Yes, Fang hardly seems drunk. But he's FANG. He can keep down his alcohol and he's only partially drunk because he's FANG. He's SMART.

Hardly Law Abiding

(MAX POV)

Lights flared all around me, sending streams of blue, red, and white everywhere. It was late, almost midnight, and pitch black. Dark water streamed by below the bridge, and the light danced across it in ripples, making everything seem like one big firework show.

They flickered, one after another, and lit up the gruesome picture before me. It was truly horrifying, and I tried not to turn my head away and make a funny face.

A man, no older than forty, laid limp and ghostly white on the pavement. His light blond hair was tussled and stained a dark red from the blood that pooled below his head. His white shirt was no longer white, but the same color of his hair. His jean-covered leg was twisted at a more-than-painful angle, and it was obvious that whatever happened, it wasn't an accident.

Especially, of course, because of the knife protruding his neck.

I loomed just above him as everyone around me moved silently. A crime scene like this wasn't very uncommon here in Oakland (we did hold fifth place in the running for most-crimes in the United States), but every time one came around, nobody was excited to get there. But we put on a tough face and did it anyway, no matter how unsettling it was.

Which only made the eerie silence even worse.

Only sirens broke the polluted air as agents took notes of everything on the closed bridge that lead to Coast Guard Island.

Dylan stood beside me, looking just as defeated as I feel. I nudged his shoulder gently with mine. He stopped taking pictures and his eyes flickered to me, silently asking what I want.

I broke the silence that loomed everywhere and said. "Are we taking this one?"

Dylan looked down and said quietly. "No."

My eyebrows furrowed. "What? Why not? Nobody else is."

Dylan sighed and turned to face me. "I just don't feel like it, okay?"

I glared at him and said sharply. "You don't feel like it? I'm sorry Dylan, but that's pathetic. Even for you. This man was killed and you don't feel like finding his murderer?"

He turned and taking a step towards me. "Do you want to know what I find pathetic? That you won't move away from that guy, Fang."

I scoffed. "What is it with everyone and asking me about Fang? It's not like I obsess over him! Heck, I've never even brought it up! I've seen him all of two times in my life. Three if you count that one time I passed him in the hallway."

Dylan glared back at me. "Have you ever thought that it wasn't a coincidence that he was attacked multiple times and you were his neighbor? Maybe he and his friends were just waiting until you got home until they started their whole spectacle. Maybe he's doing it on purpose."

I looked at him like he was crazy. "You're kidding, right? Have you ever thought that maybe it was a coincidence? You know that I don't live in the best of neighborhoods. He's just as dangerous as anyone down the hall."

"You're right, so maybe you should move, after all."

"If a bear sprang through my window and held a knife to my throat, I still wouldn't move."

"It's either you move or you get killed in your sleep by your crazed neighbor."

I rolled my eyes and pushed him back, "Yeah right. I think I can handle it."

He grabbed my arm roughly, "I mean it, Max. This guy seems really unsteady."

I gasped from his grip and shook him off. "Don't touch me. You can go squeal in fear from Fang all you want, but I'm going to go do my job."

He grabbed at my arm again as I turned to walk away. I stared at his hand on my arm for a second before I struck. In a second, he was one his back on the ground, just next to the dead man. He stared up at me, shocked.

I spat at him. "I said don't touch me. And I mean it. Fang has nothing to do with anything, and I'd appreciate it if you mind your own business."

I raised my head to the crowd of agents whose heads were all swiveled in our direction. "That goes for all of you, too."

They returned to their work, and the silence continued. I stomped off to my car, furious.

I sat for a second in my seat, and watched as Dylan sent me a pleading glance from his spot on the ground. I shook my head, biting my lip to keep from screaming in annoyance.

I started the car and did a u-turn, driving away on the dimly lit bridge.

Upon arriving home, I parked the car just in front of my apartment building. No lights were visible through all the shuttered windows, but I knew half of them really were up, doing some illegal act that I really did not want to know about.

I got out of my care slowly, collected my keys and the newest pile of files before locking it up and heading inside. I took the stairs and headed up three flights until I reached my floor.

In the lit hallway stood a dark figure that I immediately recognized, and immediately hated seeing.

Fang.

His head rested against his door as he stood there, partially leaning against the side. His eyes were clamped shut tightly and he clutched his head as if in pain. As I neared, I noticed the edges of his fingers were stained a dark scarlet.

Just what I need, I thought, more blood.

I neared him hesitantly and set my stuff down next to my door before facing him.

Fang looked just as messy as always. His black attire was wrinkled and faded, and it hung limply around him, almost as if it was way to big. His olive skin shone with sweat and his defined jaw moved back and forth, like he was grinding his teeth.

I came right up to him and asked. "Are you okay?"

Fang winced, and his hand that wasn't clutching his head flew up to his ear. He mumbled a quick. "Ow."

I whispered. "Sorry."

Fang slowly lifted himself off the door. His hand dropped, and I saw a small gash reaching up from his forehead to his hairline. "It's fine. I'm ju-just…tired."

He stumbled over his words and I quickly realized it wasn't just his injury that was making him stutter. "Either that cut is worse than it looks, or you're drunk."

He tipped slightly and landed against the door. "A little bit of both."

I chuckled and peered at his wound. "Do you need help with that? I could help you patch it up."

