“Who in the world am I? Ah, that’s the great puzzle.”

When the alarm goes off the next morning, Vegas is disoriented for a moment. He’s been so deeply asleep that it’s a bit of a shock to have his sleep interrupted.

“Turn off the alarm…” Pete mumbles sleepily next to him, and then it sinks in—Pete is sleeping next to him, he really did stay the whole night. Their legs and arms are entangled and Vegas feels such a rush of happiness it takes his breath away. This is what he wants. Waking up next to Pete seems like such a minor thing, but it means to world to him.

“Just a moment,” he mumbles, blindly reaching out to switch off the alarm. It’s a normal work day and they really should get up, but if it were up to him they would stay at home and in bed the whole day. “Let’s catch a few more hours of sleep…”

“Can’t, I have a morning appointment.” With a sigh, Pete disentangled himself and everything within Vegas screams to pull him back into his arms. But he doesn’t move when Pete rolls out of bed and stretches lazily. “Damn, I hate mornings,” Pete mutters, rubbing his eyes.

He’s only wearing boxers, and Vegas drinks in the sight of him, feeling slightly embarrassed when he sees all the hickeys he’s left all over him. He can’t get enough of looking at this man, he’s still full of disbelief about what happened last night. It will probably take him a while to adjust. The handcuffs were a nice twist, but judging from the state of Pete’s badly bruised wrists, they probably shouldn’t use them again anytime soon. And while he watches Pete shuffling out of the bedroom, presumably on his way to the bathroom, doubt starts creeping up on him. If only he had a clue about how Pete feels about last night, because right now it seems like business as usual for him.

Pete joked about Vegas being clingy last night, and he really does not want to come across as clingy, but he badly wants to hug Pete and just cuddle a bit. A kiss would be nice as well. But apparently Pete does not feel this way, or does he? The doubt settles on Vegas’ shoulders like a weighted blanket. What are they to each other? Pete said he wants ‘everything’ from Vegas, but what exactly does this entail? Are they just sleeping together? Is it just about the sex with Pete? Friends—or rather colleagues—with benefits?

Perhaps, now that he got what he wanted, Pete will walk away, calling everything off? Vegas knows it’s idiotic to think in these ways but he simply can’t help himself. All this can be solved by talking to each other, but somehow Vegas doubts this will happen. Neither of them seems very comfortable with talking about feelings. And perhaps Vegas is the only one with feelings and wouldn’t that be embarrassing and painful to discover? With a frustrated groan, Vegas buries himself underneath the blanket once again. This sucks. He does not like feeling this way. Being in love sucks.

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

Nothing gets resolved. Pete takes a shower, then later on Vegas. Pete’s clothes are still wet; they totally forgot about them yesterday, so Pete is once again borrowing Vegas’ clothes and damn, he looks good in jeans and a plain white t-shirt. As the minutes trickle by, Vegas feels the weight on his shoulders growing heavier and heavier. They talk, yes, but it’s mainly small talk. About clothes. About breakfast. Coffee or tea. Even the fucking weather. Vegas longs for body contact. Holding hands would be enough, it doesn’t need to be an embrace and kisses. At this point, anything really would be fine with him, even fingers brushing against each other. He takes what he gets; in the end he’s happy when he convinces Pete to let him rub some liniment on those bruised wrists and put a bandage over them. Even a little touch like this makes him smile like an idiot—he likes taking care of Pete. When he’s finished and meets Pete’s eyes, there is an impossible-to-read expression on his face as he looks at Vegas. And then it feels like there’s suddenly an invisible wall between them, one that Vegas is aware of, but doesn’t quite know how to get past. What the heck is happening?

There is more small talk during breakfast. It’s so damn frustrating. Vegas feels as if he needs a therapist just to talk about his therapist, and isn’t that ridiculous? He’s getting more and more disheartened by the minute. Pete needs to hurry to get to his appointment in time. He gives Vegas a dimpled smile on the way out the door that makes Vegas want to grab him, shake some sense into him and then kiss him. Of course he doesn’t do that. No, he stays behind and instead kicks the wall in frustration as soon as Pete’s gone. Fuck this. What the hell is going on in your head, Pete?

