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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
- 8
- 9
- 10
Rating: M
Warnings: Cursing, and sex between two men.
Author's Note: In case you haven't noticed, I'm also trying to nail Blake's Philly accent. It's a hard feat, considering the Philly accent is a morphology of several others. (Jersey, Pittsburgh, Baltimore, New York) I AM TRYING. LOL. Let me know if it gets too ridiculus.
"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown." -H.P. Lovecraft
U p l o a d e d
It started like always; almost routine for the young man. Like getting up in the morning and brushing one's teeth- except there wasn't any sort of calm or normalcy to this particular event. He supposed it was normal, if only in the way that he experienced the same basic dream almost every night. Though he had learned it wasn't a dream so much as it was a 'disorder', one he had for about as long as he could remember.
He was in a dark northeastern forest, so dark it was just about impenetrable to the eye. Where exactly, he couldn't say. It appeared more like an eastern United States forest, thick and laden with pine and tall coniferous trees alike . He was in an oddly shaped clearing, like it didn't even belong there. The woods around him were so dark compared to the summer twilight, the sun sinking below the horizon a good half-hour ago. Crickets chirped loudly, along with some frogs chanting a chorus.
Norman normally wore his suit in these dreams- and this time was no different. He looked down and vaguely considered why he found himself wondering in the woods at this time of night. How'd he get here? Was he on a case? Looking left and right, he squinted in confusion as his heart started to beat wildly. All the color he possessed drained straight from his system, body tingling as a jolt of fear ran along his back. Cold, liquid trepidation and insecurity, the beginnings of true terror.
Then came the sounds- and Norman swore every nerve in his body started to tingle, freeze and come to attention. His fists clenched to his sides, eyes watering as he froze in place. They were unearthly noises, a cacophony of steps that would normally mean more then one creature. Though for some odd reason, he knew there was only one. A sixth sense, experience…He couldn't wrap his mind around the hurried thoughts. Perhaps he just didn't want to.
Each trample sounded light, almost like a deer. Yet it was no deer, no animal like that would come near another human being once they got wind. It was in a beeline, and it was taking it's time. Sticks broke, snapping from the force applied to them. His body jolted as he stared at the blackness slowly engulfing the rest of the forest.
A pause- it was close now. Then it stopped. He strained to hear, unable to swallow, and a few small tears making their way down his face. Jayden was not a coward in the least, wouldn't hesitate to stand up against another man. Even another animal if such a situation ever presented itself. However, this was neither. Because just as before…He simply knew. A sort of "wrongness" in the air.
'You should be running.' The thought leapt through the thick fog of terror.
That order from his brain took a surprisingly long time to get to his feet. It was only vaguely moving him backwards when he heard the sudden and disturbing sound of galloping, and like that it was coming his way. It was too fast to even make an educated decision, to wonder if he should catch of glimpse of the terror that plagued him every night, with almost no recollection the next day. Those concepts were thrown into the wind when the sound reached his ears, and his feet reacted to that long-given order.
Turning on a dime, breath caught and choking in his throat, he spun about and ran in the opposite direction. Almost instantly, a path was there that wasn't before. It wasn't a clear trail, but something he could at least make his way through- not that he gave a shit. He'd find a way through the mass of forest even if he had to trample his own way through the underbrush. Luckily for him, one 'magically' appeared, and he didn't have time to thank anybody for it.
Adrenaline kicking in, he sucked in the air hurriedly as fear clutched it's deadly hold. He ran, not taking the time to use his track experience from school to help. Not that it mattered, he hadn't run since his last training session in the FBI. That was months ago. Instead, he did what was the exact opposite of the right thing to do- ran like Hell. All his energy went into his legs, pumping his arms for locomotion as he heavily breathed the warm air. Light on his feet, he took off down the path, ducking the occasional low-hanging branch as he went as fast as he possibly could. The shot of adrenaline, the fight-or-flight response kicking in. He sailed over a small log in his way, landing hard as he felt the pressure increase in his lungs.
The pace of the thing behind him increased, not swayed one bit by the man's exertion before him. It's prey was weak in comparison to it's unholy physique. Norm didn't want to look back, it was the last thing in the world he wanted to do, and yet he found himself doing just that- even when he told himself not to- glancing quickly over his shoulder as his heart dropped in his chest at it's proximity.
He didn't catch much, but what he did made it far worse. Large teeth in a behemoth, all-consuming maw. It's snout taking up a majority of it's dark, dripping body- and speaking of body, he couldn't make out what it was even made of. It seemed to almost not have one, it's torso appearing no more then a slimy 'mist' of dark red and black, small snapping jaws in it's midst. It had numerous feet, all scrambling for him. Hooves- cloven hooves like a goat- and a glimpse of a tentacle swathed in viscous mucus
"Oh God!" He cried out, the sight propelling him forward as fast as he could go.
'If it catches me, there'll be noth'n left…'
Lungs on fire, he darted into a clearing, taking the initiative to double back, taking a sharp turn as heard the sound of light, yet thunderous hooves follow behind him. He tried not to think of what would happen if he was caught, not so much mauled as erased from existence in nanoseconds. There was a sound of a chortle mixed with an odd 'bray' that sounded ethereal and floated on the breeze. It was laughing at him, not frustrated as he had hoped.
The young man swore he swallowed his own heart, as instead of having difficulty turning around, it simply ghosted over the landscape rather in a straight line. He wailed out a cry of sheer horror; not caring how weak it made him seem. Nothing mattered now except pure survival, of running as fast as he could. Something told him to perhaps climb a tree, hide, anything. Running would get him nowhere. Yet it was all he ended up doing, all his legs seemed to be able to do.
Another chortle, and he burst forward with everything he had left, making a jump over a small stream as he tripped and stumbled over some rocks. A cry left his lips when he realized any slow-down now would be fatal. It was then when he felt his left leg disappear from under him, his weight going forward as he face hit the dirt of the embankment, hand sinking into the mix of mud and soil as he scrambled to pull himself forward-
Lifted into the air, he realized his demise might as well be a sure thing. A tentacle was wrapped about his ankle, practically salivating and engorging his suit's pant leg with thick, disgusting slime. Crying out as he screamed as loud as his lungs could manage, he went into shock as another tentacle slung about his right wrist, pulling him closer in a split-second- and like that-
Norman awoke screaming, covered in a cold sweat. His breath laborious, skin pale and body trembling. Looking down he watched his hands shake, mirroring his own withdrawal symptoms. As he struggled to control his own breathing, he found himself gasping again as he realized he was in a forest- and crawled back in repugnance. It wasn't until he took a few seconds to realize he was in a totally different sort of forest, a calm autumn woods with a gentle afternoon sunlight peaking through the trees.
