Being 'the New Guy' sucked, Charlie realised as he continued to go through the records they'd found on the Kwon's computer. You got given the worse jobs – he'd been blushing for nearly an hour straight.
The internet definitely made people bolder, or perhaps blunter—
AngelBoi says: Yeh, take the pantz off 2. :)
There was also some significantly more embarrassing stuff (and he'd sadly found himself with an erection since roughly he'd started going through it) but it was difficult to work out anything from it.
There was one thing, he supposed. Someone called 'GWHunter' appeared frequently – every Wednesday and Friday, at exactly nine pm. It had been happening for the past three months according to the logs. What seemed significant about it, to Charlie, was that he'd been the last one to talk to her via her webcam.
Sunshine says: Hey
Sunshine says: Are you alright? You're on late today.
Sunshine says: I thought you were gonna stand me up!!!
Sunshine says: …
Sunshine says: Are you still there?
GWHunter says: Yeah, I'm here.
Sunshine says: You had me worried. I had to wait for u. Shld I make you wait for me?
GWHunter says: No. Just take your bra off.
Sunshine says: How bout a plz:P
GWHunter says: Just do it. I'm the one paying you.
Sunshine says: What's wrong? You're angry at me.
GWHunter says: I'm NOT angry.
Sunshine says: Is it because of what happened last time?
GWHunter says: No.
Sunshine says: I said I'm sorry.
GWHunter says: You've said a lot of things, Sunshine.
-GWHunter has left the room-
It all seemed pretty melodramatic, and Charlie couldn't find the record of the 'last time' that Sun had referred to – the Wednesday session was missing for that week.
It all seemed a little off, so he wrote down the details - including the IP address - on a post-it note, then decided to take it down to IT.
Sawyer closed his eyes and breathed in deeply as he leaned back into his armchair. He had a beer on the table in front of him, but he'd just got in from work a few minutes ago and hadn't yet had a chance to drink it.
The clutter of his flat surrounded him, but he didn't even notice the mess any more. The empty bottles and pizza boxes were a permanent feature on his floor – he only remembered to chuck them out when they started to stink.
Now they smelled fine, so he was content to lean back and enjoy his drink. He wouldn't sleep well tonight; he never could when he had an on-going case. If he was lucky, he might drink so much that he passed out. Sighing, he opened his beer and started to relax.
A loud and persistent knocking at the front door interrupted him immediately. Aw, great. Who the hell would visit him at this time anyway? It wasn't like he actually had (or wanted) any 'friends'.
He angrily slammed his beer back down on the table, got out of his chair, and stalked towards the door. When he opened it, the angry rant he'd been prepared died on his tongue as he saw Charlie grinning on the doorstep. He was out of his work clothes, the neat and orderly shirt replaced by a t-shirt and jeans, underneath a thin jacket and red-and-blue striped scarf.
He was still in stunned silence as Charlie pushed past him, with his cheeks red from the cold outside. "Hey, Sawyer. Came looking for you."
"You found me."
"Yeah – looked up your address on the station's database. Hope you don't mind?" Charlie didn't even give him a chance to mind, seeing as he kept on talking. "Anyway, I was at home and I got this call from—Whoa, your place is a tip." Charlie stopped talking to turn and take in the mess. "I thought your office was bad. Have you ever cleaned up in here?"
"Yeah, actually. Just tidied last weekend," Sawyer snapped. He glared at a half-eaten takeaway box that was next to his opened beer, where it had been sitting for a few days now.
"That's not something to bloody boast about, mate," Charlie said, with a smile creeping onto his face. "You seriously live like this?"
"Well… I would've cleaned up if I'd known I was having guests 'round, wouldn't I?" Sawyer crossed his arms over his chest, but Charlie just smiled, an annoying and knowing smile, and nodded slowly. "Why're you even here?"
"Oh!" Charlie reached into the pocket of his jacket. Sawyer watched him calmly, but left the front door open so that it was clear Charlie had to leave soon; he felt like his territory was being invaded - although, it was the 'picked apart' and 'made fun of' part that really bothered him about the invasion, especially as this was Charlie. In his mind, he'd been starting to create slightly more romantic or lust-filled ways of bringing Charlie to his home.
Charlie tugged a sheet of paper out of his pocket. "Look – I was going through the computer's records, like you told me to, and I found this one really weird guy… Well, sent the stuff over to IT and they found this."
He passed the paper over to Sawyer, who snatched it and quickly read the typed information there. A slow but smug smile found its way onto his face, and he struggled not to laugh. "John Locke?" he asked, reading the name buried in the other information on the paper.
"Yeah. They looked it up – that's who the IP address leads to."
"This is gonna be fun."
Charlie scowled at him. "Be nice, mate."
"I'm always nice." Sawyer moved towards his jacket, his beer forgotten about. "And I'm not your 'mate'. Don't call me that."
