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Uploaded	By : HazardousRaptor Category: +G through L > Heavy Rain Views: 2688 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Heavy Rain, and am not affiliated with Quantic Dream, or Sony. (Sad to say) I do not own Norman Jayden, Carter Blake, or any offical characters contained within. I earn no money from this work of fiction.

Chapter List
- 13
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- 15
"Illusions commend themselves to us because they save us pain and allow us to enjoy pleasure instead. We must therefore accept it without complaint when they sometimes collide with a bit of reality against which they are dashed to pieces." -Sigmund Freud
U p l o a d e d

The gentle (yet loud) sound of a woman singing prodded him awake. Upon squinting at the red numbers on the alarm clock, he listened intently and found it to be, more specifically, a Pretenders song. 'Brass In Pocket'; God he had some fond memories with that one.
Blake awoke with the typical morning wood hard-on, but knew that his dream had been intentionally un-sexual. He had done his best not to dream of Jayden, woman, or anything that may- if he crossed his eyes and squinted- have produced any sort of arousal. Instead, he let his subconscious take the reigns and some wacky, out-of-touch bullshit occurred he wasn't sure he remembered. Despite his best wishes, Jayden appeared. He was only, oddly enough, the conductor of a train. Not a modern one or anything, but the old-fashioned steam engine, sending tons of coal smoke into the air as it whistled down the tracks. Hell, Norm even had one of those big, puffy, mushroom-style hats. It was… interesting. Too wacky to be disturbing, though still not quite funny.
He remembered being a passenger in said train, and for some unholy reason, Ash was there making sexual advances on him. Thinking about it now, it was hilarious. But at the time, it scared him to hell and back knowing that Ash was trying to get into his pants every time he turned around...Or didn't turn around. The craziest part was it didn't bother him nearly as much as the fact Ethan Mars was also there, sitting and staring into space in the seat across the aisle, holding a box of Fig Newtons and not even offering any! How rude was that?
Now that he thought about it, there was a disturbing lack of pussy in that dream. Since when did they become such sausage fests?
'Since you turned into a fag, don't you remember?'
No, no he didn't. He still very much enjoyed pouty lips, wide hips and nice tits. So what if he made a man suck his dick? So what if he kept having these weird-ass dreams? He shrugged it off as a mid-life crisis that reared its ugly head thanks to a recent shortage of female ass in his life. Blake knew all too well that he hadn't 'dated' a woman in years, a shambling array of one-night stands making up his 'romantic' life. After a while it almost got…boring.
The headache that had pulsed in his skull when he went to bed returned, though this time slightly lessened. He groaned as he once again pressed his palms into his eye sockets; 'I gotta take that Percocet.' Blake mentally offered, but then quickly dashed the idea. It would make him insanely drowsy, and considering he had to partake in a long two to three hour drive down to D.C, he didn't think that made much sense.
'Shit, better get moving.'
Swinging his legs over the bed, he cracked his back and took his sweet time getting up. Last night he went to bed about 12:00, plenty of time to sleep, sure, yet his odd dreams and waking fears that Norman would slip into a coma in the middle of the night kept him up.
His concern for the younger man was not as caring as it would seem. It was rather like the fear of losing a newly-acquired pet, sure you kept the receipt, but you really liked this one. It had that spot on it's face, loved to sleep at the foot of the bed and everything. And damn, would it have sucked to have to go back to the store and get a new one. Such a hassle.
Shifting himself off the bed, he poked his head out of the bedroom door to make sure the younger dead man wasn't up and walking about already. Not a sound reached his ears; so he made his way out, stark-naked, into the bathroom, where he once again felt himself pissing like a fire hose, flushing the toilet loudly as he quickly washed his hands and departed into the laundry room to change.
When he got moving, he rushed to the dryer near the back door, and quickly managed to find some underwear and pants. The shirt Norman wore yesterday to the shop made up his top half, smiling weakly at the memory. Maybe it would break the mood here in the morning? No doubt his head would be hammering like a motherfucker. God knew he understood far and away what that felt like. Norman lay on the other side of that couch, dead or alive…
"Hey…crash! Time to wake up..."
He said it in a surprisingly normal tone of voice, knowing full well he wouldn't be able awaken that easy.
Instead, Norman was contorted into some odd position on his couch, legs stretched out as they lay hip-width apart, toes entangled with the blanket as it covered him partially. No doubt he'd gotten hot at some point in the night and shifted. His arms cuddled about the left of his cheek, face kissing the back of his hands as he lay twisted and snuggled against the couch sideways. He still appeared very much dead to the world, and Blake swore he saw drool on those hands as he breathed into them.
'Yup, Percocet-induced sleep. Look what I did…Now I gotta baby-sit.'
Looking up at his clock, he was glad to have given himself two full hours to get going this morning. He was given the time and place to meet down there, his GPS would do the rest. It was still early yet, it was dark out and he'd hoped the traffic would be non-existent for being a weekday.
Carter was going to be more then glad when this was all over, easily. This was going to be embarrassing, stressful, aggravating, not to mention frustrating and boring to say the least. He had formed a mental picture of how the trip was going to progress, and although he wasn't naïve enough to think it would all go according to plan, he was hoping that it wouldn't be anything like he was expecting, otherwise he'd just might use his gun on himself before the day was out.
Now he was wondering if he should let the deceased profiler sleep, or try to attempt to do the job himself. Devious thoughts arose, like dumping water or some other less friendly liquid on his face, except he'd really rather not fuck up his couch. So no, the half-second of contemplating giving dear little Norm an early morning golden shower was dashed before it could be made a reality.
Instead, he turned on the TV and caught the last few minutes of some shitty infomercial for a food-cutting device, the pitchman extremely excited to be showing him this device, apparently. Then he switched it to some early morning news, cranking it up to being uncomfortably loud for any normally slumbering person. Throwing the remote onto the still-sleeping agent, he turned around and walked towards the kitchen again. Carter dumped out his old filter and put in a new one, throwing in the ground coffee and locking it tight. Some water in a cup made the rest of the recipe, and he had to remind himself he was making coffee for two…Something he swore he hadn't done in ages- then pouring them both some coffee but only putting sugar and creamer in his own.
A progression, an evolution of sorts was occurring before their very eyes. Both noticed it, but neither admitted it to themselves, let alone one another. They had grown to easily accept one another's company, and in some sick way, became dependent for it. Blake needed to 'care for' Jayden, and Jayden needed to please Blake. It was a business, a professional relationship, though not really in a sexual union. Even if Jayden's actions towards the man he previously worked with were sexual in nature, there was little to no passion behind them. He had become a prostitute, and it was something even he would have to admit if ever caught. Cock-sucking on Blake's whim.
So, Blake poured the little shit his coffee, but that was as far as he went. Getting out the sugar and creamer, he made himself a rich, sweet cup of java, and sat down on the couch next to Jayden's feet. He gave himself a good couple inches away from his large toe-nailed digits, glancing at him in disgust as he looked back up towards the news. It was simply the best place on the couch to watch TV, and the way he saw it…Fucker shouldn't even be there, he had every right to sit there and watch TV, and if Norman got in the way, so be it.
The world news showcased more fights in the Middle East, trouble with the war in Afghanistan and in general more bullshit rumblings about the election next year. Christ, did he ever hate politics, it fucked up the world and it especially fucked up his job. Anything that got in the way of his profession, his way of life, was immediately vilified and targeted for destruction. Though in this case, writhing hate shifting to the perhaps bearable distaste was as close as he was going to get.
It was then when Carter felt those little toes stretch out, the other man's legs extending as he reached that foot back, laying it atop the cop's lap and making him stiffen in response, nearly causing him to spill his coffee. Jayden grumbled in satisfaction as he made himself more comfortable, then settled back down to sleep for another apparent eight hours straight.
His lip reacted first, curling up in a snarl as his eyes narrowed, rage unfurling as his personal space had just been invaded. He interpreted it more as a threat then an innocent act, and in response he grabbed the foot, throwing it rudely back towards Norm's torso as he made a surprise groan (that sounded more like a moan) as he was pushed partially up the couch because of it.
