I promised myself I'd finish writing this fic before I started posting it... and almost four years of drafting and stopping and rewriting I'm finally, somehow, here. So nervous but so excited to share this story that started as a lighthearted writing experiment and ended up being so much more.

A few things to be said beforehand:

- This fic is rated M for (emotionally intense) violence, swearing (courtesy of Keith and Pidge) and central themes and discussions around grief, mental health and belonging. I'll leave the tags I used for this fic on Ao3 at the bottom of the chapter if you want a little more detail about what the story contains.

- This is basically a buddy cop AU, and as such will have a focus on platonic relationships.

- The plot is based on the Choices visual novel Most Wanted, with quite a few creative liberties to fit the Voltron characters. You don't need to have read it to understand what's happening.

- Besides some line edits, this fic is complete and - if life allows it - I'll be updating it every Saturday!

This fic means a lot to me, so I'm hoping it'll mean something to you too :)

Chapter 1

Saturday, 12.02 AM

It was supposed to be Lance's weekend off when he got the message.

After all, his latest case – a worker injured at a construction site under suspicious circumstances – had wrapped two days ago, his official report only handed in late this afternoon. But judging by the straight-to-the-point message from Captain Holt ('Homicide at Omega towers. We need you. Get there now.') this was important. Something out of the ordinary.

Lance suppressed a sigh, his eyes flickering over the half-packed bar with its white and airy interior, black marble table tops and cozy groups of arm chairs. Listened to the sound of laughter from a group further in, the soft jazz playing over the speakers.

Guess time off would have to wait.

"Lance? You alright over there?"

Putting his poker cards down on the table, Lance sent Hunk an apologetic smile. "I need to go."

"Again?" Hunk frowned, a hint of concern appearing in his dark eyes. "But your last case was–"

"I know. But hey," his smile grew into a grin, "at least you'll have a chance to actually win now."

Shay, the table's only other resident, mirrored his expression. "You did lose the last three rounds," she said to Hunk, not unkindly. Her hooped earrings jangled as she tucked a strand of her short brown hair behind her ear. "But I suppose playing against a detective is a disadvantage."

"Not to mention best friend," Hunk muttered, though Lance could tell he was amused too. "Can't play anything needing a poker face with him, man."

As Lance pushed himself out of the arm chair, he couldn't resist one last tease. After all, it wasn't every day Hunk was the one trying to flirt, not him. "I don't know. I think you distracted yourself just fine on your own this time."

Well, 'flirt' might be an exaggeration, he thought as Hunk pointedly took a sip from his glass in an effort to conceal his flustered expression, but there was obviously something there. On both sides.

Man. Combining his night-out plans with Hunk and Shay's extended thank-you dinner invitation might've been the best thing he had ever done.

"Thank you again," she was saying, putting her cards down to extend a hand towards him. "Without you, the truth of my brother's accident would've never been uncovered."

"Just happy we could set things right," he said, shaking it. "Wish him a speedy recovery, yeah?"

Her hazel eyes softened. "I will."

A final nod, and Lance turned to Hunk. "Don't know how late I'll be. Think you still can get home without your designated driver?"

"It's fine, man, don't worry," Hunk waved him off. "I'll catch the subway later. Just," and the concern was back in his eyes, "be careful, alright?"

Don't get hurt.

Don't overwork yourself.

Lance pushed his arm chair back in, an easy smile on his lips. "I'm always careful. Oh, and since I was totally gonna win this round," he pulled a few bills from his wallet and placed them on the table, "I'll go ahead and pay my prize."

Hunk's eyebrows raised as he reached over to check Lance's abandoned cards. "No, you weren't – you only had a pair!"

Lance smirked, calling a "Try not to have too much fun without me!" over his shoulder as headed towards the exit, though a huge part of him hoped they would. Considering the winning prize of the poker game was to get to pay for everyone's drinks they both had an overabundance of kindness in common, and he was sure that wasn't the only thing.

The chef and the construction worker. Who would have expected that?

Lance shook his head, pushing away the warm feeling inside him as he pulled up Captain Holt's message again. Omega towers. That was somewhere up near Hollywood, right?

