Author's Note: My imagination finally decided it was time to update this one. So far in season two, I am already missing the friendship they'd begun to develop between Brody and LaSalle, am getting sick of Percy but looking forward to some canon Pride and LaSalle bonding moments. Actually, I had better try to wrap this one up before we get too much canon back story (although it may not be exclusive of this little plot.)
It was apparent that LaSalle didn't want to be there. Well, Merri herself didn't exactly want to be stuck in the hospital for the better part of a day, either. But she'd been sidelined along with the rest of the 'minor' injuries as an industrial accident flooded the ER. Pride had sent the younger agent along with her, obviously to keep him out of the way when the senior agent interrogated the suspect they'd apprehended, and played middleman with the NOPD. The fact that she couldn't drive herself with the leg injury provided excuse enough.
And it wasn't entirely a bad thing, for it gave her time to get some more information out of LaSalle, even allowing for him to wander off into bittersweet remembrances of his old NOPD partner.
"And then the pig came charging out from under the porch!" Chris' laughter was a welcome sound in the busy ER otherwise filled with the noise of distressed and suffering people, but Merri hadn't been paying attention to the anecdote he'd been telling her. She'd been too busy trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together, trying to figure out where they were supposed to go from there.
"Guess you had to be there," Chris said, his tone sobered. And she felt briefly guilty for ruining his little happy walk down memory lane. He'd been under such stress the last week, trying to help his old partner clear his name, getting concussed and hypothermia.
"Vincent sounds like he was a good guy," Merri said, patting her partner's hand which he'd insisted on placing over the bandage on her thigh, applying pressure when she'd removed her own hand, her knuckles popping as she worked her numb fingers. He squeezed her leg in reflex making her flinch.
He hastily removed his hand.
"Oh, sorry."
She let out a hissing breath through clenched teeth. "It's okay, Chris. It shouldn't need pressure anymore, anyway. And if it hasn't clotted by now, then I've got more serious problems than a simple laceration to the thigh."
"May I?" he asked, indicating the nearly soaked-though bandage and she nodded her permission. He gingerly pulled the corner up, wincing in sympathy as a sharp tug of pain shot through her tender flesh. "Dammit. They've kept us waitin' here so long that it's clotted alright, directly to the bandage."
Merri had the horrible image of the wound closing and healing around the gauze, soft cotton fibers sealed into her leg. Apparently, so did Chris, for he jumped to his feet.
"That's it. I'm gettin' someone ta see ya right now," he said and before she could protest was pulling the nearest woman in a lab coat off to the side, flashing his badge and doing whatever strange mixture of sweetness and intimidation comprised his irresistible Southern Charm.
Half an hour and a couple dozen stitches later, she was limping back to the car, one arm draped over her friend's shoulder, his hand firmly gripping her waist.
"So, this Darren Massey character who hit you in the back of the head and shut you up with the freezer-burnt rack of lamb..." she said, too weary from the painkillers and antibiotics she'd been given to put up a battle against the younger man's coddling, instead allowing him to tuck her into the passenger seat of his truck. He even leaned across her to buckle her in, which was a little much, but she rather keep him happy and talkative than get into a snappy tiff with him. She just wanted this whole mess to make sense. "Is that the guy we caught in Sidney's house?"
"Nope," Chris said, shutting the passenger door and making her huff with frustration. She was beginning to develop a headache as she combated the drowsy effects of the medicine that had been injected directly into her veins. It took all of her energy to focus entirely on LaSalle as he climbed into the truck, giving him an expectant look.
"I ain't never seen the bastard who shot Sidney before," he said. "But Furious D... We gonna be havin' a friendly chat on my terms this time. As soon as I track his ass down..."
...
A quick check-in with Pride confirming her suspicions that their murder suspect was as tight-lipped as ever and Merri was beyond ready to call it a day. On the whole, it hadn't been all that rough. But those hospital-strength painkillers couldn't even seem to be balanced by two 12oz cups of coffee as black as tar. Instead, she was feeling both anxious and exhausted.
And worst of all, she knew LaSalle wasn't about to call it a day. Even after his boss-friend-mentor suggested it in his amiable not-ordering-but-actually-am-ordering-you way that the younger man go get some rest. And they would start fresh tomorrow.
