“Never let anyone drive you crazy;

it is nearby anyway and the walk is good for you.”

Tem is back and it makes Vegas so damn happy. This is exactly what he needs, some positivity in his life.

For a moment he is hesitant, then he throws all caution to the wind, and gives his partner a fierce hug. “Are we good?” Vegas double-checks cautiously, just to be on the safe side. He really hopes Tem isn’t holding a grudge.

“Yeah, we’re good. Sorry to have kept you waiting.” Tem chuckles and hugs him back. “Neat new office you got here, I approve.” They step apart again and just grin happily at each other. Someone clears his throat and they simultaneously turn to look at the door where Pete is watching them cautiously.

“Oh, it’s you.” Tem gives him a friendly smile as well. “I heard that you’ve joined the team. I look forward to working with you—I’m sure you can be a great help with your expertise.”

“This is perfect.” Vegas’ mood has lifted considerably. He hums happily and then moves Tem’s desk around a bit so they sit close to each other, like they’re used to, because that makes working so much easier. Tem helps him, and they fall right back into their old comfortable partnership pattern, chatting and joking just like they did before Vegas made that fatal mistake. But now they can forget about that and move on, and Vegas is so glad that something in his life is going the right way.

Pete is a bit more reserved when it comes to Tem, but that’s only natural; after all they don’t know each other very well. It will probably take a while for them to warm up to each other, Vegas figures.

He spends the next couple of days bringing Tem up to date with their two murder cases. They go through everything, and Tem shudders quite a bit when it comes to the crime scene photos and footage.

“What a bloody mess. I tell you Vegas, this city is going to hell. The violence nowadays is getting so extreme; no one uses ordinary knives anymore, it’s all axes and katanas and explosives and stuff. While I was assigned to the other unit I even had an assault case where the assailant used a freaking nail-gun to staple a bunch of hooligans to the wall after a bar fight. I mean, what is wrong with the criminals these days? I miss the good old times. Just give me a gunshot or knife wound. Instead everyone is getting inspired by John Wick to try something cool and new to impress the rest of the gang.”

Vegas nods in agreement. “In all honesty, I am dreading what our murderer will come up with next. That last crime scene was hell, I tell you. I got really queasy and even Pol was throwing up.”

“Really? Damn… I never saw Pol getting sick. I guess I should be glad I wasn’t there to see this live; these photos here are bad enough already.”

Now and then while they’re talking, Vegas glances over to where Pete is sitting quietly, typing away on his computer. He’s very quiet these days. Very quiet. It makes Vegas nervous. Occasionally when he looks up he can see that Pete is watching him, but he averts his eyes the moment he notices that Vegas is looking at him. Thankfully, Tem is here to distract him, otherwise Vegas would be getting all stressed out about this silent treatment. It is stupid. This is what he wanted after all, no? Pete is off limits. They’re just working together, everything is exactly like it is supposed to be now.

Except… he can’t forget what Pete told him before he left that afternoon. I lied. Rather ominous. Pete isn’t done with him yet, and not knowing when he will make his next move is unnerving.

So Pete watches Vegas, and Vegas watches Pete—and Tem takes note of everything and frowns.

----------------------------------------

One day, Vegas gets a text message from Porsche. Just one word. “Bingo.” Well, it was to be expected. That tattoo being a lucky fluke would have been nice, but of course it isn’t because life doesn’t do nice things to Vegas. He texts back and arranges a meeting. Best to get this over with quickly.

“Gotta go,” he tells Pete and Tem as he shuts down his computer. “I have a meeting.”

“I’ll tag along.” Pete looks up from his notes. “Just give me a moment.”

“That won’t be necessary.” He can’t have Pete along for this meeting, since he still hasn’t told neither Pete nor Tem about the significance of the tattoo.

“It’s okay, it will be nice to get out of the office for a while.” Pete gives him a smile and Vegas catches himself staring at him. He likes it when Pete smiles like this. But damn, he must not stare. And he really can’t have Pete tagging along to the meeting.

“It really isn’t necessary,” he repeats, and then adds: “It is a private meeting. It has nothing to do with work.”

“Oh.” The smile vanishes from Pete’s face again and it’s as if the sun has disappeared behind the clouds. The room feels cold all of a sudden. “I see.” He averts his eyes, looking down at his notes again.

“Are you meeting Porsche?” Tem checks because he knows that Porsche is the only person other than himself who Vegas considers a friend and would meet with privately.

Vegas nods. At the same moment there is a sudden breaking sound from across the office. Startled, both Vegas and Tem glance over to Pete, who stares at the pencil in his hand that just snapped.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, embarrassed, and throws the broken pencil away, then opens a drawer to take out a fresh one.

“Anyway…” Tem continues. “Say hello to Porsche from me, please.” They’ve known each other as long as he has known Vegas.

“Will do.” Vegas casts another quick glance at Pete, who seems to be very busy with his notes, and then leaves. Maybe that pencil snapping was just accidental. But with Pete you never know. Vegas got the distinct impression that he wasn’t happy about Vegas having a private meeting. But maybe he will ask Tem about Porsche and then everything will be fine again. Tem knows. Vegas and Porsche are just friends, nothing else.