"Hey queer! Get up already!" He gave the man a good-ol' fashioned smack in his ass as he yelled, mouth still in a sneer as his chest puffed out. Jayden made another noise similar to the first, back arching as his arms lifted him from the couch, albeit slowly, shaking as his closed eyes, plastered shut with dried mucus, failed to open right away- all he could do was wobble side to side. "Happy funeral day! You're the star of the show!"
"I'vshhlll- Wut-I…Huh? I…Did you sssssmack my backside? I…whatshhhll-tired…"
Norman had just been awaken from one of the most deep, calming, absolutely satisfying sleeps he'd ever had. Well, before he got involved with the FBI, ARI and Triptocaine, that is. The glasses and drugs had an effect of inducing sleeplessness, keeping the brain too active for him to fall asleep, at least completely. Triptocaine wasn't any better, the calming effect it had still causing his brain neurons to constantly fire, virtually forcing his brain to overwork before getting it to cool down.
No doubt, the Percocet had numbed those very same urges and thoughts, pretty much knocking him out. A puddle of drool had apparently formed beneath his mouth, sinking into the leather- and he knew this because when his head went back down, he could feel the lovely substance on his cheek. Wonderful.
His confusion and slurred words were no act, despite the fact that he would have loved nothing more then to face-plant right back down and sleep until the fine drug rampaging through his system wore off- No doubt it would continue to take forever to finally be metabolized by his system, quite unlike Triptocaine which could do so amazingly fast.
He had awoken in shock, feeling nothing but a painful sting on his ass as the sensation throbbed, and words being yelled loudly in his direction. Shit, who was that? It sounded like…Flake? Snake? What was…Blake! That's it…He was in Blake's house. Wait a minute- why? How- oh, that's right…Fuck.
Memories came flying back, like shots from a gun's muzzle- sharp, loud and frightening, and his body chilled with the reminders of what he'd done. Not just in general, but to the man he had disliked from day one. Norman himself was a very forgiving man, he had wanted to work with Blake, wanted it all in his heart to just get along and solve this case with one another's help, even after their arguments rattled the whole police squad.
Then he had stooped to performing sexual favors for the older 'gentleman'…Two accounts of falatio, and a fingering of his ass. Something that, if he had known he would be performing when he first met the man, he would have been aghast to wonder how he could even get that close without having his face and hand bit off.
Of course, as he opened those sleepy eyes, reaching up to rub off the caked-on mucus and blink away the tired ruminants of his slumber, he caught that very same belligerent, frustrated, tired, and generally impatient face looking down at him. The very same face of the man he'd pleasured with his tongue and fingers, and at that memory a slight stirring of his slightly erect organ made him curious- was it instinct at this point? All men had erections, waking or waning, during dreams. He was no different, and his own strained against the robe a little as he shifted about to hide it from the older man. His helper, his captor, his keeper, his master.
"Well good morning, star shine! The Earth says hello…"
The taller man on his couch seemed bewildered in general, crustiness about his eyes as he looked up blearily, his eyelids fluttering, those oddly long eyelashes blinking at him with a sort of dazed wonder.
"Cartah?"
"Noooorman?" He replied, sarcastic, his tone aggravated.
He watched as he tried to get up again, yet fell back to the couch, releasing a dull "huff" as he hit the solid fabric. Watching his hips shift, he knew all too well from experience what he was trying to hide under those covers.
"Got some morning wood there, FBI?"
His body- not his cock- stiffened at this statement, but already knew his cover was blown. A shot of pink later, his face burned from embarrassment as he swallowed to wet his dry throat.
Jayden knew he could play this a couple ways, and quickly analyzed the potential to say either one. He could be a smart-ass, or he could be serious- hell, he could even be a dick about it. Although with Blake, he knew that no matter what he said, it wouldn't be taken very well.
That was until, he went to move to sit up, and one of his feet brushed against the older man's lap, and felt a very recognizable sensation poking him. It made his stomach bottom out and mouth go dry- it felt so powerful under even the thickly-skinned sole of his foot.
"Seems 'weh both do."
Now, the agent couldn't see much, but he could recognize the sort of blushing anger that shot through the older man as he darted up from the couch, cursing something horrible as he appeared to make his way to the bathroom. Norman couldn't help but grin madly in victory, even with the devastating pulsing in his head.
Blake retreated into the bathroom, presumably to rub one out. Meanwhile, Jayden found himself going into a relaxed state, and having the less-strong erection disappear on its own. He gingerly moved out of his makeshift bed, wincing in pain as a shot riveted through his brain, pulsing in his head from his temples. It was similar to the sensation of first using ARI, and for a moment considered if it was really caused by it, or something else entirely. One of the many injuries he'd acquired working on the case that killed him, perhaps?
Almost as a second instinct, Norman's shaky vision concentrated on the small bottle of Percocet still remaining on the coffee table, and reached for it in earnest. His heart almost immediately started pounding, concerned that Carter would come back and see him downing his medication without his permission. Really, though, what else was he going to use it for? He probably wouldn't be too concerned with it- So he got up, clasping the orange vial as he quickly made his way towards the kitchen sink to fetch some water.
It almost frightened him with the ease of how quickly he was beginning to learn the lay-out of Blake's home. He watched several times as he got glasses from his cabinet, and did just that as he pulled out a stout glass and poured himself a cool glass of water. Quickly, he popped another pill, hoping that it wouldn't make him too drowsy. He needed to make sure the lieutenant went ahead with their deal. He didn't know if he'd ever trust the man enough to do as he asked.
He nervously choked on some water as the man departed the bathroom, clearing his throat as he saw Jayden standing there with his back to him, only seeing a messy head of brown hair and a dark blue robe that was a size too big. It oddly looked huge on him despite their small difference in width.
"Finally! Thought 'I'd have to kick 'yer ass off the couch."
Norman wasn't honestly in the mood to respond, and instead just yawned wide, his eyes closing as he braced his hands on the countertop.
"…Lik'n those, druggie?"
Luckily enough, Norman had detected a half-joking tone in the lieutenant's voice. Still, his heart hammered through his ears, and he shrugged as he tried to put off the comment. He was still far too out of it, head swirling and body strung out like he'd just been pulled apart by a team of horses.
"Th…tha'h work'n…Well…"
"What?"
"The'h work'n! Feel…Bettah." Norman winced as he heard himself- Christ, he sounded drunk!
Blake spied the prescription bottle loosely inside the man's fist. It wasn't until then that he noticed a slight shake to his hand, one that mirrored the odd behavior he displayed at work yesterday. Wheels and gears turned in his head, but he'd be lying if he said he wanted to question it at that moment. He needed Jayden alert right now, he had to change and get some more food in both their stomachs so their asses could leave before traffic got bad on I-95. Though he supposed it being a weekday had something on his side.
"Really? You're doin' better already?" His tone was not so much concerned as much as it was curious. That was a big fucking spill he took- Blake had assumed he would be sore for days.
He watched as Norman seemed to be having problems with the coffee maker, his eyes squinting horribly as he yawned wide again, eyes resting shut as he used his fingers to try and find some invisible buttons. It wasn't going to happen. He seemed to apparently, completely, absolutely, miss the fact that a cup of coffee was already sitting right there in front of him.
"You, uh…Want some coffee, I'm guessing?"
"Yesh- yes please, thank you…"
Rudely pushing the injured Norman out of the way, he ignored his almost devastating stumble as he scooted in front of the java machine.
"Go sit back down."
"Naw, if I do…I'll fall asleep."
"Fine by me, I'll just wake your ass back up again."
Paying him no further heed, he focused on the task at hand. Norman must have been trying to use his coffee maker like it was his own, because Blake's sure as hell didn't have as many buttons as he was trying to find. It was quite an unusual morning for both of them. Norman didn't have the energy or desire to speak to Carter, not because he was angry, but because he really didn't know what to say. What the man had done for him last night was…Not becoming of his character. Did the mad police lieutenant actually give a shit about him? The concept boggled him to no end. Not very long ago, he thought it impossible for Blake to care about anyone.
There had been a long, long time since either had a morning like this. One full of such vigor and excitement, two members of the household busying about while plates clambered, the smell of coffee perpetuated, and the TV blared with it's morning news. Jayden shuffled about in a zombie walk as he got back up, hearing Blake start to sizzle some eggs in a pan.