Charlie's scowl turned to a smile, and he rocked on his feet happily. "What should I call you then? Sawyie?"
Sawyer glanced up and chucked the nearest cushion at him from the couch. Charlie caught it and placed it down, still grinning at him.
"Sir'll do, kid. Now come on. Let's go talk to the Super."
So whereabouts did web-cam whores fit in with that?
He wasn't sure yet and knew that he'd only started to scratch at the surface of this mystery. There was so much more, so many extra levels that he just needed to –
'Love, love me do
You know I love you'
His eyes widened as Charlie flicked the radio on and music flooded through the car. "What're you doing?" he snapped. He moved to switch it off, but Charlie batted his hand lightly away from the controls.
"Listening to the radio!" Charlie had to yell above the music to even be heard.
"It's my car."
"And I'm in it, so we're listening to the radio." Charlie grinned, again; Sawyer was starting to pick up on the fact that that smile was Bad News. "I'm your guest; you've got to be nice to me, sir."
Sawyer glowered, but he left the radio as it was. He told himself that it was just because they only had a few blocks left to go.
All the same, he was extremely relieved when he stopped outside Locke's house. He'd never been able to stand the Beatles.
Charlie was laughing to himself, though. "You're such a bloody grouch," he said with an oddly warm smile, before stepped out of the car.
Sawyer scowled and got out too, slamming the door shut. "A 'grouch'? Who are you – Dickens?"
Charlie looked confused. "What? If I'd called you a scrooge then I'd have been Dickens. And if I'd called you a grinch, I'd have been Seuss. But… I called you a grouch. 'cause you are one. That just makes me, like, the inventor of Sesame Street."
Charlie moved around the car and pulled Sawyer by the arm towards the door of Locke's house.
Sawyer was still trying to catch up with what Charlie had just said, as the DC knocked on the door after spending a few moments trying and failing to find the bell. "Sesame Street?" he asked. "Sorry, 'mate'; I'm not three years old."
"Aw, come on. Y'know, the guy in the bin?" Charlie said, but before he could explain any further, Locke had flung the door open.
With a plain white t-shirt and loose pyjama bottoms, Locke had obviously been in bed. Sawyer felt slightly put off – he'd never seen Locke when he wasn't wearing his shirt and tie. The old guy had even worn it to the Christmas party.
"James?" Locke asked. He glanced towards Charlie, before back to Sawyer. "Has something happened at the station?"
He looked ready to run for the car and rush into work in his slippers, so Sawyer shook his head quickly. "No, it ain't nothing like that. Can we come in?"
Locke looked uneasy, but he nodded. "Yes, of course. Leave your shoes by the door."
While uneasy, Locke still seemed comfortable enough and completely in control. Sawyer frowned as he took his shoes off; he wanted to see some panic. Locke must've guessed by now why they were here. He glanced towards Charlie and saw the nervous look on his face, before both of them followed Locke to the kitchen.
They sat down on the stools surrounding the table. There were several gadgets on the counter by the wall, but Sawyer doubted if they'd ever been used. They were just there to look nice and shiny.
Locke began to take three mugs out of the cupboard, after switching the kettle on. He didn't turn around, but began to speak anyway. "I suppose you've found me out, haven't you? That's why you're here."
Sawyer nodded, glad that he'd brought this up. "Yeah, Locke. We found out." At the slump of Locke's shoulders from those words, Sawyer couldn't even feel smug about having the ability to drag the bald bastard's name through the mud.
Locke still didn't turn around. "Am I being charged with anything?"
"No, sir," Charlie said. Sawyer felt a slightly possessive flare of annoyance run through him; he wanted to ban Charlie from calling anyone else but him 'sir'. "It wasn't technically illegal. However, if we find out that you had any meetings in person with the victim…"
"I didn't. It was innocent, I promise."
"Yeah." Sawyer rolled his eyes. "As innocent as you can get when you're ordering her to get her kit off."
"It was a mistake. But…"
"Save it. We've got some questions. We can do this here, or would you rather we took you into the station for it?"
Locke shook his head. "I'll cooperate. Here's fine – I've got nothing to hide." The kettle boiled and he filled a teapot. Sawyer was never going to get used to this British obsession with tea. It all tasted like shit to him.
"Nothing?" Charlie asked. A swell of pride rose up within Sawyer; Charlie sounded like a hard-nosed investigator already. "Then why didn't you tell us about your sessions with her when we first IDed the body? It would've saved us a whole load of hassle, y'know."
Locke turned around and placed two mugs in front of them, while keeping the third one for himself. "I know. I should have."
"But you didn't," Charlie said.
Locke looked mildly annoyed, which Sawyer liked, because it meant that they were getting to him – about time. He'd been starting to wonder if it was even physically possible to shatter Locke's cool.