----------------------------------------

Vegas meets Porsche in the private room of one of the fancy restaurants that Kinn loves so much. He would have preferred some street food and a bench by the river but hey, he won’t say no to a free lunch here either; after all this is way beyond what he can afford with his pay check.

His good mood all but evaporates when he enters the room and there are two people waiting for him, instead of just one. “Seriously?!” He groans and casts an accusing look at Porsche who has the good grace to be a bit embarrassed. “Why did you have to bring him along?”

Him being the bane of his existence, his dear cousin Kinn.

Things haven’t changed. Kinn looks just as displeased to see him as Vegas is. His cousin is standing by the window, dressed immaculately in a designer suit that fits him to a T. Vegas hates meeting Kinn because no matter what he has achieved in life, as soon as they’re in a room together, he feels inferior. Kinn just has that natural flair of someone in command. During his whole childhood Vegas has been compared to Kinn, every day, for years. Never measuring up. Always found lacking. And it has left deep scars.

“Vegas.” Kinn gives him a terse nod.

“Well, if it isn’t my beloved cousin…” Vegas drawls with a sneer. “How’s life, Kinn? Killed anyone today yet?”

Porsche rolls his eyes and quickly moves to interfere, since he can see Kinn tensing up, narrowing his eyes in anger. “Too early in the day for killing, we don’t do that before afternoon tea,” he jokes hastily and walks over to Kinn’s side.

One casual touch of their hands and the tension immediately drains out of Kinn again. Porsche has trained him well, it seems. “How about we have something to eat first? We can discuss everything over lunch?”

“Fine,” both Kinn and Vegas reply at the same time, and immediately glare at each other again, before they go and sit down at the large round table.

A waiter comes to take their orders. Out of spite Vegas orders the most expensive item on the menu—Kinn is paying after all. This is a Thai Fusion restaurant, which is just a fancy name for mixing ingredients that have no business being in the same dish together and then charging people an obscene amount of money for it. It will probably taste horrible, but Vegas will eat it anyway.

“I’ll have the steak…” Kinn points at the menu.

“No steak!” Porsche interjects hastily. Kinn and Vegas had an unfortunate incident with a steak knife once; apparently Porsche remembers, and does not care to repeat the bloodshed.

“You know I can be just as lethal with a spoon,” Vegas can’t help teasing Porsche who snorts, trying to suppress a laugh.

Kinn shoots Vegas yet another glare, but in the end they manage to place their orders without open warfare. The waiter seems a bit distressed by the tension in the room and wisely leaves as quickly as possible.

Which leaves the three of them. Vegas drums his fingers on the table surface. “Why did you have to get him involved? I thought we wanted to handle this without his involvement?”

“Oh, I tried, but he changed his password to the database,” Porsche replies cheerfully, wiggling his eyebrows and winking at Kinn. “I’ll get a reward when I guess the new one though.”

“Ewww… TMI.” Vegas rolls his eyes. Those two are disgustingly sweet together.

“You shouldn’t have approached Porsche in the first place,” Kinn remarks stiffly.

“Who else then? You?” Vegas snorts. “I thought you had my number blocked? And I’d love to see you explain to my uncle why you are in contact with a police officer, even if he’s family.”

Kinn glowers at him. He does it very well; it comes with the territory of being in charge of the largest organised crime family in the country. “My father has retired. I’m in charge of the family business now, and you know it.”

“Tell that to your father, I think he didn’t get the memo,” Vegas replies wryly. The day Khun Korn relinquishes total control of his empire hasn’t come yet. But it is cute how Kinn believes he’s running everything now. A bit naive if you ask Vegas, but Kinn has always been blind when it comes to his father.

“Guys…” Porsche sighs deeply. “Peace. Can we have lunch before things escalate so much that one of you storms off?” He takes Kinn’s hand and squeezes it lightly. “Please? Just take a deep breath, Kinn, you know somewhere very deep down and hidden inside you, you actually like your cousin a tiny little bit.”

Now both Kinn and Vegas have to snort because that sounds more like Porsche’s wishful thinking than reality.

“Just give me the damn information already, Kinn. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I leave.” Vegas starts drumming his fingers on the table again. He does not like being here, it reminds him too much of the life he’s been running away from since he became an adult.

Kinn gives him an icy look. The sins of the fathers. Sometimes Vegas wonders if he and Kinn would have been close if only they had been born into different, more normal, families.

Porsche pokes Kinn in the side and gives him an encouraging look.

Honestly, Vegas can’t understand what on earth Porsche sees in Kinn? How those two fell in love remains a mystery to him. Luckily, Kinn has the support of his father, something that Vegas can only dream about. One more reason for him to hate Kinn.

“His name is Bay Thanapon Santisakul,” Kinn finally decides to tell him, with great reluctance. “He is… was… an active bodyguard assigned to Kim, but he didn’t report back from his last vacation. Tell me what happened to him.”

“He’s dead.” And since Kinn and Porsche are both giving him an irritated look he adds: “He was murdered in a rather gruesome way, but I don’t believe it is in any way related to the family business.”

“Are you sure? Give me the details.” Kinn is all business now. He was born for this role, has fully embraced it, and it shows. While waiting for Vegas to elaborate, he plays absently with the family ring on his finger. The ring that should rightfully belong to Vegas, or so he has heard a thousand times from his father. Vegas hates those rings and what they represent. He hates the whole family business with a passion.

