A/N- Well, here it is, Reverb #2! This work was written to accompany tumblr user blackstar's SteinSpirit film noir-esque comic (I will add a link in my profile once it is available for viewing). I'm not a noir connoisseur so I don't think I really struck the right tone, but I hope he (and all of you) will enjoy it nonetheless! I'd like to give a huge shoutout to my betas, Professor Maka and Bendandcurl, who are both absolute gifts and who did a tremendous job of cleaning up my comma usage (though this has been revised significantly since they last laid eyes on it, so I'm sure I've managed to muck it all up again).

There is an epilogue to this piece, but it has not been edited (thanks, inconveniently-timed plumbing issue that ate up all the time I had allotted for that today!) so that will be posted in the morning, once I have a chance to go back and look at it again with fresh eyes.

Death City, unlike it's neighbor Las Vegas, was not a city that never slept. Granted, there were more than a few things that went bump in the night, but for the most part, the city was quiet after midnight, and the main reason for that was due to the tireless work of Death's Enforcers.

No one really knew how the Reaper had come to be, but the people of the world had long since accepted that Death lived in Nevada, and the work he and his dedicated police force put in kept the citizens safe and let them sleep in peace. That wasn't to say there was no crime, but it was generally of the white collar kind, less violent (if more pervasive), and the average citizen was more concerned about robbery than racketeering anyway. And from that much, they were kept safe by night watchmen hand-picked by Death himself. No need to worry about goblins and thieves and knives in the dark in Death City.

Or at least… not usually.

The last month, with a string of grisly serial murders, was certainly an anomaly.

The precinct headquarters was a handsome, granite-faced building with imposing colonnades softened only slightly by the row of heat-wilted petunias planted along the sidewalk. It was one of the few buildings in the downtown area that was still fully lit well into the night, but the parking garage next door was sparsely populated, and there was little sign of life behind the windows. The majority of the Enforcers on duty that night were out on patrol. The handful of staff still on duty at eleven minutes to midnight were sleepily looking forward to the ends of their shifts.

Dr. Franken Stein, MD, D.C.J., D.H.S., was one of the few in the building with any verve to his step. He had arrived a few minutes before and made his way to the sixth floor, where Death and his most decorated detectives had their private offices.

He strode down the hallway with a determined air, halting his advance in front of one particular door.

The silver-haired medical examiner raised a hand to the door, then paused. With a heavy sigh, he laid his palm to the wall beside the door frame, posture sagging. His poise— if his odd blend of snickering dark humor and phlegmatic practicality could ever really be called poise to begin with— had been perfect as he entered the building, flashed his badge at security, and nodded blandly to the night staff he passed in the halls, but now that he was here, standing in front of this door…

His head hung forward, hair swinging over his eyes as he struggled for composure. "Am I ready for this?" he mused, voice indistinct as a whisper.

Franken Stein was not, in his own opinion, detective material. His expertise lay in performing the quickest, most accurate autopsies in the state of Nevada— and in the off the record, unofficially officially-sanctioned research he did on the clock, which Death was perfectly happy to overlook because the results of his scientific inquiry had more than once proved helpful in bringing in dangerous witches and the occasional rogue sorcerer. That was his strength, surrounded by beakers and test tubes and the pervasive odor of formaldehyde. He might carry the badge of one of Death's Enforcers, but he'd always considered that more or less a formality. He wasn't the derring-do type. That had always been Spirit's job.

But it was his research that had brought Spirit into his lab two weeks before. It was his knowledge that had unraveled the case. His keen intellect that had put the pieces of the puzzle together. And so here he was, staring at this closed door as he tried to gather his equanimity enough to face the killer waiting on the other side. Did he really have it in him to arrest an old flame, even one who had committed such heinous acts?

With a deep breath and a surgically-steady hand running through his mess of fair hair, he straightened up and reached for the door handle.