"No I… I guess I hoped it would blow over." Locke moved forwards to sit in the seat opposite them at the table.
"It didn't," Charlie said bluntly, before he reached into the pocket of his jacket. His hand emerged clutching a different sheet of paper, which made Sawyer uneasy – he hadn't been shown this sheet. Not being told the full details before an interrogation made him edgy. "Sir, you had an argument with the deceased the last time you spoke."
Locke looked down into his teacup. "Yes. We… There was a slight disagreement."
"About?"
"I wanted to meet her."
"And she didn't want to meet you."
Locke still didn't look up, but he nodded solemnly. Sawyer kept quiet, for now, but he was going to yell at Charlie when this was done – how could he not have told him about that argument?
"She said it was best if we just kept things as they were."
Charlie nodded. "How did that make you feel?"
"I…" Locke looked up, blue eyes as sharp as ever. He was a clever man, a good cop. He'd be able to tell exactly what they were thinking about him. "I didn't kill her, Pace. I can promise you that. I did not kill her."
Locke stood up, angry now and unashamed. Sawyer placed a protective hand on Charlie's arm, just in case. He didn't think that Locke would be stupid enough to try and hurt him, but he didn't trust the guy either. If Charlie got hurt, Sawyer was gonna beat Locke so badly that he couldn't walk properly for a week.
"Alright, alright. How 'bout you calm down, Locke, and then I'll tell you how this is gonna go," Sawyer said, with his voice constantly level. He held Locke's gaze until his superior sat back down and took a shaky drink from his tea. "You're gonna take a few weeks off."
"What? You can't tell me—"
"Take sick leave, for stress. Or something. Tell them you've got herpes if you want, I don't care. Just stay away from this station until the case is cracked. If you don't, I'm going to arrest you as a suspect. That clear?"
Locke shifted on his seat and he was gripping his cup so hard that it was a miracle he hadn't smashed it yet, but he nodded; it was a thick movement, thick with distaste, but it was enough. Sawyer'd accept it.
He got to his feet and dragged Charlie up with him. "We'll see you a couple of weeks," he said, and walked out before either Locke or Charlie could object. He still had Charlie's arm tight in his grip, so Charlie was tugged along behind him. He stormed through the house and slammed the front door behind them once they were outside.
"Sawyer?" Charlie jerked his arm away the second they were out of the house. "What the hell was that? You're just going to cover up for him?" Charlie shoved at his shoulder, frustrated.
So what? Sawyer managed to hold his temper for roughly two seconds but when Charlie started to speak again, he snapped – he saw red, he grabbed Charlie's shoulders and shoved him hard against the pebble-dashed wall beside the door. Charlie winced like that hurt. Good.
"Listen, you son of a bitch. You withheld evidence. You think I like getting surprised during an interview? You think it made you look smart to pull out that fucking sheet of paper?" He pulled Charlie towards only to slam him back again; this time, he could hear a faint thud as Charlie's head hit the wall, and felt briefly alarmed.
But Charlie wasn't fighting him off, or even trying to. He looked scared, sure – but he could have jerked his knee up and had Sawyer rolling on the ground in pain, because they were way too close. Instead, he stayed pliant under Sawyer's hands, with his eyes wide and his hips parted and Sawyer felt way too turned on seeing that expression on Charlie's face.
He looked away for a few moments, trying to gather his thoughts again. "It's not funny, asshole, and it didn't make you look smart at all. It made me look like an idiot." He'd dropped his voice to a whisper – he could see Charlie's eyes drift closed because of the sound, and got a small kick out of having that effect on the other.
That kick only lasted for a few seconds, before he dug his nails hard into Charlie's skin through his jacket, through his shirt, just to see Charlie's eyes flash open; alarmed, but they were dark with lust. Aw, fuck. Sawyer couldn't help but toy with the idea of screwing him right here on their boss's porch. That'd probably be a bad idea.
Right?
"You think I like lookin' like an idiot?" he asked, keeping his voice low and husky, accent bleeding through. He hated that sound, his real voice making everyone initially dismiss him as a dumb hick, but it was worth it to see Charlie shiver, breath shaking.
"No," Charlie whispered back. Sawyer dug his nails in again, though not quite as hard this time. "S-sir. No, sir. Sorry."
Sawyer smirked and looked over him for a few seconds, unwilling to believe that he was about to do this. His grip on Charlie's shoulders tightened painfully for just a moment – and then he pulled back. He took a few steps backwards, and watched Charlie stumble, still smirking. He stayed as casual as ever, even though he was hard in his jeans and already regretting moving away.
"Good, kid – don't do anything like that again, or I'll get your damn ass fired. Now get in the car." He hardly gave Charlie a chance to breathe again, but the constable nodded, dazed, and moved forwards. Sawyer rolled his eyes, affectionate again, and grinned. "Idiot," he breathed.