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

Vegas throws himself into work. As soon as he’s in his office, he starts writing his report about their latest crime scene. The whole episode with Pete has been very successful in distracting him from the horror he witnessed yesterday, but now it’s time to face reality. They have a murderer to catch.

A bit later Tem arrives with coffee. He looks as if he’s slept badly. Vegas can understand how the crime scene most likely made it difficult to sleep. They go over their notes together, discussing details. Tem has checked with Arm; Pol is already taking care of the rooftop which is great; Vegas really appreciates that he doesn’t need to get up there to check for trace evidence. Arm is doing the autopsy and is expected to give them the preliminary results before the end of the day.

They have also received copies of the crime scene photos and the video footage, which are just as gruesome as Vegas remembers. Together with Tem, he adds them to their murder board. What a bloody mess.

“You think we are going to catch him?” He contemplates the whiteboard with the graphic photos. Having a separate office was a good idea after all; no one not working this case should be exposed to these horrors.

“Sure. We’ll catch him eventually.”

At least Tem sounds completely convinced that they will be successful. Vegas himself isn’t so sure.

“I don’t know how many more people he will murder before we catch him,” Tem adds gloomily.

And there it is—their biggest problem. They’re in a race against the clock. The longer this takes, the more dead bodies they will have to deal with. They need a break in the case and they need it sooner rather than later, and so they grimly decide to go over all the details in all the cases once again.

Early in the afternoon Pete drifts into the office and Vegas’ heart skips a beat. Pete simply has that effect on him these days; he’s the sand that brings Vegas’ cog system to a grinding halt whenever he’s around. It’s embarrassing, really.

Vegas gets distracted by Tem’s sharp intake of breath. His partner has turned white as a sheet, looking stunned before his face crumbles and he quickly looks away from Pete. Confused, Vegas glances at Pete and then it hits him—Pete is wearing Vegas’ clothes. And Tem has noticed that too. Well, shit. This is awkward to say the least.

“What is the matter, Detective? Not happy to see me?”

Great. Apparently Pete has decided to rub it in. Fuck. Vegas glares at him and shakes his head. But Pete merely smiles innocently and as a result, both Tem and Vegas get irritated with him simultaneously.

“If you want to make my day, leave and never come back,” Tem replies resentfully, his voice full of hurt and irritation. “I don’t know what you are doing here anyway. I’m back now, so this team is fully operational and does not need your help any longer. Besides, you haven’t been a great help at all, come to think of it.”

“Pete…” Vegas warns him, and then turns to glare at Tem as well. “Tem… just stop it, all right? Both of you … think of this office as Switzerland. Neutral ground. Stop it with these arguments, please? Let us focus on work in here.”

Pete simply ignores Vegas. Of course he does. Maybe Vegas needs to wear a glittery multicoloured suit in order not to be ignored?

“Fortunately it isn’t up to you to decide if my work here is of any help or not, Detective. I’m not going anywhere, and you better come to terms with that. No matter how you feel, Vegas wouldn’t want me to leave anyway, he’s rather attached to me,” Pete informs Tem smugly.

Tem snarls angrily and turns to Vegas, who thinks he might as well lean back and eat popcorn, watching this train derail, since nobody listens to him these days, no matter what he says. “Make him leave! I’m your goddamn partner, and I can’t work properly when he’s strutting around, trying to rub whatever that thing between you two is in my face!”

Vegas throws his hands up in frustration, increasingly tired of those two crossing words over him. “Is this a fucking soap opera or what?! Hello? Switzerland? Did either of you listen to what I said?” And automatically he adds, “There’s nothing going on between Pete and me.” As soon as the words are out, he regrets them. Wrong. The situation has kind of changed. Or has it? Gah!

Pete arches an eyebrow at him, rolls his eyes, and Vegas gives him a hesitant, apologetic smile.

Meanwhile Tem has decided to call his bluff. “Bullshit. He’s wearing your clothes!”

