Tyrion couldn't help but remember years of walking into Lion and Stag Enterprises as he rode the elevated upwards. When he stepped off the place even smelt the same; money and lies. Tyrion ignored the shocked glances as he approached the CEO's assistant's desk, he was certainly surprised to see Gwendolyn still serving as Baelish's personal assistant; Tyrion would have thought she'd get booted soon after he took over. The blond raised an eyebrow when he stopped before her glass desk with a smile she'd seen many times before.
"Hello, Gwen." He knew she didn't like the nickname but he didn't really care. "I need to see Baelish."
"It's Gwendolyn." She told him without a single hint of her irritation. "Also, I'm sorry but no. Mister Baelish is in a meeting with his wife and it isn't a good idea to disturb them."
Tyrion smirked, he knew exactly what 'meeting' meant. Soon that smirk turned into a chuckle and he knew exactly what he was going to do.
"Oh, I'll just pop in. Baelish and Alayne won't mind."
The very second he took a step towards the door Gwendolyn surged up out of her chair.
"Em, no. Please, Mister Lannister."
The little lion didn't listen just reached for the door handle and tugged open the office door. In a pointless attempt to halt the former CMO she reached out but it was too late, Tyrion paused a step inside Petyr's office o see Sansa shoved up on the desk while her husband thrust deep. In less than a heartbeat Sansa recoiled in on herself, Petyr though, he was far more relaxed, just took a step back and tucked himself away and fastened his belt as he eyed Tyrion.
"I tried to stop him, Sir." Said Gwendolyn desperately but Petyr didn't even look at her when he responded.
"It's quite alright, Gwendolyn. Off you go."
She practically fled back to her desk while the blond lion closed the door behind her; not for a single second did the smile leave his face, at least not until he noticed how uncomfortable he'd made Sansa.
"Having fun?" He teased the CEO.
Sansa made quick work of straightening her clothing and slipped off Petyr's desk so she could cuddle into his side. Tyrion knew Petyr wasn't a good man but he was damn well the best thing to ever happen to Sansa Stark.
"Why are you here, Tyrion?" Littlefinger asked as he finished righting his suit and went back to looking like the imposing CEO he was. "Couldn't have waited twenty more minutes?"
Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "Twenty? Really? Impressive for your age."
Petyr raised an eyebrow of his own as he kissed Sansa's temple. "You're less than a year younger than I am."
Tyrion would have said more on the subject but the glare Petyr gave him when Sansa snuggled closer to his chest in an attempt to disappear kept him silent.
"Well, Jaime has decided to hire a private investigator since Heyerdahl doesn't seem to actually be doing anything. He had intended to go so far as moving back into Casterly Rock for the foreseeable future but after a very long and tiresome conversation I convinced him to go back to Dorne. The children need him. I assured Jaime that I'd stay an keep an eye on things. So, as long as I call him everyday he should be out of our hair."
Petyr nodded. "Good. Though I don't like the sound of this private investigator."
The blonde waved him off. "Oh, don't worry, it's just Bronn."
Baelish laughed at that. "What is going through Jaime's head? Bronn? Seriously? He couldn't find sawdust in a lumber mill."
"You're welcome." Tyrion eyed the array of alcohol over by the window. "Think I'll help myself to your decanter as a celebration." Sure enough he went to get a drink. "I was meant to go back to Essos but Daenerys-"
"Has lost her original purpose." Petyr finished for him as he watched Tyrion pour three glasses of Scotch. "Hmm, why do I feel like I saw this coming? Oh yes, because I did. Although, I'd still like to know why all that couldn't have been in a phone call, or maybe a text."
The man with ash at his temples pressed a loving kiss to his wife's cheek and then slipped down into his desk chair before he accepted the glass offered to him by Tyrion, Sansa declined her own and Tyrion sat in one of the chair opposite Petyr and indulged in a long sip.
"Ooh, that's the good stuff." The hum of delight lasted a little longer than it needed to and then Tyrion was talking again. "I have a plan. Well, a change to your plan that should work a little more smoothly."
Petyr grinned when Sansa settled in his lap seeing his warmth and comfort as she all too often did, an arm wrapped around her waist quickly and his chin came to rest atop her head. Happy, Petyr always was when he had a lap full of his wife. After a few moments Sansa's arms snaked up around his neck as she pressed herself closer, not because she feared Tyrion but because she'd been so close! Once Sansa was settled Petyr gestured loosely at Tyrion with the hand that held his bourbon glass.
"Go on then, Tyrion, impress me."
Tyrion raised an eyebrow before he did just that.