"What …Uh…Whatcha mak'n?"
Looking up from his yawn, Blake could notice the inability of his young colleague to keep his eyes open; looking at him through some sort of ultra-squint he'd never seen from him before.
"…The fuck you think I'm makin? I know you can't see but you sure as shit can smell, can't you?"
"Eggs?"
"Well look at that, Agent Norman Jayden solved another case! You're really on a roll, you know that?"
Normally, Jayden would have found himself highly offended and would find a way to get back at the older man, be it yelling his brains out, or simply letting him now how much of an asshole he was being. A combination of his own easily agitated nature cocktailed along with his withdrawals would have sent him into a possible chair-flinging rage.
This time? He simply nodded, went "Mmmm-hmmm…" And shuffled out of the room back to the couch.
Blake watched the sad display, and felt somewhat let down by the missed conflict. Though, he also felt…Well, great, that his little house guest had walked away, and let him to prepare breakfast by himself. It wasn't until he finished cooking, got his plate and walked over to the kitchen table to eat; that he realized he had forgot to make Jayden something. He had been making meals for himself for years, why would today be any different?
Except it was very different. He had a dead man in his house that somehow needed feeding. One that needed feeding of large amounts, and if this behavior continued, these moments of binge-eating for both of them would eat them out of house and home. It would break him financially if not mentally. Send him into bankruptcy if this escaladed- where would it stop? Where could it stop? At what point could he technically be killed by theses mass consumptions? The scary thing was he hadn't a fucking clue.
Today was also a day he was going to attend the funeral of a man he despised from day one, not to mention that very same man he was now feeding, housing, and even nursing. All for what? Good head? Money? He really hoped this investment would start paying off.
Except that wasn't it. It wasn't just the fellatio and soon-to-be payoff. There was something else…Blake was curious, extremely so, and found himself enthralled with this mystery. A fucking agent he had just met came back from the dead. That wasn't something that happened every day. To anyone. This was…fascinating. He could safely say this was something he'd never come close to experiencing, after all the murders, all the conflicts, the rapes, the blood, the smells, sights, sounds- after his whole life, a trivial thing in itself- this actually came to surprise and even enthrall him. Even if there was a hidden nervousness brewing underneath, an almost-fear. He had hoped he wasn't secretly going insane.
Jayden very drearily began to wake up, he tried very hard to remember his dream, as for some reason they had been getting tamer ever since he died and "came back". Then of course, a drug-induced sleep such as that were often dreamless, it had made him practically comatose, perhaps his brain was even too tired to try and fathom something interesting. He felt incredibly uncomfortable over what happened last night, having Blake care for him like a common patient in a psych ward- God only knew he'd seen the insides of those enough times to last him several lifetimes.
Then he smelled eggs, glorious, pungent eggs. It very well could have been filet mingon- or hell, the aroma of freshly acquired Triptocaine, straight from the labs. He'd never forget that fine smell the days he received his rations. He'd show up with his card, go through the security briefings, sign, then get a new briefcase. Inside was a hard plastic interior with internally plastic molded racks. The tiny blue vials stacked end-to-end. It would smell much like the scent of a new magazine- hot off the presses. He supposed it was a mixture of the chemicals used as well as the plastic, spongy things that lined the inside, protecting the glass vials from injury. Either way, it left his mouth watering.
Food had become a rather newly discovered love for him. Before, he ate to live, not lived to eat. It wasn't a true pleasure for him as much as it was a need. Now he found himself overcome with cravings that were unknown to him, desiring unusual food combinations, suddenly finding himself wanting to try bizarre things, things that normally would disgust him- almost expecting their taste and texture before he even took a bite. He wanted to try squid, maybe- pickles with peanut butter, olives, maybe pizza with caviar and anchovies- oh! Ice cream! God he wanted some ice cream-
His stomach rumbled now that his mind lurched towards the smell. Deep down, he had hoped secretly that Blake would continue his nursing ways and would serve him the eggs. After all, it was obvious he wasn't in good shape, still. His head thud and it hurt to walk, every movement bringing a rush of agony on up through his steps.
Yet that was a very small side of him, one he didn't truly want to use. Of course he didn't want that, not at all. Blake to serve him, that was- the food, of course, he could devour that entirely, that he didn't get but- he needed, wanted Blake to leave him alone as much as possible. This situation had already gotten awkward enough, and the closer he got to the older man, the more wanted to push him away. The further the better.
He forced himself to stand up, groaning openly as he did so. It was quite the task, and he found himself swaying with every step as he moved towards the kitchen, shuffling like a seventy-year-old retiree towards his destination-
Peering into the pan, he could barely believe it. His own hand held him up away from the stove, just narrowly missing the hot burners and instead squinted safely into the skillet. An empty skillet, the only thing remaining some scrapped remains of eggs long eaten.
"You son of a bitch!" Norman fired off, turning around the best he could in his diminished state.
Blake had to stop himself from choking on the last bit of eggs as it went down. He coughed a little, wiped the orange juice from his mouth that he was in the midst of drinking, and swallowed the best he could.
"-What's your fuckin' problem now, Norman?"
Jayden balanced himself the best he could with one arm on the counter, squinting towards that twisted, selfish prick.
"I made you dinn'ah last night, and 'yah couldn't even save me any goddam'hm eggs?"
"Fuckn' asshole!" Blake exploded, yet kept his seat this time. "You got some nerve, talkn' to me like that-"
"I got 'sum nerve?" He had to stop, his head hammering away as he raised his voice. His hand flew to his forehead, holding it in a sort of death embrace, as though his hands could magically stroke away the pain.
"You could have at least asked me if I wanted an'ah! I'm starving, too, yah know!"
"Oh, I see how it works…" Blake stood up, and Jayden now noticed that he had been reading the paper. Shit! When did he go out to get that? He was so out of it, he never heard a door open.
"You want to be fed. Oh, okay, okay- I see what you're getting at. Want me to wipe your ass, too?"
Jayden nearly said "sure!" but decided being a smartass wasn't the best way to go this morning. Instead he took another step towards the older man, coming very close to his face- enough to smell his eggy breath and glance at the fine scars that lined his aged skin. It made him shudder, but it seemed to work in making him stand down so far. He made direct eye contact, and despite their own blood-shot, squinting nature, he did his best not to crack under the pressure of that devilish stare. Eye contact had an immense amount to do with human nature, he found. The simple act of looking into one's eyes could determine dominance and submission alike. Other primates like gorillas found it threatening; one usually looked away eventually-
"You know someth'n, Cartah…" He tried to get out, lips quivering as he searched for the words. For a couple seconds he had something there, something perfect, but…Shit! He couldn't get it out…
Blake's hand rested on the table as he slowly breathed, concentrated on the sneer and stare he was giving the younger man. For some reason, he was uncomfortably close- staring right at him. Something about that faggot just dug right under his skin, and although the hatred had lessened, part of it always rose to the surface. Right now he just noticed those grey-blue eyes of his, locked onto his own. It felt like he was being analyzed more then looked at.
"Got someth'n to say to me? Or do you just think my eyes are pretty?" Norman could feel the specks of egg being spat out, hitting his face. Gross. "Queer." Blake finished.
As expected, Norman looked away, and he inwardly cursed at himself when he realized he had submitted. Now I got egg on my face, literally. He pushed away from the counter and made his way towards the bathroom. He opened the door and slammed it shut, hurrying to clean the just-chewed food from his face.
"Pussied out like always, Norm, huh?" He heard that prick yell from his position in the kitchen.
"Didn't think you had it in 'yah to try and hit me again!"
Of course. Yeah, he had nailed Blake in the nose, once. It wasn't planned, it more or less sort of…happened. He could remember very distinctly catching himself from doing it- right after the fact. Christ, if Blake hadn't been such a total asshole…and pulled a gun on him, he just might have begged for his forgiveness. The thrown punch wasn't very becoming of him, totally out of his character…And once again he blamed the drugs for its effect on his mental state.