“Correct, and that’s not the only thing I’m wearing,” Pete adds, and damn if he isn’t gloating. Time for the kitten to show his claws it seems. “I’m wearing his mark, too.” He tilts his head to the side for Tem to have a better view of his neck. Bloody hell, wasn’t that bite with the hickey covered by a bandaid this morning? Apparently Pete has taken it off. And that hickey is very visible. Vegas feels his face getting hot as he flushes. He stares at it and is hit by a flashback of the sound Pete made when he sucked on his throat. Damn, he’s getting aroused again just thinking about it.

Tem’s angry hiss snaps Vegas out of his momentary distraction, especially when Pete decides to take this one step further. “Take a good, hard look at him, Detective. Doesn’t he look as if he wants to pounce me and continue right where we left off last night? But how about we take the bed this time, and not the shower,” he purrs, that last part directed at Vegas, who shivers instinctively with delight.

Holy shit. Vegas can’t believe Pete just said that. And he can’t believe that every word is true either. Shit. No shower is fine though, too damn slippery anyway, the bed will be better. Or the couch. Or the kitchen table. Shit. And does that mean Pete hasn’t had enough of him yet? It really sounded like it, which is so totally fine with Vegas, because he will never get tired of Pete. Shit.

Even Tem has a limit when it comes to how much cruel teasing he can endure. And while Vegas is still staring at Pete, trying to process his words and fantasising about what to do to him next, Tem’s had enough. In the end it isn’t Vegas who pounces, but Tem; he launches himself at Pete, and the next moment they’re engaged in a wild scuffle. Or rather, Tem is trying to hit Pete, who in turn is busy ducking away from under Tem’s fists.

Well, that went sideways quickly. Vegas blinks in surprise, then glances at the closed door in alarm. They’re at work; this is a police station; are they out of their mind?!

“Stop it,” he hisses urgently. “Will you two stop it already!”

By now the whole situation has escalated into a straight out fist fight. Vegas gets up and tries to separate them, but Tem is really furious and refuses to let go. Pete is already sporting a bloody nose. This fight seems awfully mismatched when it comes to their fighting abilities; Pete is a psychologist after all, and not trained in hand-to-hand combat like Tem. In the end, Vegas does the only thing he can think of that could perhaps make those two stop before they seriously hurt themselves. A spur of the moment decision.

“I’m being targeted by the killer!” Vegas doesn’t shout, but it’s a close call.

Fuck. He did it. He said it out loud. Fuck. He wants to take back those words instantly; he doesn’t want anyone to know, and definitely not them. Too late. How is he going to explain this mess? Fuck. Well, at least it seems to have the desired effect—both of them freeze and turn their heads simultaneously to look at him in surprise.

“Say that again…?!” Tem asks astonished, breathing hard.

“What the hell do you mean…?!” Pete bursts out, equally out of breath, and very shocked.

“It is a long story…” Vegas gives them a tired smile and shrugs helplessly. “Switzerland. Neutral ground. Could we please focus on work so that I don’t end up as a fucked up art installation in some desolate warehouse eventually?”

“You’re joking, right?” Pete shoves Tem off, and Tem doesn’t resist for once. They’re standing next to each other, still breathing heavily, both of them staring at Vegas, their clothes and hair a rumpled mess.

“This isn’t funny, Vegas. Not funny at all…” It seems Pete isn’t sure if he should be alarmed or irritated with Vegas.

Tem has turned ghostly pale. As a police officer he takes this with absolute seriousness; he’s seen enough threats against colleagues with a nasty ending. “What makes you think this is the case, Vegas? Have you been contacted by the killer in any way? What do you mean?”

“As I said, it is a long story.” With a sigh, Vegas walks up to Tem and straightens his hair. “Make yourself presentable and then go and get us some coffee and snacks, we’ll need them.” Then he turns to Pete, simply ignores the glare—yes, he touched Tem, so what?—and takes out a tissue to gently dab away the blood still trickling from his nose. “Does it hurt?” he can’t help asking.

“Vegas,” Pete is clearly exasperated. “Never mind the damn nosebleed—what the hell do you mean when you say you are being targeted?”