“This is an active murder investigation, Kinn. Family or not, you know I can’t tell you the details.” Vegas knows Kinn won’t like hearing this. The Theerapanyakul men always think they’re above the law.

“How can you be sure that this wasn’t done by any of the rival families or our international partners?” Porsche must be holding Kinn’s hand underneath the table; this is the only explanation why Kinn is staying this calm and not exploding into Vegas’ face. “Have you considered the possible involvement of the Yakuza or the Triads?”

Vegas sighs. Hopefully the food will arrive soon. “Neither the Yakuza nor the Triads have the same MO as this murder case. So I ruled them out.”

“You said the murder was gruesome. And you know how ruthless the Yakuza and the Triads can be. Even the Russians have turned rather brutal these days. The days of the honourable Cosa Nostra are long gone. So how can you be sure it wasn’t them?” Kinn reminds him calmly.

“Because none of them would flay their victim and arrange him as an art object with flowers.” Vegas is running out of patience. He doesn’t like being treated like an idiot; he is good at his job.

“Oh.” Porsche turns a bit pale. “I remember Bay, he was part of my detail a few times…”

This sweet summer child. Porsche has the remarkable ability to cling on to his remaining innocence even while being fully integrated into the Mafia. He simply refuses to believe how cruel people can be to each other, and Vegas hates reminding him of the harsh reality.

“Trust me,” he tells Kinn. “This is really not related to the family business. There are plenty of seriously disturbed people in this city who unfortunately do things like this without being connected to organised crime.”

Thankfully the food arrives at this moment, and there is a lull in the conversation until the waiter is gone again. Vegas takes a careful bite from the exotic looking dish he ordered, and it is surprisingly good. Well, for that amount of money it better be delicious.

For a while they eat in silence. Then Porsche decides to give the whole thing with small talk another try. “So, how’s therapy going?”

Vegas nearly chokes on his food, and then glares daggers at his friend. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“It seems to be rather successful.” Of course Kinn decides to join the conversation; he can see that Vegas is uncomfortable and that makes him curious. “You seem more mellow these days, Vegas.”

Vegas takes his fork, flips it around and drives it into the wooden surface of the table with force. Porsche blinks in alarm and Vegas gives Kinn a very fake sweet smile. “Mellow enough for you? I don’t want to talk about it. And don’t even try calling my therapist again. You stay out of my life, and I stay out of yours.”

Kinn looks completely unbothered, he just smirks. “Touchy subject, Vegas?

“You want that fork in your hand, cousin?” Vegas counters.

“I’d like to see you try…” Kinn smiles darkly, a challenge in his eyes.

Vegas hand closes around the handle of the fork. Bring it on. As far as he knows, there is a hospital nearby, and maybe Kinn needs to be taught another lesson. Just like with the steak knife back then.

Then Kinn suddenly does a little jump in his chair and draws in a startled breath, his eyes flying to Porsche who is the picture of innocence next to him, but with the devil in his eyes.

“Ai Kinn… you want to rethink that?” Porsche suggests sweetly to his boyfriend. “I think you might have use for that hand later today…” And Kinn does another little jump, coupled with a yelp, and blushes furiously.

“Oh, for crying out loud… Seriously? Right here at the restaurant? Should I take a peek under the table or will I go blind?” Vegas shakes his head in disbelief. “I’m eating. Can you rein it in, please? Or go to another room?”

Porsche starts laughing, and Vegas rolls his eyes. The moment of tension is gone again. Porsche is rather impressive as a buffer between him and Kinn, coming to think of it. And for the rest of the meal they manage to remain civil to each other, which is even more impressive.

----------------------------------------

One afternoon Vegas is having coffee high up on the rooftop of the police station. By chance he discovered a broken lock on an access door a few years ago, and now this is his own private sanctuary. He comes here to de-stress. It’s relatively quiet up here and most importantly, there are no other people. The cafeteria is too crowded for his liking and it just feels wrong to occupy a whole table all by himself since people avoid sitting next to him.

But up here he can relax. There are the typical ventilation shafts and outlets; it’s an older building that even has a decorative, low stone balustrade surrounding the edge of the roof. From far below you can hear the sound of the cars in the busy streets, but up here it’s mostly the wind and some birds keeping him company.

He leans against a ventilation shaft, sips his coffee from a paper cup, and allows his thoughts to drift.

Since they have a name for John Doe, their investigation has picked up pace again. Tem was rather surprised, when Vegas recently told him that the tattoo was the final clue in finding out the identity of their victim #2. Which is technically true; Vegas just omitted telling Tem and Pete the exact meaning of that tattoo, and about his subsequent meeting with Kinn.

Now, Tem is doing a deep dive into the background of their victim, so he will find out soon enough that the dead guy was connected to the Theerapanyakul family. It remains to be seen what Tem will do with this information.

“I should have known I would find you up here.” Vegas looks up and sees Tem strolling towards him, also holding a cup of coffee. “Are we crowding you too much? It must be difficult for you to work in a room stuck with the two of us. You always were more of a lone wolf.”