'Great, back to square one.'
He wasn't sure who was in charge of ARI, Blake or him. In fact, he theorized that they both had a hand in how the program operated. His brain was present in Carter's, a factor that was both frightening and disgusting to his thoughts. He considered Blake a dirty, unprofessional cop, and to be compared to him was a smack in the face.
'Probably just an effect of the system, when it doesn't get an order, it resets to the default.'
Gone was the soft blanket and couch- and it was replaced with the hard forest floor. Grumbling in irritation, he knew better then to be angry at the way it worked. Instead he tried to focus the best he could, and found himself in a soft bed. It wasn't ornate, wasn't made of anything special, just a bare-bones mattress with a comforter on top, a soft pillow for his head. It would do. It appeared suddenly, making him gasp as the springs creaked and bounced as he jolted a tenth-of-an-inch onto the surface. Curling up, he calmed his heart before trying again to fall asleep.
He couldn't quite remember his dream previous- because it wasn't so much a dream as much as it was a constant necessity for his psyche to act out. Luckily for him, his sleep faded away into a more calm slumber, focusing on mundane tasks for the day as his stomach once more rumbled for nourishment.
"Uh…uhhhh!" A struggled, forceful pant, a high squeal- "Yeah! So good, honey…You're so good!"
Carter put everything he could into the tight little virgin- bucking into her like a wild bull in a rodeo, attempting to dislodge it's rider. Though in this case, he supposed he was the one riding. Grabbing her hips and rising her ass high off the desk, he angled her so he'd be able to fuck her as hard as he could without hindrance, getting as far into her as possible. The desk below slid with each pound into her tight, wet walls. She was moaning up a storm, the loudest bitch he'd ever screwed. Well, besides in other dreams, of course.
Having the talent of a lucid dreamer, he concocted his perfect fantasy. Fucking a girl on his desk, as members of the precinct looked on in admiration. Others would find this embarrassing, yet for Blake it was his ultimate turn-on, sex in public. Not only that, he was proud to show off his fucking skills to the rest of his work force.
"Oh God! Harder- uh-uh- uhhhh-harder!" Her voice grew husky and strained, eyes shut as her legs painfully twisted in their open position, so painfully spread they couldn't even make their way around his waist to help the process. Her blond curly hair matted on the desk as she cried, grabbing his shoulders pleadingly for some leverage. The fingers twisted as they clasped the shirt- pulling the sleek blue fabric as though her life depended on it. Her perky D-cups bounced beautifully under him, and he reached down to handle them by curling his right palm around it, squeezing it tightly as he admired it's soft weight in his hand. Twisting the erect nipple in his thumb and finger, her crying amplified as she arched her back towards his form, tightening her blue eye- shadowed lids.
"Yeah bitch- I know you fuck'n like it…" He huskily spat, eyes carnivorous as he pumped so hard he would swear he was stabbing the bitch instead of copulating.
"Say my fuck'n name, say it…"
Approving nods radiated from the crowd, Perry and Ash, as always, looking jealous and yet still expectant- like they were gonna have a shot next. That's what he wanted them to think- as always, at the end of the dream, they'd be turned down. Adding to the enjoyment, strengthening his pride that made up his very being. The woman in the office blushed horribly and looked about ready to file in line, all the regular plain-looking ones suddenly lavish. Their chests bulging, hair un-kept and flowing, stripping slowly as to be next. Raincoats thrown to the side, uniforms ripped open- buttons flying asunder as their breasts seemed about ready to flow from their suddenly tiny bras.
"Carter! Cartah- Oh God-"
Suddenly, his eyes glanced back down when he realized that the tanned little virgin he was nailing a second ago didn't sound the same. She sounded deeper, sounded like…
'Oh shit-'
She had turned into Norman. Laying there, legs spread out on the desk in the same exact position. Pale skin slathered with perspiration, eyes closed, mouth parted beautifully in a slightly more masculine moan then the woman he'd just been screwing. And there he was- cock deep inside the young man's tight ass. So tight, he instantly noticed his normally fast thrusting rhythm- tone down and require more effort. Like suddenly turning up the gears in a bike. For a brief second he'd realized Norman's ass was far warmer, muscles more powerful and pushing at his every movement to reject the body that he was forcing inside- it felt even better then the virgin he'd been screwing seconds before. Then he felt himself become quickly disgusted and betrayed, turned off- as he went to shrug and pull Jayden's clutching hands off his shoulders like he suddenly learned that he had the plague- could pull out and retreat into a hole in the wall and die-
"Oh" There came a quick, hoarse pant. Jayden's back curving as he seemed to writhe in his sexual grip. "Shit- Blake…I'm Uhaa-" He gasped harshly, mouth parting as he tried to gain some sort of control. There was none to be held.
The tortured cries were too much- and he felt himself unable to resist the urge to plow into the Norman's tight ass twice more as he felt himself suddenly and unexpectently come. He heard the kid do the same seconds later, moaning deep down in his chest- and it sounded defeated. Conquered. That in itself, felt worth it. He was surprised as the man shuddered all over, but mostly in his rectum where he felt it pinch and tighten his member, and it was there where he bucked his hips into the other's heat- and he found himself not caring as Norman blew his load on his blue work shirt- he was too busy getting as deep into the kid as he could as he shot his load inside. Growling and grunting so low it was monstrous, continuing to press himself deep into his insides as wiggled his hips and instinctively tried to deposit as much as his seed as he could.
Standing there, he could swear his vision blinked in and out as he recovered from quite the experience. Shaking all over from the intensity of the orgasm, he looked up and finally remembered he was being watched by the whole precinct. Everyone's faces were a mix of horror, shock, and of course…Ash looked quite amused.
"So the rumors are true, huh?" The man in grey yelled out, and a few members in the audience snickered, while Perry shook his head in disapproval.
His face got about as red as it could- not that it wasn't already filled with blood from embarrassment and shame the minute he saw Norman beneath him- when he recalled this, he looked down and watched the agent's face fill with the realization, the horror planted firmly in his eyes. Jayden panted and blushed, realizing just now, apparently, that he was being watched by the entire homicide division of the Philadelphia police force.
The kid's stomach and chest were ill-defined, as he always envisioned the kid being slim beneath his clothes. Sparse hair dotted his chest in a fine layer, ending in a trail of hair led from his sweat-filled navel to his still-erect penis, only now beginning to lower itself in satisfaction. He recalled thinking it was a decent size- then mentally called himself a fag for noticing. A sense of revulsion, of disgust and failure filled Blake; and he shamefully pulled out, hearing a 'pop' as they separated.