He bit his lip. Seemed like the district's glamorous facade had slipped tonight.

:::

12.33 AM

The street outside Omega towers was filled with commotion: officers directing pedestrians and cars to other streets; medical personnel taking care of a few fancily dressed (and shell-shocked) people under the flashing ambulance lights; and, at the center of it all, a car with a caved-in roof.

Even from a distance, the shape on top of it was unmistakable.

A body.

"What the hell happened here?" Lance muttered to himself as he ducked under the yellow tape and approached the scene.

"Detective McClain!"

Turning around, he saw Officer Acxa approaching him, her blue eyes betraying a hint of relief. That if anything made the knot tie itself tighter in his stomach. Because in the three months since he first met her he'd learnt one thing above all: nothing spooked Acxa.

"What's the word?" he asked, forcing calm into his voice.

She pressed her lips together, adjusting the police hat resting on her short, indigo hair. "Wrap party on the roof, hosted by James Griffin. Witnesses say the perp walked into the party with a shotgun, killed one guest, then vanished. Described as feminine-presenting, white-blonde hair. Seemed unhinged."

Without meaning to, Lance's eyes drifted over to the body again; the arms and legs positioned in awkward angles; the eyes staring vacantly into space; the blue and red lights from the ambulance casting a purple tinge over hair and skin. A light shiver traveled up his spine.

"He didn't have an ID," Acxa said, following his gaze, "but… Detective, that's–"

"Sendak," Lance finished quietly. "CEO at Galra Corp, right?"

A grave nod in return.

Thoughts racing, Lance bit the inside of his cheek. He didn't know much about Galra Corp., more than that they were some kind of mega tech corporation, infamous for buying up their competition – a movement Sendak had been the face of… and earned massive hatred for. Had Galra Corp. gotten on the wrong side of dangerous people? Or was this not related to the corporation at all, but to Sendak personally? Or simply wrong place, wrong time?

Either way, Lance had a long night of evidence searching and questioning to look forward to.

"I didn't think you were coming."

Acxa's words finally managed to get him to pull his gaze from the mangled body. "What do you mean?"

"Because they sent a replacement. A U.S. Marshal." Acxa nodded towards Omega Towers' entrance. "Already up at the scene."

A U.S. Marshal? Captain Holt hadn't said anything about that. Then again, maybe he hadn't known – could've been a last minute addition from the higher-ups. Wouldn't be the first time that had happened.

But replacement? It had taken him less than half an hour to get here: a feat considering he'd been off the clock. Surely that wasn't enough time to get him replaced? He hadn't even stopped to change out of his suit!

Suppressing a sigh, Lance rubbed his temples, already feeling the beginnings of a headache.

"Alright," he said. "I'll head up there now. Meanwhile, get some of the forensics guys to start moving the body to the lab for examination." His eyes drifted back over to the grisly scene. "Given its state, that'll probably take a while."

Something close to a grimace flashed across Acxa's face, but she squared her shoulders and nodded.

"And when the reporters inevitably show up, make sure they stay on the right side of the tape, yeah?"

"Yes, sir."

A final nod goodbye before she left, and now it was Lance's turn to steel himself as he headed towards the front doors. He had no idea who this U.S. Marshal could be, but it would be fine. After all, he'd had years to perfect his social game: a little confidence, a little politeness and a whole lot of charm and this would be smooth sailing.

Lance took a breath, shaking out his shoulders.

Yeah. This would be no problem at all.

:::

12.41 AM

Upbeat music was still pumping from the speakers scattered around the terrace when Lance stepped out of the elevator – a sharp contrast to the broken glass and spilled drinks littering the floor near the bar.

That… along with the blood splattered across the railing opposite him.

The U.S. Marshal was there too, crouched down and examining something among the glass shards. Their face was in shadow, obscured by the glittering array of lights from the countless skyscraper windows that made up the city backdrop, but clear enough Lance could make out a mullet of dark hair. An honest to god, longer-at-the-neck, longer-at-the-front mullet.

Ay, dios. Who voluntarily cut their hair like that nowadays?