The mood swings were from the ARI and Tripto withdrawals, he knew…Or at least, he thought he knew. Norman was always looked upon as a polite, calm, well-behaved gentleman. Yet few would ever suspect that he could explode just as nastily as Carter when the conditions were right- and the problem was, because Norman was Norman, nobody would expect it. Like the tame tiger that snaps after years in captivity.
He counting backwards in his head as he washed his face, trying to think back to all the years he'd tried to contain those little boughts of suppressed rage. In grade and middle school, he was the quiet boy nobody really paid much mind to. Not so suspicious someone could see him being the next potential Unabomber, but he sure as hell wasn't the class clown, either. One time, a very prominent time, he was in a fight. The other kid wasn't even that much bigger then him, and he very nearly may have been beaten to hell and back had not a teacher intervened. The issue was moot as to its cause; he just remembered it had something to do with the kid being a little shithead, getting on his last nerve…He lost it, in a big way.
Norman took a piss break before he left the bathroom, though in a way he'd rather just stay in the small, plain and oddly-smelling room then venture out to deal with the home's nasty inhabitant. He swore, it was like walking into an animal's cave. He was shocked there wasn't bones strewn about and huge stalagmites attached to the walls- and Blake being the cave's huge, nasty beast that preyed on young virgin maidens. The cartoonist image was enough to quell his mood and bring him back into the home's living area.
Now he spied the older man sitting on his couch, yet leaning forward as to listen to the TV intently. He could tell there was something pressing on the news, so he let him be and instead prepared his coffee, apparently already poured, so all he had to do was add a few packets of sugar. It tasted rather good; he supposed he could give Blake the credit of at least being able to brew a nice pot of coffee.
Holding the mug, he carefully strolled forward. Checking the time on the wall, he wondered what exactly was the hour they were supposed to leave- it was still dark outside. It brought back sad memories of the first day of the Origami Killer case, when he left early in the morning, the sky dark and the air cold. Jogging outside to his parked car on the city street, steaming cup of coffee in his hand. Too bad he didn't decide to bring his own coffee along with him- it ended up being just as hard to find in Philly as his partner's civility.
It wasn't his intent to stop at the Pennsylvania rest stop the minute he entered the state- but his bladder told him otherwise. He had slugged that coffee down in record time. It was then when he chucked the Styrofoam cup, and caught a glimpse of the sun…that is, the sun not peaking through the clouds. It had begun raining heavily mere minutes away from the PA state border, and those associations made him want to forever hate the keystone state.
"There's cereal in the pantry." He jolted at hearing Blake's voice, its tone was irritated.
"Help yourself."
"He sounded…uninterested. Wond'ah what's on the news?"
Yet he didn't let himself drift over there to find out, and instead moved over to what he had quickly learned was indeed the pantry. He opened the doors and peered inside, finding two boxes of cereal sitting there in the odd-smelling space. It was like a hint of the aroma of metals sitting in a room for too long, plus yeast. He grabbed them- bringing both boxes up to decide as the light was horrible down there.
Wow, nice selection…There was something that very obviously some sort of Corn Pops knockoff, and instead cheerfully described itself as "CORN YUMMYS!" Well, he supposed it was yummy…And perhaps, also, made of corn. At least it was accurate, even if tacky. Then there was…Cookie Crisp.
Cookie. Fucking. Crisp. How old was Carter, again?
Jayden made a career out of getting inside people's heads. Analyzing someone's life and motives based on a few scant clues. He gleamed on these few factors more from books and his education then from actual experience, which he would admit to having little of. He'd still managed to put over thirty-two criminals to justice, took them off the street and into the system to be processed by the federal government.
But shit- he couldn't figure this guy out. Cookie Crisp? He figured the older man would be eating fiber for his undoughtably tight-assed attitude and behavior. A joke of course, but few things about his instinct for this man were proving right. When he met him on that pitiless wasteland a few days ago, he immediately got some strange, stand-offish vibes from the lieutenant. Since then, he was never able to predict his next move; despite the fact that he made a career on this very concept.
Cookie Crisp? Really?
Fine. Whatever. He obviously didn't know enough about his partner (would they still be considered partners, he wondered?) to make such assumptions. He wasn't sure why it bothered him so much- it was a fucking box of children's cereal in a middle-aged cop's home. That smiling wolf-dog cartoon thing on the box seemed to mock his profession and knowledge combined. It mocked his whole fucking life.
Needless to say, he was going to try the "Corn Yummys"; it couldn't be so bad, right? He popped open the slightly-opened bag and poured the yellow puffs into the bowl, the sound louder then expected and jarring his slightly asleep state almost fully awake. The pain from last night's little episode was numbed effectively by the drugs, not to mention the cravings for Tripto. There were times when he still desired putting on the ARI glasses like old times, until the facts made themselves very clear by the spectacles sitting there on the counter, placed there by their new user, Lieutenant Blake.
He poured the 1% milk into the bowl, hearing it pop slightly upon contact. For a few daring moments he searched for a spoon and plopped it right in. He took a seat at the small table Blake had visited earlier, pulling out the opposite chair and sat as gingerly down as he could, treating his body like the tender, injured and fragile thing it was. The house was also eerily silent save for the news- and the last thing he wanted to do was arouse the other man's interest.
So his breakfast was silent, the owner of said residence was just as quiet as he watched the broadcast. He finished quickly, scooping and the last bit of cereal from his bowl, drinking the milk unabashed like a nine-year-old and plopped the dirty dishes in the sink. The young man then trotted out, the blue robe that smelled slightly like Blake around him was barely clinging on, so he synched it closer and shuffled towards the couch.
"Uh…I'm done…We should probably…You know, get ready?" He scratched the back of his neck nervously, he felt like some teenager asking a girl out to the prom.
Blake looked back up towards the agent with that sort of careless attitude, and Jayden watched him with some apprehension, he seemed distant, somehow. It seemed quite oddly like their first day, when he arrived to talk to Blake about the case. He was doing some sort of computer work, seemed quite engrossed and distracted, but mostly irritated that he was bothered.
"Yeah, I know." He muttered, not appearing so much angry as much as he was just without regard. "Watch'n this right now…"
Jayden looked up, seeing the reporter on the scene of what appeared to be a recent murder. He suddenly became instantly enamored, and took a cautious seat on the far side of the lieutenant. The screen painted a sad picture of a mourning family with police swarming the scene of a small, impoverished slum of a house. Homes on either side pressing closely against it, indicating it was a cheap row home. It's grey, depressing exterior looked to have not been painted, or even attended to in a multitude of years- the red and blue lights flashing around as it reflected brightly on that dull house, showing it more color then it's seen in years.
"Police on the scene were unable to tell us what exactly occurred here last night, only that young Marissa Omeriz was killed inside her own home last night. Her mother in father were both home at the time and reported that a gunshot was fired off sometime around 2am nearby-"
"Stray bullet." Blake sighed.
"…What?" Jayden's reaction was just a touch delayed, the news reporter's voice barely blocking out the lieutenant's.
"Shit, I see this all the time- don't even need to look at the parents, they didn't do shit. If they did it would have been the father- and he'd be long gone by now…Bet they didn't check on her until this morning- found her dead. They should have found the bullet hole already, just not say'n it yet."
Norman oddly enough found himself at a loss for words. He sat back a little and absorbed the information, and Carter found himself briefly glancing over towards the younger man as he sat there, bewildered at his words. He knew full well that Norman didn't respect him like he should- no doubt his demeanor wasn't very welcoming from the start, for good reason. Though he hadn't been expecting the FBI agent they sent to be this young, this inexperienced, this…Christ, what was the word? Something about Norman that always threw him off…Pompous? Arrogant? No, that wasn't quite it…Spaced out? That was more like it. Withdrawn. Touchy.
"Yeah…Yeah, I suppose…That makes sense."
"Oh? Don't have any theories there, Perry Mason?" He ridiculed, recalling an old fictional character to throw back in the younger man's face.
"I was g'hanna say, maybe check into-"
"Fuck no!" Blake sounded mad this time, positively enraged.
"That area's one big fuck'n drug dealin' shit hole. Shots go off over there like fireworks on the fourth of fuck'n July every night! That's one of the worst areas in the city, pull bodies out of there every couple nights…But nah, cuz it's a little girl, it gets reported- not some drug dealin' waste of space. You just wait, that's what it'll be. Stray. Fuck'n. Bullet."