"Christ, Blake. 'Didn't know you were queer. I thought you were looking at 'me funny the other day-"
Ash's mouth continued as Blake shamefully put himself away as fast as possible. Zipping up, walking backwards while giving heated glimpse to the crowd that gathered. Like a dog with his tail between his legs, he threw Jayden a hateful glance that hinged on despair; then quickly moved out of the room. The woman held hands to their mouths as they either looked shocked, or started to laugh. Not believing they were ready to jump the man who apparently only wanted to fuck young male co-workers.
"Blake! Leave your badge at the desk before you leave. This sort of behavior is unacceptable- Well once Jayden finally gets off of it- Jesus Christ, Norman! Put some pants on-"
Awaking violently, he gasped as the alarm sounded. It was actually a woman's voice, the alarm set to the local news broadcast every morning. His heart hammered in his chest at the sudden jolt, then he shook his head violently with a groan. Doing his best to calm himself down, he then immediately felt the oncoming migraine as he cringed harshly. Occasionally he had these in the morning, but this time it was very different.
The worming, squirming migraine was enough to make a lesser man cry. He instead breathed out through clenched teeth, pressing himself into the bed as he waited for it to end. But it didn't, not like it normally did. He went to get up, then felt lightheaded, and fell back into bed.
"Aw…Fuck."
Times like these, he was glad he gave himself plenty of time in the morning. Squinting at the clock, it was still only five after six. Ash would probably come in later today as he was most likely working until late last night. Though the detective was rather unpredictable as long as he knew him. For all he knew he just never went home last night, wouldn't be the first time.
Continuing to deal with the rampage through his cortex, he shifted in his bed, rolling over onto his back. He felt the pulsing move from the right to left side, feeling as though there was some strange tunnel creating itself through the direct middle of his brain.
Moving his legs together, he looked down to take notice he still had pants on. Not to mention…He was rather wet down in the area between his legs. Despite being able to have vibrantly realistic, controllable dreams, he usually was able to restrain himself from cumming in bed. If only because it was a bitch to clean up, even with boxers on. Then he recalled what exactly his dream had been about. His stomach felt as though it sucked against his spine; and he made a face that spoke of repugnance to nobody in particular. Sticking his dark, dry tongue out- he scrapped it against his teeth as it retreated. Like doing the action would cleanse him of the act.
Ironically enough, the headache subsided at this rather gross realization. Much to his chagrin, it ebbed away completely at the thought of who he fucked into the desk in his lucid dream- Norman goddamn Jayden. The man he couldn't stand from the very beginning which was now pervading his thoughts and dreams- his now almost constant companion.
'Shit. What did I get myself into?'
It almost made him sick when he thought about that. At first it was utterly satisfying to think of humiliating and dominating the brat from Washington. It was an exercise in power, of control. However, it was steadily becoming something more, and he wasn't sure he liked it. Not in a romantic sense, but in a personal sense. He never felt comfortable being too close to anyone in life, and now this irritable kid was in his home, his brain, his dreams. It was starting to bother him the more he thought about it.
'So stop thinking about it. Get your ass to work.'
Right. Taking advantage of the crawling headache's disappearance, he rolled over and stood up from bed. Then he remembered why he had slept in his pants, and felt rather ashamed once more when he had remembered why. Jayden had been rubbing his back, and he fell asleep. Fell. Asleep. What the fuck was wrong with him?
A sudden, unnatural anger gripped him, and he stomped about his house in an effort to get ready. He already pissed away a half hour laying in bed. Now he had to make every minute count. He ran into the bathroom, stripping quickly as he turned on the nozzles. Getting into the stall, he checked his body to make sure he hadn't been 'taken advantage' of by the little pillow-biter while he was out like a light. Well, his ass didn't hurt. That was all the evidence he needed.
Bending over slightly to wash his legs, he winced as his back cried out in pain. Recalling the 're-adjustment' he received from the little snot. He growled low in his throat, seething with unholy rage. For a moment he toyed with putting on the glasses just so he could smack the shit out of the brat- but decided he had no time for it.
Taking it like a man, he finished his shower and hobbled out, careful not to flex his back too much. He had to stand up, however, and made a moan of pain as he shook from the exertion. Panting a little, he dried off and told himself he didn't wash his hair- but decided 'fuck it' as he put the towel around his waist, synching it tightly. Walking over to his sink and mirror, he checked his face to make sure he looked at least presentable to society.
After brushing his teeth, he then got out his shaving cream and razor. Taking away all the stubble around and inside his thick goatee, he briefly considered shaving it off. Of course, he knew that would drastically change his appearance, so he decided not to. It wasn't so much that Blake was resistant to change, it was that when he liked something, he stuck to it. He liked his look- it somehow intimidated people. So he made sure it was trimmed, and let it be.
Washing his face then splashing on the aftershave, he tended to the rest of his bathroom activities quickly, applying deodorant as his last chore- then left the room and carefully made his way to his bedroom to dress.
Exiting his room fixing his tie, he took a deep exhale as his rage was still tormenting him full-force. It wasn't really Jayden so much as it was the cascading effects of everything that morning, in his whole life- they all found an excuse to come together and keep him pissed off. Pulling out the toaster and making himself some toast, he checked the clock and found he was decent with time. As long as nothing messed him up, he'd be fine.
Knowing that wouldn't fill him up for shit- he whipped out the frying pan and grabbed himself two eggs from the fridge. Taking out the milk and butter, he quickly made himself some scrambled eggs. Though not much of a cook- he made due with what he had. At least his mother was able to teach him some of the basics before she died.
When they were all finished, he poured himself a glass of orange juice and carried them to the coffee table as he turned on the TV. Catching the morning news, he fumbled with the remote to turn it up. The weather came on with the rather up-beat weatherman, whom he honestly couldn't stand. Fucker always acted like he just got done doing some kind of ecstasy, always so chipper and willing to put a positive spin on everything.
"Rainy with a chance of sunshine!" Cried the douche, far too happy for being up that early. That shit-eating-grin of his proudly displayed, Blake openly laughed at the homo on screen.
"Yeah, you wouldn't be so talky with a cock in your mouth, would you faggot?"
"…Should be the last day for rain for at least a week. There's going to be a dry spell…"
"Oh, thank you, Jesus..."
Not that the rain bothered the man that much- he'd lived with it all his life. Though he was getting tired of coming home dripping wet every day. He was already sick once earlier in September, he didn't really feel like going through it again.