“It’s not that bad.” Vegas smiles at his friend and shrugs. “Both of you are easy to get along with. I have gotten used to you two.”

“Good to know.” Tem is fiddling with his coffee cup—he does that when he’s nervous. Vegas is so well attuned to Tem’s body language after all these years of being partners and friends, that he can read him pretty well.

After a while Tem finally decides to speak up, but this is going in a direction that Vegas didn’t expect at all. “What is going on between you and your therapist?”

Well, shit. Vegas can feel himself tense. Has he been this obvious? Maybe Tem is just fishing. “Hmmm? What do you mean?”

“I want to know what is going on between you and Pete.” Tem’s hand clenches around the coffee cup and then relaxes again.

“He’s my therapist. I am having mandated anger management therapy with him. And he’s been assigned to handle this case with me—us—that’s all.” Vegas stares at his own coffee mug, trying to sound very casual as he answers the question.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Tem snorts with disbelief. “Seriously Vegas… This is me you are talking to. You really think I won’t call you out on this bullshit? Let me ask you again: What’s going on between the two of you?”

Vegas stalls by drinking the rest of his coffee. He does not like the direction this talk is going. “Just drop it, Tem. There is nothing going on.”

“Nothing? You think I am blind?” Tem moves away a few steps, then turns around and looks accusingly at Vegas. “Are you having a fling with him?”

Shit. Tem sounds upset, and that in turn makes Vegas nervous. They just patched up their differences—he doesn’t want another obstacle between them.

“Can you please drop it, Tem? There is nothing to talk about. I am not having a fling with him.”

But Tem is watching him closely, and he must have seen something on Vegas’ face or in his body language, because he starts shaking his head in shocked disbelief. “Oh my God… you are sleeping with him.”

“Tem!” Vegas gives him a sharp look. “Stop it. I mean it. I don’t want to talk about this any more, I already told you I am not having a fling with him.”

But Tem is beyond listening to Vegas. He throws his paper coffee mug to the side, the disbelief on his face turning slowly into anger. “I can’t believe it… all these years… If I had a penny for all the times you told me that you don’t mix work with pleasure… you are such a fucking hypocrite, Vegas!”

“Shut up, Tem!” Now Vegas is getting angry as well. Mostly at himself, because Tem is essentially right, he’s a hypocrite. He’s going against his own rules. He knows it’s wrong but he keeps doing it anyway.

“The hell I will!” Tem starts pacing back and forth on the roof. “All these years… What the hell is it about him that made you break your rule? All these years… I just can’t believe it.”

“I’m not going to talk to you about this, you are being absurd!” Vegas throws away his paper coffee mug too, and turns to leave. Best to get out of here before they say something that can’t be taken back.

“Where the hell do you think you are going, we’re not finished yet!” Tem darts forward and grabs Vegas’ arm. “I deserve an answer. You owe me!”

“I owe you shit!” Vegas yanks his arm free, clenches his hands into fists and turns to glare at Tem. “Now drop it!”

But Tem is so upset by now he isn’t listening. “Yes, you owe me! You kept throwing that stupid rule of yours in my face for all these years as a fucking excuse not to take things further, and now you suddenly declare it null and void and you expect me to just stand on the sidelines and watch you walk off into the sunshine with someone else?!”

Dammit! They’ve been dancing around this issue for as long as they’ve known each other, for as long as they’ve been friends. Both of them have been very careful not to straight out confront the elephant in the room, but now Tem is throwing all caution to the wind, and Vegas is not ready for this conversation at all.

“Please stop, Tem,” Vegas pleads with him. “I thought we had an unspoken agreement.”

“Agreement, my ass! I never agreed to any of this, you forced me to put my feelings on hold because of your irrational fear of your father. Dammit Vegas, can you be honest for once? If it weren’t for your stupid rule we would have been living together for years!”

Vegas cringes visibly because it is true. Or rather, it was true before he met Pete, because Pete changed everything. No matter what he says next, Tem is going to end up getting hurt, and it sucks.

“I’m sorry. It was never my intention to hurt you or hold you back or anything. I didn’t ask you to wait for me, I thought you understood. Maybe there was something, a spark, between us at some point, but I thought both of us agreed to keep things professional between us… that being friends is enough?”

“How can you be so fucking oblivious, Vegas?” Tem kicks a ventilation shaft in frustration. “Being friends is a great foundation, but I always wanted more. And if you’re honest to yourself, so did you, until you ran into your therapist. What the hell has changed? Has your father suddenly turned all supportive? No? Then why does the ‘No work flings’ rule not apply to Pete?”

“How many times do I have to tell you, I am not having a fling with Pete!” Vegas is getting so frustrated that he’s raising his voice. Thankfully they’re alone up here, because Tem is not exactly quiet either.

“So you didn’t have sex but something else happened, right?” He watches Vegas closely and narrows his eyes. “Yeah, something definitely happened. Damn, Vegas… You’re making out with him when you didn’t even allow for us to kiss? You’re such a jerk.” He marches back to where Vegas is standing and pokes an index finger into his chest. “Why? Just tell me why?”

