A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed this story. c: You pretty much made my day. So, here's chapter two for you all. I'm not sure how long it'll take before I update with the third chapter because I actually need to write it. These two I actually had written beforehand, mainly because I was hopeful that FF would add it. But anyway, I don't own, and please enjoy!
"Yo, pretend you're Oaks, and I'll be you."
It's stupid, but it's the best suggestion he has. He sighs when she shakes her head at him, half out of irritation, half out of amusement. They've gotten nowhere in the past thirty minutes, but not for lack of trying. And no matter how hard they might try, there's still that thought at the back of their minds: Richmond's still in jail, and the Larsens will suffer more the longer they wait.
Linden regards him carefully for a minute before finally declaring, "Let's just do this, Holder. We're wasting time."
"An' what, exactly, do you propose we say?"
She bites her lip out of frustration, closes her eyes, and covers her face. He watches as she does this; strangely enough, she looks vulnerable, which is hardly something he'd ever expect to see on her. But, then again, she's folded up in one of two rugged, old chairs in his living room, knees tucked up to her chest, and she doesn't seem to care about being the intimidating detective she normally is. He laughs inwardly as images of her futile strikes resurface; how could she have thought that she would actually do any damage?
Holder's still crouched in front of her, in the same position he's been in since she first fell into the chair half an hour ago. His legs are cramping, protesting the stance, but he's ignoring them the best he can. The way he sees it, he's got a better chance of reasoning with her when they're eye level and facing each other. It's strangely comfortable, considering the situation. He can watch her, she can see him, and it's all very companionable for two people trying to figure out their doomed future.
Finally, he reaches his hand forward, and grips her arm gently. This catches Linden's attention; she slowly opens her eyes, raises her face, and looks at him. At first, he's afraid of any leftover rage in her eyes, but she's only looking at him with wonder and determination. He takes it as encouragement and says, "Fine, Linden, we'll just go see Oaks, 'kay? But we gotta get some things straight first, yo."
"Holder," her voice is stern. "We can't just stay here and debate this on the hopes it'll go away. If we keep doing this I'll just go myself, and, need I remind you? This shit is all on you. I'm not covering for you."
"I know, but we can't just march in there. Who's doing the talking?"
"You."
"I can't do this alone-"
"Fine," her tone is begrudging, "I'll talk if and when I have to, but otherwise it's all on you. Now can we get going, Holder? The longer we stay here, the more I want to get the hell back to Sonoma," she pauses, and looks a tiny bit depressed. "Wait, I can't. No money. So I'm stuck with you."
"You don't sound too happy about it." She opens her mouth, anger flaring in those eyes, but he keeps going, hastily recovering, before she can start flipping out on him again. "I get it, Linden, you don't have to be happy with me. Let's just get the hell out of here."
Still, she glares for a few seconds before nodding and unfolding her legs from her chest. Only when she yawns does he realize just how tired she really is, but he knows better than to offer her a chance to sleep. Not now, anyway. They've hit a period where she's not screaming curses at him every other second, so he'll take what he gets. Instead, he stands up straight, stretching both arms out behind him. She stands on her own, unassisted, but he does feel guilty for not even offering his hand.
Oh well. Too late - like so many things lately.
They share a look - he's not sure what it means, she's not sure what it doesn't mean - and then they're ready. They've got to go now or they'll never leave.
Mitch Larsen hasn't slept.
It's funny, because this should be the one day she can actually sleep, but she's got a feeling, and it refuses to leave her. It's one of those feelings, the gut-wrenching, heart-numbing sensation that starts at the bottom of the stomach and works its way up until it slowly tears a person apart. Because that's what it's doing, isn't it? Tearing her apart, and, in the process, forcing her awake.
She knows it's past noon now, but she still can't get out of bed. It's fine; Stan will get the boys, or Terry will, maybe even Belko. Belko. She feels a bit guilty over how cruel she's been to him in the past two weeks, but she can't even think of a way to apologize. Besides, no one had seen him since he'd left the night before. Terry had told her he'd left, and she didn't know anything more. At first, she'd felt relieved, happy that the rat was finally gone, but is she really missing him now?
Hmm. Idly, she thinks that she just might call the man and request his coming back. Or maybe she'd tell Stan to call him. The latter option sounded better. She can't even begin to imagine what to say.
Yawning, Mitch rolls over, tossing a hand across her eyes to shield herself from the sun. She curses the bedroom window and instead chooses to stare at the opposite side of the room, where she's immediately surprised to find there really is someone beside her. Confused, she gently prods her husband. "Stan? Why're you in bed?"
He doesn't yawn, only opens his eyes and looks at her. It's obvious he hasn't been sleeping at all. "I got some bad news, Mitch."
Fear hits her like lightning and she immediately freezes. What could possibly happen now? What could be worse than what they'd already gone through? He must have seen the look on her faee and guessed she's inches away from tears because he scrambles to say, "The boys're fine, Mitch. Terry took 'em to school. It's… it's Belko that's the problem."
She's still scared, but not so much. The only encouragement he receives is a slight nod from her, but he still takes an extra heartbeat before actually speaking. "Belko's… Belko's dead, Mitch," his voice breaks; she's not sure if it's out of stress, or depression over his friend's death.
"How?" It's the only thing she can say, and she knows it hurts him to choke out the next words, but she needs to know.
"He shot himself. B-but not before shooting… Not before shooting Richmond."
And now she understands.
Her mind goes blank and her only words are, "Oh, my God."
They're getting stared at.
Well of course they're getting stared at. First of all, she doesn't even work here anymore. She's not Homicide Detective Sarah Linden of the Seattle Police Department, she's just Sarah Linden, civilian, ex-cop. And he's… he's not working a case. There's no reason for him to be here, especially not with her by his side. Still, they expected this, and thus force themselves to look through the stares, and ignore the questions, until they reach Oaks's door.