He would have made coffee, if not for the fact that he would be running late if he had to wait for it to properly brew. Blake could down a good three cups, practically lathered in cream in sugar. Deep down he had a sweet tooth. Easily understood by his dentist who put a whopping six fillings in his teeth. Yet he decided against it, and instead figured he'd get his caffeine fix at work, even if their machine produced some pretty horrible brew at times.
Finishing said breakfast quickly, he shoved the last bit of toast in his mouth and stood up, putting the glass and dish in the sink. He rinsed off the remnants of his meal, then cleaned his hands quickly as he made to shut the TV off, checking to make sure everything was situated properly so he could leave. Grabbing his coat, he slung it on and opened the door, bombarded by the now cold air.
'Nice. Shitty weather again in eastern Pennsylvania, why am I not surprised?"
Easily below forty or so degrees, he braced for the cold as he pulled his coat extra-tight, making sure no early snow-flurries were making their early start downwards. (Not that he would be surprised at all.) Getting in his cold car, times like this he wished he had remembered the fact he had an automatic starter in the three-year old Ford Taurus SHO. The weather didn't get to him that bad, but after going from warm, humid weather the day previous…He had been momentarily spoiled and didn't want to admit it.
Getting into the icebox of a car, he grumbled in exertion as he felt his body sink into the leather seats below him. It was his particular favorite fabric, and when given the option he chose it over anything resembling the average soft, man-made cloth. Turning the key and shifting gears, he put his arm around the back seat (never trusting the mirrors entirely over his own eyes) and backing out of his driveway, waiting for a singular slow car to make it's way past his particular exiting point.
"Move it, you fuck'n' asshole!" He yelled, throwing his hands up in the air in a mock gesture of confusion.
Sighing in frustration as it finally made it's way past, he pulled out in a simply unnecessary display of speed as he spun the wheel and drove away down the road. Everything went swimmingly until he suddenly remembered he was driving on the "E" for the past couple days, and the "bing" went off, light going on as it tried to tell him he needed to get gas, and soon. Otherwise he'd be walking to work. As it stood, he was still a good three miles from the station. He didn't want to risk it.
Looking around, he tried his best to remember the closest gas station. There was a Sunoco not far from where the precinct was located. He made his way through a few green lights that saved him some time- then pulled in. Luckily for him, there was an empty spot where he could pull his car without waiting for some dip-shit taking his time filling up.
Pulling close enough, he looked back to align his car with the pump, putting the car in park and getting out with a groan. Walking over, he took out his leather gloves, stretching them over his calloused hands. He removed the cover, then the cap, taking the nozzle and making sure to get the regular, noting the ridiculous price of a singular gallon as he watched the amount of his bill go up too quick for his liking.
He leaned back against the car, taking a deep breath as he tried to calm his nerves. He was thankful that it had stopped raining for the time being. Though it was still cold and miserable out in the city of brotherly love. Blake people-watched for a few minutes, his normal, highly-observational talent coming into play as he saw the citizens of the universally smeared city walk in and out of the gas station's convenience store.
It was then that he ran his hand through his graying, course hair, looking over at kid about twenty or so lighting up just outside the shop's doors. Immediately he got that craving, and realized there was nothing more he'd like then a good smoke to calm him down.
'Except I'm out. Carter reminded himself. 'Good thing I fucking remembered.'
The pump stopped with a very audible "clink" as it reminded him the tank was full. His gaze shooting on over to follow the noise, he proceeded to get up and make his way towards the pump, pulling it out and replacing it. His mind began to wonder subconsciously, reminding himself that tomorrow was Norman's funeral. God, that came up fast. He told himself he had two days back when the order was given, and like that, he'd be going home tonight and would have to have his suit ready first thing in the morning.
'FUCK.' He swore mentally, almost loud enough he's swear he heard it.
That's right. He didn't have one. Well okay, he did. That was until last year's Christmas party, Ash and him had gotten a little too fucked up. He could remember having every sort of alcohol known to man spilled on it- which was bad enough. Then they had done some weird shit- driving to the outskirts of town in an attempt to…Wait, what the fuck were they doing? At one point, he fell in some mud and probably pissed himself from a bladder full of alcohol like the drunken asshole he was. Needless to say, he just threw it away when he woke up in it sleeping inside a car…That wasn't his.
The one thing he remembered was Ash was laughing his fucking ass off- and slipped on the same muddy hillside- Jesus Christ- they did some stupid shit when they were drunk. Even more then the usual person, Carter's defenses went down and his inwardly playful nature finally reared it's head. Only possible when the liquor dulled and calmed his normally rigid nature. The veil lifted, the heavy wall felled.
Smiling awkwardly at the memory, he finished replacing the gas cap and cover, then made his way to the small convenience store to pay. He remembered one of his first calls- somebody was shot right outside. They didn't think it was a failed robbery or anything pertaining to it. Just some random poor bastard, wrong place, wrong time. He looked down as if remembering exactly where the blood stain from the broken skull used to lay, jumping onto the curb as he stuffed his hands deep into his pockets.
Opening the label-strewn doors that plainly announced they took all the cards- as well as checks- he felt the oddly cool air of the store on his face. It was a chain place, and therefore lacked the grittiness of a locally-owned business. Eyes fell on him as if he was a stranger in a strange land, an obese woman in the corner with her equally obese child mulled over which chips they wanted, and some leather-clad biker prowled the magazines as he shot the cop a nasty look. Blake searched his memory banks, pondering if he'd ever had to deal with this particular skin-head's bullshit in the past. Then he decided it wasn't worth the thought process, and dropped it. Instead he returned the heated gazes, clenching his jaw as he approached the counter.
Well, at least the girl at the register looked decent. Blake had a similar talent to Jayden, he knew people. Though, in a totally different, almost abstract way. A way that neither would ever hope to grasp about each other. Jayden could see into people's minds, the way their brain was hardwired, functioned, what it was capable of. If Jayden saw a slightly disturbed but innocent man, Blake instead saw what he wanted to. A culprit, a scapegoat. Something to make all this shit go away so his precinct could be back to it's good old ways, could get rid of the pain-in-the-ass profiler and continue following his own code of extremely bent morals.
Instead, the lieutenant and what he knew about people was based off of pure experience, brought by his perilous, harsh life's journey coupled even worse by his maturity. He'd seen the people that did those things, the heavily tattooed, pierced whites, the minorities and the crack-whore prostitutes- the poor. Yet what he saw wasn't so much how they were all the same- as much as they were all different. They were all sinners, sure, all capable of doing something to make his life all the more difficult. Yet one struggling drug dealer was always different then the next. It was in those differences, he discovered, that would be the key to finding the right man. Or woman, as rare as that was.
