A/N: This is the AU version of the prompt, the second one I started, but the first one I finished.
Disclaimer: The characters in this story are from Tales of Vesperia and do not belong to me.
Yuri is drunk. Flynn can tell by the way he's stopped considering each new drink before ordering it. He's usually careful about watching his limit, but once he goes past tipsy he stops keeping count and drinks like a fish. Something is bothering him. He doesn't like not being in control of himself and wouldn't try to drown his inhibitions unless there was something lurking in his mind that he needs to wash away. When things get that bad, reason becomes an acceptable casualty.
Flynn watches him toss back the drink and intercepts the clumsy, 'keep 'em coming' gesture before the damage gets any worse. He takes out Yuri's wallet and pays the tab. He isn't looking forward to the drive home. For all that he rarely gets drunk, Yuri is unpredictable when intoxicated. Flynn isn't sure what set him off this time, and he doesn't relish finding out, though that reluctance to peer past Yuri's walls makes him feel a bit of a traitor. They're supposed to be able to help each other, aren't they? How can Yuri fully rely on him if Flynn doesn't know what's eating him up from the inside?
He hustles Yuri out of the bar and into the chill damp of an early spring evening. Yuri doesn't even try to close his old, black trench coat against the drizzle-laden wind, and Flynn knows for sure that he should have cut him off sooner. It's so hard to tell when Yuri's hit that limit, though. His warning signs aren't the standard slurred speech or clumsiness. No, Yuri is more subtle than that, enough so that even Flynn has difficulty being able to tell sometimes when he's had enough. He's not interested in finding out if Yuri is going to be an angry drunk, as he doesn't seem inclined to be chatty tonight. The sooner they get back to their apartment, the better. He can put Yuri to bed, let him sleep off the hangover he'll have in the morning, and, hopefully, whatever set him off will have weakened its hold by then. Flynn doubts that, but he doesn't like seeing Yuri so troubled, and he knows from experience that getting him to share his burdens is no easy matter.
Sliding in behind the wheel, Flynn reaches over and gently strokes Yuri's hair out of his face. "It'll be all right," he says as he turns the key in the ignition. "We'll be home soon."
It isn't just the drinking that's tipped Flynn off. Yuri has been acting strange all day. He's been taciturn. He hasn't smiled except for when he's caught Flynn staring, and then he's pulled on the expression like a mask. And like a mask, it hasn't affected his eyes. Restless energy left him fiddling with anything in reach earlier in the evening, but when Flynn tried to take hold of his hand for comfort, Yuri pulled away. He avoided Flynn's touch until he was too drunk to notice.
Yuri collects troubles like shoes collect scuff marks. Usually, they aren't enough to bring him down, to make smiling something he has to remind himself to do. Flynn's only seen him get like this a few times in recent memory, including back when he quit the police force. Yuri had spent two years in the doldrums back then, earning money through a string of part time jobs or by helping out around the neighborhood. It was a trying time for their relationship before he decided to become a private investigator. When he started, Flynn encouraged him mostly just to break him out of his depression. Over the past year, however, Yuri's business has grown and he's helped so many people. The work agrees with him more often than not, and, though Flynn worries sometimes when Yuri takes on potentially dangerous cases, it's good to see him so happy and so driven to make a difference. He doesn't want Yuri getting trapped in that depression again. The warning signs tonight worry him.
Flynn racks his brain for something in his caseload or Yuri's that might have triggered this, and comes up with nothing. The silence from beside him is unnerving, particularly with the way Yuri is watching the road so intently as Flynn pulls out into the sparse traffic. His gray eyes, usually as bright and lively as sunlight on the sea, are glassy. His mouth is set in a thin, grim line.
"What's going on?" Flynn asks. His voice sounds rusty, as if it's been out of use for much longer than that evening. Maybe it's only anxiety over learning the cause of Yuri's mood that tries to hold the question back.
A little over a week ago, Yuri was like this for a couple of days. It's unsettling for a recurrence to happen so quickly, and Flynn can't help but wonder if whatever has upset Yuri tonight is something that's been going on longer than he's realized. He tries to think back over the past week. How long has Yuri had those dark circles under his eyes? When did he start picking at his food with such disinterest?
Yuri is silent. He doesn't even look away from the road ahead. Trying to get through to him, Flynn reaches for his hands which lie limp in his lap. Yuri pulls out of reach with a convulsive shudder and, for a moment, Flynn is worried that he's about to throw up. He doesn't. He holds everything in, slumping in his seat like a sullen teenager. Flynn knows it's nothing so simple, though, because if it was, Yuri would be vocal about it. He'd be talking Flynn's ear off rather than damming up his words.
As he drives, Flynn suddenly feels claustrophobic in his own car. It's like being trapped in an elevator with a surly stranger and he hates the feeling because he's known Yuri practically his whole life. He's impatient for an explanation, and if Yuri doesn't start talking before they get home, Flynn will demand one once they're back in their tiny apartment.
They're on the bridge, crossing back over the river when Yuri speaks up.
"They found Ragou's body," he says. His tone is flat, unsurprised. Flynn hadn't even heard that the councilman had died.