The office beyond was well-appointed, as befitted Death's deputy chief, all warm wood paneling and handsome furniture, although the professional atmosphere was somewhat spoiled by the faux tiger skin rug in front of the desk. The only light came from the single dim desk lamp and moonlight filtering in through the slats of the blinds, giving the space a close, drowsy atmosphere.

The pleather-upholstered swivel chair behind the desk was turned away from him, the occupant facing the window, but he could see the cigarette dangling from long fingers; the smoke wreathed throughout the room, creating a haze in the air and curling around him, awakening a seductive craving. A deep yearning for the burn in his lungs and the bitter taste on his tongue stirred in his gut, and his hands clenched convulsively.

"I see you've found me out," the person in the chair said.

"It wasn't exactly difficult," Stein replied, throat dry and posture relaxed. "After all, my involvement in this case started with my old friend asking me to help clear a murder charge."

That white-fingered hand reached out and tapped the cigarette lightly against the crystal ashtray on the desk, scattering tiny white flakes against the glass. Stein watched in a kind of detached fascination as the all-too-familiar appendage withdrew back behind the back of the chair and his opponent in this criminal game brought the cigarette to their lips.

"And yet all the evidence still pointed to me," they said after a moment, exhaling a puff of smoke that wafted over the back of the chair.

"That wasn't the problem," he replied. "After all, with the premise from the very start being that you were being framed, I expected that some of the evidence would point to you. But the closer I looked, the more things just stopped adding up."

"Oh?"

"Yes."

At last, the desk chair swiveled around, and he found himself staring into hypnotic jade eyes and the barrel of a gun, pointed directly at his chest. Spirit Albarn, all scarlet hair and pristine black suit, poised and languorous, with a smug grin coiling across his lips, was his opponent. Just as Stein had suspected.

He repressed a smirk of his own.

"I just want you to answer one question," Stein said.

"What's that?"

"Why did we break up?"

Spirit's jaw dropped.

Two weeks ago…

It was typical for Stein to linger in his laboratory long after the interns and assistants had gone for the night. He had work to do, and it was easier for him to get it done without interruptions… especially the "pro bono" research he did for Death off the books. But tonight he was not investigating new ways to neutralize curses before they took hold. Tonight he was finishing an autopsy.

He would have let it keep until tomorrow— it had been a very long day and caffeine could only do so much to keep a body going once you hit the 25th waking hour— but Death had put a rush on this one. It was the third corpse in less than a month to be discovered under certain… unusual circumstances. It appeared that Death City might just have a budding serial killer on its hands, and Stein had to admit, he was looking forward to how this all unfolded. According to the intern, Kim, the major news outlets in the city hadn't picked up on it yet— they were still too focused on the ongoing search for some escaped convicts from a state prison outside of Vegas, she had said— but it was only a matter of time before some snoopy reporter picked up the story.

Not that Stein would know. He never read newspapers; they invariably botched the facts.

He bumped the head of his recorder closer, using the back of his wrist to avoid touching the equipment with his chemical-stained gloves. "Preliminary visual examination of the body reveals excessive swelling of the extremities, particularly the hands, inconsistent with normal postmortem swelling," he said. "This is similar to two previous subjects— reference case files DCP-07132016-004 and DCP-07062016-023. Analysis of organ tissue samples will be required to determine if a paralytic was administered to the subject."

"A paralytic, huh?"

Stein froze at the interruption, at the sound of a voice he hadn't heard in over two years. He gathered his wits and formulated a sly grin, turning with slow grace to face the man currently standing in the door to his laboratory.

Spirit was lit from behind by the sickly fluorescent lights in the hallway that turned his red hair into a sort of dizzy neon halo around the edges, while his face was half-illuminated by the patchy light in the lab, halogen bulbs and outdated cathode ray monitors casting an irregular glow over those features Stein had memorized years ago.

Of all the morgues in all the world, he had to walk into this one…

"You shouldn't be in here during an autopsy," he said. "Last I checked, you weren't a licensed physician."