At first glance he could tell you if you looked guilty or not, what you did on the side and how you did it. He recognized the look in you're eyes when you were lying, covering up, feeling guiltier then sin. Most of the time it was easy- most of the time it was fucking boring. He had put away pure and utter human shit; never a day going by where he regretted the decisions he made. Then there were cases like these, hard to come by, but not fun at all. Goddamn frustrating. Confusing to his system of order he so delicately instructed inside his seizing moral compass.
Ethan Mars looked and acted guilty the minute he saw him. Acted suspiciously- something Jayden seemed to overlook in his complex analysis. Even in the interrogation room- oh he believed Ethan when he said he loved his son…He just didn't particularly care. Didn't really give a shit when cold hard facts existed to prove his point. There was something incredibly fucked up about Mars- something he still believed to be true, even if the man was being steadily proven innocent while being held at the precinct. He still felt the beat-down he administered was appropriate, even if everything Mars did screamed at him that he really didn't know where he was being held. Ethan's eyes, his body language, his goddamn words, told him he knew more then what had been said. He had confessed to kidnapping his son. What more evidence did he need-
Christ, even after the case was being unraveled, he still was going off about the trials. He had yet to visit any of them personally, though he had dispatched Ash to the "Butterfly Trial" as Mars had called it. None of them had the balls to actually crawl into the tunnel of strewn glass- they were supposedly going to get one of those bendable cameras on a wire in there. There was going to be a long- ass time between now and whenever this case was finally wrapped up. All the while his office would be busy as sin; dealing with the rest of this case as others continued to pour in.
He inhaled the unnaturally-cooled air around him as he stood in front of the counter, getting his wallet out from his side pocket. Though inside his head the tick-tock of his gear-like mind churned- it ate away at his insides, at his massive ego- of the revelation that he had been wrong. That Mars was not only not the Origami Killer, but may well hadn't been guilty of anything at all. Not even a possible accomplice, which was his next angle. He couldn't help himself- he was a man that never let anything go.
The girl at the register gave him a brief glance, her mascara-packed eyelashes smeared, her face fallen and tired, indicating to the lieutenant that she had long finished the concept of being cordial to the customers. She gave an impatient stare as she tried to crack a smile when their eyes locked, trying her best not to complain about her current situation. Her plain-Jane brown hair parted at both sides as they fell down each side of her face, framing it oddly as her greenish-brown eyes seemed to have trouble focusing.
"Hi." She tried, and when she talked she flashed the green-accented bar in her tongue. It told the lieutenant a wealth of possible things- but mostly that she very well may have liked to suck cock. The ring in her mouth being perfect for stroking up and down a man's sensitive tissue. Yet his eyes shot from the object in the young teen-something's mouth, and back to her tired, dark eyes. Like all men- he instantly evaluated the girl for fucking, and deemed her do-able. Yet his middle-aged mind steered him away, back towards work. The split-second, instinctive decision went barely unnoticed even to the observant cop.
"Twenty on nine- a pack of Pall Mall reds, too…Please."
His tone was low, more business then a kind question. Yet the girl didn't seem to care, turning around and finding the pack of smokes as she walked to the right and reached up, sliding it out. She flung the pack over to him on the other side, ringing him up and taking his fifty-dollar bill. Not even bothering to check it for counterfeit, she checked him out and gave back his change and a receipt.
Checking the time briefly on his gold watch, he sauntered out the doors and made his way back to the car. The rain was starting up a little again, but nowhere near as bad as the days previous. It felt like years ago, not days. Not a week ago that Norman walked into his life and changed it, almost permanently. When he died, it opened something up that still made his heart race with a sort of proverbial fear- a fear of the unknown and what it held. One would think a man like Carter would be immune to feelings of helplessness, of being so insignificant in the grand scheme of the cosmos. Yet the bigger he felt in this 'game' was playing, the more worried he found himself- the easier he realized he could be toppled if he wasn't too careful.
He was dabbling in something he didn't quite grasp- putting the car in drive and accelerating quickly out of the pumps and into traffic, speeding away as he made his way back to the station. Though yesterday had been so oddly casual he wondered if it all really happened. Was he just losing it? Was Norman even real? Wasn't he dead, being buried tomorrow in Washington? Oh, and wouldn't he be attending? He almost felt as though any minute, it was all going to be exposed to him as one big trick, and he'd look like the biggest fucking asshole there ever was. Though he had to admit- if that was true- being given a blowjob wasn't really the best way to play a 'trick' on him. Wouldn't it have to be the other way around?
Blake wasn't one to mull over 'mysteries of the universe', so he really didn't. It was one of the few times when he actually even entertained the concept that there was something bigger and more powerful out there then the powers-that-be. Yet he pushed those thoughts deep down inside him, not one to grow anxious and let trivial things weigh him down, wasting his precious time. Entering the garage, he parked easily in one of the closest spaces to the elevator, fitting easily into his marked parking spot with the blue-and-silver reflective sign declaring his name and status.
Off-handedly, he reached for the glasses in his jacket, the ARI system and it's pent-up abilities nestled snugly against his blue shirt and rubbing slightly against his chest. He sighed in content as he felt better, knowing they were safe. Such a feeling wasn't notable until it dawned on him. Since when did he even need them? Why did he even bring it? It made his hair stand on end, coming up slightly on the back of his thick neck. He stepped out of the car, grumbling at another coming shift at work- yet felt a sort of rising excitement at starting another day in the crux of power.
"Lieutenant Carter Blake…Sir?"
There was a chill that penetrated his face the most, spreading down into his neck and body. He turned around hesitantly, oddly enough, he already predicted who would be standing there in the dark. Not who exactly, he wasn't a psychic. The fancy shoes on cement- the almost hot-shot gait and arrogance walking about on two legs. He thought of Norman instinctively, but knew better. Not to mention, there were more then one.
Two men, one appearing about his age or even older then him and slightly tan- his almost black eyes meant it was hard to tell what he was looking at- they gleamed under the dull florescent lights that shone from above. His hair was insanely short- cut that way, it appeared. A cross between a shave-down and places and a crew-cut. The actual color a mix of gray and dark chocolate brown.
His features were balanced, though his nose was slightly bigger then average and his mouth-creases exceedingly deep. A very slight cleft to his upper lip. Above all, his ears seemed determined to want to stick away from the sides of his face. Those dark eyes set deep in his face, frighteningly slanted- though not in the typical Asian manner and more like a permanent squint, an affixation of his surroundings. Deep creases set in his forehead, a chin sharply protruding downward from his mid-sized lips. He appeared to keep himself dutifully clean-shaven. Not to mention he had a good few inches of height on the lieutenant.