It would have been in Norman's nature to flip out, to lose it- tell Blake that everybody should be investigated to the full ability of the law…Correctly. No beat-downs, no bullshit. It made him antsy to jump away from his 'dead' state and fly into some sort of super-hero role, cleaning the massive city up one man at a time.
Another announcement on the TV screen shut him up. One of the news anchors read off two other murders from her teleprompter, two women raped and killed in Fairmont Park. She barely stopped before she also announced a break-in gone wrong as the family inside was beaten half to death, then another of a man horribly injured and close to death after he was stabbed getting into his car near the Liberty Bell.
'Yikes.' Norman's thoughts collected. 'Bad day for crime-'
"That's it? Shit- slow news day. No wonder why I didn't get any calls…"
Blake's words were sour to the agent's ears, and he turned to look at the older man with his wrinkled forehead pursing as he did that squint thing again-
"I'm sah'ry?"
"Slow day back at the office- good, won't have that much to clean up when I get back, tomorrow."
Norman had to stop for a second and analyze that. Just for one goddamned second- no, more then that…What did he just say? 'Slow news day'?
Sure, the crime in Washington could get downright horrible. The slums were of course especially bad, but this? This was horrible. He was always told that the crime in Philadelphia was bad. Seeing as he never had to go there, he paid it little attention until now.
"Why do you say that? At least three people are dead-"
"This city averages about two murders a day, Norman." He breathed out, and Norman could have sworn he almost heard a laugh.
"This is about…Average. Okay, I'll give you this…It's not slow, but it's average…At best."
"You're tell'n me this is normal around here?" He asked, and couldn't help but sound astonished.
Blake gave him a vexed expression as his dark eyes gazed back form under those heavy eyebrow ridges- it was a look Jayden recalled well- he was being analyzed, evaluated, just like a criminal on the street. He felt no better then one at that moment.
"Things have gotten better; it used to be much worse." The last word was spoken with a sort of dripping venom, sounding to be laced with something to the effect of either Cyanide or perhaps a terrible Strychnine coursing through his veins. As it was, it felt like they were on fire. Like the 'antichrist's' glare was eating him inside out.
"I thought you went to college, Norm? You didn't know this is one of the most crime-ridden cities in the country? The unemployment keeps rising, so does the poverty line- the gun laws don't do shit to stop anything- there's drugs fuck'n everywhere…"
"I didn't think it was this bad, no…" Jayden confessed; "I'm sawry."
"About what?" Blake got slightly irritated.
"That…I didn't pay more attention, I guess? " He submitted, then raised his eyes to meet the frustrated man, whose gaze had softened only slightly.
"I guess you got your work cut out for you…"
A slight smirk tugged at the older man's lip, but he didn't dare let it spread too far. Was Norman finally starting to understand the sort of bullshit he had to put up with practically every waking second of the day? There wasn't a moment's time when he wasn't busy, even time off was stressful, like today. All those murders and general assaults were going to be handled by someone else today- who it was, he wasn't sure. There was this fat son of a bitch lieutenant from the precinct in the next county that filled in for emergencies- seeing as both Ash and Perry would be gone for the day. He swore to God, if he ate any of his candy bars in his lower drawer again…Some shit was gonna go down when he got there.
The crime in this area was nearly inescapable. Luckily, he didn't have to tend to the whole city. His wasn't even the worst part of the district, Lieutenant Hempsville took care of that area of the town, and he was half-decent at it. He'd only met the guy a couple times; they had very similar ideals so they got along well. He was at least glad he didn't fucking work for Camden- Christ almighty- what a hopeless cause that place was.
Yet that wasn't the point at all. As long as he could remember, the place was littered with poverty and unemployment, racial tensions along with coked-up desperation contributed to one of the dirtiest, unpleasant cities in the country. When his family picked up and moved to the city years ago, his sister was robbed coming home from a grocery run. It enraged him to no end; he got in his car and cruised the streets. He found some little shit bragging on a street corner and beat him senseless. It would have worked perfectly- if the guy's friends never came back with guns.
It was his first real encounter with crime. Where he lived before, the only horrors he'd ever come across took place in his own home. Trips to the city were limited to shopping areas and historical sites, he'd remembered seeing the huge buildings for the first time, and felt positively in awe at the change of scenery. Filled with a sort of overwhelming amazement over the capabilities of mankind. The fountains with their many-faced intricacies and sculptured glory, the shining windows of skyscrapers, the wisdom displayed in the faces of statues of men long dead.
That was then, this was now.
Now he struggled working in the city's poorer district, most of the crime took place away from the city's tourism areas, past to where the smokestacks belched smog into the air and dirtied the skies. Where people were afraid to walk the streets in the day, but especially so at night. Where a man could be shot and left for dead, and Blake had to pick up all the pieces and put them together again like Humpty-fucking-dumpty. Except him and all the king's horses and all the king's men had to find the perputer, and that man was probably killed for just the Rolex on his wrist, the colors he must have been wearing, or the even color of his skin, what God he prayed to, if any at all. The skies were all too often grey and pregnant with rain or snow- the chill in the air almost constant for all but the warmest of months.
How many bodies has he seen, he wondered? Enough to stop giving a shit, he knew that. Bodies didn't disturb him anymore, the pallid, lifeless hunks of meat with the browning, dirty blood smeared just about everywhere. The thing with dried blood was that it stuck to the bottom of your shoes, almost like soda - it had a way of getting everywhere. It smelled like iron, and you could taste it you smelled or inhaled the air. The smell itself no longer disgusted him, much like an animal hoarder grows used to the stench of feces; his nose no longer recognized the revolting stench of a recently dead body. Nothing that a tissue held to his face couldn't fix, the show had to go on.
It always played out the same, it seemed. Nobody sees anything, the populace too afraid to act or speak out in fear of retaliation by the city's crime groups. He knew them all by heart anymore, the Italian, Jewish and Black mafias, the Polish, the Spanish Kings- and if it wasn't that, it was simple carelessness. Why would someone start trouble if they didn't need to? He quickly and effectively took to beating to get it out of some so-called "tight-lipped" witnesses and suspects. Worked like a charm, it always did…
"I do my job. Norman…" He simply stated.
"…Every day, I do my fuck'n job."
Norman wasn't sure what to make of that statement; it seemed to be partly irritated, but also part acknowledgement.
"I uh…I understand…" He did his best to sound genuine.
In the back of the young man's mind, he did his best to keep his tongue in check. The thing to do, and he knew it, was to speak up about Blake beating both the psychiatrist and Mr. Mars himself. It would have, indeed, been the right thing to do. Just like it was stopping him both times. Try as he might, however, he couldn't find a rational reason why. What would it solve, really? Sure, it writhed under his skin like an itch he couldn't scratch, bothered the fuck out of him. But now? Now wasn't the time. Not at such a tender time in their…Relationship? Strictly professional, of course.
When Norman first met the older man sitting across from him, his impression had indeed been that Blake was just an old-school copper. That impression had indeed been correct, though at least Blake was willing to use modern technology to its very best, as long as he was in charge of it, anyway. He'd never forget the ire and agony he felt at watching those men trampling evidence into the ground at the crime scene, and at the mention of it, Blake turned very defensive. As if he'd known it was coming.
'Wonder if he evah had to work with the FBI before me?'
He held off on that question, and instead focused on one that had been niggling him for quite some time, hoping it didn't cause any new tension.
"How's the case? Mak'n any headway?"
Carter glanced over, but didn't make eye contact with the agent sitting at his side, but instead leaned back as he began to drone off like he was back in the precinct, discussing the case with any set of coworkers that happened to wonder by.
"We have a lot that needs wrapped up, that's about it. Lot of runn'n around, paperwork, playing politics. All the laws protecting these fuck'n criminals makes things so much more of a pain in the ass. One more hoop I'd have to go through and I swear I'd rather just hang the fuckers like they did back in the day."