Merri had to admit there were definite benefits to staying in one place long enough to form strong ties to the local constabulary, officials and citizenry. Dwayne Pride held enough sway that he somehow convinced NOPD to let them handle the case of Sidney Vincent's murder. In part perhaps, because he'd implied that some nasty allegations about false imprisonment of an innocent man and a failure in the NOLA justice system might just come to the attention of the media. And the Navy investigators knew how to operate 'discreetly'... Well, when it came to SecNav and the director ordering them to keep military secrets under wraps while still trying to solve a homicide. They did that well... When it came to being discreet on the street... well they did have a bit of a reputation for unnecessary force when kicking down doors.
Maybe the NOPD brass wouldn't mind that. Because if Sidney Vincent hadn't been a dirty cop... He'd been one of their ranks. And he'd been murdered.
"There's a few spots I'd like ta check out before callin' it quits for the day, King." LaSalle was persisting in arguing with their boss. "Massey'll be easier ta find at night. He comes out ta play after the sun goes down, like the rat he is."
Merri watched the older agent's face as he intently studied his friend. His thoughts were easily discernable. Was LaSalle exhausted enough that he was liable to get sloppy, make a mistake, get hurt? Was he within the normal limits of his sometimes passionate temperament? Or was he likely to do something uncalled for out of anger and guilt?
Given everything, the younger man seemed to be rather in control of himself. He'd even waited -relatively patiently- with her at the hospital for her wound to be tended. He hadn't insisted on having a go at the suspect they'd apprehended, either, showing he was being reasonable enough to know Pride would've tried everything possible to get the truth out of the stoic prisoner.
"Fine, Christopher, but I'm goin', with you."
Merri spotted the slight frown furrowing Pride's brow as he turned to his cabinet to retrieve his sidearm.
She forced herself to stand up, willing the heavy feeling from her brain.
"I'll go, Pride," she said, her voice thankfully sounded more alert than she felt. "You have Laurel's concert to get to tonight, don't you?"
The older man, biological father to one, caretaker of many, appeared momentarily conflicted, relief and worry warring on his face. And then he gave Merri the same scrutinizing treatment as he'd given LaSalle. She stared him straight back in the eye. She was in perfectly fine condition to back up her partner's bar-hopping search. She could do this. She wanted to do this.
"You sure?" Apparently, she wasn't quite as readable to the man as his decade-old friend was. Which honestly pleased her. It was good to know that despite settling into this place, letting Pride and LaSalle in, she could still keep her thoughts and feelings entirely to herself when she wanted.
"Yes," she said. "I want to see this through. Besides, it's Darren Massey's fault I spent three hours trapped in a freezer with LaSalle's hypothermic ass."
Pride nodded his permission.
"Alright, but be careful. An' call me, if ya find anythin."
...
Okay, so her tone was like that of a child who'd missed their nap, pathetic and yes, a full-fledged whine.
"Please tell me this is the last one, LaSalle."
"We ain't but halfway done, Brody." He gave her his big, goofy grin, his eyes flashing with excitement. And she couldn't be sure if it was from the hunt of tracking down a suspect, or this was reminiscent of the bar-hopping that comprised so many of his 'fun-filled' evenings.
"I'm drivin'…" he said pushing the door open to reveal yet another packed dive with quite possibly the stickiest floors she'd ever had the misfortune of setting her feet upon. The interior was gloomy -she supposed they said 'mood lighting'- and although there was a smoke-free sign hiding amongst the grime on one wall, there was a tar-like smog filling the place. "So why don't I get ya a li'l somethin' ta put a smile on yer face?"
"Like what?" She gave him a 'what the hell?' look because, "You know they gave me some powerful painkillers and antibiotics at the hospital."
LaSalle stared at her for a few seconds, the look on his face oddly inscrutable. Then he shrugged, licking his lips before chuckling at whatever inside joke he'd been the only one in on, before he made for the far end of the bar, taking Merri's hand and towing her reluctant self along.
What the hell had that been about?
He bullied a blonde, middle-aged man off from his barstool. The twenty-something brunette the man had been hitting on gave LaSalle a grateful smile that held far more interest than it had for the older man who had been sent on his way. It promptly faded when the Southern Gentleman who'd rescued her turned his attention to Merri, grabbing her waist and lifting her up to sit her on the now vacant stool.
The shocked agent barely contained the surprised yelp to her throat. What the hell was he playing at? Her heart pounded in her chest in an entirely uncalled for excited manner as he leaned in close, his hand sliding down from her waist, over her hip to rest gently on her thigh. Was he trying to establish a cover by displaying a lover's affection for her? Every other place they'd been that night, they'd just discreetly asked the bartender a few questions about Massey, whether they knew the man, seen him around recently, sometimes needed to flash a photo or a badge.