"No, but I'm also not a murderer," Spirit said.

Stein raised an eyebrow. "That's quite the non sequitur."

Spirit's features drew together in that adorably puzzled expression he wore when he was completely clueless. It was an expression Stein had seen a lot of in their college days.

"Not… really…?" Spirit said. "I mean, all things considered…?"

Getting the impression he was missing something, Stein didn't speak. If he knew Spirit at all, he knew it was best to let the man hang himself with his own rope, so he simply removed his gloves with a satisfying snap of latex and pushed the microphone out of the way. He did not, however, turn the recorder off.

"Well," Spirit floundered, clearly awkward underneath Stein's unblinking gaze, "You've been doing the a-autopsies, so of course you know what's been going on, why else would I come down here?"

"Perhaps to see an old friend?"

Spirit, to Stein's amusement, went so red in the face he was nearly monochrome.

"I-I just meant I wouldn't want to bother you when you're working if it's not important."

"...of course."

Spirit couldn't maintain eye contact any longer, so he dropped his gaze to his feet and fiddled with his tie. Frankly, after the way their relationship had ended, Stein took a great deal of pleasure in drawing out his obvious discomfort.

The microphone beeped.

Spirit shuffled his feet.

Somewhere down the hall, in a better-lit and better-funded part of the building, someone's desk phone rang.

Spirit cleared his throat and scratched nervously at his ear.

Stein surreptitiously flicked a syringe off the counter he was leaning against— it wasn't a pin, but he wanted to see if he could hear it drop, anyway.

"Oh for fuck's sake!" Spirit cried finally. "I know you have to have read the reports since you're doing the autopsies!"

Stein decided to let him off the hook. "Yes, I'm aware. Your fingerprints were found at the second victim's apartment and footprints matching your custom size seven-and-three-quarters shoes were found next to this charming corpse over here." He pointed over his shoulder at the body on the table behind him.

Spirit went a bit gray as he looked past Stein at the victim, and his posture sagged. "It's been kept out of the papers," he said. "The boss doesn't want a scandal if we can help it. I was questioned, of course, but the evidence is circumstantial at the moment, so I'm on… I guess you could say... provisional release."

Stein nodded. "I'm aware."

"How the hell are you aware of that?"

"Precinct gossip. News travels fast and Kimial has some of the loosest lips of any young woman I've ever met."

Spirit groaned. "Fantastic. My reputation is ruined. I'll never get a date again!"

"Is that really what you're most concerned about right now?"

The redhead sagged slightly, and he shook his head slowly. "No, but you know me, if I don't focus on something superficial right now I'll go bonkers."

"Shallow," Stein mused, "but perhaps an effective tactic for the preservation of mental health. Considering our past history, however, your concern with your coital prospects would not seem to explain why you've come to see me."

Spirit's expression was priceless, and Stein had to admit he took some pleasure in the jab.

"Stein, I need your help proving my innocence."

He had expected a request of that nature, nearly from the moment Spirit had entered the room. "I'm a medical examiner, Spirit," he said, "not a detective."

"You were trained as an Enforcer, same as the rest of us."

"And I chose not to pursue that path."

"You would've been one of the best— you were the best. I'm being framed, I'm sure of it, and the only person I trust to help me is you."

Spirit looked on the verge of pleading, and it put an uncomfortable twist in Stein's chest; he was just grateful that Spirit wasn't trying to seduce him into helping. It was a trick he had tried more than once when they were younger, and the success rate had been so low that Stein really wasn't sure why his former partner had kept trying. To have him try something so low now would have been more than he was willing to tolerate.

Letting out a long breath and longing for a cigarette, Stein nodded. "Tell me what makes you suspect you're being set up."

Present…

Those facsimile jade eyes went wide with confusion at Stein's question. "Why did we brea— What sort of question is that at a time like this?"

