lots of dialogue and kinda filler-ish content in this chapter, really just buildup for later.
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Names, numbers, faces, records. Black and white. Sometimes Garrett wished they would switch it around some - white and black, maybe. The screens were just less than easy on the eyes.
It was only eleven in the morning, and the Garrett had already landed himself with a clusterfuck of a homicide case. Mother dead, step-parents and bio father missing, and child vanished without a trace. The school became suspicious when efforts to locate the truant child, a six-year-old girl, went disregarded, and calls home granted no insight. The police were called, the mother was found rotting in her apartment, and everyone else? Nowhere to be found, contact information either incorrect or discarded from the crime.
The case was a little beyond what Garrett usually dealt with, but all homicide cases were to come across his desk, and perhaps he could admit that he had gotten a little attached. It was a missing child case, for goodness' sake. The Hawke brothers tended to have a one-track mind with their personal investigation, but Garrett was far from heartless. Carver complained, but not too much - unlike with Garrett's occasional personal ventures, distraction via station work was generally acceptable in his book. After all, they had responsibilities, and could not afford the loss of resources that would come with losing the job.
Buzz.
Speaking of personal ventures.
Garrett fumbled with his phone, which vibrated twice in rapid succession. A text. As he struggled to get it out (damn slacks and their dumb tight pockets), it gave another double buzz. Finally, he freed the device, and unlocked it to see a foreign number.
xxx-xxxx: It's Fenris.
xxx-xxxx: I know you're probably at work, so text me when you're free.
Fenris. It took everything in the elder Hawke's power not to either make an embarrassing noise or break into a ridiculous smile as he added the number to his contacts under that name. He had not forgotten about the cute bartender from the previous night, though it might have been better if he had. There was no time for romance, after all . . . but Garrett really could not help but pine for Fenris, and what was he supposed to do when he flirted back? Turn him down?
Carver would have said yes. Garrett chose to ignore that fact, instead typing a quick response.
A little busy, but I can make time if I'm discreet ;) What's up?
Jesus Christ, Garrett Hawke, was that a winky face? A winky face in your first message to the cute bartender that you just met last night and are definitely not supposed to flirt with? For the first time in years, his mind and heart were disagreeing on the correct course of action, and it showed. It was not like Garrett could send another message and take it back, however. That would completely shut everything down, and while his logical side would have been perfectly fine with that, the reckless romantic hiding in the dark recesses of his mind had already won this battle.
I won't let it get that far, he promised himself. It was not the first time this had happened, after all - Garrett was a man with needs and one thing always led to another - though it was the first time in a long while that he had felt so . . . out of control.
"If you've got time to gawk at your phone, then I assume you've made some headway on the case?"
Aveline's voice was harsh, and a weaker man would have jumped out of his seat and turned in his badge right there. Garrett still found himself flinching and shoving his phone back into his pocket. He gave the redhead a sheepish grin, and she rolled her eyes at him.
"I didn't notice you come in, Lieutenant," he said evasively. Aveline placed a hand on her hip, not even bothering to mask the strong judgment from her face.
"That's Lieutenant Colonel, Hawke," she responded sharply, and he winced once more. Expression softening, Aveline asked, "The guy from last night?"
"Maybe."
Aveline shook her head with an exasperated sigh. "I'm happy for you and all, Hawke, but you've got shit to do. Maybe a walk will clear your head."
Garrett straightened up, tilting his head in question. "What do you need?"
"I've got to maintain peace between Chief Meredith and the Deputy," Aveline grumbled, and Garrett offered a sympathetic cringe. That was a fate he did not wish on anyone. The lieutenant set a thin manilla folder on his desk. "Take this and collect reports from forensics and the coroner. Drop it on my desk when you're finished."
"Good luck," Garrett called after her as she left his office. He supposed there was no time to waste. With a lack of reply from Fenris so far, he stood, stretched, and went on his merry way.
Various greetings rang out as he wandered through the office, and he stopped by to check on Carver on his way. His brother was hyper-focused, deep in his work, and shooed Garrett away with an irritated huff. Rolling his eyes in a show of faux irritation and fondness for his brother, Garrett wandered out of the vast room of cubicles and to the elevator.