“I don’t know, dammit!” Frustrated and feeling miserable for hurting Tem like this, Vegas just shrugs helplessly. “I am sorry. I truly am.” He reaches out and takes Tem’s hand, squeezing it gently. “It just happened. I don’t even want to be attracted to him. I don’t have a fucking clue what’s happening to me. I am sorry.”

Tem closes his eyes briefly, fighting for composure. He’s such a cheerful person normally; it hurts to see him like this. “If you’re already breaking your rule… why can’t you break the rule for me as well? I deserve my chance too. Please?”

“You’re both driving me insane.” Vegas’ frustration just keeps growing. “I don’t want to break the rule for either of you. Nothing has changed. My father is still going to kill anyone I get involved with. You think I just have this rule for fun? You think I like this? You think I want to live my life like this? I’m just trying to keep all of you safe, Tem. And none of you is listening to me. You all just keep pushing me and pushing me… I hate it.”

“Vegas…” Tem looks at the hand that Vegas is still holding on to, and it’s clear that he is deeply conflicted. “I hear you. But if I don’t keep pushing, you will spend the rest of your life alone, and I think you deserve better.” He pauses briefly, the adds, “And so do I. I want you to give me a chance. Give us a chance.”

“… Tem…” The refusal to listen to him is driving Vegas nuts. He might as well be talking to a wall. “Let’s just be friends. I really don’t want to ruin this friendship.”

“Friends with benefits then…” And before Vegas has a chance to react, Tem leans in and plants his lips on Vegas’ mouth.

Bloody hell. At first Vegas is too stunned to react. He never expected Tem to act this way. Never. They have flirted. There were even times when they were holding hands, all in secret of course. But they never ever took it any further. Until today. Bloody hell. Vegas wants to jerk away but strangely enough he doesn’t move. Instead he can feel himself calmly analysing the situation. Tem is kissing him. His lips are dry and soft and warm. It is a nice kiss, he supposes. He has kissed many people; this is one of the better kisses. Nice, but still lacking something. These past years he has often wondered what it would be like, kissing Tem. Now he knows. Or does he? He’s confused. He would have thought that kissing Tem would feel different, that there would be more to a kiss between them, since they have a deeper connection, and yet… there is something missing here… and even when he now kisses Tem back, just to see if that changes anything, it stays the same. Tem seems to be enjoying the kiss but Vegas feels nothing. There is no spark. No live wire tingle. No goosebumps. No mind-numbing rush of lust. This is just another kiss. One of many. Nothing special. It doesn’t even come close to how it feels when he’s kissing Pete…

“Are you having fun, Vegas?”

Speaking of the devil.

Vegas’ eyes shoot open and he hastily pulls away from Tem, who is also startled. Oh shit. Shit shit shit. Leaning against the wall by the door to the staircase is Pete, his arms crossed in front of his chest, looking all pleasant and casual and lethal.

Vegas saw a documentary about great cats once. How they stalk their prey. The way they freeze mid-motion, then glide forward again. The utter stillness before they pounce. This is what Pete reminds him of right now. There is the same kind of utter stillness to him. Vegas’ danger sense goes into overdrive, hitting him hard with an adrenaline rush that makes his heart race. Shit. He knows that mask Pete is wearing, the calm and collected psychologist, unbothered by anything. The eyes though… they burn. The look in them is so cold and distant it makes Vegas decidedly uneasy. Fuck. This is a screw-up of epic proportions.

“This isn’t what you probably think it is…” he starts to explain, in the wild hope of placating Pete somehow, but he’s interrupted by Tem, who has shaken off the after-effects of the kiss, and is now turning around, facing Pete angrily.

“Yes, he’s having fun. Why don’t you give us some privacy, we weren’t done yet!” Tem glares at Pete, brimming with barely suppressed hostility.

Vegas’ breath hitches. If there is one thing he’s fairly sure of, it’s that Pete needs to be handled with utmost care right now unless they want him to pounce, with potentially disastrous consequences.

“Tem…” he tries to warn his friend, not daring to move an inch himself. He really does not want to provoke Pete the predator. At the same moment he becomes aware that he is still holding Tem’s hand, and drops it like a hot potato. Shit. His eyes dart over to the door and yeah, Pete has noticed he was holding hands with Tem. He’s so screwed. And at the same time he blames Pete for this whole mess. If Pete hadn’t messed with his emotions this way, then maybe he wouldn’t have decided to try and see how a kiss with Tem feels like. Shit, this is all so damn confusing and messed up!

“Is that so? Would you like some privacy, Vegas?” Pete’s voice is so gentle—way too gentle—it sends goosebumps of fear down Vegas’ spine. Danger danger danger! He has seen angry Pete before, during their rather memorable drive that almost ended in a car crash, but this Pete … holy shit, this Pete would have grabbed the steering wheel and sent them straight into the concrete wall at full speed.

Before Vegas can decide about how to best answer this question, Tem escalates things by giving Pete an aggressive look and then slinging his arm around Vegas’ waist. “Yes, he does. Just go away,” he growls.

What the fuck is wrong with Tem?! He’s a police officer, has he completely forgotten how to read the room? Does he not see the dark way Pete is looking at him?! Vegas just can’t believe what is happening and tries to shrug off the arm with an ever growing sense of urgency. Must not provoke the predator!