With a few steps, Lance headed over to the mixer board positioned at the edge of the dance floor and cut out the music. A shame really, because it had a good beat, but it was an effective way to draw attention.

Mullet spun towards him, fully coming into view. Dark-red leather jacket, lighter skin, a cool-looking scar across one cheek, possibly east-Asian roots: seemed the throwback didn't stop at the hair, because Mullet would fit right in in an 80s action flick.

"Hey – sir?" Lance called and Mullet nodded. "You the U.S. Marshal I've been hearing about?"

"Yes?" he answered hesitantly, voice somewhat hoarse, yet lighter than Lance had expected. As he came closer, he noticed Mullet was younger than he'd first thought too – likely somewhere around his own age.

"The name's Lance McClain." Putting on his signature smile, Lance held a hand out. "L.A.P.D. Major Crimes."

Mullet hesitated for a moment before returning the handshake. "Keith Kogane."

Kogane. So his hunch of East Asia hadn't been too bad. "I don't think I've seen you around before," he said. "What Branch are you from? South California?"

"West Texas."

Lance eyebrows shot up. "West Texas? I'm not the best at geography, man, but I'm pretty sure that's nowhere near L.A."

"I'm tracking a fugitive." Keith crossed his arms, face somehow growing even more serious. "Honerva, alias Haggar, notorious killer-for-hire. She escaped our custody, believed to have fled here."

"And you think she's behind this?" Lance gestured towards the blood-stained railing.

"I know," Keith said, heading back to where Lance had first seen him. Reluctantly Lance followed. "You see that?"

The object stood out clearly among the shattered glass, bright red and cylinder shaped. Pursing his lips, Lance slipped on a latex glove and carefully picked the shotgun shell up.

"Fits the spread of Sendak's wound." He turned it over in his hand, before his gaze flickered towards the railing again. "For this to land here… the killer must've shot him face to face, right about where we are now. Which means–"

"Haggar wanted to watch him die."

Lance took a quiet breath to quell the annoyance prickling inside him. "Yeah," he said, pulling out an evidence bag from his pocket (the one good thing with not having time to change beforehand: this suit jacket had pretty great pockets) and placing the shotgun shell inside. "The killer wanted to watch him die."

"I know it's her," Keith said again, as if it would make him sound less like a jerk the second time. "Shotgun blasts point blank are her M.O. And I heard the call over the police scanner: the witnesses reported a description exactly like her."

"That's circumstantial evidence, buddy, not proof." As Lance stood up and headed towards the railing, he couldn't resist patting Keith on the shoulder. "And until we find any, I'm not gonna just take your word for it and narrow the suspect list down to one, okay?"

The blood coated the metal like black stains, some of it already starting to flake. Probably dry enough not to rub off. Lance avoided it anyway as he leaned forward and peered over the railing. A dizzying distance down, surrounded by flashing lights and people small as ants, Sendak's body lay splayed across the car. Crimson extended out around him like a pair of twisted angel wings.

Dark humor made Lance's lips twist up. "So this is what happens when you fall out of favor in heaven."

The frustration in Keith's eyes melted away to confusion.

"Fallen angel?" Lance said, gesturing over the railing. "Because Sendak looks like he has wings?"

No response.

"Forget it," he muttered, fishing out his phone. Now probably wasn't the best time to joke about murder anyway. "Look, I noticed CCTV cameras set up at the entrance. I'll check in with our data analyst; maybe they've found something. Let's see…" A moment later, he grinned. "And would you look at that – Pidge coming through in the clutch, as always. This your fugitive?"

Even though the image was grainy and in black-and-white, Lance could clearly see the person frozen mid-step at Omega's front doors. They seemed to be in their late forties, dressed in a dark jacket and well-worn jeans. Their light hair stood wildly around their thin face, which was aimed directly at the camera. Despite the hardness in their gaze, there was a ghost of a smirk on their lips. Lance frowned. Had they known about the camera? And if so, why hadn't they avoided it?

Footsteps, then Keith came up behind him, a shadow passing across his face at the sight of the image. Wordlessly he pulled up a picture on his own phone and held it up next to Lance's.