“Clean yourself up, Pete.” Vegas can’t resist, he lightly brushes his thumb over Pete’s lips when he’s finished wiping away the blood. So soft. “We’ll talk as soon as Tem comes back with the coffee. I promise both of you, I’ll explain everything, all right?” And that’s all he plans to say for now on the matter. “Both of you get the fuck out of this office for the next 30 minutes. I need some alone time and that is non-negotiable.” They try to get him to talk anyway, but he’s having none of it. Vegas shoves both of them out the door, closes it very firmly in their faces and then turns around and leans against it. His knees are shaking. He needs time to prepare himself for this talk, he can’t let them see how worried he really is. Against his own better judgement he has dragged them into this nightmare and he’s terrified of the consequences. Tem will have a conflict of interest. And Pete… Pete’s about to have a very rude awakening about the realities of Vegas’ life. How will he react?

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

They have sequestered themselves in the office with a ‘Do not disturb’ note on the door. They have coffee, and Tem even got some snacks, as requested. Vegas holds on to the coffee mug as if his life depends on it, he’s incredibly on edge. It really doesn’t help that he has two pairs of eyes on him, watching his every move.

They’ve decided to pull their chairs together into a loose circle for this talk. But Vegas doesn’t want to talk, he wants to run. Just run, it doesn’t really matter where to; he wants to run and forget about this whole mess.

“Just get on with it already.”

Pete still sounds mostly irritated. He seems to believe Vegas made all of this up just to break up his fight with Tem. He used their short break to wash the blood stains from his t-shirt, but Vegas wonders if he’ll have even more bruises tomorrow. And he wonders if he will be able to check, or if Pete will call it quits after this conversation. Vegas swallows hard. He does not like feeling like this.

“Give him a break already,” Tem reprimands Pete. “It’s obviously difficult for him to talk about it, can’t you see that?” He turns towards Vegas with a warm, genuine smile. “Do you mean this is connected to you personally, or were you referring to the Theerapanyakul family because of the bodyguard issue?”

“What bodyguard issue?” Pete looks at both of them, confused. “Why do I get the feeling I’m missing some vital information here?”

“Well… I–I decided to share this sensitive information just with Tem, I am sorry,” Vegas stutters and looks away.

Pete huffs with irritation, but refrains from commenting any further. A quick glance and yeah, the way he’s clenching his jaw is a dead give-away—this is pissing him off. Not a good start at all.

“Based on a specific tattoo on the second victim, I discovered that he was working as a bodyguard for my extended family,” Vegas explains quietly, looking at his hands. It’s easier to talk about this if he doesn’t have to see their faces. “He was listed as an active bodyguard for my youngest cousin, Kim. Since this concerns the Theerapanyakul family, I contacted Porsche and my oldest cousin, and we had a discussion about this. Kinn is looking into the matter on his side, to make sure that this isn’t tied to the family’s business partners. Which of course is unlikely, I told him so right away. Tem found out about this connection as well while doing the background check on the victim; he knows how complicated things get as soon as my family is involved, so we decided to keep the information between us and not share it with anyone else. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t give Vegas a hard time about it, please. Everyone who works here knows that anything connected to the Theerapanyakul family is considered a sensitive issue. The less people know about this, the better. That’s why we’ve kept it out of the official case documentation so far,” Tem elaborates patiently.

“Tem is correct. This is also the weakest link to me personally; that victim is more connected to me via the family business. As far as I remember I didn’t have any interaction with him whatsoever,” Vegas points out.

“Fine, whatever.” Pete seems to accept that explanation. Vegas casts another quick glance at him, but once again the professional mask is firmly in place, not showing any emotions. “This is important information for the profiling though, I will need to make adjustments now. Go on, Vegas, there is more, I am sure.”

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

Of course there is more. Vegas swallows drily, his fingers holding the coffee mug so tightly that they’re turning white. He clears his throat repeatedly. “I recognised yesterday’s victim.” He wants to run away from this conversation so badly that his whole body is aching from suppressing his fight or flight instinct.

