Fuck-up

A/N – Hello my dear readers! Do you know what this looks like? – it just hit me. Like Dr. Harleen Quinzel and Joker in Suicide Squad, just that kind of romance (the fucked-up to the core kind, that is). And it will be more and more like it, says the optimist - not to say that Tino is anything like the Joker, but come on, he's a bad boy with about zero excuses as to why he does what he does. Still, he's cute, we get that, don't we? :P

"I never wanted to hurt you," Berwald stated, straightening his back. If this was the end… And it probably was, he'd never seen Tino joke about anything serious, or ever drop his boundaries. Or his guard. "And you were never a target, I swear, my mission was only to get the Italians all along. And I wouldn't have taken the job in your shop if I hadn't seen Lovino Vargas walk out of it!"

The Finn snorted, shaking his head. "Yeah?!... and what, what was going to happen next, huh?! Like, now Vargas is done for, the police got him-… no, you got him, so what next? What exactly were you planning to do now?" Tears continued to stream down his cheeks, gleaming in the faint street lamplight, and he wasn't even wiping them off. "You were gonna bring us all in, weren't you?!"

The Swede moved forward brusquely, without thinking, and managed to grip the smaller blond's wrist, forcing him to drop the Beretta, before capturing his other hand as well and kicking the gun away across the concrete. To his surprise, Tino was shaking and didn't even try to struggle.

"Listen, I-… I fucked up, okay? I really fucked everything and I guess everybody is entitled to throw that in my face, because I fucking betrayed everyone! I just… I took advantage of your trust, but I also screwed my mission because I fell in love with you, and that really wasn't part of the plan!"

"You wha-"

"I love you, Tino, and I'm not gonna get you arrested, I swear!"

The Finn stared at him with eyes widened, as if he were a madman and Berwald suspected he must have looked like one, making just about zero sense. "You're… fucking crazy! What the fucking are you even saying?!" The detective opened his mouth to reply, but he cut him off. "The police know about me, don't they?!" he pointed, shaking his head. "That's bad enough, and you say-… what the fuck are you saying?! That you'll screw them? That you'll find a way around it, just to keep me out of it? Because you fucking love me?!"

He really hadn't thought it through this far, actually, but now that it had been spelled out, yeah, that was what he wanted to do, what he had to do – find a way around it.

"I do fucking love you! Please, just don't throw away what we had-"

"WHAT WE HAD WAS A FUCKING LIE!"

"Tino, please," he said, his voice a tad quieter than before and his grip tightening. "I do love you, believe it or not. Please, just trust me. I'll find a way, I promise you, you're not going back to prison! Please, Tino, just… just don't give up on me!" he begged, finally releasing the other.

Tino instantly pulled away, sniffing and pressing the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. He looked awfully young and vulnerable all the sudden – no, he was young and far less tough than he was pretending to be and Berwald had hurt him, badly, this much was obvious and the thought was breaking the Swede's heart. A loud sob escaped him when the detective's arms wrapped around him tightly and his nose was pressed in the crook of Berwald's neck, the other's lips pressed against his temple.

"Please don't give up on me, please… please…" Berwald repeated like a man drowning. "I love you, I'm going to take care of you, I swear! Listen," he pleaded, cupping the smaller blond's face with both hands. "Just… I'm really not asking you to put yourself in danger in any way, okay? But just give me a chance to fix this up! And if I don't, at least I swear not to lead them to you. I-I can't promise anything for the Russians, but-"

Tino was still sniffing a bit when he pulled away again, but he fixed his boyfriend with a calm glare. "Fuck the Russians," he stated with a frightening lack of hesitation. "Actually, I could give a shout right now and they'd be on your back in a second, you know? But I'll let you go," he shook his head, as if disbelieving his own words."And I hope you don't fuck this up… because if you do, I will find you. I will find you and then I will really kill you."

"Well, I'd say some of the work is done, wouldn't go as far as saying that most of the work is done," Kohler observed, sitting on the edge of the Swede's desk and offering his exhausted co-worker a wry smile. "I still find it hard to believe how badly the shit blew up with that Italian fucker, he fucking went all out! But now there's still the matter of your commie 'friends' and of your 'employer'… Now why do I feel you won't be getting an year-end bonus?"

Berwald flinched imperceptibly. He knew he should have appreciated his friend's attempt at lifting his mood, but could not muster as much as a nod in return, remaining in the same slumped position over his desk. He was painfully aware of having to do something, but upon coming back at the precinct – and it fucking felt like he'd last set foot in here a century ago – some clarity had returned to his hot head, revealing the very slim chances of success in what he'd planned.

Actually… planned was a big word, he hadn't really planned anything, nor had he any idea on how to go about doing it. And there were a lot of implications to consider, too. To begin with, he'd had to give Kohler and the Chief Inspector the current location of the Russians – because he couldn't just make something up only for it to prove completely fake later on – but he had told them the gang was leaving, having not mentioned where they were headed next, so there was no point… Well, this had been one big gamble, because he'd indeed heard Ivan saying he didn't want to stay at the apartment more than it was necessary, but only sheer luck had made them actually leave before the police got there. Things had only been half-solved though, because what if Ivan had caught wind of it and he was suspecting him and, in extenso, Tino?! Getting Tino in trouble with Ivan was much worse than getting him arrested!

