’Connor said curiously. “What’s Fight Night?”
“Once a month, a bunch of us get together on a Friday to spar,” Amy explained. “It’s super fun.”
Jones snorted. “’We?’ You never participate!”
“That’s because last time I tried Foggy ended up limping around for the next week. I watch though and take notes.” Amy grinned.
“That was one time,” Nelson huffed. Stahl gave him a comforting and slightly condescending pat on the arm.
“Oh, I’ll come to that,” O’Connor said. Frank suppressed his groan. O’Connor in a ring where Frank was allowed to pummel him was too tempting. “It’ll be fun to show off my superior fighting ability.”
Cage just nodded. The man had the patience of a saint. “We still good at Fogwell’s, Matt?”
Red nodded. “Yes, I talked to the owner. He said as long as it’s after eight and we clean up after ourselves – ‘including all bodily fluids’, his words, not mine – we can turn up whenever we want and stay late.”
“Brilliant.”
“Does this cost money?” Wilson asked quietly.
“Not really. Matt knows the owner,” Cage said. Red smiled at Wilson, who smiled unsurely back. “He lets us use it for free, but we all pitch in to leave him something – money, a bottle of whiskey, new equipment – and do a deep clean to show our appreciation. It’s only right.”
“Well, you won’t see me giving up my hard-earned cash that I got for defending my country just so some uneducated gym owner can get some freebies. People get enough handouts as it is, I won’t be enabling it.”
“That’s your right,” Cage said calmly. O’Connor glared at him.
“Oh, can I tag along?” Red said innocently. Too innocently. “I’d like to see the new guys in action. Don’t get much excitement from our little home down in Autopsy, do we Foggy?”
Nelson blinked at Red confused. Frank understood why: Red loved Fight Nights, he always went, and now he was suddenly acting like this would be a new experience for him? Still, Nelson played along.
“Well, there was that one time that dead sailor who had been stabbed seven times sat up and walked off and it took us four hours to find him,” Nelson said. “And that time where you opened the guy up and a bunch of frogs hopped out. And that time where we had to lock ourselves in Autopsy because you smelled the body was contaminated and it turned out the poor girl was stuffed full of anthrax. And that time-”
“Okay, we get the picture,” Curt interrupted.
Nelson shrugged. “Never been any fistfights down in Autopsy though.” He paused. “Apart from that time Matt went psycho on that dude who asked us if we would pay him if he let us use his five-year-old daughter’s body for scientific research. And when-”
“Seriously, Foggy. We get it.”
“So I’m good to come?” Red asked sweetly. “I’d really like to see everyone. Maybe even have a go myself.”
O’Connor sneered. “Well, you won’t be ‘seeing’ anything, will you, but why not? You can hear us all in action and maybe learn how it sounds to be a real man. I’ll even volunteer to do a round against you, Murdock, and I’ll go easy. I’m feeling generous.”
A dark grin made its way onto Red’s face. “I was so hoping you’d say that. Thanks, O’Connor.”
Frank smiled slowly, finally realising what Red was aiming for. Suddenly, he couldn’t wait for Friday to come around because oh boy it was gonna be spectacular. Delayed gratification indeed.
There was a yelp from Nelson. When Frank looked at him, he was rubbing his side whilst frowning at Stahl, who was looking at him pointedly.
“On second thoughts, me and Marci would love to come. Gotta see the rookies in action, like Matt said, and we can’t miss Matt vs O’Connor: fight of the century. I’ll bring some sausages from my family’s butcher shop as snacks. You’ll have to bring your own drinks though; the amount of alcohol you guys drink is inhuman and I can’t afford it.”
And by that Nelson meant he and Stahl wanted to watch O’Connor get his ass handed to him by the blind best friend that he’d been mocking since he got here, and they’d rather see that then spend a romantic evening together.
Everyone broke off into their own pockets of conversation with some leaving to head back to work. Frank turned his body so he was facing Red, still held tightly in his arms from before. He raised his hand to cup his face and stroked his cheek with his thumb. Red smiled and leaned into the touch, his head tilted up slightly as he asked for a kiss.
Frank leaned in, his lips brushing Red’s as he spoke. “Wreck him, Red.”
He cut off Red’s laugh with a hungry kiss, wondering how he was supposed to last the rest of the day without more and silencing any comeback Red might have.