"Does yer leg hurt?" His voice was a hot, moist whisper against her ear that made the sensitive skin on neck turn to gooseflesh.
"No," she said, pretty certain her traitorously excited body couldn't feel much beyond the flush of heat from having his warm body so close, the strangely alluring mix of aromas, smoke, alcohol and LaSalle making her somewhat dizzy. Leg? Hurt? Why would it?
"You're bleedin' agin," he said quietly, pressing his hand against her wounded thigh. She hissed. Now she felt it. He pulled back enough to show her the blood coating his palm, like a secret conspiracy between two kids on the playground hoarding some candy or a frog they'd caught.
That wasn't good.
"Oh" was all she managed to say.
"I'm bringin' ya home." His blue eyes were extremely intense at the moment, dark and clear, and invasive. She looked away. The rush of heat blossoming low in her belly and blooming outward, which could only be called 'lustful' in nature, was likely apparent in her eyes, too. And that was definitely something LaSalle did not need to see. Because it wasn't him. Not really. Not as much as it was that the air so thick with smoke and alcoholic fumes and maybe some other illicit substances was downright intoxicating. And the fact that she was apparently having adverse reactions to the medications administered to her. And that she'd been craving a man's touch for a couple weeks now (something she normally could maintain firm control over).
"No," she said, finally finding the distraction she needed to get control over the unwelcome sensation of burgeoning arousal. She stared back into those eyes as dark blue as a deep, fresh mountain lake.
"You're no use ta me if ya pass out from-"
She cut him off, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him in close to whisper in his ear, giving all the appearance of flirtatious lovers to the rest of the bar's clientele.
"I promise I'll get it looked at as soon as I can. But I think we should take care of Massey first."
LaSalle jerked, turning his head sharply and bumping her cheek with his nose in his rush to look around, find the man in question. Merri squeezed the back of his neck, stilling him.
"He'd recognize you," she said, falling into cool and collected agent mode. "It's so packed in here, you'd probably never make it to him. He's sitting just a few feet from the back exit, at about your 4'oclock."
"So, how ya wanna play this, then, Brody?" One of his hands had found the wrist of hers at his neck. He kept it there, placing the other at her waist, leaning into her and shifting slightly as if he were trying to rub up against her, but in actuality was repositioning them both just a little, so that his back was directly to their target with no chance of his being recognized as she was afforded a more direct line of sight.
"I'll get close, confirm he's our guy, and slap a pair of cuffs on him."
"I can't let ya do that. Not when you're bleedin' like that," Chris' tone became sharp, his fingers digging into her wrist and hip. "Can ya even stand?"
She pulled her hand away from the enticingly soft hair on the nape of his neck, and shoved him rather forcefully in the chest, making him stumble back a couple of steps. She jumped to her feet, cursing silently at the stabbing pain in her leg. Had she somehow tore the stitches out?
Taking the hint, LaSalle kept his back to their suspect, disappearing into the crowd, muttering to himself about 'crazy females not knowin' their own minds' as she turned to the bartender, ordered a whiskey, neat -with no intention of drinking it, which LaSalle would doubtlessly call a waste- and made her own way through the crowd towards the exit.
Darren 'Furious D' Massey was precisely what one would expect a man who'd been a dedicated hoodlum a decade ago to look like. He still dressed like an obnoxious white kid poser, baggy clothes, hat turned sideways, gaudy gold chain hanging around his neck that Merri just wanted to yank so hard as to bounce his face off the table. But LaSalle was right, a full-fledged fight she was in no condition for. She swallowed back the nausea -whether it was from the drug-ravaged features of the man's face or the throbbing wound in her thigh, who knew- and put on a big fake flirtatious smile.
"Is that seat taken?" she asked, indicating the four inch strip of cracked vinyl at the edge of the booth beside her target, which would conveniently place her between the man and the exit. He grinned a -really? C'mon- gold-capped tooth smile at her, shimmied only a couple inches over and patted the cushion that was disgorging its deteriorating foam innards.
"Plen'y a'room for a sweet thing like yerself," he said, blatantly checking her out. Overheated -possibly signs of a fever she hadn't noticed she'd developed- she had shed her jacket earlier, and she could feel her teal silk blouse clinging to her sweat-dampened skin, molding against her stomach and sides, her breasts. Before he could spot the wet slick of blood on her dark slacks, she slipped into the booth, barely able to find the room to settle one buttock in the scant space, having to balance herself with her sore leg. And growing angrier by the minute.
