LA Noire still doesn't belong to me.
Thanks for those who left a review and etc!
Warning: Spoiler towards the end of this chapter for those who didn't complete the game.
The office was spacious, yet Cole always nauseatingly felt cramped while inside.
Lieutenant Colmyer had forced his lips into the fakest smile Cole had ever seen, "Good job, Cole. I like the publicity– This department's hitting the headlines far more often than before." Colmyer patted Cole on the back, a little too roughly to feel gracious. It was stinging slightly at that same spot. "Our most senior detective can surely buy you some drinks for a job well done."
Roy shot him a glare and spat, "Of course." His voice sounded equal parts venomous and charming. The words that came out next though were hardly the latter, "I'll buy Baby Face here all the drinks he could never order without age verification."
Cole cleared his throat, "That won't be necessary." He didn't drink often, and he was less than enthusiastic on sharing a glass with a man who existed as the bane on the department.
"Nonsense!" He turned back to Roy and shot him a look of disdain. "Detective Phelps here deserves at least that much. Don't be tight on your pocket."
The lieutenant's words seemed so forged that Cole couldn't help but grimace. "I can get a drink on my own if I so please..."
Colmyer gave him a stare.
Cole looked to the side and readjusted his tie. "… Sir," he coughed.
Roy chuckled; he found it comical how the visage of someone as uptight and snooty as Cole could warp into such a frightened mouse under superiors. Turning to him with mock compliance, he said, "Phelps, I'm more than willing."
"… Of course you are," Cole sighed deeply. He readjusted his fedora and followed the other detective to his fancy car. He gawkily held out a hand for when Roy would throw him the keys like usual routine.
However, for once, the other got behind the wheel, and patted sarcastically at the seat beside him. "Congratulations, Cole, the people should erect a statue of you in the middle of the Town Square." The engine began to hum as he turned the key on his car.
Cole glanced to the passenger seat then to Roy; he didn't make a move yet. "The criminal was successfully apprehended. That's all that matters in the end."
"You reciting this from your Good Samaritan handbook?"
He sighed, "You never cease to irritate me, Roy." He walked over to the car door and clacked it open, slowly sliding in unto a seat that didn't have a wheel protruding from the front. It felt unusual. He pondered for a second whether he should have sat at the back, but Roy would have only ridiculed him for being so childlike.
"At least I do something right," he mumbled under his breath. "This must be your fiftieth victory here at Ad Vice." He started up the engine and peered at the rear mirror to pull the car out from the space.
"You exaggerate on the numbers."
Roy threw him a smile that had "No shit, Sherlock" pasted all over, Cole throwing one just as malicious back. He drove out to the exit of the parking area, looked lazily from left to right for oncoming cars.
When he started up the car and began to drove, signs of Roy's swagger were apparent at every angle. He leaned back on his seat, one arm over the car door, the other loosely gripping the wheel. Everything about Roy gave the impression of a hypocrite – Whenever Cole relaxed behind the wheel, Roy would make a snide comment on being paid back down to the last cent if so much as a scratch got on his car. However, Roy seemed perfectly comfy doing the same. When Cole was out of cover even for a second during a gunfight, Roy would uncharacteristically scold him in the midst to get behind something while he marched on carelessly, bullets flying past him. As least you can't call him a coward. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat when that thought came up. Why try to justify him?
Roy drove past buildings familiar, all bright and in splendor at night. Signs were flashing and blinking, Roy cruising past them with little interest. Cole had one arm perched over the car door as he glanced at the neon signs of eateries and the billboards littered with graffiti over dull grey structures.
"Roy, we can just stop by a liquor store and call it a night. I can tell that you're not exactly dripping with enthusiasm at having to treat me," Cole said. He thought it plain and simple that that would be the most fitting conclusion since neither of them was really in the mood for drinks.
"You assume so much from so little, Cole." Despite Cole's best intentions to settle the matter in peace, the suggestion only served to incense Roy. "It's true that you wouldn't be able to tell apart good booze from bad booze. But I for one hand am not about to go slumming."
Cole replied blandly, "Careful Officer, I might misinterpret your blatant hostility and self-interest for actual enjoyment of my company."
"Fine then, I obviously don't want to make that impression."
They drove past The Blue Room, causing Cole to arch an eyebrow. "Do you have some special bar in mind, Roy?"
Roy got the hint. He knew this side of LA far better than Cole did; he could tell what place Cole had expected. "Not in particular. Why don't you propose a place?"
Cole seemed stricken dumbfounded, "… I can't say I'm really the drinking type. I don't know."
"Right, you're no Rusty."
He was about to jump in and defend his former partner when the other continued.
"I know this nice restaurant in the area; has a good selection," he murmured as he took a right turn into a narrower street.