“That guy…” If only his throat wouldn’t feel as if it’s closing up. Vegas shaky voice gets softer by the second. “That guy is… was… my… he was my drug dealer…”

Tem curses quietly. Since Vegas refuses to look up, he doesn’t see Pete’s reaction, but Pete is awfully silent, and that never bodes well.

“Fuck, I thought you’d stopped…” Okay, so Tem’s upset now, great. “I was so sure you stopped, Vegas. When did you start again?” And just a moment later his partner adds in alarm, “You’re not high right now, are you?”

Oh hell. Taking a deep breath, Vegas faces Tem and gives him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I swear I haven’t been taking anything for the longest time, I only slipped once a little while ago, when I had a really shitty day.”

“Damn it, Vegas.” Tem sighs deeply and there is disappointment and concern in his eyes. They look at each other, a lot left unspoken.

“You lied on your assessment forms for the therapy.” Pete finally decides to speak up.

“Of course I did.” Vegas snorts softly. “You think I’d admit on an official document that I’m popping pills?”

“And is that all you do?” Pete’s voice is neutral, and very mild, and somehow that makes it worse. “Just pills? Not smoking or snorting or shooting anything up?”

Ouch, that hurts. Before Vegas can formulate a reply, Tem is once again defending him passionately. “Of course he doesn’t, don’t be ridiculous. He’s not a drug addict.”

Pete isn’t impressed at all. “And you lied to me as well, Detective. You are covering up for him and thereby enabling his addiction.”

“I am not addicted to anything, all right, will you stop it already?!” This is getting out of hand and Vegas is stressing even more. “I never did any heavy drugs, just something now and then to take the edge off when I was stressed out of my mind. That’s all. And I haven’t been taking anything for the longest time, that is, until you showed up and started messing with my mind.” Vegas finally raises his eyes and gives Pete a sharp look. “You and your fucking mind games…”

They stare at each other, neither of them willing to give in. Pete’s face is entirely expressionless; he’s wearing his damn psychologist mask again, and Vegas hates it because in the depth of those dark eyes there is something that hints at Pete having a lot of feelings about this topic; feelings he isn’t voicing. And Vegas desperately wants to know what those feelings are.

Tem clears his throat. Loudly. “All right, so that victim is your former dealer. When did you last meet up with him? And how many people know he supplied you with drugs?” Trust Tem to get them back to work on the matter at hand.

With a frown, Vegas breaks eye contact with Pete. He places the mug with the now cold coffee on the table behind him and leans back in his chair, giving those questions some thought. “I met him a couple of weeks ago; that was for the first time in well over a year? And I don’t think anyone else knows about our connection; you are the only one who was aware I was doing recreational drugs and I didn’t even tell you his name. This is not something you talk about with other people. And I don’t know any other users I would recommend him to.”

Tem asks for the exact date, taking notes, and Vegas gives it to him. Meanwhile Pete sits in the chair, twirling his multicoloured pen in his fingers, deep in thought.

“Since this is the second victim that has a connection to you, it doesn’t look like a coincidence,” Pete finally announces. “Which leaves two options: The killer has either been stalking you for over a year to be aware of your drug habit, or he’s been tailing you somehow these last few weeks ever since the killings started, and thus became aware of the victim when you went to see him recently.”

Well, isn’t that just great news? “I don’t think I am that easy to stalk; I’m a police officer after all. Surely I would have noticed?” Vegas really can’t think of any moment when he had the notion that he was being followed, but he’s starting to feel uneasy. It’s one thing to know an insane killer is out there, but it’s an entirely different thing to deal with the knowledge that this insane killer might be keeping a close eye on him personally.

“Maybe he placed a tracker on your car?” Tem is ever so practical, even though he seems very alarmed at the thought of a murderer stalking the person he likes. “We should check that.”

“Or maybe he’s just that good,” Pete adds drily. “You only need to watch some movies or tv series to know that even police officers are bloody amateurs when it comes to noticing that someone is tailing them, if that someone has the right training. Maybe the killer has been in the military, or has a background as an intelligence operative? I’m sure you can even find YouTube tutorials about professional shadowing.”