Pete clicks his tongue in displeasure, very pointedly looking at where Tem is touching Vegas, and then gives the other man an icy look. “Take your fucking hands off him, or I will throw you off this roof.”

Oh shit, here we go.

Tem huffs with indignation and is about to take a step towards Pete but Vegas grabs him and yanks him backward while at the same time placing himself between Tem and Pete, as a buffer. It’s only when he meets Pete’s dark and furious eyes that he realises he has made matters worse. Aww hell… he was just trying to protect Tem but he should have known that this would piss off Pete even more. If murderous intent could materialise into human form, it would surely look like Pete right now.

“Time-out!” Vegas yells and hates that his voice is thin with fear. “Tem, stop touching me. Take a deep breath and calm down! Pete… Chill, all right? Just chill… I am really sorry for all this, please calm down.”

Once again, he might as well be invisible. Tem steps up right next to Vegas, glaring openly at Pete and making all of Vegas’ attempts to act as a buffer null and void. “You have no right to dictate to me when or when not to touch Vegas. We’ve known each other for years, we have been together for years, you got no right to interfere with our relationship!”

As soon as the word ‘relationship’ comes out of Tem’s mouth, Vegas can see how Pete’s eyes narrow ever so slightly. “You are delusional.” His voice is so controlled that it only increases Vegas’ anxiety. “There is no relationship. At least not with you.”

“Oh, bloody hell, I am right here, stop talking about me as if I have no say in the matter!” Vegas is really getting tired of both of them. “Will the two of you stop it already?! What is this, a fucking TV drama?! I’m not in a relationship with either of you! I don’t have feelings for either of you! I don’t mix work and pleasure—how often to I have to repeat myself before both of you finally get it?! Why do you have to make things so damn complicated? I just want to be friends or work colleagues, is that too much to ask for?” He throws his hands up in exasperation.

“Vegas…” Tem gives him a pleading look. “Why do you keep lying to yourself? I know you have feelings for me… you have had feelings for me for years.”

This elicits an eerie chuckle from Pete. And then the big cat moves. Not towards Tem, as Vegas had feared, but instead Pete calmly strolls—glides—across the roof, towards the balustrade. “As I mentioned before, completely delusional.” His tone is all conversational, ordinary really, but Vegas’ danger sense screeches in an ever increasing volume. “You think you know Vegas and his feelings so well, don’t you Tem? How about a little demonstration? Aren’t you curious about how Vegas really feels deep down?” He casts a sideways glance at Vegas and smiles darkly. “I think Vegas himself might need a little reminder about that, so that he doesn’t do stupid things like kissing people he has no business kissing.”

Tem growls with anger but Vegas freezes under that look, the feeling of impending doom increasing by the second. “I’m sorry,” he croaks, barely able to get the words out because his throat is constricting with fear. “I’m sorry, Pete. Please… whatever you are planning to do… please don’t…”

“Oh, Vegas… I fear an ‘I’m sorry’ simply won’t cut it this time.” And with that Pete effortlessly hops up on the balustrade, slowly rising to stand in utter stillness on the narrow stone railing. Like a panther balancing on a tree branch, waiting for its prey, ready to pounce.

Vegas’ heart is about to jump right out of his chest upon seeing that. They are twelve stories up from the ground! Twelve stories! This is madness. He has a violent flashback to seeing their witness toppling off the roof, the helplessness he was feeling at that moment, the way the head burst like… Vegas makes a sound that is hard to define. It just sounds raw.

Somewhere beside him Tem is gasping in shock: “What the hell are you doing, are you insane?! Get down from there!”

But Pete isn’t moving at all. He just stands there as if this is not a big deal. As if he balances like this every day. As if it doesn’t matter that he’s several stories up from the ground. As if he doesn’t have a care in the world. He even closes his eyes for a moment, a terrible long moment, and Vegas expects him to lose his balance any second while he does it. It’s terrifying. Vegas is petrified with terror. He has never been as scared as this in his whole life. Never.

“Please come down again, please…” he pleads hoarsely, inching towards Pete. Everything else on the rooftop disappears; he focuses completely on the man on the balustrade, who now slowly opens his dark eyes again, cocks his head to the side and gives Vegas a distant smile that doesn’t reach his fathomless eyes.

“You’ve been very naughty, Vegas. I have been so patient with you, but I think you went a little bit too far this time. Even my patience isn’t endless.” Pete shifts from one foot to the other, rolling his shoulders like a boxer warming up for a match. Behind him, the abyss. “I think I have grown tired with you running away from your own feelings. It seems you really weren’t paying attention when I warned you the last time about making stupid decisions.”

“…Pete…” Vegas’ whole body tenses up, his level of anxiety so beyond anything he has ever experienced before that he has trouble breathing and is starting to get dizzy, because his heart is beating so fast.

Pete simply smiles at him, the dimple showing. It is a terrible dark smile. “Let me remind you: You get to live with the consequences of your decisions.”

And then he just …

Steps

Backward

Off

The

Damn

Balustrade

Time slows to a crawl.

Vegas screams. He knows he is screaming. He doesn’t hear his own voice though, he hears nothing. He is caught in a bubble of total shocked silence; his brain shutting down everything that isn’t essential, and hearing isn’t essential. Moving is. Vegas feels like he’s running in slow motion; as if he’s stuck in molasses, the very air molecules holding him back, slowing every movement down to an agonising crawl.

