The human Blake doesn't receive enough attention in this fandom. The man gotta a heart, you know XD
Thanks for Pectus Noctem for taking the time to proofread and polish "Friendly Fire". Go read for her; especially "Snapped" and "Je T'Aime"
Friendly Fire
Working hours are almost over in the precinct where Blake is currently stationed. A few more minutes and it's "revenge time". How therapeutic it will be to finally deliver a most-deserved beating to the most annoying brat he has ever seen: FBI Agent Norman Jayden. Blake just doesn't like him. Seeing his face is enough to trigger the urge to punch it repeatedly. Of course, there are far more reasonable justifications for his dangerous attitude, but he doesn't want to think with reason—reason is the sworn enemy of revenge.
God bless the lack of punctuality among his co-workers who have already started slipping out from every exit like quicksilver. As usual, the big boss has already left and it is a weekend eve, so ten minutes won't make a different. Besides, there are the few unlucky ones who will shortly arrive to spend another lonely night on duty.
For Blake, he's waited long enough, and most of the employees have left already. Excited with bloodlust, he loudly pushes his chair backward with the momentum of his abrupt stand. He knows what he needs to do. He knows where he must go. So, impulsively, he heads straight to the Profiler's office with unwavering sight set on the bland door that hides his prey.
He hasn't seen him leave. He is sure of that because he was keeping a watchful eye all the time. The poor agent would have run if he knew what the vengeful lieutenant was plotting ever since he baselessly accused him of being the Origami Killer. It's not as if the preposterous accusation is the only act of disrespect that Jayden has carried out since his unwelcome arrival. It was just the straw that broke the camel's back. Now, the camel is very angry about it and would like to get a bloody payback.
How many doors has he kicked down in the past few days? He can't remember. It's not like he needs to keep counting to break a record or something. However, if he does, he may actually make it into Guinness World Records. Well, perhaps the counting could start now.
One is down and the door to Norman's so-called office swings inward thanks to a single pound from the human ram known as Lt. Carter Blake. At this point, there is no backing down for sure. Why does it matter anyway? Blake is a decisive man. His decisiveness peaks when he sees his ignorant target; strangely not awakened by his grand entrance, as he continues napping with head slumped on top of the dusty desk. Still seeing red, Blake dashes to the desk side and slams both hands forcefully; shouting with all the venom and hatred that's piled up inside of him for the past few days.
"Wake up, you asshole!"
Oddly, and considering that a very angry and very provoked beast has just roared at him within inches from his head, Jayden is not snapping from his snooze. It cannot be normal to sleep through the tornado that is whirling within his office—not without at least stirring.
For Blake, this is insulting. How long is this asshole planning to keep on offending him? It doesn't matter. He is here to show him the error of his arrogant ways starting with a swift flip of the tattered chair he is occupying. Blake sends the dreaming sleeper crashing backwards along with his chair, hitting his head on the concrete floor.
Silence falls suddenly and Blake's outburst goes short on fuel, allowing clarity better access to his violent mind. He takes in the scene fully: Jayden is sprawled motionlessly on the floor with his legs still entangled in the chair. Now that he is allowed view of the 'asshole's' face, he notices how the profiler is still wearing those ridiculous sunglasses in spite of the aggressive knock that Blake had just delivered.
The lieutenant's eyes narrow upon seeing traces of dried blood below the shades—twin rivulets illuminated by the blue neon glow which is produced from the unusual device (he already knows that Jayden's sunglasses aren't mere eyewear since he's seen him using it as a projector couple of days ago). With an investigator's instinct, he crouches and reaches a careful hand to check for pulse. However, his hand retreats midway, in startled irritation, when the irritating man lets out a pained whimper.
In response, Blake curses through gritted teeth,
"Norman, you little shit."
He immediately snatches the glasses to expose the bloodied eyes of the sprawled man. Tasting vengeance, he smiles sadistically when a pained Jayden growls at the sudden assault of light on his sore eyes.
Slow and groggy, Norman's perception starts an inner transmission of his current situation. It speeds up, urged on by the stabbing light that penetrates his sensitive pupils. He tries to shield his eyes by squeezing them shut—apparently, he's forgotten that he can use his arm. He gradually opens them, trying to adjust to early brilliance. He cannot say that he is eager to welcome the scene in front.
After using ARI for this long, the agent came to know every single environmental theme uploaded in the device. Soon he came to favor "the autumn forest", making it his default whenever it is time to analyze clues gathered from a bloody crime scene. Dangerously disturbing, the scene he's waking up to isn't like any autumn forest, not even remotely similar.