"So, baby," Massey said, his breath reeking of tobacco and alcohol. A hand began creeping behind her shoulders. "Where ya been all my life?"
It took all of her strength not to roll her eyes. Just a few more seconds. A be-ringed, sweaty hand perched on her shoulder and she leaned back as if settling into the embrace, trapping his arm behind her. She was considering how precisely to subdue him quickly and easily, more for LaSalle's concerned sake than for her own deteriorating health, when something hot and clammy -she could feel even through the light fabric of her pants- settled on her knee.
She grabbed the wrist, digging her fingers in, pulled the cuffs from her back pants pocket -easily done, considering that that half of her ass wasn't remotely on the booth seat- and slapped them on his wrist. He shouted in a alarm, tried to pull his other hand from behind Merri's shoulders. She grabbed the wrist and found herself trapped between his arms, not ideal for cuffing them together, but give a feverish girl a break.
"Kinky," he said, and began to lean towards her, his disgusting mouth moving closer and closer. She knew better than to release his hands or turn her head away, but dear god no, get off! Ultimately, she pulled her leg up towards her in a literal knee-jerk reaction, throwing her off balance so that he was able to pull her down beneath him, shifting so that he was on top of her.
Apparently, he was rather turned on by women who found him repulsive. (Sort of made sense, since no one could actually be attracted to the man.) Or maybe he was just plain stupid. What did he think she was trying to do with the cuffs? Maybe she should tell him. But she was afraid to open her mouth because he was still vehemently trying to kiss her. Where the hell had LaSalle gone?
"Let's get outta here an' make the beast with two backs, baby."
Wow. A Shakespeare reference. She was impressed.
He probably didn't know where it came from.
Ack! She made a desperate whimpering-growling-moaning-stifled scream of disgust in her throat as Massey moved in so close that his nose brushed her cheek. The bar's smoky fog and pungent alcohol scent mingled with his overpowering cologne and stale sweat, making her stomach turn. Normally, she would've thrown the man over her head by now, sending him crashing to the ground, but her muscles were quivering, weak -definitely feverish. The trapped screams in her throat might have been forming the words LaSalle! Help!
"Ya mind gettin' yer skeezy ass off'n her?"
Oh thank god!
"Mind your own damned business!" Massey looked up and froze, recognition turning into terror as he tried to climb over Merri and bolt. Relieved that her backup had finally arrived, she let go of the man's cuffed hand and the bare wrist she'd dug her nails into, crying sharply when Massey's knee pressed into her wounded thigh. She threw her arms up to cover her face as LaSalle grabbed his traitorous former CI and hauled him off from her, the man's feet kicking and catching her in the ribs and the forearms as he was dragged out of the booth where he'd sort of pinned her down and was thrown to the floor.
By the time she straightened, her partner was informing 'Furious D' that he was under arrest for assaulting a federal officer. She wasn't sure if LaSalle meant when the man had struck him in the back of the head and locked him in a freezer or the little incident that had just occurred on that cracked old vinyl cushion.
The crowd had made a rather large clearing around the two agents and their prisoner, the noise level dropping to whispers and sniggering, people straining to see over each others' shoulders.
"Nothin' ta see here, people," Chris said, hauling Massey to his feet once more before giving Merri a severely worried glance. "Can ya make it back ta the SUV? Or should I stow him an' come back fer ya?"
"I'll be fine," she said, not at all believing it. Fuck, if she hadn't torn the stitches earlier, Massey's kneeling directly on her wound had surely reopened the wound. But hell if she was going to let an entire bar full of people think that the creep had bested her. She could hardly announce to the crowd that she had a pre-existing handicap in the form of a torn thigh, powerful painkillers, a fever and stitches that apparently hadn't held up.
She limped out behind her partner, placing a hand on his back for a guide since the room had begun to spin.
Fresh air. She just needed some fresh air.
The fresh air only helped a little as she leaned against the side of the vehicle, waiting for LaSalle to load their prisoner inside. Oh, shit, shit, shit-
"LaSalle."
Her voice was a hoarse whisper but his face filled her vision, eyes large with alarm as everything faded to black, her last thought a curse at fainting in front of her partner.
A/N: Two suspects in custody... Will they finally be able to put the pieces together?