Once there, they stop outside. It's closed. Damn their timing - he's talking to another detective, or in a meeting of some kind. They'll have to wait. They share a look, much like the earlier one, filled with impatience and waning confidence. They really can't wait too long, or they'll be bombarded by other cops - which is something they most certainly do not want. They don't even know what they'll say to Oaks, so how could they know what to say to a thousand other cops?
Holder imagines himself saying, "Yo, wattup, guys? Linden's just, y'know… visiting. 'Cause I kinda fucked up. Big time. Like, screw-your-career or kiss-your-ass-goodbye bigtime." He can almost see her smacking him and growling, "I'm not cleaning up his mess, I'm just here to let Oaks know he's a screw-up."
Okay, so he's nervous, but he'll have to hold himself together. The way Linden's looking at him every few seconds, she probably knows what he's feeling - maybe she shares the emotion. But either way, they're stuck here.
He starts counting seconds but is so startled when the door opens that he loses all thought of the time that has passed. It's only been three minutes at most, he decides, but the way his heart rate is jumping, it could've been twenty years and he would've been too shaken to notice. A rather pissed off Oaks stops, takes a look at both of them, shakes his head, and then withdraws into his office. Holder sneaks a glance at his female partner and they take it as a cue, both squeezing into Oaks's office.
Once there, they realize that they really are fucked. They have no idea what to say now. Inwardly, Holder's cursing himself for agreeing with Linden, and even she's cursing herself for her own idea. It's not until Oaks finally demands, "What are you two doing here?" that they try to explain themselves.
Unfortunately, they both speak at once, and their sentences jumble together into something like, "Yo, I-Holder-Linden-Larsen-Richmond…" They stop in unison, look at each other, and each draw a deep breath. It's Holder that speaks this time, "Oaks… we gotta problem. Like, big time. I mighta fucked up bad."
If Oaks had a problem with his language, he was skipping over it now. He was glaring furiously at both detectives (ex-detective and soon-to-be-mall security, he renamed them inwardly), trying to decipher exactly where the hell they could go wrong. It had to be the Larsen case - why else would Linden be back? The man cleared his through rather loudly. "How bad is bad, Holder?"
"Um… very bad?"
"Spit it out, then, or you really will be asking to work as a mall cop from now on," he was trying to control his words, he really was, but it just wasn't working out for him. Oaks was expecting Holder to answer him, but the detective looked as though he'd swallowed something poisonous (a very odd look for the man; he'd never seem Holder look anything but infuriatingly arrogant).
Instead, it's Linden who answers, after a heartbeat of waiting on her partner. She looks equally disgusted by what she's saying, but at least she has the courage to speak. "We may've made a mistake by arresting Richmond. The-the evidence may be… dismissible in court. In other words… fake."
"What the hell?" Oaks explodes at her, at both of them. "How does that happen? And what do you mean, 'fake?'"
"Fake meaning not real, yo," Holder blurts out before he realizes what he's saying. He looks shocked at himself and quickly back-pedals. "I-I mean… we may've made a mistake with the picture. Of the toll booth. T-turns out it's not real."
"Then how the hell did it get into your hands?"
Oh shit. Oaks is catching on fast. Holder chances a look at his partner but she won't look back at him, despite his willing for her to help. He's alone in this, isn't he? She wasn't kidding when she said she wouldn't say it all for him.
"Bad source, y'know? Like… I made a mistake, Oaks. A bad one," he tries, and quickly realizes it just doesn't cut it. His next words blur together, becoming only slightly distinguishable, but not enough to get out the meaning. "." Linden coughs beside him, a not-so-silent signal that he's making no sense, and he's forced to try again, but slower. "I… might've… accidentally… sort of, y'know, taken in bad evidence… might've listened to my old partner… oh, hell, the picture was forged."
Rage flares in Oaks's eyes even faster than it had in Linden's. Linden was damn scary when she was angry, but Oaks was giving her a run for her money. Maybe it was the higher rank that made him appear so much more intimidating, maybe not; either way, Holder wa feeling very small at that moment. "S-sir, I know I-"
"Screwed up? Yeah, Holder, you really screwed up," Oaks rages. "What the hell do I do now? Call the courts and get Richmond released? You realize he could fucking sue us on this? The man just lost an election, he'll be pissed."
Well… if a swearing Linden was shocking, this was… he wasn't even sure what this was. "I know I screwed up, alright? J-just let me fix it."
Oaks only makes a noise that sounds very much like a growl before turning his attention to Linden. "And what do you have to say for yourself, Sarah? Or him?"
"I had no part in this," Linden defends, trying her best to keep her tone steady, "but Holder's right. He's only a rookie. I should've known to check his evidence. I know this is a bad situation-"
'No kidding it's a bad situation."
"-but there's gotta be a way to fix this."
"And how do we keep the family from screaming at us? This could cost me my job, Sarah!"
"I'm sorry, I'm not trying to make you lose your job, I'm trying to fix a screw-up."
"Thanks for that," Holder mutters. Unfortunately, this brings all attention back to him. Quickly, he scrambles for the best option he could think of. "Yo, we could, uh, we could deal with this quietly. Hold off on Richmond's sentencing, y'know? Let the family believe s'all good while we catch the real killer."
"That'd be great," Oaks starts, his tone still menacing, "if Belko Royce hadn't shot Richmond this morning."
"What?" Both partners demand simultaneously. "But-"
"But nothing. The bastard shot Richmond and himself. So there's no dealing with this shit quietly."
"You just said Richmond could sue, though-"
"Yeah, I meant his campaign."
"Oh, fuck," Holder mutters. "We're so fucking screwed."
"No doubt," Linden acknowledges, shaking her head. "No doubt."