The serious expression that appeared on Blake's face returns when Jayden opens his reddened eyes. It isn't the bleeding that worries him—the amount isn't significant enough to raise an alarm. He wordlessly observes how the unfocused pairs seem to dart anxiously around the office. Puzzlement ceases him when the other lifts himself partially before he reaches with a trembling hand to remove the sunglasses that he believes to be resting on the bridge of his narrow nose.
No wonder this scene doesn't resemble anything from ARI's fantasy reality—he is not in the virtual realm that his lost glasses evoke at will. His sun is nowhere to be found, dethroned by the blue moon that ruled over his sky, his life. A cold wind sweeps the wasteland that extends beyond to the gray sky, chilling him to the bone with its mournful wails.
Is he hallucinating from ARI overuse? How can he snap from it? He cannot take Tripto—he just took a hit. Yet, this is real. It feels real. Where is he? When did he leave the quiet of his office? The last thought struck him with unnatural dread, warning him not to entertain the idea any longer.
Blake quietly studies the bloodshot and moist eyes that expand in horror upon some inner discovery. With apprehension, he watches the breathless man scanning the office with hysterical gazes. To his surprise, Jayden's eyes connect blankly with his. The mystified cop finds himself looking straight into a blind man's eyes that held no light nor recognition but dark blood glistening on the surfaces of twin pale pools.
Laws of nature don't seem to apply in this foreign realm. Dark and heavy clouds suddenly appear as if they were summoned by the ritual dance of a magician's wand. They come rushing to cluster around one another and honor their heavenly kinship—their speed is unnatural. Soon, the oversized icy moon meets the same fate of the unseen sun; drowned in a sea of murky mist.
The burdened sky whines under the abnormal load but who would bestow mercy in this God-forsaken land? Soon it is illuminated by blue radiance that runs it through with forking veins of cold light. The momentary glow reveals the true identity of the mystical land, throwing its lone inhabitant into unearthly turmoil.
Makeshift broken crosses are impaled in the solid ground—immortal witnesses to the miserable history of this land. The graves that they marked so stubbornly seem to overlap in an affinity of the dead. They seem erased completely, even with ground level. They would've been lost in the depth of earth if it weren't for the tattered monuments that endured aging so valiantly.
The sad sky cries in late mourn, shedding frozen tears that hail down the abandoned burial ground. Yet, icy pellets seem to have far grander purpose as they shower the fading graves, bringing life to long-withered beings. In cold horror, he watches the dead arise with deep howls of agony; empty eye-sockets seeking him. Decayed faces he knew from the past appear in front of him; victims on the sidewalk of his life. Faces of dead family members, colleagues, criminals and victims are all alike. Yet, one expected face isn't there. Partially, he is relieved.
Blake observes the younger man who is still trapped in an absurd fit of self-terror. Experimentally, he extends a slow hand inches away from the blood-drained face which is wrapped in otherworldly fear. At this proximity, he notices Jayden's sufficient lack of oxygen. His eyes thin visibly upon realizing the wooden stiffness of the body. Though the distant man doesn't show any sign of noticing the cautious limb suspended in front of him, Blake waves his hand slowly just to verify the finding. Indeed, Norman is in another domain where the other man's existence is not reflected on his unblinking crimson eyes. Sure, he is not eager join the agent wherever he is since, obviously, his imaginary realm is not a fluffy dreamland.
As if Blake's hand has developed a will of its own, the rebellious limb refuses to retreat without being noticed. The intrigued fingers creep with a mixture of curiosity and restlessness. Deliberately, they seek the scared stiff shoulder of the human statue at hand.
Jayden is horrified but he can manage as long as Nathanial Williams—the man he killed out of cowardly panic—doesn't rise from the dead to claim his rightful vengeance. Unfortunately, his hopefulness wither like the creeping corpse in front of him when a cold hand sprouts from the grey soil, shooting high to clasp his rigid shoulder with a grip as chilling as death's hold.
Blake's daring hand shrinks back with a reflective jerk that is a semi-copy of Jayden's forceful one. It would've screamed if it could, inspired by the horror cry of the other man that screeches throughout his dry throat. The shrilling scream is just the beginning—a first stop in the horror train that the hallucinating agent is riding.
The face he dared is onto him, inches away from his fear-ravaged one. It reeks with fresh decay and wet soil. It still maintains its drained features and tired eyes. He has to escape as far as he can. Desperately, he crawls backward, supported by a numb pair of arms that threatened to buckle behind him. Something seems to ensnare his legs—dead branches that seems to manifest out of the blue. Hurried, he struggles to free his legs and manages to maneuver them out but not very gracefully.
