Ready to meet the team? I sure am :)


Chapter 2

Saturday, 1.22 AM

The tiled floor clattered dully under his boots as Keith paced the hallway, filling his vision with a blur of white and matte brown. A steady backdrop to the old mantra repeating over and over in his mind.

Patience yields focus. Patience yields focus. Patience

He tried to force himself to feel the words, willing the twisted anxiety in his gut to disappear, the restless energy to stop flowing through his veins.

But it had been twenty minutes. Twenty minutes stuck here at the precinct waiting for the technicalities to be sorted out, wasting so much fucking time while Haggar was still out there, still… free to whatever the hell she wanted.

His eyes flickered towards the darkwood door of Captain Holt's office at the end of the hall. The sound of Lance's voice echoed through it, muffled enough to obscure his words, but not his frustration.

Truth be told, Keith wasn't keen on working with Lance either. Their conversation up on the roof had revealed all he needed to know about him: he was loud, cocky on the verge of condescending and way too relaxed about this whole thing.

And who the hell wore a suit to a crime scene?

Letting out a breath, Keith shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

It didn't matter though. Their partnership wouldn't last longer than a few days and as long as they caught Haggar… he'd put up with anything.

His pacing was interrupted when the office door flew open and Lance stepped out, dragging a hand through his short dark-brown hair. It stuck up a little afterwards, the only discrepancy in his otherwise put-together appearance; his suit unwrinkled, his brown skin smooth and unblemished. Cared for.

Keith was just happy he had remembered to shave before he left for L.A..

"Before you ask: no, I couldn't get rid of you," Lance said. "And unfortunately, I can see Captain Holt's point. You know Haggar; I know the city. Working together makes sense." He sighed, crossing his arms. "For now, I guess we're stuck with each other."

"Then let's catch Haggar fast," Keith said, "so we can get the hell out of each other's lives."

An amused huff escaped Lance's lips. "That's the first sensible thing you've said all day." Brushing some invisible speck of dust off the front of his dark blue suit jacket, Lance walked past him down the hall. "Come on then, Mullet," he called over his shoulder. "Let's introduce you to the team."

Keith glowered at the back of his head – what kind of a nickname was Mullet? – but followed him anyway.

:::

1.27 AM

The sound of arguing and painfully melodramatic music were the first things that assaulted Keith as he entered the room and for a moment all he could do was stand there, blinking.

Three people sat gathered around a group of desks pushed together into a two-dimensional pyramid. A stationary computer dominated each table, though said tables were barely visible. Post-it notes, stacks of reports, cups of coffee and pens, even a half-assembled circuit board on the table opposite the door…

In other words, the room looked more like a cluttered office space than a crime lab.

"Matt," the person at the circuit board table said, glaring over the top of a pair of big round spectacles at a near carbon copy of them, "if you don't switch this song off, I swear I'll smash your phone to pieces."

Facing away from the entrance, most of Matt's face was obscured by a mop of wavy brown hair, but Keith still heard the grin in return. "Come on, Pidge. I know you like 'Defender.' Deep down."

"Well, even if that were the case," the third person in the room – ginger-haired and with a fancy handlebar mustache – began, "I'm sure anyone would begin to tire on the sixth repeat."

"Exactly," Pidge said. "So stop annoying me, or you will taste my wrath."

A pause. Then Matt began singing along. Terribly. "'I did what I had to, but you were my defendeeer~'"

"Oh, fuck off–"

"Alright." Lance clapped his hands, but he was smiling as the others turned towards him. "As entertaining as this is to watch, let's not kill each other, okay? You all know how much paperwork that would mean."

Pidge sent another glare towards Matt. "Might be worth it."

Lance shrugged. "It's your funeral." A pause. "Well, Matt's."

"I feel so appreciated around here," Matt said dryly, but switched off the music.

"Who do you have with you, Mr. McClain?" Handlebar Mustache cut in.

All eyes turned to Keith and he pressed his lips together, forcing himself not to squirm under the sudden scrutiny.

"Right." Lance stepped further into the room, gesturing back towards him. "This is Keith Kogane from the U.S. Marshal Service. He'll be working the Haggar case with us. Keith, meet everyone." He pointed at Pidge. "Our professional computer geek, Katie Holt. But everyone just calls them Pidge."