It was a short ride from the second floor to the fourth, and he stepped out into a small sort of foyer. To his right was bulletproof glass, with a door that led into the forensics lab. To his left was smooth wall and a door into the office space. Garrett pushed open the door on his left and found a setup similar to the one on his floor, with cubicles dominating the room and a few enclosed offices for higher-ups. To his right was a windowed break room, and inside he saw Varric chatting with a few other workers.
Varric offered a grin and wave as Garrett entered the room, and promptly gestured for the others to leave. They did so without complaint as their short boss reached up on tiptoe and opened a cabinet. "Coffee?"
Garrett accepted the mug offered to him, trading it with the folder from Aveline. He poured himself a cup from the nearby coffee maker while Varric read over the scarce material inside - photos, minor details from the scene. He sprinkled in a small spoonful of sugar just to take the edge off and took a sip.
"What a mess," Varric muttered, closing the file when Garrett was about halfway through his mug. He nodded in agreement. "Real shame what happened to her. I'll go print the results of the scan real quick. Hint - it's a big fat zero." Varric turned to leave the room, but looked back over his shoulder with a knowing grin. "Help yourself to more, I know they don't have shit downstairs."
Long gone were the days when Garrett naively thought he could go without or shyly declined offers of kindness. He topped off his mug, and it was nearly overflowing by the time he added his sugar. Varric returned a second after. The folder in his hand was a tad thicker now.
"DNA doesn't match anything in any of our databases," he said, handing the file back. "No prints, no hair, none of the cells under her fingernails, no blood."
"Jesus," Garrett muttered, shaking his head. He left the room with Varric, and they headed back out to the foyer. "Thanks anyways, Varric."
"Not a problem, Hawke."
They parted ways, Varric strapping on a pair of goggles from a hook on the glass before heading into the lab, and Garrett returning to the elevator. He went down this time, past the ground floor and into the basement. It was cold down here, the air conditioner cranked as low as the coroner could stand it, much lower than Garrett himself was comfortable with, and the strong stench of formaldehyde and other preservatives in the air. He made his way through rows and rows of body lockers and to the small office in the corner of the basement.
Merrill greeted him with a smile far too chipper for the temperature. "Hawke! Here for the diagnosis?"
"Quickly, preferably," Garrett replied, clenching his teeth to avoid them chattering and trying hard not to wrinkle his nose at the smell. Merrill handed him a stack of papers held together with a clip, and he slid them into the folder as he followed her down the aisles.
She stopped in front of a specific one in the middle of a row - how she found her way around and memorized them so well, Garrett had absolutely no clue. She unlocked the door with a set of keys around her neck and opened it, then slid the rack out, body on top of it and covered with a sheet from the armpits downward. Immediately, Garrett wanted to retch at the stench. Merrill, however, seemed entirely unaffected.
"Blunt force trauma, though I'm sure you already gathered that," she said, indicating to the caved in skull. It was far from a pretty sight. "Most likely a baseball bat. Judging by the deterioration of the body and rotting of the wound, I'd say she was dead at least a week before we found her."
Garrett could tell. He turned away from the body, having finally had his fill, and Merrill let out a chortle as she slid the body back in and closed the locker once more while Garrett clamped a hand over his mouth.
"Thank you, Merrill," he managed from between his fingers. She shot him a knowing grin before they parted ways and she headed back for her desk. Garrett got the nagging feeling that she had absolutely intended on creeping him out.
Sometimes Merrill terrified him. Perhaps that was why Carver liked her so much - her tendency to chase off his brother. The thought elicited a chuckle. Merrill was cute, and she would be cuter with Carver. If only the guy would grow a pair and ask her out already. Maybe someday, Garrett thought.
The elevator was pleasantly warm and welcoming, and he breathed a sigh of relief when the doors closed, shutting out the cold basement air. He took the time to check his phone once more. It had vibrated with another message sometime while he was with Varric, judging by the time, and he had somehow failed to notice it - probably because he was so hyper focused on free coffee. Garrett was a man of simple desires.