"Humor me," Stein requested dryly, ignoring the pistol Spirit still had aimed at his chest. "After all, I've come here… all alone… to confront a person I know to be a murderer. Consider it closure, if you will."

Spirit's expression slid into something dark and perhaps a touch licentious at his words. Knowing what he knew about the person confronting him, Stein couldn't help but feel a shiver down his spine. But then the heat in those lying eyes withdrew and a sort of pasted-on indignance replaced it.

"Well, obviously because you used to perform horrible experiments on me and cut me up in my sleep!" Spirit exclaimed. "Why would I want to date someone like that?"

Stein sighed heavily. Those words from his enemy were the last proof he'd needed to be absolutely sure of his suspicions.

"Yes," he said. "I thought you might say that. Back in our academy days, it felt as though every tongue was wagging with the rumors. 'Franken Stein and Spirit Albarn are gay,' they said. 'I hear they fucked in the locker room showers.' 'I hear they had a threesome with Tezca.' 'I hear Spirit dumped him because he's a psycho who cut him up for fun.'"

The man in the chair looked at him with obvious confusion. "Why are you talking about th—"

"Because it's important," Stein interrupted, tone conversational. "After all, as a man of science, I am dedicated to accuracy. To truth, if you will. And in the interests of scientific accuracy, we should clear up certain… misunderstandings."

"Alright…?"

"Firstly, neither of us is gay. The correct term would be bisexual— correct definitions are an important part of any investigation, whether scientific or legal, after all. But then, you were aware of that. Secondly, who would've ever thought that academy students could be just as vicious as those at a regular high school? You would think that Death would choose more socially-adjusted people."

"You would think," Spirit said in an uncharacteristically sardonic tone of voice.

"Thirdly, and most importantly," Stein said, fixing his opponent with a hard glare, "The rumors about me cutting Spirit Albarn up were blatantly and utterly false."

"What?!" the person wearing Spirit's face exclaimed.

"We broke up because Spirit was functionally incapable of monogamy, and he is very, very aware of that fact," Stein continued. "Which means… you really should have done better research before trying to hoodwink me, Medusa."

One week ago…

"You're sure this victim is from the same killer?" Mira Nygus asked through the barrier of the surgical mask she wore.

Stein nodded. "Absolutely positive. Traces of the same venom used to paralyze the other four victims have been found in his bloodstream and organ tissue. It does not, however, appear to have been quite as effective, given his size."

"Hence the stabbing."

"Correct. Although all the other victims were strangled, Mr. Lykos here was still able to fight back, so our culprit had to find another way to subdue him."

The mask concealed most of Mira's expression, but the wrinkling at the corners of her eyes indicated a disgusted scowl. "Sick."

"Indeed."

"But just because the same poison—"

"Venom."

"Venom, whatever. Just because this guy was dosed with the same stuff doesn't necessarily mean it's the same killer, right? All the previous victims have been female."

"All the previous victims have been former sex partners of Spirit Albarn."

Nygus glanced at the bloated corpse they were working on. "You're saying that Albarn…?"

"Oh please, Mira," Stein said dryly. "You went through the academy with us, I'm sure you've heard all the rumors."

"I'm not really the kind of person to pay much attention to gossip," she responded. "But okay. So Albarn slept with this guy. How do you know?"

"Because Spirit's number was listed in his phone under 'Bow Chicka Wow Wow' and also because Spirit told me."

Nygus let out a snort of laughter badly disguised as a cough, and returned to stitching up the incision they had made an hour and a half earlier in the victim's chest. "Wow. Alright then. So that's why Albarn's been detained again, I take it."

"Yep."

"It's so strange. He's a good Enforcer. You wouldn't take him for a potential serial killer."

Stein shook his head. "No. Spirit doesn't have any of the personality hallmarks common in serial murderers. He's a social creature, very gregarious and compassionate, and is neither manipulative nor a control freak."

She gave him a sideways look. "Considering your nasty breakup and the fact that all the victims are Albarn's other exes, I'm surprised nobody has suspected you yet."