Barely blinking, the lieutenant observes the irrational fright and flight that is being displayed in the dimming office. Unintentionally, Jayden has barley managed to free his tangled legs from the chair armrests but not without twisting a limb. His face twitches with the imaginary pain upon hearing the clang produced by the clash of frantic bone and cold steel. Lucky for the younger man, his mind seems utterly dominated with unearthly horror to the degree that he lost touch with physical pain.
As he tries, the older cop fails to understand what could possibly be terrorizing enough to send the FBI agent crawling backward for dear life. He cannot help envisioning a feeble instinct, thrashing desperately after it got caught in an entangling web of hunger devised by ferocious spider. He cannot be the spider, can he? If so, Mr. FBI here better brace himself for far worse physical pain.
A loud thud snaps him from his metaphoric imagination. With no more space to crawl through, the fleeing man has just hit the office wall behind. Clearly, this isn't happy news for the distressed agent as his fright seems to shoot sky-high. He starts hyperventilating in strained gasps that threaten to burst out from his chest. Presented by this scene, Blake realizes that, whatever hallucination the other man is having, it is serious enough to physically engulf him in sheer horror.
Naturally in this unnatural reality, a gray brick-wall manifests behind him out of thin air, as if it's eager to aid the avenger who is rising slowly from mother earth. His dried eyes dart to both sides in search of an escape route. Unluckily, the diabolical wall seems to read his mind and stretches horizontally on both ends. In a flickering second, he and his enemy are alone in a small roofless room that's separated from the rest of the cemetery. He is done for, and Williams will have revenge for the pointless kill. The realization hits him in the face like a violent gush of icy wind that takes away all warmth.
As if his irritation was competing egoistically with Jayden's fear, Blake starts to lose little patience he has. This charade has gone too long, and he barely can resist the temptation to lunge and bounce Jayden's head off the wall. Choosing a calmer approach, he stands and walks slowly towards the desk. He picks a discarded full cup of cold coffee—apparently Jayden never got the time to enjoy the bitter privilege.
He continues his casual stroll, heading towards the man who still has his bulging eyes fixed on whatever monstrosity they are imagining into ethereal existence. With one elegant flip of his wrist, Blake pours the black liquid right on Jayden's head. At an instant, the man who was shivering with mystical cold goes still, trapped in the frozen moment. That's a switch alright, Blake remarks.
He is completely trapped with no hope of escaping the dead man's wrath who is already crawling towards him. Breathing becomes second to feeling the terror that shakes him to the core. He is doomed and, as if it's trying to assure him of his dark end, the sky pours a foreboding black rain. Rapidly, the descending blackness paints everything black, swallowing this realm whole before revealing reality: his office with Blake standing tall above him, holding an empty paper cup.
Feeling proud, Blake lowers himself to catch the look on Jayden's face. He cannot help but grinning upon seeing the wet bangs of the usually neat hair sticky to the profiler's forehead. His grin widens smugly when he sees the light of perception shining through the other's narrowed eyes. Riding his pride, the bully cop starts the verbal abuse, "What? No 'thank you'? I dragged your FBI ass back to reality," but he pauses for a long second before teasing, ". . . nutcase." A sadistic gleam shins through his dark eyes as he watches Jayden's hard gaze loses faith and becomes a defeated one.
Silence stretches between the two but the lieutenant never minds a prolonged moment of triumph. He loses interest when the defeated man speaks submissively, "Are you done?" but soon his cranky alter ego surfaces when the agent challenges, ". . . 'cause I gotta a kid to save." Dark eye twitches with infuriation.
Jayden must have noticed the viciousness that just replaced Blake's early amused face—he bolts to the door. Unlucky for the runaway, Blake has also noticed the gleam of fear that'd flashed in his eyes before determination came to the rescue. Thrusting his forearm horizontally, the lieutenant counters attack the escape attempt, pressing the younger man on the hard wall behind.
"How ya gonna save him if you can't save your psycho ass?" he spits angrily and emphasizes the threat via applying more pressure on Jayden's throat. To his continuous annoyance, the profiler gasps, "I know . . . where he's. I-I got the real . . . killer." He immediately scorns, "What? Nathanial's voices are speaking to ya after you wacked him." Seeing the pained expression in front, he realizes that he's hit a sore spot with the comment.
It wasn't so much of a hit since the agent is back with a confident declaration, "I've proof. I-I can show you." Hearing that, doubt sneaks on him and his hold starts to falter, allowing Jayden's pressured lungs more air. The other must've noticed the change of attitude as he presses him, "You won't lose anything . . . unlike if I was right." Although he hates to admit it, Norman got him. He withdraws his arm and finds himself negotiating, "Show me." The FBI profiler better not be wasting his time.