Fenris: I thought I would take you out for coffee. Get to know each other better.
Something fluttered in his chest at the proposal. Don't get too excited, he reminded himself, but it was a little too late for that. He tucked the folder under his arm and quickly typed out a response one-handed.
Me: My lunch break is in about fifteen minutes. You know where I work.
The response was nearly immediate.
Fenris: I'll be waiting outside for you, then.
Christ, he was in too deep already. He was going to regret this. It did not stop him.
Garrett was back up on the second floor in no time, quickly stepping out and heading past the cubicles to the higher-ups' hallway. He drained his mug and deposited it in the break room on the way. Aveline's office was a few doors down, right next to his own, and he could see her fiery hair through the frosted glass. He knocked before pushing the door open.
"Officer Hendyr," Garrett greeted politely. The man at Aveline's desk turned to look at him and offered a brief salute.
"Captain Hawke," Donnic said, tone friendly. He looked back at Aveline, giving her a quick wave before passing Garrett and exiting the office. When the door gave a soft click to signify its being latched, Garrett turned back to the lieutenant colonel, quirking his eyebrow in question.
"Donnic's a fine man," Aveline said simply, in a tone that warned Garrett against further questions. She walked around her desk and leaned against it as she took the file from his hands, and without question began flipping through the considerably thicker folder. "No DNA matches in our system from the perp . . . criminal record on the victim?"
Garrett was just as surprised by the news, having missed that tidbit. He supposed that would have been Merrill's job, and he did rush out of the room at the first opportunity. "What for?" he asked.
"Ten year old theft crime," Aveline answered, tone idle, eyes not leaving the papers. "Not much we can do with that. I suppose it's time to start questioning the neighbors. Let Thrask know, and he can send out some officers to look around." She returned to her chair and opened a drawer, depositing the file in with dozens others like it before turning back to Garrett. "And . . . Hawke?"
"Hm?"
"Keep me and Donnic on the down-low."
"Not a problem, Lieutenant Colonel."
Aveline rolled her eyes playfully and made a shooing motion, Garrett grinning in response. "Get out of here, Hawke. Aren't you supposed to be on break soon? Go get some fresh air for once."
Garrett found himself slightly flustered at the mention, reminded very suddenly of his meeting with Fenris. He said his goodbyes far too quickly and knew Aveline would question him for it later, but he could not bring himself to care. He was too busy thinking about Fenris. That stunning bartender with the snowy white hair, fascinating swirling tattoos, enchanting eyes, and god, that voice. Deep and a little growly, it gave him shivers just thinking about hearing it again.
And hear it he did, after sitting in his own office for another eight minutes, the most slow and painstaking ones of his life. He slipped on his jacket and headed for the door, asking Carver if he wanted anything while he was out (unsurprisingly, it was a hard no). He pushed his way through the revolving door and into the damp outdoors. It was going to rain, he noted idly.
And then Garrett saw him.
He was leaning with his back against the gray cement of the building, a pair of white earbuds jammed into his ears, and Garrett noted with growing curiosity that the lines of white ink even appeared there. Just how much of his body was covered? Fenris had a black beanie on, paired with an equally black hoodie and faded jeans. It was a stark contrast from the previous night, a much softer aesthetic. Garrett was more than a fan.
When Garrett cleared his throat, Fenris jumped minutely, head whipping around to stare with wide eyes. Forest green met soft brown, Fenris's posture grew relaxed, and Garrett's breath hitched in his throat. "Hawke," that incredible voice said, and it had a shiver running down Garrett's spine, intense enough to forget the other man's surprising skittishness.
"Fenris," Garrett said after a much too long pause, thankful that his tone remained smooth and did not betray the inner turmoil. He approached Fenris, and was entranced by those eyes once more, the surprisingly friendly expression, even the small movement of pulling his earbuds out. "Where are we headed? Should I drive?"
"Its within walking distance," Fenris replied, letting the buds hang around his neck and pulling a phone from his hoodie pocket, presumably turning off his music. He turned and began walking down the sidewalk, and Garrett fell into step behind him. "It's just a local place I used to go to in my college days while I studied. I don't go there much anymore, but it's nice."