~X~
Petyr sat in his office at The Mockingbird in his blackest suit late at night; he'd forgotten how long he'd been there. He'd spun his chair around from his desk to the array of cameras that coated the back wall with Olyvar bent beside him staring at the screens also. Neither man seemed overly happy.
"If the police show up here tomorrow you're to give them that." Said Littlefinger as he gestured to a white, unmarked disk sat in a CD case off to one side.
The blond raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
Petyr flashed the younger man a stern expression. "Because if you don't you'll end up with your blood slowly being replaced by bleech in a closed down abattoir."
"What's an abattoir?"
"A slaughterhouse." Olyvar's face paled but Petyr only smirked. "Oh, and you won't get paid, of course."
That got Oly to chuckle a bit though it did seem a little forced; not that Baelish cared one iota.
"Well, I can't resist money."
Carefully the blond picked up the disk and made his way to the door while Petyr easily spun his leather chair back around to face his desk. Olyvar paused a moment about two-thirds of the way to the office door and peered back over his shoulder.
"Boss?" He questioned lightly and Petyr's green-eyes flashed up to fix the younger man with a stern glare. "Are you sure you're not a serial killer?"
Littlefinger breathed out a laugh, deep and emotionless. He leant forwards a bit as he folded his fingers into a pyramid and rested his chin atop them.
"Oly, don't ask stupid questions."
Olyvar didn't quite know what to make of the dark look, his boss could have been teasing him or could have been deadly serious, that was the problem with Petyr Baelish, no one ever knew for sure. The blond vacated the room and headed back out into the club, once the door was shut Petyr relaxed back into peaceful quiet.
Thinking about it, Petyr supposed he was a serial killer. He'd killed people not just cleaned up after others, and many of those murders had appeared random and motive-less So yes, by definition Petyr was a serial killer; or a very good father and husband depending on who was asked. Olyvar was right, didn't mean he was Hannibal Lecter or Raskolnikov, no. If Petyr had to liken himself to a great literary killer he'd choose Humbert Humbert from 'Lolita'. Everything Petyr had done was for Sansa, because he adored her.
The brothel owner turned his attention to his ledgers and pushed his way through his club's paperwork for almost a good hour until he left, knowing that Heyerdahl was watching his every move. They'd not planned it for another few days but Petyr had to go with what they'd got. DI Heyerdahl had finally taken a shift to watch Baelish and so this was it.
The man with ash at his temples slipped into his beloved Aston Martin and took off down a semi-busy street and, of course, Oren followed. Baelish made sure to make it easy to follow him but not too obvious lest they raise his suspicions.
Petyr felt naked without his cellphone but needs must and all that. They drove for almost thirty minutes towards the outskirts of King's Landing were the only buildings were old factories; most of which had long ago been shut down and left to rot. Petyr finally came to a stop outside and old, abandoned textiles factory at the end of an excessively dusty road. He stepped out the car onto the unkempt grass and perched on the silver hood to light a cigarette; he couldn't go looking too eager.
The cloudy sky suggested a down pour was dominant, not a good sign for him, his shirt was silk. The city was always so loud and hectic but out here Petyr could hear little more than the birds that passed overhead; relaxing. He found the crumbling factory strangely peaceful too, however, everything seemed coated in sandy dust that had already coated his car tires and shoes; not too much of a problem since he was good at cleaning up evidence. I'll have to make sure the car gets washed.
Baelish casually walked off into the building once he'd stubbed his cigarette out and tossed it into a zip-lock bag and retrieved his black duffel bag from the trunk. All the walls were coated in pealing greenish pain and the floors had warped where water had leaked in through the broken windows and skylights over the years. Petyr didn't care, décor – or lack thereof – didn't change what they were there to do and the sooner it was over the sooner he could watch his stunning redhead was his Aston in something tight and wet.
Off to the right hand side of him there was a dodgy looking staircase that Petyr descended quickly suddenly wishing he'd brought a dusk mask with him. He followed the long hallways in silence until he came to a soft of crossroads between two corridors and dropped bag at his feet before he let out a sigh.
The intersection was poorly lit but a little skylight did it's best. He was just about to stretch when the barrel of a gun pressed against the back of his head with a firm pressure. Show time, he thought but didn't comment aloud, just rolled his shoulders for that stretch he'd wanted.
"Got you now, fucker!" Heyerdahl growled. "I can use Trespassing until I've searched this whole fucking building."
Petyr didn't bat an eye, didn't have a single emotional reaction at all, just continued to stand there.
"This isn't going to end well for you, Detective Inspector." Petyr warned which just got a guttural laugh from the taller, back man.
"How could you possibly think that, Baelish? You're fucked!"