“Fuck.” Vegas sighs deeply and runs his fingers through his hair, as always when he’s stressed.

“Where exactly did you meet the guy? Did you have a fixed meeting place? Maybe we can check the CCTV in the area to see if we find something suspicious?”

That’s actually a good suggestion from Tem. Vegas readily supplies the street names.

“What else can you remember from that day? Anything could be useful, Vegas.”

“I was a bit out of it that evening so I doubt I would have noticed anyone following me. I didn’t get high right away, I went to a bar and had a few drinks first.” And wasn’t that an epic miscalculation on his part?

Pete sighs at that and remarks quietly but emphatically, “You fucking idiot.” He twirls the pen faster, the only sign that he might be upset. And this time, Tem is in total agreement with him. “Damn, Vegas. You should know better than to mix alcohol and drugs.”

“I know, I know, it won’t happen again, I’m sorry, all right?” A glance at both of their doubtful faces, and Vegas repeats himself. “It won’t happen again, I learned my lesson, I swear. I got into a damn bar fight that night and was messed up pretty badly. You could say I learned my lesson the hard way.”

“Wait a moment…” Tem frowns and interrupts, then checks the notes he’s taking. “You got into a bar fight? On that night? In that area? Do you remember the name of the bar?”

“Why? Is this important?” Vegas tries to remember but comes up with a blank. “No clue? I think there was a tattoo parlour next to it though? Why do you ask?”

“Oh shit…” And now it is Tem’s turn to look thoroughly uneasy. “Remember the conversation we had a few days ago, when we talked about how crazy this city is getting? The bar fight aftermath I had to investigate? The nail gun?”

Vegas feels himself getting pale. No way. No fucking way. He’s feeling ill to his very bones; his throat is constricting and breathing gets increasingly difficult. It really is all connected to him. This isn’t a coincidence. People are getting killed because of him once again. And soon it will be his turn.

Tem rambles on, sounding more and more alarmed. “I don’t think there were that many bar fights in that exact area, on that exact evening. It must have been the same fight you were in. Fuck! You should be glad you got away before shit starting hitting the fan, Vegas. I mean, that nail gun business sounds just like something our killer would do, coming to think of it. And damn, it was nasty, I tell you… Five people, Vegas. He nailed five people to the wall with a nail gun in that alley behind the bar. We didn’t get any good descriptions; the victims were mostly drunk and the assailant was masked. And there was no CCTV nearby so we couldn’t—”

Tem’s voice dissolves into white noise. Vegas can’t breathe. He knows he’s going through the right motions but somehow the oxygen just doesn’t reach his lungs. He can’t breathe and gasps in desperation, doubling over on his chair. Air. He needs air. Sound and vision comes and goes.

“… Vegas! Vegas!!! Fuck… what’s wrong?…”

“… well damn…”

Vegas needs air! Someone is touching him, shaking him. He just needs air, he can’t breathe.

“… call an ambulance…”

“… take your fucking hands off him…”

“… Vegas, can you hear me…”

“… I’m running out of patience with you, Tem, back off! I’m only tolerating you because of Vegas…”

What the hell is happening? Why can’t he breathe? What the hell is going on? Is he going to die? Is he having a heart attack? He needs air! He has his eyes open but everything is a blur, he can’t make out anything but vague shapes. Is he having a stroke?

“… Vegas, look at me… what’s wrong…”

“… for fuck’s sake, give him some space already. Let me handle this, he’s having a panic attack. Tem, fuck off, last warning…”

Vegas’ heart pounding madly. This can’t be healthy. This feels all wrong. He’s getting light-headed from lack of oxygen and can hear the rush of his blood in his ears. He’s going to die. Fuck. He’s going to die right here and now and that knowledge increases his panic. He doesn’t want to die!

There are sounds of a scuffle. Then someone touches his shoulder.

“… Vegas…”

He doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t want to leave Pete. Shit, he’s having a heart attack. Or a stroke. Or both.

“… Vegas…”

Vegas can’t breathe! Hands on his face. Warm. Soft. He doesn’t want to die!