And Pete is going down.

He’s falling off the roof right before Vegas’ eyes. Twelve stories! Inconceivable! Vegas has a moment of crystal clarity. An epiphany. This is probably exactly what Pete was trying to provoke. Well, congratulations, it worked.

Vegas loves Pete. He loves him with every fibre of his being. He loves Pete.

Pete, who looks eerily calm as he disappears from sight even as Vegas is fighting against time itself to reach him before it is too late. And he knows he is screaming, but there is no sound. One moment he’s halfway across the roof, the next he throws himself against the low balustrade, leaning forward and over the edge, hands stretched out and clawing at the thin air because Pete’s gone, he was too late, he’s gone, and Vegas knows he’s still screaming because his throat is raw and hurting but there is still no sound.

This can’t be happening. This is his worst nightmare come true. He cannot be loosing yet another person he loves. This can’t be happening.

Except…

There is a tiny ledge, a short distance below the edge of the roof. Just for decoration purposes, no deeper than a hand’s length. And hanging from that ledge is Pete, fingers white with the sheer effort it takes to hold on to it. Underneath him is nothing; he’s just dangling there. Twelve stories up in the air. He lifts his head to look up at Vegas. There are beads of sweat on his forehead, the strain he’s under clearly visible in the way he has narrowed his eyes and clenches his jaw. Their eyes meet and Pete gives him a ghost of a smile, only to scramble for a better hold on the ledge as his fingers are starting to slip.

Vegas doesn’t even think, he’s driven by pure instinct. He leans forward and down, his whole upper body precariously over the balustrade, reaches out—stretches… stretches—and snaps his fingers around Pete’s wrists like manacles. Holding on for dear life. If Pete goes down, so will he. Letting go is not an option. And they’re both slipping; Pete is having trouble holding on to that ledge, and Vegas feels himself loosing his balance since most of his body is hanging over the balustrade. Neither of them is breaking eye contact though. Vegas is still caught in his bubble of stress-induced silence, but all of a sudden he feels calm. He is with Pete. Nothing else matters.

Then something—someone—grabs Vegas around the waist and pulls. It hurts. Vegas’ shoulder joints and arm muscles are screaming under the strain of holding on to Pete and trying to pull him upwards. If this is supposed to work, Pete has to let go of that ledge, they both know it. Through the white noise Vegas hears someone behind him shouting; apparently his hearing is coming back. But that is secondary, because Pete chooses this moment to give him a brilliant smile while releasing his hold on the ledge. The only thing keeping him from falling to certain death now being Vegas’ hands encircling his wrists in a death grip. Vegas suspends his breath. He holds on for dear life because Pete is his life. Someone—Tem—is shouting for him to let go but Vegas would rather die than do that. Together they pull and drag and somehow they manage to pull Pete back up. A final heave and then they all topple backwards onto the safety of the roof again.

Tem lies on his back a bit to the side, breathing hard, Vegas takes note of that out of the corner of his eye, and then he has already forgotten about his partner again. His whole attention is centred solely on Pete, who has collapsed on the ground next to him; they’re still tethered together because Vegas hasn’t let go of his wrists yet. He can’t. He has no control over his hands. He clenches Pete’s wrists so tightly that there will be bruises; he knows it is irrational, but he just can’t let go. He can still see Pete dangling from that ledge before his inner eye. That image has burned itself into his retina. He can’t let go. He needs to hold on.

Both of them are breathing hard. Then Vegas starts trembling. It starts with a shudder, then it turns into a full body tremble. He’s shaking all over. This is probably the shock finally catching up with him. Pete sits up with some effort, and since Vegas is trembling so violently, he can’t maintain his grip and has to let go of Pete. This in turn triggers another wave of anxiety. What if Pete is going to jump again? A mix between a terrified moan and a whimper escapes Vegas; somehow he struggles to his hands and knees and crawls the short distance over to Pete, throwing his arms around him, holding on as tight as he can. “Don’t leave me… don’t leave me… please don’t leave me…” He buries his face in Pete’s neck and just begs, whispers, pleads. He feels broken. He can’t even cry. Vegas has cracked and shattered, he’s waving the white flag. Pete has won.

With a deep sigh, Pete leans into the embrace and slips his arms around Vegas’ waist, holding on to him as well. “Look what you made me do…” he whispers quietly, while rubbing his face against Vegas’ hair. “Seeing you with him made me snap. What are you doing to me?” Pete swallows hard. “You are mine. Mine,” he whispers harshly. “I don’t share.”

Yours, thinks Vegas. Forever. And he hugs him even tighter, whispering brokenly. “Just don’t leave me… don’t leave me… ”

“Holy shit! You– you’re completely insane!” Tem seems to have gotten back his ability to speak. He sounds very upset, but Vegas is still totally focused on Pete, clinging to him and running his hands over him to reassure himself that Pete is real and very much alive. He just needs to be sure, really sure. He has no time for Tem right now. And Pete simply ignores Tem.