He looked up at me, and his black eyes were wary. "Sure. I'd do it myself, but I-I'm pretty sure I'd just make it w-worse."

I smiled and opened my door. We walked in silently. Well…I walked; Fang stumbled.

I lead him to one of the three doors in the hallway. Inside was a small bathroom. In the far corner was a tub that doubled as a shower and next to it stood a small toilet. Across from that stood a white sink.

I slowly sat Fang down on the edge and lingered there, making sure he didn't topple over. When I was positive he wasn't going to fall into the bathtub, I grabbed a washcloth from a cabinet next to the door, and wet it under the sink.

I sat down on the left side of Fang, and swung one leg over the edge and into the tub so that I could get to his wound.

Fang winced as I dabbed at it, cleaning away all of the blood.

"So," I asked. "Why are you drunk again?"

He didn't respond immediately, and for a second I thought he wouldn't until he said. "I was stressed. I figured I'd drink it all away. Instead, I get a massive headache and a gash on the side of my head, just to add to the stress."

I nodded. "And how did you get the gash?"

Fang turned his head slightly and gave me a teasing look. "Are you interrogating me?"

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't help the smile that broke out on my face. "No. Well…maybe. It's instinct."

Fang cracked his own smile. "Innocence and instinct."

I laughed shortly. "I love that album! Red is a good band."

Fang nodded in his head in agreement. I continued on his wound and continued my 'interrogation'. "You never answered the question. How did you get this cut?"

"Um…Iggy and I were drinking and goofing off. We were at a local club and on my way out I…well…let's just say I missed the door."

I laughed as his cheeks flushed a light pink. He mumbled. "Don't laugh at me."

I tried to stifle my laughter with my empty hand. "I am not laughing at you. I'm laughing at the door."

This time it was Fang's turn to roll his eyes. "You were- and still are- laughing at me. It's not my fault. I was drunk out of my mind then."

I raised my eyebrows mockingly. "And whose fault is it for getting you wasted?"

"Iggy."

"And did Iggy make it out alive?"

"He's mostly in tact."

"Mostly?"

"He may be puking out his guts pretty soon, but he's not bleeding out on the street."

I stopped myself before I could think about the dead man, lying on the pavement just across the city.

"You and Iggy work together, right?"

He nodded, which caused him to wince against my washcloth. "Yeah. I work the morning shift, he works the night shift, and we both work the afternoon."

"If it a hard job, at the boxing ring?"

"No. That's why I took it. All I do is sign off on new memberships and make sure the fights don't get out of hand. I even get to fight sometimes myself."

"Are you good?"

He thought for a moment. "Yeah, I'm pretty good. Can't say I'll beat you though."

I smirked. "Is that an offer?"

He laughed. "If you want it to be."

I pretended to think. "If I have time. Be ready to get your ass kicked."

His mouth fell open in mock shock. "Oh, trust me, I'm not looking forward to it."

"Are you trying to make me back out?"

He didn't hesitate to answer. "Yes."

I sighed. "Well, too bad for you. I need a good fight. Being an agent is boring!"

"Yeah, if you leave out the whole part about getting shot at, catching criminals, solving puzzles. Oh yeah, it's very boring."

"Well, I don't think you realize that half of what I do is paperwork. I'm basically a paper-pusher, with the occasional fraud case if I'm lucky."

Fang stayed as emotionless as ever, but his eyes flashed with curiosity. "Just a paper-pusher? Because you have blood on your shoe."

I looked down and noted sheepishly that I did have blood on my shoe. I sighed and explained. "I was working on my scene. I must have stepped in the pool of it. Great, now I have to explain to whoever took the case why my footprint showed up at the scene."

"And if you don't?"

I sighed and dropped my hand. Fang turned to face me fully.

"When you mess up in law enforcement, it always comes with a price. Sometimes you get suspended, sometimes you're demoted, etc. But when you're as high up as I am, and good cases are available but hard to get…when someone wants you out...you're framed."

Fang's eyebrows shot up. "Framed?"

I nodded mutely. "Let's just say, for people who are supposed to enforce the law, we sure do break it a lot."

"I think I've heard that on TV somewhere."

The tense mood was soon dropped and I groaned. "Oh no! You're one of those junkies who sits on the couch and watches crime shows all day, aren't you!"

Fang held up his hands in surrender. "Guilty as charged. No pun intended."

'Which ones?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. Law and Order, CSI, Criminal Minds, Psych, etc."

I raised my eyebrows. "Psych? That's a sad excuse for a cop show."

"But it's a funny cop show."

"Okay, I can't compete with that one."

We lapsed into a silence. Fang was first to break it. "I think I'm going to go to sleep now. Thanks, Max."

I smiled weakly. "Yeah, no problem. You can use the couch if you want. You're probably going to need a little help in the morning."

"No, I think I'm going to ho home. I don't want to put a cranky guy with a hangover on you. That's hardly fair."

I helped him up and steered him towards the living room. "Well, you're not too drunk. So take the couch. Really, it's fine."

He sighed. He was probably starting to realize I was not going to budge.

"Fine."

I opened a closet in the living room and threw a blanket and pillow onto the couch. As I walked down the hall, I called out. "Good night, Fang!"

An annoyed sounding call came back. "Good? What's good about it? I'm partially drunk, Max."

Oh, what a wonderful night.

Not.