"I thought you weren't one to listen to gossip."

"It's literally the only thing Kim has been talking about for a solid week," she pointed out.

Well, he had to hand her that. "I'm surprised she's interning with a medical examiner. You'd think a newspaper gossip column would be more her speed."

"Papers don't have gossip columns anymore," Nygus said. "There are whole magazines for that nonsense."

"I wouldn't know, I never read any of them anyway. As to your question, a good alibi is a beautiful thing," Stein replied with a slightly grim smile. "I've killed no innocents. And nor has Spirit. I'm certain."

"Are you really sure of that?" Nygus asked. "You sure you're not letting personal prejudices blind you in this case?"

It was a fair question. The evidence pointing to Spirit was growing, and he only had an alibi for one of the five murders. Given this most recent death, Spirit would probably be sitting out the rest of the investigation out in jail. It was all just inconclusive enough to keep the investigation ongoing, but he had to admit, it looked pretty damning.

"It is possible that I am… biased. I'm choosing to believe in Spirit."

Nygus gave him a measured look over her surgical mask, her striking eyes taking cool measure of him. "Well, as long as you know what you're doing."

"I certainly hope I do," he murmured.

Present…

Spirit— or rather, the snake wearing his face— gasped in outrage. "Medusa?" she demanded. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"Exactly what I said," Stein replied conversationally. "You're not Spirit, you're Medusa Gorgon. I have to admit, that glamour you're wearing is rather impressive. If I didn't know it was you, I'd be completely fooled."

"You've finally lost your mind. Dropped every last marble you had left."

She had long since stubbed out her cigarette, and her fingers betrayed her nervousness. It actually surprised him— he didn't know Medusa half as well as he knew Spirit, but he'd never taken her for the type to even be capable of nerves. But her right hand was fiddling uneasily with the ashtray, while her left clutched the gun still pointed at his chest.

"Spirit is right-handed," he pointed out.

She hissed in annoyance. "Alright, fine," she said, and with that serpentine grace that had always been her hallmark, she rose to her feet, shedding the magic that had mimicked Spirit's appearance as she did so. When she spoke again, her voice too was changed, dropping from Spirit's warm tenor into her familiar throaty tone. "You caught me. I impersonated an officer of the law. That's… what, a misdemeanor?"

"In Nevada, yes, provided that no associated felonies are committed. However, considering that you've also committed several murders and recently escaped from the state penitentiary along with both of your sisters, I suspect the penalties will be a great deal steeper."

"You heard about that, hm?" She extracted herself from behind the desk, approaching him with a swivel of her hips.

"It was the last clue I needed to realize what was really going on," he said. "I really should take up reading the papers— if I'd known sooner that you were out of prison, I suspect I would have realized you were behind the murders a great deal earlier than I did."

Medusa shook her head, giving him a smile that was almost sickeningly fond. "You're so droll, Stein. I've always liked that about you."

Eager to ignore the taunting Medusa seemed to think passed for flirting, Stein said, "I have to admit, I should have picked up on it before. The venom to paralyze your victims, the constriction… it all fits your aesthetic so nicely."

"It does, doesn't it? I thought you might like that."

He repressed a sigh, very aware of the fact that she was still carrying the gun. She had always been like this. Medusa had been his… well, for lack of a better word, he supposed she had been his rebound after Spirit. Another student at the academy, one of the few who could match (or, if he was being honest, surpass) him in intellect, she had latched onto him like a constrictor almost the second he was single. He had gone along with it out of sheer loneliness, and he was the first to admit that that had been a mistake. A bad one. When it had been discovered that she was a witch— and one up to her eyeballs in highly illegal experiments, no less— he hadn't even been all that surprised.

"But I was working under the false assumption that you had prison as your alibi," he continued, still determinedly ignoring her, "so it didn't even occur to me until my intern mentioned your escape by name."