Norman felt a sting- that was always a sensitive subject in his profession. The younger man had come to understand that mental illness played a rather large role in crimes, and not just the famous serial killers. Someone like Nathanial Williams was obviously innocent of murder- yet it wasn't too far of a leap to see him commit other crimes without even knowing he was doing them. Even someone like Korda appeared to have rap sheets that went back a ways- including a previous stay in a mental institution. This, along with his intense and unusual crimes made for a good suspect…Even if Norman wasn't very convinced, it was the best he had at the time.
Christ, even Mad Jack was obviously very fucked up. He had taken a real delight in knocking him down and throwing him around like the tender little rag doll he no doubt felt like to the large black man. His skinny white ass didn't have a chance- he still felt the bruises from that day. Though the young profiler would just as sure admit that not all people could be saved, and he had to reduce to the most simple, most primal of solutions. He couldn't help but wonder; what if Jack had simply been diagnosed and medicated long ago?
Though drugs only did so much. They still had yet to make a person care about other human beings- the main symptom of psychotics. It was a flash that he saw in Carter Blake's eyes, a man sworn to defend the public from such nutcases. He supposed in an odd way; that itself was poetic justice.
"What about Mahs? Is he…okay?"
Jayden just barely stopped himself from adding "after you savagely beat him", though he had to admit the temptation was better then anything he was planning. It was still too close to the event to fuck it up, now. He had to be okay, right? The minute he saw Ethan Mars in that busy subway station, he knew he couldn't be the killer. His profiling already confirmed that for him, yet seeing the man with his own two eyes sealed the deal. His demeanor wasn't the arrogant, self-indulged, pretentious attitude common of serial killers, but instead leaden by a certain guilt and hopelessness. Helping arrest the man was bad enough, but seeing him beaten nearly to death by Blake was damn near painful. Assisting in his escape cleansed his palette, and in retrospect he considered it a heroic gesture, as Ethan was the one who rescued his son in the end.
He wondered why Blake never came to him about it. When he left to find Mad Jack, he came back to report the man's death, finding the station in complete chaos. Blake wasn't there, apparently out looking for Mars like he would be standing on some street corner like an ass. Norman had expected to be confronted in regards to Mars' disappearance, yet was surprised when nothing ever came of it. He was never approached by anyone…Did he know? Christ, he hoped he didn't get Gary in trouble. In all honesty, the slightly-portly man may have been rude at first, but he turned out to be a hell of a nice guy.
"He's alright- we're holdin' him for now, but he'll be ready to release in a few days. We wanna make sure we clear him first."
"The man's inn-asent, Blake. What exactly are you hold'n him for?"
"Like I said…Politics. Perry knows his ass is in the sling with the false accusations- Mars life is fucked up now because of this- I'd bet he won't be able to get any work around here. Probably have to move- and if Perry can find any shit on him, it would make us look a hell of a lot better."
Norman felt sick to his stomach. Was this how a large portion of this city's police force conducted itself? Jesus Christ, he wondered how many poor souls fell to the victim of the PPD on a slow day.
'Like today.' The agent realized.
"That's…ridiculous." He wasn't even sure what to say, 'bullshit' came to mind, but he again tried to mind his tongue.
"I don't like it either, Norman. I don't likelooking like an asshole- I'd rather the bastard be out with his kid, wife, or that fuck'n journalist- whoever, as long as he's out of my hair. I have enough shit to worry about in this town- as you can fuck'n see." He gestured towards the TV in a display of irritation.
Blake said it with a sort of mock anger, he found himself already sick of talking to the beauracratic ghost about this old bullshit. Beating a fucking dead horse. Hell, their day had just started and he was already done with it. Though surprisingly enough, he found the agent giving him a slightly vexed expression, those light-blues squinting and concentrating on him with a renewed interest. He suddenly felt like some sort of experiment.
"I don't believe 'yah for a minute, Blake. You seemed pretty dead-set on making Ee-thi'n suffah back when you thought he was the Origami Killah. What changed your-"
"Fuck you, Norman." He interrupted, his face tilting as he spat the insult, teeth sneering beneath his rough lips as his own eyes narrowed.
"He was degenerate last I saw him; fuck'n pathetic. I thought he kidnapped his own fuck'n kid- he admitted to it! What the fuck was I supposed to do, let him piss and moan about 'loving' his son but not knowing where he was? Fuck, he never did explain that shit to me! Not yet! He has a connection to this case and we still don't know what the hell it is!"
"You woulda' beat him just the same if he didn't confess, Cartuh! We both know that! He'd of confessed to JFK's assassination if you asked! Your confession is a heapa shit!"
Rising quickly to his feet, Norman was reminded heavily of that same explosive demeanor as when they had their first meeting in that small room. It was awkward enough as it was, explaining his theories the best he could in front of three people that considered him an intrusion, and his opinions a waste of time. Blake simply drove it all home with his aggressive criticism.
"You don't know shit about me, Jayden! Can't handle it when you gotta get your hands dirty, huh? Do you think that fuck'n shrink would have ever talked if I didn't throw a single punch? "
"That's not the point!"
"That's exactly the fuck'n point! You never knew what the fuck you were do'in from day one and now you're fuck'n dead because of it! Don't be telling me how to my job in my own goddamn house! You don't like how I do things? There's the fuck'n door, asshole!"
He watched as Blake gestured towards the door, making it obvious he was telling him to pretty much leave; not at all the reaction he was hoping for. So much for trying to play on the man's good side. He wondered if he even had one after all of that. 'Now look at that, look what 'yah did. What the heck am I supposed 'tah say, now?'
Well, he knew full well he couldn't walk out that door. Not only did he have an obligation to fulfill with Blake, but he knew now that they had been somewhat tethered together by his own death. There wasn't much chance of him being able to leave, period. As much as he was pissed with the raven-haired brute, he knew what he had done was rather discourteous. He was, in all aspects, a guest in this man's house.
"You know I can't leave, Cartuh-"
"Oh, I'll make you leave;" Blake spat out, rushing forward to grab Norman's arm and tear him from his stance, his coffee on the table nearly spilling over in the process as his body jerked forward.
"…Get out, get the fuck out of my house-"
"No! Get off of me!"
Norman was able to shake himself from his grasp with a quick tear of his shoulder away; giving the man a rather betrayed and frustrated look, harboring on the enraged. Blake saw that look before; back when he left the interrogation room in a huff.
"We don't…see eye-to-eye with our methods, I understand. But don't do drastic stuff like this, Cartuh. It isn't gonna make things ana'h better."
"It's not about methods, shit-for-brains! It's about what works and what doesn't! You'll learn that if it takes the rest of your life-Oh! Oh no, wait, I'm talk'n to a ghost! That's right; you never will get it- because you're a dead man!"
Why is it that Blake could thwart all of his psychological tactics? He could play Blake's game, go along with it, pretend…Pretend that he was right, and that Jayden himself was wrong…But he knew already this would play into the shorter man's egocentric personality. It would only make things worse; he would become the stuff on the bottom of Carter's shoe. This needed to be a working 'relationship' where they could form some sort of mutual respect. He wondered; was it possible to be respected by that asshole?
Wincing at the man's words, he did the best he could; taking a large breath…Then letting it out, trying his best to keep his inner dominating self down. Perhaps it wouldn't kill him to be submissive for now? Just for one day? Maybe Blake would surprise him; maybe he'd lighten up a little? The possible words that would come out of his mouth almost seemed to whirl around him; the possibilities all reaping consequences and rewards that may or may not drastically effect the outcome.
"You know someth'n Cartuh? When I left the station that day, the day I died…I thought for a second- for a godd'hamed second that I'd ask you to come with me. To…To tell you that the Origami Killah owned a warehouse down at the harbor, that I could use the backup-"
"So? Why didn't you?" Blake asked, irritated, but his curiosity still piqued.
"Be'cawse I knew how you would react. You nevah trusted a word I'd said from day one of the investigation, and you still don't! Acord'in to you, I don't know en'ethin! I'm just a bureaucratic asshole from Washington, right Blake? That's all I am, somethin' in your way! All I wanted to do was help and all you did was treat me like shit! If you just fuck'n listened to me-"
Carter barged forward, that beast of a man once again in his personal space. Yet the agent remained stalwart.