"College days?" Garrett was surprised at that. A college education, and yet he was only a bartender at some run-down establishment? There were courses for that sort of thing, the officer knew, but not usually through college and they were not required. "What did you study?"
Fenris looked a little sheepish at that, and it was the most human emotion Garrett had seen on him yet. They stopped walking at a crosswalk and waited for the light to turn green. A hand went to the back of Fenris's neck. "A little bit of everything," he said after a moment. He broke the regular eye-contact the two had maintained so far, and Garrett wondered if he was embarrassed. "I went to get away from home, mostly. Naturally, I had no plan, so I dabbled in art classes, culinary, even took a veterinary course."
"A jack of all trades," Garrett piped up, an attempt at easing the tension in Fenris's shoulders. Surprisingly, it worked. Fenris moved his hand back to his pocket and glanced at Garrett once more.
"You could say that," he relented, looking forward as the light turned and they crossed the street. "I've got a useless art degree hanging on my wall, a hell of a lot of student debt, and two cats from the experience. Still take them to the vet, though."
"I've got a dog." Fenris's head moved sharply to stare, and Garrett found himself rather flustered at the attention on him. Fenris was a cat person, obviously. He would not care to hear about Garrett's slobbery hound. To his relief, however, Fenris showed surprising interest.
"What's its name?"
"Rowan." It was a little exhilarating, really, the rush of goofy excitement that came from Fenris's interest in his pet. It was just a dog, but still, Garrett found it cute. Endearing. "And your cats?"
"Luna and Starla," Fenris answered.
"Unique names," Garrett commented, and Fenris gave a little cock of his head, wrinkling his nose.
"You say that," he said as they turned a corner, his tone ironic, "but they really aren't. I got Starla from the shelter with her name already, and when I got the kitten I decided she needed a matching name. Luna it was."
Garrett could not help himself. "That's adorable!"
"Maybe a little," Fenris agreed, surprisingly unfazed, and a smile crossed his lips then, something incredibly soft and fond. "Luna's a little asshole, though. What about Rowan?"
"She's a retired police dog."
Fenris frowned slightly, a surprising response. "A police dog," he repeated.
"A bomb detection dog, to be more precise," Garrett clarified, and Fenris relaxed again.
"And you named her Rowan?" he asked, eyebrows raised. Garrett crossed his arms with a small, indignant sniff.
"I didn't know she was a girl," he said defensively, and Fenris grinned at him. He adored that look on him. "But she likes her name! She's had it a long time. She retired pretty late for a police dog. She used to be pretty fierce, but now she's just a sweet old thing. Went mostly blind from cataracts, though, and she's probably got a case of doggy Alzheimer's."
"Canine cognitive dysfunction," Fenris said automatically, and when Garrett whipped his head around to stare at him, he seemed to shrink a little. "Sorry."
"That's okay," Garrett replied, more surprised than anything. He supposed that veterinary class was not as useless as Fenris would have him believe. "Well . . . we're waiting on results now. If she's got it, I'm not quite sure what to do with her."
"There is medicine to help, and keeping her active will, too." Garrett had the feeling Fenris was not sharing the extent of his knowledge, but doubted he wanted to hear the rest. "I'd like to meet her."
That . . . that was an incredibly sweet offer. Garrett tried not to get excited at the same time - meeting Rowan showed not only care for his dog and her condition, but a willingness to put up with Garrett more, as well. "I think she would like you," he said warmly. "And maybe I can meet the cats, too."
Fenris gave a little snort, and Garrett feared he had said something wrong, but the bartender sounded amused when he responded. "I can't say the same about them. They probably won't even notice you're there. I appreciate the sentiment, though."
It was then that Fenris stopped, and Garrett was a little surprised at the abruptness of it. He glanced back and saw a rather bemused look on the other's face before Fenris turned around to look behind them. An exasperated noise left his throat and he backtracked to a brick building with outdoor seating that they had passed. Garrett couldn't withhold a small laugh. They had been so deep in conversation - about animals, no less - that they had completely missed their destination.