Blake was reminded of an older, rather intimidated version of Jayden - how he kept his hands at his sides, a solemn and professional tone to his voice. The man to his left was younger, wearing sunglasses with a piece in his ear, a curled wire leading into the hearing-aid-looking device in the canal. The glasses hid his eyes, the most identifying feature -and turned him into a ghost of sorts, it was obvious he was there for protection and nothing more. He was unusually pale and had thin lips, and slicked back blonde hair. He looked unusually bland yet attentive, and it made the lieutenant a bit uneasy in the sense that he seemed completely aware of every breath he took. Staring at him as though he was a sheet of glass- straight into his eyes and out the back of his head.
"Rick Crawford, FBI." He introduced, showing his badge briefly. Just enough so Blake, who's lips were slightly pursed in surprise, the "FBI" on the badge then flipped it back to his pocket. It displayed to the cop a conceited attitude, a desire to rather be somewhere else. A bored look remained on the agent's face, sighing as his expression never changed. His tall blond-haired Aryan companion looking only slightly off into the corner.
"We have reason to believe you've been withholding information from us, Mr. Blake." The man said, in a perfect English accent like one would hear from the movies. Not some breed of Cockney, not slurred or spat- but rather extremely professional. Almost as if he was in fact trying to hide it. Briefly locking eyes with the black-suited man, he scowled as his lip drew down and teeth showed.
"…I don't like being snuck up on like this…" Blake said, his mouth finally uttering words after looking around quickly to make sure the garage was empty, knowing he was late and therefore mostly everyone was inside already who was supposed to be there.
"Quite 'alright sir, would you like to… go to your office and discus this? I do apologize- We had to arrive right away, 'didn't have time to schedule an appointment. We were quite positive you'd be busy as it was."
A slight laugh finished the sentence, the very corners of his mouth raising in an attempt to calm their carefully studied subject.
Blake's mouth refused to work, and he had to pause as he laughed a little in his throat and looked away briefly, his the heart in his chest accelerating quickly and body tingling a bit in the anxiety he claimed he never had.
"'The fuck do you want?" He spoke, the fear shining through despite his best of intentions. He spat the order, on his face a contorted expression of hatred for the Fed interrupting his already stressful day.
The agent hesitated a bit in surprise, not believing a police "lieutenant", a servant of the public in the great city of Philadelphia and the state of Pennsylvania - could act that way- completely unprofessional and rather selfish, using quite course and vulgar language.
"Well, pardon me for askin', sir. But we do need your assistance with closing Agent Jayden's case file."
Carter actually felt his cheeks heat up for a quarter-second, then looked away to the left as he exhaled and gathered his breath, heart still going like a jackhammer.
"…yeah. One of your buddies, right?"
"Actually, no. I rarely saw Mr. Jayden. We talked a few times and offered him my assistance- we never really got the chance to work on a case together. 'Was a fine agent, from what I understand it, and a respectable man. He will be missed- and I'm sorry for the loss. I know you two helped identify the Origami Killer-"
"Actually, I barely knew the up- stuck son-of-a-bitch. I did most of the work as he fucked' 'round with his outer-space glasses or whatever the hell-"
"Oh, so you saw him using the ARI-"
"Listen, Mr.…Crawford, I don't know- I don't care- I know about it- yeah. But I didn't care, I didn't pay attention- I just know that he's dead. Fuck'n about to be buried. What's this all about?" He breathed, body heating up as he took a step or two towards the pair, the pale man not even reacting to his approach.
There was a brief second, and he noticed every look the agent gave to his partner. Noticed it so easily because he recognized it so well. The shoe was instantly on the other foot and it made him sick with the hopelessness it granted. It was the same look he remembered giving Ash when he interviewed Mars- a look of knowing more then he was letting on. Of being bull-shat too. He silently inhaled at the realization- he never had to be on the other side. He was a good liar, could and did get himself out of the worst of the most possible offenses, before he even entertained the idea of being a cop- except this wasn't what he was used to. This was the federal government. This wasn't his job on the line, this was his livelihood an ability to ever exist in society ever again.
"Holed' up in a federal prison for life…" He briefly considered, the fear clutching at his lower torso as he visibly inhaled some air, taking his time letting it out of his nostrils. Thumbing his nose with his thumb, he inhaled deeply again and let it out slowly as he gathered his thoughts.
"Really? You saw the ARI system? We were lead to believe Agent Jayden was never allowed to let others see the program outside it's conventional use- did you see him with it alone?"
'Son of a bitch! They know more then they're letting on…' Carter finally knew what it was like to be in the interrogation seat, and was hoping against everything he knew to be logical that they didn't apply his own methods to the situation.
"Well, then I guess your boy fucked up. I saw him a few times, yeah."
Blake wanted to kick his own crotch at his sudden pacified attitude- since when did he give into anything? Since when did he give a shit? Since when-
'Since you started accepting head from a dead FBI agent.' His subconscious reached his logical, waking thoughts. 'They fuck'n know someth'n. Don't be stupid. You can get out of this free, in cuffs…Or dead. Which is it?'
There was a pregnant pause- the agent before him seemed to analyze the lieutenant with frightening eyes. The air that surrounded them was heavy, laden with more then just moisture from the rain. The Fed's eyes remained free of his thoughts; and as he locked eyes with Carter- he could tell the man wasn't used to this sort of questioning.
Men of his stature found themselves rarely in the hot seat, and from his own analysis he had found out that Lieutenant Blake was more then just a top-ranking officer that had come highly recommended by his peers-Oh no, he had several cases of police battery charges brought against him, only to be swept under the rug or paid off under the table. They knew where he lived, went to school, what his work schedule was like, where and how his parents died- they knew the exact date his great-great grandparents crossed the ocean and entered Ellis Island. And those didn't even take but a few seconds of digging- a few minutes more and they knew things that would make the average, private United States citizen fearful about picking up a phone or walking out their front door.
He was a natural born liar, and this agent made a lifetime out of dragging confessions out of so called liars-by-trade. Yet this was something new, Blake seemed genuinely cautious of the two men, and was doing his best to hide it. It was a worthwhile effort, controlling his breathing and taking up a defensive posture, but his eyes were giving him away. Looking in all the wrong places as they shifted around too much, looking up to the corners and fidgeting with his hands.