Two things flashed through Keith's mind. First of all: Holt? Like the Captain? Now that he thought about it, he could see the resemblance. The same inquisitive brown eyes, the same pale skin, the same sharp chin.

Secondly: them. The word echoed through him, unfurling something in his chest. He hadn't met many not-cis people in law enforcement, at least not who were out openly. If his own identity came to light, it was nice to know that was one fight he wouldn't have to take here.

"So, U.S. Marshal, huh?" Pidge rested their hand on their chin. "What security software do you use at your pre– I mean district office?"

Keith blinked. "Uh… the normal one?"

Thankfully Lance had already moved on. "Over there we've got Matt Holt. He's our forensic specialist and Pidge's older brother."

"The last part probably wasn't that hard to figure out." The corner of his lips quirking up, Matt reached out a hand in greeting. Keith took a quick step forward and shook it.

But hell, three Holts in the same precinct? Either nepotism had a stronghold in L.A., or the Holts were a force to be reckoned with.

For the sake of the case he hoped it was the latter.

"Last but not least, our criminal profiler and resident old-timer, Coran Smythe. And when you finally decide to find a hair salon, he's also your guy."

Coran nodded at him, eyes crinkling kindly as he smiled. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Kogane."

A quiet beat passed.

"Well," Lance said. "With the introductions over with, I guess we should get to work, right?"

Gesturing for Keith to follow him, Lance walked over to Pidge's desk. They were still studying Keith, deep in thought.

"How about your criminal database?" they asked. "Were you guys also roped into the upgrade?"

Matt leaned forward in interest too.

"Um…" Was he supposed to know this stuff?

"I swear it's the bane of my existence. Sure, the classification system is more flexible and the layout smoother, but it's so much harder to get an overview of all the L.A. precincts, let alone the whole state–"

"Not to rain on your parade, Pidge," Lance cut in, "but I think you lost most of us, including Mullet, thirty seconds ago."

There that nickname was again, just as frustrating as the first time, if not more. Had Lance never seen a mullet before, or what was his problem?

"It's fine," Pidge said, waving the whole subject off. "Doesn't matter right now anyway. Not when we finally have something interesting to work on."

Lance raised his eyebrows. "Glad someone gets a kick out of murder."

"You know what I mean," Pidge said as they pulled up several tabs on their computer screen. "So this is everything there's to know about our victim Sendak's work. For those of us who don't know," they glanced at Keith, "he was one of the CEO:s at Galra Corp., who've been getting flack for years for buying up smaller tech businesses."

"Think that's what this was about?" Lance asked. "Company politics?"

"That was the working theory, but no. There's a lot easier ways to get rid of Sendak than hiring a contract killer from Texas. He didn't exactly have a clean record." Pidge pulled up another page: a list of transactions to a savings account… with a lot more going in than out. "Turns out our guy had a side business: selling, or even fabricating, celebrities' deepest, darkest secrets to the highest bidder. Based on his past two months' of messages and transactions, it definitely seems to have made him a few enemies."

Keith crossed his arms. "Like who?"

"Most recently, this guy called Iverson. Owner of Garrison Inc., rival firm of Galra Corp. A bunch of documents were leaked to the press showing proof of years of money laundering."

"Oh yeah," Lance said, "I remember hearing something about that. They were proven to be fake, right?"

"Yeah, but not before the Garrison's stock share plummeted. Iverson must've found out Sendak was behind the leak, 'cause based on the emails he sent him… he was pissed."

Pissed enough to maybe hire Haggar. Keith pressed his lips together.

"Then we have Bandor," Pidge continued, scrolling further down the transaction log. "Music producer slash singer. One of the people responsible for the travesty we were listening to earlier."

"It's not a–"

"Shut up, Matt, it–"

"What's his connection to Sendak?" Keith interrupted.

"Right. Anyway." Pidge cleared their throat. "After some dispute I couldn't find that much info about, Sendak published a whole lot of photos and stuff from Bandor's phone."

"How did he get a hold of those?" Lance wondered out loud.

"No idea," Pidge shrugged, "but I bet you anything it wasn't legal."

"Doesn't sound like anything you'd kill someone for though. Sue maybe, but kill?"

"Well, some of it was explicit – like, nudes and shit – which could really hurt your career. So I wouldn't rule it out just yet."

Lance nodded. "Okay. Anyone else?"

For the first time since they walked in, a cloud of uncertainty crossed Pidge's face and they glanced over at Matt and Coran. Their faces wore similar expressions.