Petyr cracked a smirk the other man couldn't see and spoke slowly. "Because I'm going to kill you."
The cop roared with laughter, deep and constant, but Petyr bided his time and then, suddenly, stomped on Heyerdahl's foot and bought himself enough time to spin around and grab the weapon. Petyr had thought he'd had the upper hand but Heyerdahl was quick and reached his back up weapon in the blink of an eye, leaving the two men at a standoff.
"Drop your weapon!" They heard DS Larroquette shout as he and Vandeveer rushed down the hall behind Oren with guns drawn.
Heyerdahl smirked. "Told you your fucked, Baelish. Now, be a good boy and drop it."
Petyr grinned, something devilish and those green-eyes sparkled in that way they always did when he was a dozen steps ahead.
"You really are dumb, Detective Inspector." Heyerdahl's brow furrowed. "You didn't call them and he doesn't mean me. Do you, Pop?"
Sebastian smirked. "Never, Petyr." The DS pressed his gun against Heyerdahl skull similarly to how Heyerdahl had with Petyr and ordered again. "Drop the fucking gun you homophobic piece of shit."
Oren's face darkened with rage and anger as he glanced over his shoulder to see Larroquette and Van with weapons raised firmly at his head; he might have been able to knock Sebastian to the ground but Tudyk would surely put a bullet in his face.
"Should have fucking known you were in on this, you fairy fuck." He threw down his gun and Seb kicked it away towards Petyr. "Fucking you, is he?"
A chuckle came from the darkness then down another section of the crossroads hallways but Petyr, Van nor Sebastian seemed at all surprised.
"No, that's my job."
Suddenly a series of halogen flood lights that made the area either too dark or too bright burst to life revealing Doctor Von Voltaire in the west hallway. It was then Heyerdahl glanced around himself; he was blocked in. Behind him was Larroquette and Vandeveer, to his left stood King's Landing's Chief Medical Examiner, the north corridor held Baelish smirking at him while the east.. left him standing blankly. Illuminated by the halogen lights was Alyane Baelish and – of all people – Tyrion Lannister. Oren had been so heavily fixated on Baelish that he'd never suspected Tyrion Lannister to be wrapped up in all this shit. These fuckers had been playing him for a fool all along. Dark eyes watched as the redhead crouched down and picked up his gun only to aim it at Heyerdahl just like her husband.
"Careful, slut, don't mess with things you don't know how to handle." He sneered.
"Oh, I wouldn't piss my wife off if I were you, Detective Inspector, she can and will shoot you in the cock. I've seen it before."
That drew the taller man's attention back to Petyr and earned a harsh growl.
"What is this, a fucking cult?"
Jefferson chuckled darkly. "More like a dysfunctional family."
Baelish sighed ast they all stood surrounding the DI. "You're not very smart, are you. We've been doing this for decades. Aiding each other in our chosen professions. Your death? Now that aids all of us."
"This is a goddamn conspiracy!" He exclaimed with ire burning in his practically black eyes.
Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Oh climb down of your fucking high horse, Heyerdahl, must be cold up there. Don't pretend you're better than us, not after what you did to Ned Stark."
The Detective Inspector's eyes went wide at that and he jolted around to face Larroquette and Vandeveer.
"What?!"
"You didn't realized we'd figured that out, did you." Said Petyr. "Tyrion and myself have always known a cop had sold Ned and the rest of us out to Cersei but Pop couldn't figure out who. Imagine my surprise when I'd killed Lysa and thought our list was done to find you suddenly appear on it. We'd wrapped everything up all neat, Pop got to the CCTV cameras-" he leant across to peer at Sebastian past Heyerdahl "- sorry about nearly throwing her on you car by the way." Seb just shrugged it off as Petyr turned his eyes back to the cornered man. "You got promoted right around the time Ned died and transferred down to KLPD. You told Cersei … and that's the main reason you're going to die."
"Why the fuck do you care about that? You were no friend to Ned Stark – none of you were – and everyone knows that. You didn't die."
Petyr gestured to his wife then – who'd been stood there so quietly – with the hand void of a firearm.
"Catelyn Stark was our friend, practically my sister-" he left out that he'd once wanted her to be so much more, "but she was her mother."
Heyerdahl glanced at the redhead with a deeply furrowed brow of confusion that got Baelish smirking to himself.
"Yeah," Petyr nodded. "My wife's name isn't Alayne, it's Sansa Stark."
Sansa moved closer to Petyr then and snuggled into his warmth, he easily wrapped an arm around her waist and pressed a kiss to her temple. Heyerdahl would have expected Alayne – Sansa – to be quiet like every time he'd seen her but instead she spoke, and her voice didn't waver.