He watches the other leans to the side, extending an arm to the neglected shades. He notices the unexplainable dread that flashes through the man's eyes as he gets a hold of it. For a second, the sunglasses are shaking visibly but its owner seems to muster the courage at last and puts them on. He goes stiff for a while, as if he was expecting a disaster to fall upon him, but his face relaxes with great relief that decorates his quivering lips with the most genuine smile.
Already feeling that this is a waste of time, Blake observes him putting a lone leather glove before he starts maneuvering the space with his hand. He is a wacko alright, he comments with annoyed amazement. He is about to the crush the glasses into Jayden's face but loses the urge when the other pulls them off offering, "Put them on and see the Origami Killer." Suspicious, he takes them and wears them on—it's better to have this pair of fancy glasses for himself instead of breaking them with the FBI profiler's nose.
Truth to be told, Blake wasn't expecting something when he'd put ARI glasses on. A video starts playing in front of his eyes where the agent is being held down on a table by a shrouded figure—a man. He watches intensely, fascinated by the surreal technology, with Jayden providing in-play commentary, "You see, the killer is taller and bigger than Mars. He's also a cop since he killed Paco with a 45-calibure that is supposed to be in police custody. He's likely an ex-lieutenant in this precinct. You see the gold watch—the watch they give as promotion present for new lieutenant." The last part of the commentary reminds Blake why he came after the profiler in the first place.
Busy building his anger back, Blake fails to react when the opposite man, swiftly, snatches the device from his eyes and tucks it away in his breast pocket. He is about to punch him for the disrespectful act but gets his attention averted when the other speaks, "The killer dropped two gas receipts from the same station. Only one cop lives nearby that station. D'ya know Scott Shelby?" Blake can't help sneering when he hears the direct accusation. He declares proudly, "Yeah and he is no killer, Sherlock Holmes!" His mirth subsides when Jayden teases in faked puzzlement, "Then why would he own a warehouse in an abandoned area of the city? He's not storing nuts for winter, or is he?"
In response, Blake rises slowly but his narrowed eyes never leave Jayden, not even to blink. Distantly, he watches the other rises as well but staggers momentary before he regains his balance supported by the wall behind. Locking eyes with his, the agent keeps quiet in anticipation of a response. Yet and although it is a rare occurrence, the usually sure cop finds himself at lost for both words and action. His mind drifts away, contemplating the dangerous thought of his old partner being a child killer.
Feelings of anger, malice, defeat and betrayal assault him together. The concept of being backstabbed by one of the few he trusts is enraging, enough to send his mind behind a thick red curtain. Did the backstabbing start while Scott was still on the force, while he was occupying the desk next to him? Was he kidnapping children and drowning them in night and come in the morning to share with him coffee and cigarettes? If he is truly the Origami Killer then the answer must be an ugly "yes". That's simply because the murders have started before his friend's resig . . . did he just think of him as a friend? It is bitterly true.
Rare as they are, Scott is one of the few people that the skeptical lieutenant actually thinks of them as "friend". This is natural considering the long history that they share back from early days of their career. Being relative close in age to the ex-cop, relating to him was something inevitable for young Officer Carter Blake. More importantly, he's always thought of the calm and collected cop as his safety net whenever his short temper threw him of the edge of reason. When he saw him the other day in the station, he wasn't ashamed to feel happy at seeing another man. Back then, he naively wished if he was there to rejoin the force, just like the old days.
Jayden spares him the tortuous thought when he decides for both of them, "I bet we'll find Mars' kid there if we check." Hearing that, he realizes how incapable he is of believing that that man can actually commit such a despicable act of betrayal, severing their ties in the process. With a defensive impulse, he slams the agent into the wall and presses him with a vise grip on his throat. Venting a ragged breath of anger and frustration, he speaks into the other's face, "If you're wrong, Jayden . . . I'll shove your glasses up your ass."
Pausing for a moment, he intently observes the other absorbing the sadistic threat; his narrowed eyes never leave the irritated pair. He releases the profiler along with a nervous exhale that hints his inner turmoil to the other man. Although Blake doesn't like the fact that Jayden is, relatively, playing the leader role, he still heads towards the door. In the background, he hears him whispering, "That's encouraging . . . sick bastard!" He ignores the hesitant taunt and exits in haste with a limping Jayden falling behind. He is aware of the younger man's appeals to slow down as he sends him muffled growls of pain. He disregards the signal; Shelby's truth being the only thing on his mind.
TBC
A/N: Some may find the way I wrote the hallucination section confusing but it had to be like this since the whole idea is confusing for both guys. I didn't want to use paragraphs breakers because they tend to break the mood. What do you think? Feel free to criticize.