"You're awfully decent, Roy," Cole grumbled.
He sneered at the other, feeling victorious. "What a lousy host would I be otherwise?"
"I don't see you as the type," Cole remarked frostily. The statement wasn't said out of offense, but sincerity. He just couldn't imagine Roy being this benevolent host who treated a group of snobby rich friends to some wine tasting event. His excessively pricey wardrobe and car seemed more a case of ego, not of a want to prove anything to anyone. He wasn't Gatsby. He wasn't Trimalchio. He was Roy Earle.
"Not the nice guy type, Cole? Well, Heaven forbid, what type am I then?"
"… Self serving," Cole said sharply. He didn't need to censor himself before the other. Roy's feelings were not something he needed to tread lightly on.
Roy stayed quiet for what seemed an abnormally long wait for the likes of him.
Did I finally strike a nerve? Cole analyzed his face for any irregularities, and for a fracture of a second, he could've sworn that he glanced a true moment of vulnerability in Roy's lifeless blue eyes.
However, Roy became all teeth once more.
The rest of the ride seemed to be awkward only on Cole's part as Roy quietly hummed along with a familiar sounding song on the radio. The bass was thumping loud enough to the point that Cole's ears rang. Finally arriving at the destination, Roy pulled in at a parking lot, stopping in the middle of the entrance and exit. Cole opened his mouth to question such traffic violation, only to see Roy hand over his keys to a young man, a valet.
Cole got of the car uncomfortably, peering at the fancy decorum of the porch of the restaurant. The wooden stairs had a potted plant to each side for every individual step, the doors a fancy glass that pushed inward. Even the valet was dressed in a prim and properly ironed suit. As he entered, a man offered to take his coat. Cole uneasily declined. The walls were a scarlet red, painted exquisitely with gold trim. The ceiling was a classic white, chandeliers dimly lighting the inner rooms of the restaurant, some tables personally lit by candle. To contrast with the deep red hues of the sides, tables and chairs were a cooler sea green. The floorboards were solid and polished, the flat heels of Cole's shoes echoing slightly as they clacked over the surface.
Roy sauntered in after him, tapping Cole on the shoulder, "That eager to march in first, Phelps?"
Cole peered around, spotting the ornate crystal chandelier looming over their heads, "… Roy, this is a little too…"
Roy finished for him, "Too nice?"
No need to beat around the bush. "Yes."
"That's not something to complain about, is it?"
"… Roy," Cole said sternly.
Before Cole could finish his sentence, a man with a thinly trimmed pencil mustache approached them behind the table, his expression snobby and unfriendly, "Sir, a table for two?"
Roy laughed, "Do you see a third person?"
"Right this way, sirs." He escorted the two to a table off near the corner. As they walked, smooth jazz could be heard while snooty people chatted away softly enough to still be able to hear the music clearly. Cole felt under-dressed, as everyone attending the restaurant seemed to wear brand name dresses or meticulously ironed suits imported from some foreign country. Roy had no problem fitting in, as he was always over-dressed for his occupation.
It was romantic and ridiculously classy. The joint was far too extravagant to take a simple coworker to. It suited a wedding anniversary or a great date. Cole felt flushed at the undertones. He imagined how ridiculous or how suspect it looked as two men came in to share a bottle of alcohol.
The waiter pulled up their chairs and muttered, "A waiter will be with you two right shortly."
The seats were plush, a side of the table and the seating embedded in the wall. They were a striking scarlet color, the table lit by a small lantern.
Roy seemed use to this sort of swanky atmosphere, "What are you getting?"
"I think I'll just have some coffee."
"What a boring drink, Cole. Matches you."
Cole grimaced, "Then why don't you order for me?"
"One that matches you? Well, watered down beer, then. But, if we're talking taste… How about a cocktail?"
Cole seemed almost apologetic, "… That's rather heavy…"
"If Colmyer's going to make me spend a cent on you, I might as well make it worth the money," he said with a nasty grin to match.
Charming. Cole's hand balled into a fist over the counter, "This wasn't necessary in the first place. I could've just lied, said that you treated me."
He chuckled, as if it was preposterous to be hearing the word "lie" come out of Cole's mouth. "I'll play nice. I mean, you are going to be the one doing all the paperwork again, right? A gin martini for a great case man," he smiled.
Cole wasn't going to humor him with another reply.
Roy ordered a bottle of some fancy wine Cole couldn't put a name to. He poured a glass for Cole as well.
My head's going to be swimming if I drink too much, he thought as he clutched the glass.
Roy caught his hesitation, "Can't handle a bit of wine, Cole?"