To his luck, he really was clueless as to where the Russians could have been headed next, what other safe houses they had, or what Tino's plans were, if any, so there was nothing more he could have divulged, willingly or unwillingly (because at this point it was really hard to concentrate). But here a lie had needed to be slipped in – namely that Tino had lost his phone during the battle and it was no point trying to trace it and, on that ground, he'd not given Kohler the Finn's number at all. So, one could say he'd momentarily helped Tino disappear – although the police already had his name and picture, which made it really not much, it didn't mean he couldn't be found and grabbed really fast…

Berwald sighed tiredly, standing without a word, dragging his feet into the office kitchenette and absently fumbling with the coffee machine. The thought of losing Tino was burning a hole in his chest, making it feel hollow, the only thing to fill it in turn being anger at himself for his own helplessness. Because either way, he would have to do something – next, his work would no doubt entail helping apprehend Ivan's gang and he'd have to put some real effort into it, that or have his reluctance noted and give rise to suspicion.

The other option was to go blindly with a rumor and risk everything.

More specifically, the other option was officer Feliks Lukasiewicz, someone unofficially but largely thought of being dirty, a man who had a solution for almost any 'problem', as some whispered around corners. Berwald had never spoken to the Pole, he didn't closely know anyone who had been helped by him either, so taking this option basically meant to throw himself in headfirst into something extremely uncertain, with no plan to suggest and no money to pay for the other's services, on top of it.

After tormenting himself for two days, during which he barely managed to function normally, the Swede finally went to see officer Lukasiewicz. He caught the blond Pole alone during a cigarette break in the precinct's back yard and gave the man a long, appraising glance before deciding to approach him – despite his youth, among other things Feliks had a lot of experience with undercover operations and the fancy, sort of androgynous air lingered with him even when he was in uniform, like now. It didn't exactly inspire much trust, but Berwald steeled himself in the thought that if someone knew the ropes, it must have been Lukasiewicz.

Awkwardly stuffing his hands in his pockets, the detective borrowed a smoke from the other (even if he hadn't had one in years) and began to talk, in a calm, even voice, trying to keep any personal emotion out of it, making it look like everything it wasn't – strictly business. He knew that anything else would have tipped Feliks off as this being a dangerous bullshit and that he for one couldn't be trusted (not that there was any guarantee that the Pole was going to work with him on this anyway).

"So, like, when'd you change your mind?" Feliks asked thoughtfully, throwing away the cigarette butt after carefully and patiently listening to the other's account.

"…uh, what?"

"Like, when did you decide that he was worth getting out of the scheme, that whatever this guy's got for you was worth the trouble, I mean. Because it looks like it was pretty late down the road…"

Well, that was a valid point, it did look that way. Still, he could not explain it to Lukasiewicz.

"Er… you're right, I guess it was late and I do realize that what I'm asking now is no easy feat. I already-…" He was about to say 'made mistakes', but he was only doing his job at that point and the Chief Inspector had to be given information. "But it wasn't like I could have decided on this right off the bat, I had to get to know the guy and see if he could be trusted, at least to a reasonable extent. Look, what I'm really counting on here is the fact that he was never a primary target in this mission. The kid even has a clean record here in the States, he did say he'd done some time back in Finland but I don't know if he was eighteen at the time and anyway, as of right now his name doesn't show anywhere."

The Pole nodded slowly. "Could be that it's like totally not his real name, that's why it doesn't show. He could have purchased a 'full-package' fake identity for emigration purposes and all that shit."

"But that's a plus, no? I mean if that were the case."

"Not necessarily, no. If, like, you do some shit under a fake identity and then you disappear and go back to who you really are, that's a plus because the police are looking for a different person to begin with, even if the advantage can only turn out to be temporary. But if you do some shit under a fake identity and then you continue to use that fake identity because pretty much all your established shit is linked to it, like credit cards, social security, job, various contracts, then you haven't like done anything and it's as good as having used your real name."

Well, that was a problem and Berwald didn't know what was Tino's exact situation. Probably the second one though, because his whole business set-up was quite complex and not a one-off thing either…

"Anyway, I'm trying to work on that," he went on. "That he's not a main target. The Russians are, because they were a part of the fucking war from last week and even if we don't have a clue as to what their business is, their arsenal alone was quite impressive and they had a small army themselves. It's true that they lost most of their men in the conflict and the police confiscated all the stuff they'd left behind, but given the proper resources they can regroup and they are dangerous."

"Yeah, and like, your kid is totally their weapons provider, or at least he was until he had to leave his business behind and, as far as you know, Vargas grabbed his stuff. But still, from our point of view, he's just as much a liability as they are, if not bigger, since he must have had other clients aside from Vargas and the Russians, which in itself is enough to bury him," Feliks pointed, tucking a long golden strand behind his ear.

Berwald sighed, arms crossed now and scowling at his shoes. "So you're saying it's hopeless."

Lukasiewicz shrugged, fishing out another cigarette. "Not entirely hopeless, but like you said, no easy feat. I might have one idea… Look, you said the kid is young, so maybe you could work out something like… you know, the weapon dealership wasn't really his business and he was just a front, someone else's agent. Not that it's not bad enough, but it's infinitely less bad than someone pulling all the strings and having all the necessary connects." He paused, gracing the Swede with a meaningful glance. "What I'm saying is like totally give the Chief Inspector another gun dealer – a real gun dealer obviously – and your kid might not be of so much interest anymore and you can help him disappear more effectively."

"Er… I guess that could work, but-"

"My friend, you will like totally have to do the job yourself, I can only give you some ideas," the long-haired blond interrupted. "As well as the number of someone who might be able to help you with this, if you can work out an agreement." Saying that, the officer pulled the phone out of his back pocket and sent Berwald a text message with a telephone number.

Then he walked back inside, leaving the Swede to ponder on just how smooth and foolproof his operating policy was. No doubt, this 'helping person' could not be traced back to him and Feliks's 'consulting fee' must have been included in whatever this supposedly unrelated person was going to charge. The fucker…

Absently, Berwald swiped his thumb over the locked screen of his own phone, opening the Pole's message. And then he flinched, nearly dropping the device – the number in the message was Arthur Kirkland's.

To be continued

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