"What happened?" He's thinking Ragou was found in his bed or at his office, dead of a stroke, a heart attack, something like that. Something far easier than what he should have gotten after what he did to those children.
"Washed up in the river," Yuri says. He's staring out the window at the dark waters below, but in the the blink of an eye, the car is back on solid ground and speeding away from the bridge. Yuri doesn't look back.
"Suicide?"
Yuri's laugh is a harsh and ugly sound that makes the hairs on Flynn's arms stand on end. "Him? No way. There was plenty more evil left in him."
The discussion is making Flynn uneasy. Yuri isn't wrong about the man being evil, but for him to have been murdered... "Are there any leads on who did it?"
"Depends on who you're asking."
Despite the flow of warm air from the vents, Flynn feels a chill. "Obviously, I'm asking you. Do you know something about this?"
He looks over out of the corner of his eye to see Yuri's smile winking into and out of shadow as the streetlights rush past. The expression is cold and joyless, and a sense of dread begins to coalesce. It's an uneasy feeling in the pit of Flynn's stomach, and he clenches his fists on the wheel.
"If you know something, you need to go to the police."
Yuri looses another short bark of laughter. "Might be a good idea. I bet the confession could get thrown out if I make it while I'm wasted."
The sense of dread fills him, an icy explosion that makes Flynn's blood go cold in his veins. He nearly stomps on the brakes in his shock. Telling himself that Yuri must have been making a very bad joke is what allows him to continue on.
"That's not funny." Saying it doesn't thaw him. He feels tremors running through his body and a sickening tensions knots up his muscles. No matter what he tells himself, Yuri didn't sound like he was joking.
"Wasn't trying to be funny."
Yuri huddles in his coat and Flynn automatically cranks the warm air up another notch. Maybe it really is colder than he thought. Maybe the shivers and the dread are stemming from worry and exposure to Yuri's odd mood. He's got to be kidding and just taking the joke too far. He couldn't actually have done what he's implying. Yuri has a temper—Flynn knows that all too well—but he also knows right from wrong. He wouldn't kill a man, no matter how much harm that man might have done. He wouldn't.
"You're drunk. We'll be home soon and you can sleep it off. If there's any justice in the world, you'll have a massive hangover tomorrow as payback for your terrible sense of humor."
"If there was any justice in the world, I wouldn't have seen Ragou at the park. He was watching the kids."
Flynn can't keep telling himself that Yuri is only kidding. Something happened. He drives a little further, just until he reaches a gas station and pulls in. The parking lot is so brightly lit that it feels surreal against the dark mood in the car. He picks an empty spot as far from the pumps and the store as he can manage and is turning to face Yuri practically before he's stopped. He fumbles for the keys to shut the engine off. They slip from the ignition, caught in his shaky grip.
"Yuri..."
He doesn't know what to say, what to ask. Yuri is curled in on himself and crushed against the door, one cheek against the window. He's staring resolutely out at the darkness beyond the streetlights, and Flynn is certain that he's seeing something else. He wants so badly to reach out and grab him, but he can't bring himself to do it. Instead, he takes a deep breath and tries to clear out the tension that's locking up his limbs.
"What did you do?"
Slowly, Yuri licks his lips. He's frowning a little, and his gaze isn't quite focused. "Was on my way home. Week ago. Little more. Cut through the park. He was there, sitting on a bench. Just...watching kids play. Seemed like no one else noticed him. I went to chase him away."
"You shouldn't have approached him. You should have called the police."
"If you'd seen the look on his face, you wouldn't have waited, either." He shakes his head before continuing. "Got up and walked off when he saw me coming. I followed him to be sure he left, but he headed for the waterfall. You know how loud it is up there. Gotta be standing right next to someone to hear them."
"Were you planning to threaten him?" Could that have been it? Planing to scare a predator away from his hunting grounds, had Yuri accidentally allowed the conflict to escalate? Had it simply been a terrible accident?
"Don't know. Just wanted him away from the kids." For the first time, Yuri glances over. There's fury behind his eyes.
"Hachette was working that case. We still talk. He kept me informed. Showed me evidence to get another perspective. The police handled that case by the book, Flynn! Fucking lawyers and their damn technicalities! He shouldn't have gotten off!"
Yuri rises from his slump, fists clenched and held high. He's ready for a fight, but there's no enemy here, only Flynn who had nothing to do with the trial. In the face of Yuri's rage, Flynn holds very still.
"I know they did their best, Yuri. And I know they followed procedure. This was an important case to everyone who worked on it. No one expected him to be acquitted."
"So what the hell happened?"
"Limited or suppressed evidence, no witnesses to the actual murders, and he had a very skilled defense team."
Flynn also suspects that Ragou managed to bribe or intimidate some of the jury members. There's been no evidence of that, however, and now isn't the time to suggest it to Yuri. He bears the seething glare as Yuri mutters: "Fucking lawyers" and turns his face away once more. Flynn trusts that the venom in those words isn't directed at him, despite his work as a prosecutor. Yuri is angry. He's hurt. He took the case very personally when it first came to light, and now it seems he's made it even more personal. Flynn hopes it isn't as bad as Yuri has so far led him to believe.