"… You can cancel the martini," Cole grunted as he sipped the wine. It tasted strong, invading his senses with an overflow of grape and alcohol. After a few minutes, it was empty and Roy was refilling it. Cole felt slightly lightheaded as he began to slowly sip the next glass.
Roy held in a snort as Cole continued to sip his alcohol like an adolescent. "This is nicely aged, isn't it?" He took half a mouthful of his own glass.
Cole couldn't tell the difference in taste with the previous wines he's tried. "Yes, thank you," he said hurriedly.
"It's common courtesy to make idle banter when you enjoy a glass." He paused, "What's your favorite color, Cole?"
He was puzzled, "What?"
"We're busy hating each other's guts while at work. Why don't we shelve our hostility for a few minutes?" He raised his glass and raised a brow.
Cole lightly clanked the side of his glass to Roy's, albeit done in a reserved fashion. "Why now?" Why after you've established your role as an antagonist?
"Why not?" He smiled, and Cole was almost awestruck at how genuine it seemed. The ends of his lips perked up gently, much different from his usual lopsided grin. "We have finely aged wine in our hands and some nice music in the background. If not now, when do we ever strike up a friendship?"
"… I didn't find friendship possible," Cole said straightforwardly.
"Ouch, Phelps." He shrugged it off easily enough. He asked once more, "So, what's your favorite color?"
That's a juvenile way to start. Never the less, he pondered on the subject. He gave a generic answer, "… I suppose blue?" At that moment, Cole's eyes reflexively moved up to meet Roy's. They were an icy blue, not the typical tint you saw in most blue eyed folk. Blue eyes were usually the ideal deep Prussian blue or the washed out brown blues of a muddy ocean. Roy had neither, but the color of a cloudless sky, or more fittingly, a menacing glacier in a cold sea.
Roy held his gaze hesitantly before Cole broke it first out of embarrassment.
Cole felt warm at his cheeks; he could only hope that they hadn't changed hue. He coughed into his hand to break the awkwardness.
Roy felt another smile creeping up, "Blue's nice."
"Isn't it common courtesy to answer to a question you asked first?"
Roy chuckled, "I like anything."
"You seem to like warm colors," Cole said, pointing over to Roy's wardrobe. He had on a jacket and a fedora that were based off light reds and browns. His tie and his eyes were the only colors lacking.
"What can I say? Matches my personality," he said sarcastically.
Cole wasn't going to be acknowledging it to himself soon, but he had developed an interest over Roy in due course. He knew very little about the other man, as did many others who had been in the department for times much longer than Cole. He was at constant odds with him, and was always quietly shocked at how much Roy knew about him at first glance. Something about him always managed to intrigue Cole, and now that he had the tables turned, he felt his interest peak a bit from not being the one questioned for once. He could finally find out a bit more about the enigma that was Roy. "What made you join the force, Roy? A Hollywood star seems more appropriate." Cole also liked how their open antagonism for one another made it easy to be up front with each other to a fault. Roy didn't spare his feelings, so neither would he.
"I grew up wanting to have a solid gold bar for a pet. I thought a gold plated badge was close enough by the time I hit my late teens," Roy said with a smirk.
Defensive. "You're a good actor, Roy."
"Am I?" He laughed, "Maybe I should have joined theatre." He poured Cole's glass to the brim when he saw it was half empty, as if silently pressuring the other to drink rather than pry.
"What hobbies did you enjoy as a kid?"
"What does any boy like at that age, Cole? You decide."
"I asked you, Roy," Cole held out.
"Am I obligated to answer? Do I need to tell the truth?" He drank a bit from his glass and set it back down at his side. He leaned back, one arm over the upper edge of his chair. "Is this an interview, Cole?" He enunciated the word sharply.
Cole blinked twice. His tie tightened around him, slightly choking him. Cole reached up to conspicuously loosen the collar at his neck. It might have seemed odd to do so at a table, but the discomfort was unbelievably restricting. Cole muttered, "No, it isn't." Roy leaned in a little close, maybe a feet off from his face, but it felt like inches to Cole. The table had shrunk in length. Roy's elbows were over the table, his thumbs holding up his chin with his hands folded over each other, fingers intertwined.
He opened his mouth to speak, and Cole couldn't tell if the smell of grapes came from him or from his own mouth. "I liked to run around and ride my bike."
Cole's chest let out a lungful of air, heaving once. He breathed out through his nose and took a sip from his glass. The wine didn't relax his tense shoulders as much as he would have liked for it to.
"You, Cole?" He settled comfortably back on the chair.
"… I liked to read," he said evenly. His breathing rate had quickened.
"You seem more the theatre type, Cole? Shelley?"
Cole was surprised he remembered such a minute detail. "I studied literature quite a bit." And the tables are turned back to their initial position.
"You must've been the only one awake at the class. I wasn't much of a reader."