Taking the dirty cop into custody would have been his own plan- That was, if it was up to him. Taking the cuffs that dangled at his belt- clanking and ringing like a melancholy song he so loved- and slapping them on his wrists as he wrenched his arms into position behind his back- oh that would have made his day. He started this career purely for this reason- and he loved nothing better then turning some righteous asshole like this in. Though they didn't want Blake for his behavior, they wanted him because they never found the ARI on Agent Jayden's body. Or at least, that's what they had told him.
Yet these weren't his orders, unless the man wanted to turn himself in. This was his chance, and he would have been given a less severe sentence if he was smart enough to do it. That rarely ever happened, however. It didn't surprise him, everybody wanted a free ride. Everybody wanted to fuck over the United States Government. They always seemed to forget how much power they had, how they could make a man disappear and convince everyone he associated with, that he simply never existed. Perhaps just took a walk one day and never showed up. A missing person like all the others that was simply never found. All in a matter of hours.
"I understand, sir." The agent next to him held a hand to his ear piece, leaning over, whispering something as Crawford leaned in to hear it. Turning away from Blake, he returned something inaudible to the culprit's ears, bending his neck to display a blotched scar at the top of his neck, under the jaw. A scar Blake recognized as a failed jugular slash. It only made him feel more pathetic. These agents weren't like Norman, beauracratic head-case assholes. These were professionals in making people gone from the face of the Earth.
'I'm fucked.' Blake breathed in, discharging the air as he sought to work up his courage. The air came out in a growl that got both of their attention.
"Are we done 'fuck'n around?" He spoke with an edge of warning. Like a rattlesnake going off before it strikes.
"I'm already late- My partner's gonna be looking for and calling my ass. You wouldn't want him walking in on our private conversation now, would we?"
For a moment Blake thought he had the upper hand, felt his pride coming back in a flush. That feeling would have remained if the agent didn't seem at all fazed, his expression stone as he checked the Rolex on his wrist, eyebrows furrowing as his companion scanned the surroundings.
"Well I suppose we kept you long enough, lieutenant." He said as he strolled forward suddenly, and it took everything he had for Carter not to take a step back in surprise. Rick's hand went into his pocket, and for a frightening second Carter seriously thought it would be the last sight he'd ever see- some prick from Washington would take him out in a parking garage swarming with cops, yet nobody would ever know- they'd confiscate the video-
A business card was held out, and he hesitated before reaching up and wrenching it from it's master's hand.
"Call me if you remember anything 'sir? This is still an open investigation. I believe I'll…See you at his funeral, tomorrow?"
Carter's mouth went dry, and he opened his sticky lips to talk, only finding a cry of surprise to replace it before the words found their way out.
"Uhhhh- Yeah, yeah. I'll be there."
"Excellent! Well I'll see you then." A shit-eating grin filled the agent's face. He turned and strode away, his companion giving the lieutenant one final glance before following. Hearing their expensive shoes echoing in the familiar garage. Carter stood motionless for a few minutes, fearful electricity running up and down his spine.
'Shit. SHIT.'
As calmly as he could, Blake turned around and jogged to the red elevators. It wasn't until then that he noticed a few other fellow officers walking laterally to their cars from the right side, probably returning from a call. The agents didn't leave because they were done speaking with him- they left because other people were coming. Something told the worried cop that they weren't finished. Most likely they'd wait until he was alone and off him-
'Carter, goddamn it. You're better then this. If they wanted to off you, you'd be dead. Maybe they really did just want to ask you- No. No they didn't. They would have made an appointment with you like a normal fucking person. Not cornered you in a parking 'gar'ag. It was a scare tactic, they didn't want anybody to be around- the video. I gotta get a copy of it- Shit, that won't make a difference. They're Feds, anything they do will be perfectly legal-'
For a moment, Carter considered this. He was on the receiving end of his own personal brand of justice, and he didn't like it. It made him feel emasculated, less of a man. He hit the button to call the elevator, craning his short neck upward as he exposed his large jugular to the red doors. He watched as it ticked down, coming closer. Swallowing, he wet his lips, then swallowed nervously, turning his head to make sure nobody was behind him. Then he head them open, and his heart skipped a beat as he looked inside. Half-expecting them to be filled with Feds- then to have his face full of buckshot- or rather, maybe a single pistol-shot to the head with a silencer- he breathed a sigh of relief and entered the dingy, mildew rank space. Empty, as they usually were.
Pent up like a caged animal, he let out the terrifying growl that he had been holding in. Despite the slight rock of the elevator, he stomped about and seethed violently as he paced to and fro. Showing his teeth at the reflective walls, he snarled and chewed at a non-existent bit as it lowered and rose in his throat. Then he coursed all this anger into a punch, his fist sunk itself into the side of the elevator's walls. It bounced back quickly- the aluminum making up the elevator releasing a dull 'thud' yet resisting mere flesh. He didn't feel any pain right then, only a stinging as it throbbed in his knuckles. If anything was broken, he wouldn't know yet. Shaking his hand in the air as he tested his fingers, he bit his own lip and chewed for satisfaction.
Inside his gloves, he felt his hands continue to grow clammy. Sweating in their restraints and making the leather outside just as slippery. Inside his chest, his massive heart didn't let up as it pounded away, toughened by years of hard weight-lifting and general exhaustion. Perhaps it was genetic advantage- but it was the only thing keeping his hard lifestyle from killing him. Pushing it to the edge like this. Yet it hammered, hungry for more blood to pump- angry with vibrant red as it pushed oxygen filled cells to their destination.
Blake broke out in a small sweat, and for moment he felt lightheaded. There was a frightful few seconds when he thought maybe he had let himself get too worked up again, just like that day he saw Jayden for the first time. Then he realized this had nothing to do with his blood pressure- Christ, it wasn't even that high, unlikely to cause this. He looked down, now noticing that his hands shook violently. Eyes widening, he held up his left palm and stripped it of it's glove, having some trouble with it's fast, uncontrollable movement- but the sweat helped it's separation.
The hand moved violently- the more he tried to stop it, the worse it got. Reaching up, he took his left wrist in his right, trying his best to control it as the doors opened. Yet the pain began to form in his knuckles; wincing only slightly as he stepped out and entered the precinct.
Eyes fell on him momentarily. A few low-ranking officers that met his warped, pale stare and looked away as their interest waned. Carter rarely showed compassion towards others- they weren't about ready to return a favor never deserved of him. A receptionist looked up and squinted her tired eyes at the man, puzzled by the lieutenant's suddenly weakened state. She stared longest of all, not even turning away her gaze when he returned the deathly stare the officer's eyes were sending her way.