"Yes." And they looked Lance dead in the eye. "Hunk."

The name didn't mean anything to Keith, but based on the way Lance's eyebrows shot up, it clearly carried significance for everyone else in the room.

"Hunk? Our Hunk?" When no one responded, a disbelieving laugh left Lance's lips. "Come on, Pidge. We've known him since middle school. There's no– There's no way–"

"I know," Pidge cut him off. "Doesn't change the fact that he sent Sendak money every day for a week… until eight days ago."

Keith's shoulders tensed. His mind filled with the smell of fire, the taste of blood as he answered, "Haggar escaped eight days ago."

A moment of quiet passed.

"There's no way," Lance said again, though he looked rattled. Guess some things could knock his kick-back attitude after all. "Sure, Hunk was in the paper when that restaurant he works at won that award, but he's not a celebrity. Why would Sendak even be interested in him?"

Pidge pressed their lips together. "Exactly."

"It doesn't align with Mr. Garrett's nature, I agree," Coran spoke up, "but I think we all can tell something is amiss."

"I'm not investigating Hunk. Dios, I was with him when the murder happened. On the other side of town!"

"Doesn't mean he didn't contact Haggar earlier," Keith said and Lance's gaze sharpened into a glare. Keith stared back.

"No." Turning his focus back to Pidge, Lance shook his head. "He's my best friend and a terrible liar. I would know."

A sigh, and Pidge shifted their glasses to rub at their temple. "Listen, I don't think he's involved either, but we have to do our job and find out what the hell is going on here. And when you do," their mouth thinned to a line, "tell him I'll kick his ass for not telling us."

Lance huffed a little and nodded, though he didn't look happy about it. To be fair, no one would if someone they cared about was a suspect in a murder investigation.

It wasn't Keith's problem however. He was here for one thing and one thing only. "What about Haggar? Found anything on her?"

Matt shook his head. "She has no paper trail in L.A. yet. No purchases, no addresses… it's all coming up empty. We're gonna keep looking, but in the meantime the results of the autopsy and the ballistics analysis just came through."

Gesturing for them to come over to his computer, he pulled up several reports, graphs and pictures on the screen. Pictures of the crime scene, close-ups of the bullet casings they'd found, Sendak's wound… and the grainy security footage Lance had shown him.

Haggar, smirking up at the camera.

Keith swallowed.

"As you can see," Matt said, "it's not pretty. Evidence points at a wound created by a sawed-off shotgun fired about three feet away. Projectiles are from a shotgun shell, standard double-aught buckshot. Damage centered around the abdomen. So the scene likely went down something like this:

"Sendak's partying it up near the bar, or doing some of his shifty secret-smelling business or something. Haggar barges in, sends everyone into a frenzy and shoots him at point blank. Kablam, he falls over the railing, meets a face full of car and in the following chaos Haggar makes her escape."

Lance hummed in agreement. "That's what I thought at the scene," he said, and Keith had a fair suspicion he used 'I' instead of 'we' on purpose.

Matt grinned. "Well, now you know for sure."

"Fair enough," Keith said.

Matt looked at him then, eyes searching as if he was a puzzle he couldn't quite figure out. "I could be completely off," he said, "but your accent… you're not from the California Marshals, right?"

Keith shook his head. "Texas."

"Texas." Matt snapped his fingers. "Yeah, that makes sense. It was just– Certain words I could hear it but couldn't quite place it and– Hey," the realization bloomed in his eyes, "that means Haggar escaped from your state, right?"

Keith narrowed his eyes – because where was Matt going with this? – but answered anyway. "Yes."

"Oh, I see." A new spark of interest lit in Coran's eye as he leaned forward, fingers stapled. "I haven't had the chance to properly delve into it, but the media reported about a prison transfer gone wrong. Were you on duty?"

Prison transfer gone wrong. Yeah. That was one way to put it.

Keith shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, forcing the tremor down with them. "I don't see how that's your business."

Coran blinked at his sharp tone and Keith barely held back a wince. That didn't come out the way he'd meant.

Great. Another thing he was fucking up.

"It isn't, Mr. Kogane," Coran was saying, his voice far calmer than Keith deserved, "but any information on Haggar and her behavior is valuable. Especially from a first-hand account."

Keith thinned his lips into a line.

"You've been working on her file?" Lance asked Coran as the silence wore on.