"What, Norm? You wouldn't be dead? Wouldn't be dead if I listened to your crackpot bullshit!"
"I wouldn't be dead Cartuh, if you just fuck'n listened to me!"
Blake snapped, a fury unleashed like a broken damn as he pushed Norman, his teeth bared, eyes flashing, sending the fragile, drugged man to the floor. He was going to beat the fuck out of him this time, he knew it, he was going to kill him for a second time-
Except everything suddenly wasn't there anymore. He stood in that same autumn forest as before, the wooden deck underneath him feeling oddly at home. It was funny how quickly it rushed up, and how absolutely at ease he felt. There was a slight warmth to the air, and it reminded him of the trips outside of town around the rural areas of Lancaster…Gentle, oddly comforting, toasty air sending leaves flying by him without care.
"…Where?"
Reaching up, he went to remove the ARI glasses that surely he must have put on but forgotten about- only to find nothing. His hands touched only his face, and he pulled away said hand as he felt a sickening throb to his stomach, it sunk away to his knees, or at least it felt like it did. He gasped, then moaned at the sudden sickness, resting a hand on the nearby couch's end as he heard his heart hammer loudly in his ears.
"Blake?"
Norman's voice. He didn't pay it much heed. Just shook his head, only to find an agonizing, painful throb accelerate as he did so. Gritting his teeth and smashing his eyes shut, he tried to settle himself into a seat when he found his stomach lurch again. He was about two seconds away from running to the bathroom to expel the contents of his gut.
Just then he felt a horrible chill shake him, all the while still in that mockingly gentle autumn forest. He did his best to look up, but found himself dizzy as he took a few steps back, doing his best not to fall or faint. A general faintness took over his form from head to toe, feeling lighter then air as his whole form seemed to pulse with some sort of successive, quick shots of agony. His vision blurred as he got that bile-incoming sense on the back of his throat.
"Take it easy, it'll be ovah with in a minute…It helps if you splash some water on 'yah face…"
Norman put his left hand on the opposing man's shoulder, grabbing it tightly as he gave him a little shake. Then he turned Carter around gently, all the while Blake could feel his stomach surge and rumble as the incoming warning made it obvious. The agent titled his head and leaned in closer to look at his face, determined to see if his eyes were red. Another shake, more violent then before-
'Fuck, don't do that, don't do-"
Blake then commenced to throw up the contents of that morning's meal all over the agent in front of him.
There had been a moment in Jayden's mind where he realized what was going to happen. A distinct "I am going to puke!" look glossing over the cop's face a split second before he could react. It was still a shock, however, and his face hinted at that. A few splatters landed on his face, and his jaw slackened as Carter fell to his knees in dismay, and obvious embarrassment.
"Sorry…" He moaned out, actually sounding extremely apologetic. "I'm so sorry…Oh, God…"
He sounded so sick; so disgusted, and he puked again on his feet. Jayden's face contorted to pure disgust and disbelief as the smell hit him.
'Ugggghhh…That's…revoltin'…This is absolutely, no question…The most disgustin' moment in my life. It has to be.'
Still, despite the yellowish- blob of eggs chewed, and partially digested on his chest, feet and neck, he wasn't mad at Blake. Not one bit. The man was on his knees before him, and he seemed…Deflated. That was the word that came to mind, for some odd reason. Like a big, puffy Thanksgiving Day parade balloon that somebody poked a hole in, only to watch it crumble up on the ground. He watched his own withdrawal symptoms, the ones he was now just barely holding at bay, manifest in his former adversary.
It was supposed to be so…delightful. Watching this man suffer for all the pain he'd inflicted on Ethan Mars and no doubt countless others before him. All the yelling, cursing, and general nastiness he'd inflicted on him the minute he arrived. Though he supposed that wasn't so accurate, it was more then that. Blake hated him. Even now, he could see that flash of disgust towards the agent, even after he was told otherwise.
Except it wasn't delightful. Not a bit. It was sad, it was just fucking horrible. He found himself feeling nothing but a lump of guilt forming in his throat, not only for causing this, but for his inability to tell him what exactly he was going through, He would have to spill everything, and he wasn't ready to do that yet. Not now.
"It's…It's okay, Cartah." He tried, standing there as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"Happened to me when I first started usi'n ARI." He lied. "Puked on a superior…It was just as bad."
He watched the older man shake his head; but did so very awkwardly as he then crawled on all hands and knees for a few feet, attempting to keep his head from spinning. Jayden took steps back to make room for him.
"I threw up on you…" He sniffled, then Norman watched as he tried to move so that he stood on his knees again, and kept his eyes closed from the suddenly 'bright light' as he shook from head to toe.
"Don't be embarrassed…." Norman tried, knowing his pride had been hurt. Perhaps this was exactly what that uptight son-of-a-bitch needed? To be knocked down a notch? Puking on those that were supposed to be 'under' you? Priceless.
"…I was at the wrong place, wrong time. That's all."
Blake said something he couldn't understand, and he just had to sigh again as he backed away. Though a niggling, irritating part of him knew full well that wasn't going to fix this. He watched the black-and-grey haired brute shake again, and he was reminded of his own attacks. This was a bit surprising, however. Jayden began having these sort of symptoms not long after his second week of ARI use, and that's what puzzled him. Why was Blake having such severe attacks all of a sudden? Mirroring his own?
It wasn't right; something wasn't right. Sure, Blake could get through them, and because he didn't have Tripto it meant he couldn't be tempted to take the drug that could kill him with its misuse. However, it also meant an extreme amount of pain and sickness, just like now. The ARI overreacting as the seed of it grew in Blake's brain, being fueled and driven, no doubt, by the spike in his food consumption. At least, this was Jayden's theory.
Torn between rushing to clean himself off, and helping the lieutenant, he as always did his best to take the high road. Stooping low, he awkwardly hooked his hand around his arm, and went to lift when he felt resistance.
"Cartah, you need to lie down. It'll pass-"
"What's…going on…?" He slurred as he finally relented, his weak and shaky legs taking woozy steps until he hit the couch, which he was grateful for; then gave out as he squirmed back onto Jayden's previous resting place and laid down on his back.
"It's a result of using the ARI."
"I barely even used it yesterday…"
He was right. Jayden slowly realized it, at first he thought "no, he had to…" but there was only one distinct time Blake had used the glasses, and that was when they were in the car. Most people who experience this sort of reaction use it frequently for weeks.
"Yeah, well…Cartuh, you're a bit of a special case…"
"You're a bit of an asshole."
Norman had to admit he stifled a smile on that one. He really needed to improve the man's vocabulary. Buy him a dictionary or something…
"Yeah, well…regardless…Lay down. I'm gonna go take a shower, then I suggest y'ah do the same when I'm done…"
Carter groaned as he used the back of his arm to cover his eyes, coughing a little as he scrunched up his face at the taste in his mouth.
Jayden sighed as he walked into the bathroom, shedding the disgusting robe in the shower with him in order to assist cleaning it. Once again he reveled in the comforting heat of the water, hoping with all his might that he would be able to ride out any sort of withdrawals he would suffer during the course of the day. Lately, he'd been good- a combination of being away from the brain stimulation ARI forced, and the constant activity of the current situation, it took his mind off of Triptocaine surprisingly easy. He knew it wouldn't last much longer, though.
It was getting worse instead of better, though. It was strange how the whole situation changed things. He still craved the device and its abilities, despite technically being brought 'alive' by the thing. Though the desire wasn't quite as strong. His heart thud in his chest as he washed his hair once again, he had to admit the old cop's shampoo was really growing on him. Even if it did sort of flatten his hair…The smell was nice. He instantly recognized the scent from the man himself.
'One thing at a time, if you get it, tell him it's from ARI. He'll believe it, look…For some reason, he's having Triptocaine symptoms…It doesn't make en'ah sense, but we'll have to get through today. After that, yes, you can try and figure this out. One thing at a time. Just like always.'
His life had been just about miserable ever since he began those trials- life working for the FBI had it's many perks, a nice paycheck, wonderful retirement plan with a 401k, simply amazing health insurance, a just- about- guaranteed job security…Above all, a job that could feed his need to be busy, constantly, his ever-anxious mind always in need of something to do. It was a perfect fit, or at least, that's what he thought.