His head leveled with the ground momentarily, dipping it as he held his other ungloved hand close to his body. Now he could feel his whole body going at it- and with every other step he felt his legs jerk up or towards the floor, finding it difficult to walk in a straight line.
'Bathroom, bathroom… bathroom!'
It was his only solution, like a beacon of hope towards the other side of the massive room. He squinted as he narrowed his eyes towards the corner- telling himself if he could just get there, get some privacy, he could calm himself down. This was new, this wasn't even remotely normal. If felt more like symptoms he'd seen in victims of drug withdrawals. The strongest drug he'd ever indulged in had been acid back in the day- and the occasional pot he'd get from a kid he knew years ago. Christ, he hadn't done an uncontrolled substance like that in nearly thirty years.
He was no druggie- far from it. Pot wasn't habit forming, didn't cause withdrawals. The acid he did all those years ago didn't seem to have any effect besides some horribly bad trips he had a few nightmares about. He had seen the result of alcohol and drug addictions; seen it's victims before and after heading to the hospital or morgue. Carter didn't have to glance in a mirror to realize he must have looked the same.
Blake moved quickly, head down and body tense as he made a beeline for the bathroom in the back. He just prayed to everything holy that Perry or Ash hadn't noticed his entrance, couldn't see him barreling through the crowd to reach the bathroom as though he had some sort of 'problem' in that particular area and had to relieve it fast.
"Lieutenant!" He heard Ash's voice call, and he tried his best not to turn around and face the lankier, taller man in grey as he heard the chair squeak, standing up and jogging his way.
'Godammit! God damnit-'
"Blake! What the hell's going on, you're late- you didn't answer any of my calls…" The detective tried again, walking faster as his voice was still underneath the level of busy noise in the cluttered workspace. He pushed past a few officers, including a female who gawked openly for having her breasts rudely bumped into.
"Leave- me - alone, Ash!" He called out, walking faster as he saw the doors in sight. They may had well been glowing in a heavenly light.
"I'm gonna be sick again- we'll talk later!"
Ash stopped in his tracks. It was enough to convince him, seeing as Carter had indeed been acting strangely lately. Though he had sounded good last night. Jolly even. Carter, jolly? Christ, that was like meeting Hitler on a good day and telling everyone he 'wasn't such a bad guy.' Seeing him so pale and sickly, not to mention rushing to the bathroom convinced him he must have had some sort of bug. A bug he needed to not catch. He was lucky all these years working with a man who almost never got sick, not having to pick up the lieutenant's slack. Yet lately things had been unusual about the man. A man he swore he knew.
'Ever since he tried those glasses-'
Some people are shocked when they realize something absolutely groundbreaking. Something that was sitting right there the whole time as it awkwardly kept it's place right in front of you. Instead, what the talented detective did was internally click into gear like a massive machine starting to turn. Ever since Carter tried the ARI system - which had once belonged to Norman, he hadn't been himself at all. The Lieutenant Blake he knew would have flew out of the house when they discovered Shelby's body, or even the massacre at Kramer's estate. Instead he complained about being bothered…From what?
Blake was a bachelor just like him, married to his career- to this lifestyle. One of power, of complete dominion. He couldn't have that if he had a wife. And if he wanted a woman instead, controlling her would most likely send him to jail and her to the ER. Instead he took that carnivorous attitude and put it to good application. Often, he would catch that predatory lust in his eyes when things began to heat up with a suspect, or even talking to somebody on the phone when the conversation grew nasty. It worked well, because a very sadistic streak in the detective found it rather entertaining. It's why they made such a good pair. One can only achieve evil if another is willing to stand by and let it come to fruition. Like a child playing with matches only to burn down his whole goddamn house. It would have to be quelled in order to stop- Blake was a fire he rather enjoyed watching burn.
It's why Norman became such a pain in the ass. He was like a good little fireman- trying to put out the blaze all by himself, only to realize it had been burning far too long. They were going to need a hell of a lot more then that, and even then Ash wondered silently if it would amount to much. Carter was unstoppable, almost being taken to court on numerous occasions only to have his name cleared of anything resembling misconduct. It was like the cop had a horseshoe up his ass, able to walk through the flames only to come out pristine and untouched on the other side.
Those non-existent shackles, chains and fetters that the Feds were trying to impose by sending good little Norman were gone… So, really Carter didn't have a reason to act so strange. The man lived to work, not work to live. Since when did he have anything worth staying at home for?
Sitting back down in his office chair as he watched Blake depart hastily into the bathroom, Ash pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. Something was absolutely going on here; something was taking the time he had with his fellow co-worker, his practical other half. They worked well together, and now that some unknown entity was stealing his attention, he couldn't help but feel insanely jealous. Was that some concern, too? He wasn't sure. In the end, he didn't particularly like the feeling well, making him sense the closeness of another man that he didn't actually enjoy. Blake was an acquired taste, and he was still in the 'acquiring' state for the past twenty-some years he'd known him.
Wincing as he felt his left arm light on fire- or rather feel like it, he rotated it in it's socket as he bit down on his lower lip in an attempt to satiate his desire to quell it. Breathing out a hard gasp of air, he reached into his desk and pulled out his bottle of store-brand aspirin as he cranked open the top and chewed it- despite being the sort you're supposed to swallow. Making a face of disgust, he still got it down and gave a shaky sigh as he laid back, resisting the urge to scrape his tongue against his upper teeth to relieve the taste.
Instead, he sought to hope for the medicine to start working again soon. His eyes craned back to the door, licking the outside of his teeth as he contemplated the situation, then taking the lone pencil and tapping it against the desk nonchalantly. He made a face of irritation as his amber, caramel-colored eyes blankly focused, staring but not looking. A concoction of various theories interchanged, intertwined in a storm of activity behind them. For a moment he reached up, letting his thin fingers trace the crease in his chin- his lower lip becoming a new victim of his thought process, chewing it softly.
It was then when he got the idea. Acting quickly, he shifted forward in the seat making it squeak horribly. Looking quickly to the door; he made to open up a writing program in the department's strict software programs. James Ash jotted down the current date, the time; all exact and down to the seconds that still mechanically ticked away. He noted Carter's activity, his appearance, his words. Then he went back, trying in vain to recall his exact phrases and actions from yesterday, and the day before that. Including and right up to finding him with the glasses. Sooner or later, he knew, it would all come together and he'd find out what exactly the lieutenant was trying to hide from him.
'After all these years, I really thought you'd know better.'
Continuing to write, the pain in his arm began to lessen as it was given purpose.
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