Fenris held the door open and they both stepped inside. It was pleasantly warm, heat radiating from the pastry display, and Garrett's slightly cold hands and face welcomed it. He had not noticed the chill, probably from talking so much. He got a look around and found that the place was definitely not what he was expecting. When Fenris had mentioned coffee, Garrett had imagined a quaint little cafe, not a vintage-looking diner with a full bar on one side. He gave Fenris an inquiring look, and the man looked beyond entertained.
"Not what you were expecting?"
"I thought we were going for coffee," Garrett stated, a regular Captain Obvious.
"It's technically a cafe." Fenris pointed to the menu above the nearby bar. At the top read The Vagabond Cafe. "And they serve coffee."
Without waiting for Garrett to respond, Fenris headed for the bar and rested his forearms against its surface. Garrett trailed after him, rather like a lost puppy in this unfamiliar territory. Fenris flagged down the . . . bartender? Barista?
"Medium Irish coffee, heavy on the Irish part."
After writing down the drink, the worker turned to Garrett. Remembering that he had already drank coffee and preferring not to have a sleepless night if he did not have to, he glanced at the menu. "Just a regular hot chocolate, I guess."
They both paid for their drinks and went to sit at a corner booth. There were books lined up against the wall side of the table, and Garrett took a look at the titles, finding he recognized none of them. There was a hallway leading back to what he assumed were the restrooms and most of the bar-cafe hybrid's patrons were out on the patio, enjoying the mix of sunshine and cold air.
"You came here during your college days?" Garrett asked, bewildered. "What kind of kid were you?"
"The edgy hipster kind," Fenris replied, and Garrett allowed himself a chuckle at that. He could sort of see in the sparse wardrobe he had seen Fenris in so far the inklings of a dark past of an anti-society dork. Before the conversation could go much further in that direction, Fenris continued, "Small talk. What's your family like?" Garrett's smile faltered, and Fenris seemed to notice, quickly backpedaling. "You don't have to answer that if you don't want to."
"I'm more of a 'family talk after the third date' kind of guy," Garrett joked lightly, though he could tell Fenris could see right through his humor. "It's just me and Carver, roughing it out in the police force. You?"
"There's not much to talk about." His eyes were focused on the bar now, evasive, and from that, Garrett knew there was quite a bit to talk about. He knew better than to push, though.
"How did you get into bartending?" he asked instead, and Fenris looked at him once more. Garrett could not express how relieved that small motion made him, and anyways, it was a little embarrassing to admit.
"I worked here for a while, actually," Fenris told him. He leaned back in his seat, and it was pleasing to see that he seemed comfortable around Garrett. "After college I was at a major loss. I was here all the time to study, so I was offered a job."
"I'm surprised you didn't stay here." An employee came by, offering Fenris a friendly smile and setting their drinks down. Garrett's hot chocolate was much more than he expected, with both mini marshmallows and whipped cream topping. It only reinforced what he was going to say next. "It's way nicer than the Hanged Man."
"I would have, but I needed more pay than I was getting." Fenris sipped his spiked coffee. "The Hanged Man might be a little shady, but the owner is pretty well off. They're understaffed, too, if you haven't noticed, so I got to name my price."
"You got a hell of a deal, then."
Fenris only nodded in response, taking another sip, and Garrett followed suit. He found that there was just enough whipped cream for added sweetness but not too much to drink easy, though he still got some in his mustache and reached for a napkin to wipe it off. Fenris chuckled, and it was such a pleasant noise.
"What about you, Hawke?" he questioned. Garrett was absolutely satisfied with Fenris using his last name, he decided.
"What about me?" he asked, sounding a little more dumb than he preferred to.
"Becoming an officer," Fenris clarified. "What led you to it?"
It was a touchy subject, but Garrett could at least spare a few details. "I had kind of a rough childhood. I guess I always wanted to be a cop. Enforce justice, and all that. It's a lot more boring than you probably think."
Fenris was quiet for a moment, and Garrett felt the strong itch that came with being scrutinized. "At least you knew what you wanted to do with your life," he finally relented, but it did not feel like a compliment. "Your brother, too?"