Attention always seemed to be turned back on Cole, but the spotlight only served to burn his forehead. "You downplay yourself."
Roy ignored the comment, "What were some of your favorite works of literature?"
He could tell the battle was lost. "I like Homer's Odyssey and The Iliad if we're talking classic Greek literature. My love of Frankenstein is obvious enough due to Shelley."
Roy feigned recognition at the titles Cole gave. "Impressive."
"Do you remember any particular work?"
"… I vaguely remember The Dangerous Liaisons," Roy answered.
His mouth went a bit dry. He hadn't expected Roy to give a legitimate response. "A story celebrated for its exploration of vengeance and human malice." How fitting. "It's quite a feat finishing that book."
"Who said I read it?"
They managed to sustain a pleasing enough discussion, bouncing topics off each other. The celebratory drink was lasting longer than Cole thought it would, but he strangely didn't mind it too much. There had been slight animosity in the air, but that was mostly due to Roy dragging his feet on giving a straight answer to any question about his past. Cole managed to unearth tidbits then and there, but there was no telling to whether Roy had been sincere. The pleasantry eventually ended when Roy held open the right side of his jacket, taking out a cigarette. It seemed short when clutched between two of Roy's long and lean fingers.
"Another smoke, Roy?"
"Why don't you light it for me?" He asked with a familiar flirtatious tone imbued in his voice. His eyelids fell slightly, looking almost lost in thought.
"I don't smoke. So there's no need for me to carry a lighter," Cole said sparsely, his nose wrinkling at having to withstand the stench of smoke once again. A vein in his head pulsed madly.
Roy scoffed, "Fine, Cole," He brought out a silver encased lighter and brought it to the tip of the cigarette clutched between his lips. He exhaled with a contented sigh. He faced Cole, his cigarette still held in his hand. "Why don't you smoke?"
Cole tried to recline in his chair without making his repugnance perceptible. "I'm not fond of the smell." The smell of alcohol, grapes, and cigarettes was a nasty combination to him, dulling his usually sharp senses to the point of sluggishness. His head was spinning a bit from the alcohol consumption.
"The smell of burning pervading your senses isn't pleasant to you?" Roy's eyes had a certain twinkle to them, a lighthearted jest in tone but dark in meaning.
Cole's hands trembled for a while. He folded then unfolded his fingers, feeling sweat that had accumulated. He felt his mind slipping, flashing back to the memory of Japanese civilians burning, agonizing screams drowning his ears and smoke and ashes of crisping flesh filling his lungs. He screamed, his voice dying away from the trauma of the horror unfolding about him. He paced back and forth, issuing commands. There were people staring at him, their faces muddied and their eyes a stark white. A bullet in his back, blood searing out from under his jacket.
A warm hand shook his shoulder.
Cole licked his dry lips then rubbed at his drier eyes. He looked up to see his partner out of his seat, still clutching a cigarette with his right hand, his left firmly planted over Cole's shoulder.
"Give me a warning before you blank out like some comatose fuck," Roy snarled. His voice was still at moderate volume so as to not attract further attention, but he sounded aggressive enough.
"I – I was out?" Cole dumbly mumbled, clutching his forehead.
"Yes, you were," Roy said hardheartedly. "For a few minutes, you stared at me without blinking." His hand loosened his grip on Cole's shoulder, before pressing hard once and letting go.
Cole detected authentic concern in his voice. The warmth on his shoulder started to vanish, fading back to its former cold.
"I thought it normal behavior until your glass wobbled in your hand." He sat back down on the seat from across Cole. "Christ, you do this often?" He tried to break into a laugh, but it sounded strained.
Cole pinched the bridge of his nose to quench the aching. "I – I think I just need a little more to drink."
Roy sounded skeptical. "Really? Golden Boy's going to go home drunk and distressed?"
Cole reached for his glass, but Roy's hand wrapped over his, stopping him briefly. They felt warm on his shoulder, but even more so at bare contact. He looked up to glare, trying to ignore the fuzzy tingling sensation on his skin as Roy's hand lingered for longer than necessary. "You can drive," he said.
Roy seemed annoyed. Goosebumps lightly formed on Cole's arm, hairs standing on end. He shrugged and lifted his hand, albeit reluctantly. Vague alarm put a strain on his usually deadpan voice, "Your funeral, partner." He turned his attention back to his cigarette, inhaling then exhaling out quietly, keeping a steady eye on Cole all the while.
He took multiple sips. The lukewarm liquid travelled down his throat, but it couldn't compare to the warmth felt on his shoulder and over his hand moments before. Cole shuddered, the tug at his chest buried to the back of his head along with the rest. His legs were asleep.
They talk a lot.
Any feedback would be appreciated. :)