Same sharp-edged face. Same pale hair. There was no question: it was the same person on the security footage and the mugshot.

Pocketing the phone again, Keith met his gaze. "I'm gonna need a list of everyone who was here – we need statements from them as soon as possible. Then roadblocks at a half-mile radius looking for Haggar. She can't have–"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Lance held his hand up. "Let's get a few things straight here, Mullet. One: I'm the guy in charge here, not you. And two: you do realize this party was thrown by James Griffin, right? These people are some of the biggest stars in the world – you can't just round them up."

"Why not?" And was Keith seriously clenching his fists?

"Weren't you listening? Powerful people like this… you don't wanna piss them off. To handle them you need to be an expert."

"And you're the expert?"

"Yes," Lance said, struggling to keep his voice calm, but oh, he knew sarcasm when he heard it. "I am. I've lived in L.A. for almost twenty years – I know how things work around here. How to get people like this to cooperate. And it's not by charging in like… like freaking Rambo!"

"We don't have time–"

"Uh, yeah, that's exactly what we have. I love action as much as the next guy, okay, but that's not how being a detective works. Most of it is watching. And talking. And listening. It's not glamorous, but it's the truth."

"There's a killer on the loose. I'm not gonna tiptoe around people's feelings." Keith took a step closer, the challenge clear in his eyes. "And I'm not leaving until I find Haggar. So you can either give me what I need or get out of my way."

Lance narrowed his eyes, scanning Keith's face. The faint flush of emotion, the intensity of his words, the fact that he had traveled halfway across the country after this so-called Haggar… Something else was going on here. Something else had driven him here.

And it sure as hell wasn't duty.

He didn't have enough to go on however, and instead opted to scoff and say, "Or what? Face it. You're a marshal, not a homicide detective. You wouldn't even know where to start with a case like this."

"Haggar's a killer-for-hire. If I find who hired her, I'll find her."

"That's… actually a solid start," he had to admit. "Just a minor problem: how you planning to do that? You don't know the first thing about L.A.. If you did, you would know that everyone here hated Sendak. Haggar could pretty much have been hired by anyone." Lance leveled him with a look. "You won't find her doing this your way."

Keith clenched his fists again. "Watch me."

The ding of the elevator pulled Lance's attention away from Keith, and he turned just in time for the doors to open and reveal a familiar gray-haired man in formal police attire. The square glasses on his nose glinted in the surrounding city lights, as did the two small metal strips on either shoulder, marking his rank.

"Captain Holt?" Lance said, the statement slipping out as a question. "What are you doing here?"

"Detective McClain," Captain Holt greeted in his calm, serious voice, stopping in front of them. "Usually I wouldn't visit a scene like this, but these aren't usual circumstances. I figured it would be better to have this conversation in person." His gaze turned to Keith. "Deputy Marshal Kogane."

Keith shook hands with him. "Captain."

"Your papers came through the L.A. Marshals' Office just this morning… and past my desk only a few hours ago," he continued, studying him carefully. "I'm guessing you pulled quite a few strings to get here."

Keith shrugged, glancing away.

"Thought so." A smile briefly curved his lips. "Haggar is a dangerous and unpredictable criminal, and her case needs to be handled with utmost care. That is why I've placed my best detective to work the case with you. Between him and you, I'm sure you'll clear it up."

A short moment of silence enveloped the group, before it clicked in Lance's mind.

But no. There was no way- He couldn't possibly mean–

"Wait, wait, wait. Hold up." His gaze flicked from Captain Holt, to Keith and back again. "Me and the Marshal will be working together?"

Holt cocked an eyebrow. "Of course. Is that a problem?"

Tags used on Ao3:

Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Detectives, yes this is basically a buddy cop au, Enemies to Friends, Crime, Mystery, Angst and Humor, Aged-Up Character(s), except Haggar who's downaged from like 500 to 50, Minor Hunk/Shay (Voltron), Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Cuban Lance (Voltron), Trans Male Keith (Voltron), Minor Character Death, but major impact on story, Grief/Mourning, Mental Health, Belonging, Family, both the traditional and found kind, Violence, Blood, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Swearing