“Just look at what you did to Vegas, you nutcase! Did you have to scare him like this?!” Tem continues. “How could you do something like this to another person?! I thought you liked him? Are you even human?! Vegas…” Now Tem’s voice has started to tremble. “Vegas… are you all right?”

No, Vegas is not all right. Far from it. But he has Pete. Pete is going to fix it. Vegas holds on to Pete, taking deep shuddering gulps of breath, still trembling all over from shock. And Pete strokes his back, mumbling something under his breath, words Vegas can’t understand but that are soothing anyway. Simply hearing Pete’s voice right now is enough. Breathing in his scent. Feeling the warmth of his body. He loves him so much. He loves him and he just cannot bear to loose him.

“… Vegas…?”

Tem waits for an answer but Vegas isn’t able to communicate right now. Eventually Tem seems to give up. Vegas can hear him shuffling around nearby, and then steps walking away.

It feels like an eternity until he isn’t trembling anymore. Pete is carding his fingers through Vegas’ hair, giving comfort with his touch. They sit like this for the longest time, then finally Pete sighs. “I need to get going. I have an appointment with a patient this afternoon. Are you going to be all right now?”

No. He is not. But Vegas nods anyway, then has to clear his throat before he manages to speak. Speaking hurts; his throat feels raw from all the screaming he apparently did. “Sure. I’ll be fine. Just go see your patient.”

It takes a lot of willpower to release his hold on Pete. As soon as they do not touch anymore, Vegas is hit by another wave of anxiety, but he grits his teeth and shoulders through it. Pete looks exhausted but once again Vegas can’t really read his body language. He knows that he himself must look like hell. He’s completely drained. How Pete can even think of working the rest of the day is a mystery to him.

Pete gets up and gives Vegas a faint smile. “I’ll see you around.”

And then he just … leaves! Vegas almost loses it again and runs after him as he walks away. Almost. He gets himself under control at the last second. But damn, it is difficult. He’s so messed up now, Pete has broken him completely, with an cruelty that is rather shocking in its effectiveness. And now he’s expecting Vegas to put himself back together enough to function, it seems. But Vegas doesn’t even know where to start looking for all his shattered pieces—how is he supposed to put himself back together all by himself?

And so he sits there on the roof for a long time, hugging himself until he feels reasonably stable to get up, walk down the stairs and drive back home. Because continuing to work is completely out of the question. But it still feels as if he has left a large part of himself on that rooftop. Shattered into a million tiny pieces that will never be found again.

----------------------------------------

It’s evening, and Vegas is so damn tired, but he can’t fall asleep. The bedroom is dark, it’s quiet, and he lies in his large bed, staring at the ceiling. He’s so tired he can’t even think straight, his thoughts are a rumbled mess, skipping through his brain in an erratic pattern. The clock is ticking, time flows by, and he still can’t sleep.

He feels lost. And abandoned. And insecure. And hurt. And anxious. And confused. And in love. And scared. And broken. Nothing fits, he can’t piece himself back together, nothing matches, everything is right but also wrong, and nothing makes sense anymore.

When the doorbell rings he welcomes it, almost. Anything’s better than this limbo he’s in. Vegas doesn’t even bother to get dressed, he goes to answer the door barefoot in his boxers and a t-shirt. He should probably be wondering who is coming to visit him at this time of the night, but he simply can’t be bothered to think. It’s as if he’s sleepwalking. When he opens the door he doesn’t even feel a spark of surprise when he sees Pete.

Pete looks like hell. He seems to be just as tired as Vegas, and very grumpy.

“I’m exhausted,” he declares and walks right past Vegas into the apartment. “I am so damn exhausted. And I am tired. And I can’t sleep.” Pete kicks off his shoes and then shuffles off towards the living room.

Vegas blinks, feeling a bit dazed, then closes the door and simply follows him. Pete bypasses the living room and heads right into the bedroom. He takes off his socks, throwing them carelessly to the side, then unbuttons his pants and shrugs out of them as well. Now he’s only wearing boxers and a t-shirt, just like Vegas.

“I hate this,” Pete complains.

Vegas watches, wondering if he perhaps fell asleep after all and is now dreaming.

“I really don’t like feeling like this. And I don’t really want to be here either.” And with that Pete crawls into bed, grabs a pillow and claims a part of the large blanket, making himself comfortable.

Vegas blinks again. But in the end he’s too tired to wrap his mind around this strange situation. Pete is in his bed. Fine. Whatever. And with a deep sigh he crawls into bed as well. Thankfully that blanket is large enough for two people, he doesn’t have the energy to go and find a second blanket for himself.

And then they’re both just lying there on their back, on separate sides of the bed, staring at the ceiling again. Together. Minutes pass. Sleep still doesn’t come. Both sigh deeply at the same time.

“I am so very tired,” Vegas says quietly.

“Me too,” Pete replies.

They sigh again. Then Vegas gives in and scoots over to Pete’s side. Pete moves too, and they meet in the middle of the bed. Somehow they manage to arrange their arms and legs so that they’re wrapped around each other in a comfortable way. Pete decides that Vegas’ shoulder will do just fine as a pillow. Everything slots into place. There, this is how it is supposed to be. When they sigh again this time, it is with contentment. Vegas nuzzles his face against Pete’s hair. Perfect. And within five minutes both of them are finally asleep.