"Ah, yes." He shook his head and began sorting through his papers – though 'sorting' wasn't the right word for it, as his desk looked messier than ever. Somehow, miraculously, he found the documents he was looking for and eyed through them. "With help from your Marshals Office back in Texas," his gaze flickered to Keith, "I have put together a preliminary file on Honerva. Or Haggar, as she chose to call herself after joining her first gang.

"She is a contract assassin, with an apathetic attitude towards her work. A fascinating mixture of tactful and brutal. Clever, but unpredictable." Coran paused. "She also shows clear signs of sociopathy, obsessive behavior and occasional sadism."

Lance crossed his arms. "Sounds like a real charmer."

"What's interesting however," Coran held out one of the pages and Lance walked around Matt to take it, "is her arrest. She confessed to the homicide of her then-husband Zarkon, who was found in the trunk of her car. And, well…"

"She stabbed him to death," Keith filled in when Coran faltered. He had read the report enough times the past few days to have every word memorized. "Twenty-one times with a broken bottle."

Lance let out a low whistle.

"Yes. Incredibly gruesome," Coran said, sending Keith a thankful nod. "Every other reported crime of hers has involved a gun of some kind. Except this one."

"Think that has any significance?" Lance said, scanning the report.

"Not sure. But it certainly emphasizes her unpredictability." As Lance handed the report back Coran leveled him with a look, burdened with some unspoken meaning Keith didn't understand. "Please pursue this woman with caution, Lance."

Lance this time. Not Mr. McClain.

"Why wouldn't I?" Lance said breezily. "Call me strange, but I prefer my organs without stab or bullet wounds."

Pidge crossed their arms. "You better, or I will stab you myself."

"That seems counterproductive," Matt said.

Lance however just smiled. "Noted. Now, I think we've got a pretty solid start here. So you keep working here, Keith and I'll start doing some digging, and then meet back here later, yeah?"

A murmur of assent, a few goodbyes, and Keith followed Lance out into the corridor. He couldn't help a small sigh of relief as the voices of Matt, Pidge and Coran faded into the background when Lance closed the door behind them, because finally they were going back into the field. Back where he felt the most in control.

"So." Lance leaned against the wall closest to the door, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks. "We've got some leads, but we gotta focus on the most promising one. What do you think?"

"Pidge's research," Keith said without hesitation. "If Haggar's being paid, we need to look into the people who've had it out for Sendak recently."

Lance let out a breath. "Yeah. That's what I'm thinking too."

Keith raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said you didn't want to question your 'Hollywood friends.'"

"Not really. But if we wanna catch Haggar, we don't really have much of a choice right now. Just let me do the talking, yeah?"

That depended on how much of an answer they got from said friends. And until Keith knew, not a chance he'd promise to let Lance head the case.

"Let's just go," he said, starting down the corridor. If he remembered right the elevators down to the precinct garage were just around the corner somewhere.

Behind him he heard Lance let out another sigh, a quiet "Por el amor de dios" muttered under his breath. "Okay, Mullet. Hold up."

Keith came to a halt. "Stop calling me that."

"Three things." As Keith spun back around Lance sauntered towards him, ticking each of his points off on his fingers. "One: I'm driving. Don't even try to argue. Two: Before we go, I need to change out of this suit. It may look smokin' on me, but I like to wear something a little more comfortable when I'm chasing bad guys."

Keith just stared at him, because was Lance seriously thinking about outfits right now when–

"And three," he said, leveling him with a deadpan look, "Why are you here? And don't say it's because it's your job."

Fire filling his vision.

A scream building in his throat.

Elbows splitting open against the road.

Keith squared his jaw, even as his stomach clenched. "It's the truth."

"Yeah, right. And I have a pet lion." Lance took another step forward. "If this was just your job, your face wouldn't be doing Fifty Shades of Emotional Display every time we talked about Haggar in detail. You wouldn't be snapping at people in my team. You wouldn't be outright avoiding their questions."

"So?" Keith forced himself to say.

"So… if this whole 'partner' thing is gonna work, we're gonna have to actually communicate."

A moment of silence passed between them.

"I've told you everything that's important to find Haggar," Keith said. "I'm not fucking this case up."

"You know that doesn't tell me anything, right? You have to– Hey! Keith, get back here! Mullet!"

Keith's insides bristled, but he kept walking.