When he doesn't show any sign of returning to his story, Flynn prompts him. "You followed him to the waterfall...?"
"'Such a shame that the police and the District Attorney's office wasted so much time persecuting me when I've committed no crime at all.' That's what he said to me. He said they'd have done better looking for a suspect in the gutter where those kids came from. Said he hoped we'd all think twice before coming to him next time some homeless brat turns up dead. He smiled when he said it. Then he turned his back on me."
Flynn can hardly breathe. He doesn't want to be listening to this, doesn't want Yuri—his lifelong friend, the man he wakes up beside each morning—to be a murderer. He feels like he's caught in a nightmare. The bright lights of the gas station, the colors and shadows, the sharp lines of Yuri's face—everything holds a dreamlike clarity. The details are suspended in the pauses between Yuri's words, pinned in place by the anger roiling beneath.
"What happened, Yuri?"
"People like him don't stop. You know that. They don't stop. They have to be stopped."
"What did you do?"
Yuri's anger drains away. The spark leaves his eyes. He slumps once more in his seat, looking exhausted. When he sighs, the reek of alcohol sharpens briefly.
"I protected the kids that would have been next. Had my knife on me. Wasn't anyone around. I stabbed him. Once. In the back. Tipped him over the rail into the river, after."
Just like that, he's done with his story. He looks weary, drained, but not remorseful.
Flynn feels like he's about to vomit. He grasps the steering wheel with both hands and takes slow, deep breaths. He doesn't want to admit this is real, that it actually happened. He isn't even sure he believes it. Yuri isn't afraid of starting fights, particularly in defense of others, but he's never taken things too far. Flynn can't picture Yuri stabbing an old man in the back, no matter how black a heart he aimed for, no matter how many people he thought he was protecting. He can't picture him cleaning blood off his hands and coming home and acting normal afterward, but that was what happened. He remembers Yuri's depression a week ago, remembers how he'd been gone more often than usual for a few days and how he'd seemed so tired when he did come home.
How could he have missed this?
"You have to go to the police." Flynn hears himself say the words. He knows it's the right thing to do. He wants to wake up.
"With alcohol on my breath?"
"Tomorrow, then. When you're sober. I'll go with you."
With a murderer? Or with his best friend, his lover?
"Maybe. Maybe I'll wait till they come knocking. Maybe they won't come. Not much sympathy for Ragou. Not much motivation to find me."
"Yuri! You have to confess! If you won't go, then I—!" He can't even say it. Yuri's gaze slides over to focus on him.
"Attorney client privilege. You're my lawyer. You can't tell."
"I'm a prosecutor, not a defense attorney!"
"You're my lawyer." He speaks calmly, but his tone implies that he won't hear any arguments to the contrary. "If it comes to it, you'll know the tricks they'll be using."
"Yuri, I can't defend you...!" It shames him how much that sounds like a plea. "You just admitted to killing a man!"
How could he? No matter who it was or why, how could he have betrayed the law they had both sworn to uphold? How could he have betrayed Flynn?
Yuri's gaze is calm and steady. There's more trust in it than Flynn would have expected, and he wonders bitterly if that's a result of Yuri's drinking, or a true reflection of their suddenly shaky bond.
"I'm not asking you to lie for me. Tell them what I did, but at least tell them why. If you defend me and I go to jail, then there's no doubt that's where I belong. Better I get locked up than the cops getting another shot at Ragou over a kid's corpse."
"Enough!" He can't deal with this right now. It's too much. He isn't sure he'll ever be able to deal with it. "We're going ho—back to the apartment."
Is it still their home? Can he share his bed with a murderer? Yuri talks about trading the rest of his life for the lives of potential victims, but what else has he sacrificed? He'll have to go confess in the morning. On top of everything else, he can't possibly expect Flynn to keep this secret.
He starts the engine and pulls out of the station. He can't even look at Yuri, though he feels him sitting there, a familiar presence become strange. He had never even considered the idea that Yuri might be capable of such a thing. It takes an effort to make the short drive back to the apartment. Flynn wonders if he's in shock.
When they arrive, it's Flynn's turn to avoid Yuri's touch. He hurries him in from the car as if someone might glean the terrible secret from one glimpse of the two of them. He expects at any moment a flood of light, pointing fingers, accusations, demands to know why he didn't turn Yuri in immediately. None of this happens, of course. Their return goes unnoticed, and Yuri is soon sprawled on the bed, unconscious in moments by way of some combination of exhaustion, alcohol, and the unburdening of his guilt.
For a long time, Flynn stands by the bed and watches him. Thoughts dart through his head like schools of quicksilver fish. They are a mishmash of memories from a lifetime spent at Yuri's side. He barely acknowledges them, numb to everything and only able to stare, uncomprehending, at Yuri's sleeping face.
The decision to leave isn't one he makes consciously, but he needs to think, and he can't do that in the apartment. He certainly won't be sleeping there tonight. He takes his wallet and his keys, but he won't be taking his car. He doesn't trust himself behind the wheel. As he walks out, he pulls his coat closer. The wind is damp and cold, and he can already feel a chill settled deep within his bones. He isn't sure when he'll be back.