At first ARI was wonderful, absolutely mind-bending and phenomenal. He would spend hours at a time with the glasses on, exploring every feature and marveling at the way it worked with his own thoughts. The world it created for him, easily altering his own to something that was always better. Desirable.
Then came the overuse symptoms, then came the Triptocaine…Then came the withdrawals from Triptocaine, then went his life. Constant fears about OD-ing on the numbing blue powder or being caught in the wrong place at the wrong time when they appeared. Sleepless nights, long working hours without food or drink, the desire to ingest in neither. The lack of sex or even masturbation, again, the lack of absolute arousal or drive to seek companionship. Spiked, rousing fits of anger- his face, his body, aging long before it's time. Large, puffy bags beginning to form under his eyes. It was funny, he remembered eyeing Blake and those deep-set, tired and round-circled eyes and thinking- that was his future. That is, if he didn't die first.
Funny, it wasn't the drugs that killed him at all. Or ARI, for that matter. No, ironically enough, it saved him.
Rinsing the robe off in the shower, he made sure most of the vomit was gone before wringing it out and leaving it hung up over one of the shower bars. He would have to worry about it when they got back tonight. The thought of this all being over with was a refreshing, if not stressful, one. Because getting to that point was going to be hell.
He was able to escape the bathroom in a towel draped around his waist. Luckily enough, Blake was still lying down and unable to see or notice him. Jayden hastily ran over to the dryer where the clothes resided, loving the feeling of some warm, blue work shirts on his skin as he pulled them in clumps from out of the appliance. Although he hated the idea of wearing Carter's clothes, he wasn't exactly in any kind of position to bitch.
Refusing to touch his iconic blue work shirts, he instead found a white button-down that looked very similar to the kind he wore under his suit. He didn't bother to iron it- he'd wear it wrinkles and all. It wasn't like he was planning on being seen by anybody. Luckily enough, the shirt was still pretty pressed from the dryer's (and it was a fancy one, he'd give him that) abilities, and pulled the warm fabric over his frame, buttoning it up his relatively strong stomach. This shirt was smaller then what he was used to- Blake was barrel-chested and it was easily one, if not two, sizes too big. He looked a bit silly, it came up short on his tall frame, and draped loosely around his upper body. At least the sleeves seemed about right.
His abs were subtle, strong but nowhere near a body builder's capacity- they had not been given up to fat reserves or improper care, yet they were shadows of their former selves. He had seen the lieutenant's workout set and briefly considering giving it a go- yet now certainly wasn't the time. He lamented for a stronger body, if it wasn't for the muscle or slowed-to-a-crawl metabolism, he may very well be skin and bones by now.
Finding a pair of pants that would match was hard. He tried on two, but both didn't exactly fit. One was too short, the other, the waist too big. They fell right down. Then the third seemed like it was passable, though he could easily see his socks with his shoes on- he'd guessed. Not very professional, but it was the best he could do. The waist seemed decent, even if his ass nearly blew out the back, he absolutely had a bigger ass then Blake, he knew that. The man's rear end was a compact little fucking thing.
Despite the slight discomfort, he left the laundry room and sighed in relief when he saw Blake gone from the couch, and the sound of a shower running from behind the bathroom door. He decided to make himself useful and grabbed some stain and odor remover from beneath the kitchen sink. Spraying the stains on the floor with a look of disgust on his face, he stood up and took a deep breath as he tried his very damnest to not think about cleaning up another man's puke. It almost made him vomit in response.
He let the cleaner soak into the rug, doing its job. Then he turned around and caught glimpse of the ARI on the stand next to the couch. For the longest time, Carter kept them close to him- he supposed this was just a minor slip up. It was funny; he could see Blake becoming infatuated with the device just like he did a little less then a year back when he first got them; and fell into its trap before he even knew what was going on.
'What would happen if I…'
It was too interesting an inquiry. What if he tried them on? What would happen? He figured nothing at all…Or his brain might explode. He really had no idea. Technically he supposed he could as normal, he had a functioning brain, didn't he? Even if he was a mere ghost inside the machine.
Walking over with some caution, he rose up the device and fidgeted with the temple flanges between his fingers. For some reason, it didn't quite call out to him like before. Even if he knew full well this was the same ARI he'd been using for what seemed like forever. What the hell did that mean?
Closing the gap, he quickly placed them on his face before he could stop himself- and nothing. No blue light dancing on his face, no enveloping of the world around him- just a slightly darker outlook as though he was looking through sunglasses. For a second he thought he could hear the thing hum to life, but died out quickly like a light bulb blowing its fuse.
'Guess that answers that question…'
Before he could question it further, he heard a door swing open. Removing and planting the ARI back down quickly, he stood at attention like a private awaiting an order. Blake was there in the bathroom doorway with a towel draped around his waist, looking sheepishly at his victim. He looked embarrassed for the first real time- the only other was in the car yesterday, but that was something altogether different. That was more like humiliation, and Norman was regretting it more and more each time he thought about it.
"Hey, uh…" The agent reacted, looking towards the cop but not focusing on the dark chest hair that lined his pecs and modest, slightly defined abs.
"Can you- I mean…I need my clothes…"
"Oh! Oh, sure, I'll get them-"
"You don't have to…" Came Carter's sullen voice. It was strange of him, and Norman honestly didn't know how to react.
"No, no, I insist, I'll get the bag. It's no problem."
He heard Carter clear his throat; no doubt this situation was killing his pride. Norman's face flushed pink as he grabbed the bag off the table, walking over as he lowered his head out of respect for the half-nude copper as he took it quickly, ushering a "thanks" as he closed and locked the door.
In the short thirty-minutes or so that followed, Norman stood around awkwardly as he attempted to clear his head, get a good grasp on his day would proceed. Planning out, to the best of his knowledge, how things would play out. God, what was he going to do when Carter was at his funeral? Where would he go? He had a nasty habit of appearing wherever he was; and that simply couldn't happen. On the bright side, he would be accused of being Jesus Christ and resurrecting from the dead; on another, the government could very well treat him more like a BOW being set upon the world. There was no doubt in his mind this was something his superiors at the FBI were not aware of. They wouldn't even allow it to be in his own hands, let alone Blake's…Right?
A click, and the bathroom door opened, there stood a Carter Blake tying his necktie and stepping out in that new suit.
"Alright…Get done in there…Shave, brush yer' teeth…We need to get going. We fucked around enough…"
Despite his harsh tone, Norman easily complied, nodding and walking past him as he entered the steamy room. It smelled rather nice in there, and it didn't take him long to figure out that Blake had applied cologne. He found this a bit strange; he was going to a funeral, not a date. Perhaps he was simply one of those men that liked to smell good? Oh, maybe he was trying to cover up any sort of puke smell? Well, showering should have done that…
Either way, it smelled welcoming. He inhaled a little of it, and looked around for a bottle. It was in the right-hand corner of the medicine cabinet that he found a few vials. God- was that…Stetson? Didn't he just bitch about Tom Brady, and here he was wearing the cologne he promoted? He'd be lying if he said he was surprised, though. Next to it was also Eternity, to his wonderment. It was a bit more expensive, he did wear it a few times back in college. He picked up the bottle and dotted a little behind his ears, surely he wouldn't mind?
He did his best to shave, covering his face with the cream before carefully taking it off one pass at a time. Himself, he used an electric razor, so this was a long step back as far as he was concerned. Some blood resulted as he nicked himself all too often, scrunching his face in confusion and pain, studying the lines on his face as he aged long before his time. There was no choice but to use the man's aftershave, smelling richly of Blake as he practically wallowed in his ways. Now the sting of the alcohol-laden, store-brand blue liquid bit at his face.
A half-ass tooth brush later, a swish of mouthwash, then a slight combing of his slightly flattened hair- he was done. He walked out of the room with a renewed swagger as he watched Blake standing there, back to him as his hands graced his hips. There was a hint of attraction he felt burn through him as he gazed at the man looking back at him. There was something about that powerful brute that was almost…desirable when he was calm. His eyes sleepy and almost comforting as he pressed his lips together and gave a slight smirk.
"Alright…Let's go."
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