"Petyr made me a promise." Everyone in the group found their eyes firmly locked on Sansa. Tyrion even flashed an encouraging smile. "A promise to kill everyone who'd caused the deaths of my family and my suffering." She took a breath. "You're the only one left. This missing piece we'd all given up on finding."
Christ, Petyr hadn't ever wanted to fuck her so badly. He adored it when she had these spurts of confidence; it showed the true fire within her.
Heyerdahl sneered. "You wanna blame someone for their deaths? Try Baelish and the imp here." He gestured to Petyr and Tyrion in turn. "Your husband got it into Ned's head that they could win a court case against the fucking Lannisters, as though Cersei and Tywin would have ever let it get that far." Oren fixed his dark-eyes on the brothel owner. "That's it, right? You were the documents guy. The one with all the evidence and baby Lannister her was the inside man." Suddenly he spat at Sansa, the mess missed her by little more than an inch. "Why you so fucking loyal to this asshole, huh? After all that?"
Truthfully they'd all expected the lone female to buckle at that harsh tone but the redhead stood strong, she had Petyr's arm wrapped around her so she could do anything.
"Why am I so loyal to him? Because he gave me life. Before him I just existed and it was horrific, that word doesn't even come close to describing it but there isn't a right word so horrific will have to do." Her voice stayed quiet and sorrowful. "There's a difference between living and existing and I didn't know that until he showed me. He showed me how to be a person again. He taught me to read and write. He gave me our children and friends." She loosely gestured to the four other men. "He showed me there were emotions other than fear and agony. I'm loyal to him because I love him and he loves me."
"Hush, Sweetling." Baelish soothed.
"Don't give him the satisfaction, Red."
"Tyrion is right, Sweetling."
Sansa nodded. "Yes, Master."
With that one word they all knew she'd reached her limit and they'd not force her to go any further. Petyr knew all her limitations and this was where they needed to stop.
Heyerdahl huffed out a laugh. "You're stupid if you think he loves you, you're just a pretty hole for him to fuck and use as an alibi."
"Are you kidding me." Hissed Van from behind the tall DI. "He looks at her like Gomez looks at Morticia."
Petyr could sense they were all heading down a rather twisted tangent and felt they all needed pulling back on course; he also wanted Sansa away from the subject as soon as possible.
"Do you want to watch?" He asked his perfect wife softly.
The young woman paused as she buried her cheek into her husband's suit clad chest but did finally nod.
"Watch." Was all he got in response.
Oren burst into a fit of laughter. "Killing me won't solve your problems, Baelish. The evidence zeros in on you. You're the reason Cersei Lannister would come back to King's Lansing and the only one who'd want her dead here. Once that's out do you really think you'll continue to get away with killing that psycho, Lysa Arryn? The second they know your slut wife is Sansa fucking Stark they'll arrest her too."
Littlefinger just continued to smirk. "Oh my dear Detective Inspector, we can do anything. You see, just one of us with no resources could out smart you but together? Together we're; two of KLPD's finest, the city's Cheif Medical Examiner, the CEO and VP of the most powerful financial company in all Westeros and the man who – I quote – 'drinks and knows things'. We're like the Avengers but with less spandex and I'm a mockingbird not a hawk."
Sebastian cleared his throat. "And, em, what evidence?"
Realization dawned on Heyerdahl then, a horrified expression that washed over his aged face.
"Didn't think this through, did you, dipshit?" Muttered Van.
Petyr sighed as if bored of explaining to a child. "I do the deed and clean it up."
"Or occasionally I'll do the deed." Tyrion added.
"I control evidence found and who it goes to." Said Sebastian in a steady tone.
Van continued. "I'm the one who delivers it or … looses it in the wrong evidence box."
"And I make any edits and spin the tale." Smiled Jefferson.
Sebastian lowered his weapon, it didn't need permanently pressing into Oren's skull. "Then I push it through the courts."
Petyr chuckled. "Using the influence and connections I supply."
Tyrion nodded to himself as he brushed a piece of lint from his sleeve. "And I back up the story if needed."
"So you can't get out of this." Breathed the Detective Sergeant. "Petyr, Jefferson, Tyrion and Van have been doing this for decades."
Heyerdahl looked around realizing just how long these people had been planning all this. He was fucked.
Petyr took a step forwards after he'd placed a loving kiss to his wife's cheek.
"I own the financial market in all Wesoros, including Dorne, Tyrion has Essos covered, Jefferson has access to just about every dead body in the city – don't underestimate the power in that – and once you're gone Pop and Vandeveer will be free to rise up the ladder as they should have years go."
Yeah, Oren Heyerdahl was fucked.