"Yeah, Carver, too," Garrett said, a little flustered and rather surprised that Fenris cared to ask the question. "He doesn't know the definition of fun, though."
Fenris cocked his head, pretty eyes staring intently into Garrett's own, and he felt like he was being studied. Finally, Fenris took another drink and said, "I'm glad you aren't like him, Hawke."
Was Fenris calling him fun? Was he flirting? And he said his name again, to boot. Garrett had no idea what to do with himself or how to respond to such a provoking statement, so he took the logical course of action and took a large gulp of his hot chocolate while he thought of something, making sure to wipe his facial hair after, just in case. Something in his chest fluttered at the idea that Fenris was interested, too, even though it was made pretty clear when he had insisted on exchanging numbers.
No time. No time! Garrett Hawke, you have absolutely zero time for relationships. No! Time!
"Are you?" he asked, allowing his tone to drop low, and the voice in his head screeched in frustration. Their eyes were locked, both men refusing to look away, and at this point he could not tell if it was attraction or a challenge. Possibly both.
"If you were, I doubt we ever would have met," Fenris answered, voice getting that rough edge to it that had made Garrett nearly lose his shit the prior night. "And I certainly wouldn't have been able to take you out here."
On a date. Garrett wanted him to clarify that so badly, but he also feared it. He could not stay with Fenris if that was the case. If it was a date, then he would have to cut the man off. He could not afford that kind of relationship. That kind of distraction.
It seemed Fenris had sensed some inkling of his uncertainty, perhaps discomfort, and he leaned back once more. Garrett had not even noticed that they had both been leaning forward on the table, and he backed off as well, embarrassment heating his face. He hoped he was not blushing.
"You're fun, too, Fenris," he said honestly, if a little awkwardly, and the man looked surprised. Was Garrett not supposed to say that?
"I'm glad to hear it." There was a note of uncertainty in his tone, though a generally pleased expression on his features. "I would hate to drag you out of your office for you to not enjoy it."
"Oh, you can drag me out of there anytime," Garrett replied, a vague sense of dread intruding on his good mood as he thought about all the absolute mess he would have to wade through upon his return. He had not even considered the implication of his words until he looked up from his drink and saw Fenris smiling.
"I'll have to take you up on that offer." Screw it, he didn't care about the unintentional nature of said implications - he was absolutely up for more coffee runs with Fenris. "When do you have to be back?"
It was a sharp jolt back to reality. Garrett pulled his phone out of his pocket and realized with a pang of mild distress that it was five minutes past the end of his break. Had they really been hanging out that long? To make matters worse, there was a message from Carver: where the hell are you, asshole? It seemed minutes turned to seconds when he was with Fenris.
"Uh . . . about five minutes ago."
"Oh." Fenris's eyes went wide for a second, and then he stared down at the table. "I'm sorry."
"It isn't a big deal," Garrett reassured him, and it really was not a big deal, though he never looked forward to dealing with his higher-ups when they called him out. Not that he really thought that would happen over a slightly extended break. "I enjoyed this far too much to regret it over Carver calling me an idiot, and he calls me an idiot about everything."
"Is that really all that will happen?" Fenris seemed to find it hard to believe. Garrett hardly blamed him.
"Aveline might give me judgmental looks for the next twenty years, but she does that anyways." Garrett stood and pulled his jacket on. Fenris stood as well, draining his coffee.
"Do you want me to walk you back?" he offered.
The idea had a certain warmth spreading through his chest. He smiled and finished off his cup as well, setting it on the table. "I would like that a lot, Fenris."
They left the cafe - bar - establishment together, and a few people dining at the patio stared as they passed. A little self-conscious at the eyes on him, Garrett shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and hunched his shoulders a little. What were they looking at? Fenris was staring, too, and Garrett drew his eyebrows together in mixed irritation and embarrassment.
"What?" Fenris started to laugh, and as much as Garrett adored the sound, he was not pleased with its timing. "What's so funny?"
"Hawke . . . you have whipped cream in your mustache."
Garrett hurried to wipe it off with his jacket sleeve, Fenris still laughing next to him.