"Oh Stein, I'm hurt. Am I really so out of sight, out of mind?" she asked, a clearly fake pout on her lips.

"You were barely on my mind when you were right in front of me," he said.

"I'm perfectly aware of that." Her expression had slipped from dark and coy to merely dark, and Stein was aware he needed to tread carefully.

"There's one thing I don't understand, though."

She tilted her head curiously. "The great Franken Stein, admitting he doesn't know everything?"

"I must be losing my touch," he said with a shrug.

"I don't believe that any more than you do… but even if it were true…" She reached out a hand to lay her palm on his chest, black-painted fingernails tapping against the security badge pinned to his coat. "...you know I could help you get it back. I was always good at keeping you on your toes."

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand off of him. "That's one way of putting it," he said, his mild voice a stark contrast with how hard he held her— he was angry, and it showed in his grip. Not that it would hurt her; she was a witch, after all, and at least as physically strong as he was.

"Enlighten me, then," she snapped, yanking her hand back out of his grip with most definitely superior strength. "What puzzle can't you work out?"

"Your motive," he said baldly. "The stereotype that all witches are bloodthirsty murderesses is just that: a stereotype. And frankly a pretty prejudicial one. I suppose every species has their bad eggs, and you always were a devious woman, but… why? You were never a killer. Why now? Why try to frame Spirit?"

Whatever he'd been expecting, it certainly wasn't for Medusa to throw back her head and laugh. "Isn't it obvious?" she crowed. "It was all because of you."

"What?"

"I always hated that ginger playboy," she said, and there was a frankly alarming gleam in her eyes. "And the fact that he had your attention just made it worse. As you say- you never saw me. I loved you and you never saw me, and it was because you couldn't look away from him."

"So it was… what, revenge?"

"Of a sort," she said with a shrug. "Killing two birds with one stone, you could say. Framing Spirit, tarnishing your idealized view of him, and venting all that killer instinct that had to be repressed while I was in prison, all at once… because you're wrong, you know. I won't speak for any other witches, but me? Oh, I'm a killer all right. Always have been, just ask my sister. Just because I never got caught doesn't mean I don't have skeletons in my closet."

"You're foul," Stein pronounced. He felt more than a little sick to his stomach, and suspected he would feel worse once he had time to really think about what she'd told him, but for now, he was on the hunt, focused, determined in what he had come here to do.

She smirked. "Yes, and you love it. Admit it, you do. I appeal to your wilder side, Franken Stein, and that's why you went straight for me."

Feeling bemused despite the dangerous situation he had found himself in, he remarked, "It's not really 'going straight' if you're bisexual, Medusa."

"Whatever you say." She waved a hand, dismissing her casual bigotry with appalling ease. "Come away with me, Stein. Your other ex-lover is going to prison the second the sixth victim is discovered with his DNA all over the body, and I can offer you the world. Insights into reality that mere human science could never give you. I'll commit to you, the way that drunken idiot never could."

Stein shook his head. "I'm sorry, Medusa, but I can't do that."

"Why not? What's stopping you?"

He flashed her a smug grin. "You're unaware of three key things again."

"Oh?" Her eyes were slitted and deadly.

"Yes. The first is that, although Nevada is an all-party consent state when it comes to recording conversations, there is legal precedent for taping an encounter without the consent of one or more parties in an emergency situation where it is impractical to wait to obtain a court order before proceeding."

Her mouth dropped open in astonishment.

"The second is that I've taped this entire conversation, Medusa," he said. "And it's been sent via live streaming to the Enforcer's secure servers."

She was white with fury, and he could tell her hands were shaking because the muzzle of her handgun was quivering. "And the third?" she asked coldly.

"The third is that Sergeant Sid Barrett and a number of his finest officers are waiting outside this room to arrest you the second I give the signal!" he said, raising his voice so that he could be heard even outside the well-insulated room.

Medusa snarled in rage.

The door burst open.

The gun went off.

Epilogue to follow...