“… Vegas… I’m here…”

Oh God, he doesn’t want to die! But he can’t breathe and his heart is about to give out and this is it, there’s nothing he can do about it, he’ll die.

Then he feels lips brushing against his—a spark of electricity in the darkness that is snuffed out right away by a flood wave of panic—and Pete’s calm voice flows over him, a safety line that keeps him from being washed away in the sea of panic he in engulfed in. “I’m right here, Vegas, everything is going to be all right. It’s just a panic attack. You’re going to be all right. I’m right here. Concentrate on my voice. I’ll help you.”

Vegas clings to that voice. Pete’s voice. He loves that voice. If he has to die, then he wants this voice to be the last thing he hears. He’s still frantically gasping for air, black spots in his vision. Everything is a blur.

“You’re hyperventilating. I’m going to help you fix this. First you need to sit up again, like this.”

Hands are pulling at him, making him change his position in the chair. Then those hands move to his face, cradling it.

“Are you listening, Vegas? Can you hear me? Vegas?”

The hands holding his face tighten slightly, increasing their pressure against his skin. “Vegas?” Then more sharply. “Detective Theerapanyakul? I want you to listen and follow my instructions, Detective!”

Some part of Vegas reacts to that authoritative tone of voice. Orders. He needs to follow orders, yes, so he tries to nod and is rewarded with thumbs caressing his cheeks.

“Great. Now listen closely to me…” Pete’s tone of voice turns almost hypnotic. “You will do exactly what I tell you. Begin by slowly exhaling all of your air out. Then, gently inhale through your nose to a slow count of four. Hold at the top of the breath for a count of four. Then gently exhale through your mouth for a count of four. At the bottom of the breath, pause and hold for the count of four. You can do that, right? Detective, I know you think this is ridiculous but please, let’s give it a try. Just once, okay?”

Gentle breathing is not an option right now, how come Pete doesn’t understand that? Vegas is suffocating, he needs oxygen right now, he’s gasping for air frantically.

“Listen to my voice Vegas… Inhale: One, two, three, four… Hold your breath: One, two, three, four… Exhale: One, two, three, four… Hold your breath: One, two, three, four…”

Pete sounds calm, so calm, surely he would be more frantic if Vegas was in danger of dying, right? So maybe he won’t die? Vegas tries to concentrate on the voice, tries to do what the voice is saying, but it is so damn difficult. But Pete just keeps talking, repeating the instructions over and over again, his hands stroking Vegas’ face gently the whole time.

At some point—Vegas doesn’t notice it first—his breathing adapts and falls into line with Pete’s instructions. Inhale. Wait. Exhale. Wait. Repeat. The knot in his throat dissolves, his heartbeat slows down. It gets easier to breathe. He is alive. He is still alive. Sound and vision normalise as well.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing he says, his voice raspy and very faint. “I’m sorry, please don’t leave me. I swear I’m not an addict. I’m really not such a terrible person. Don’t leave me.” Now with the initial panic receding, another worry takes over. He’s such a mess, surely Pete is having second thoughts now after witnessing this meltdown.

Pete is still kneeling before Vegas’ chair, his warm hands cradling Vegas’ face. He’s gazing at Vegas, and it feels as if he’s looking straight into Vegas’ fragile soul. “I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures him gently. “I’m right here. I’m not leaving.”

Hearing him say that nearly causes Vegas to start crying and wouldn’t that be embarrassing? He holds it in, barely, just giving Pete a watery smile. Now in the aftermath of the panic attack, he can feel that he’s trembling uncontrollably.

“It’s all right, don’t worry about it.” Once again Pete seems so in tune with him that he knows exactly what Vegas is thinking. “That’s the after- effects of the adrenaline rush. It’s perfectly normal.” He turns to Tem, who is hovering nearby, worry written all over his pale face. Oh, and Tem seems to have a nosebleed? How did that happen? “Go and get Vegas something warm to drink with lots of sugar in it,” Pete orders him in a tone of voice that allows for no objection.

Without protest, Tem leaves right away, and then it’s just Vegas and Pete in the office, staring at each other. Vegas doesn’t know what to say. He feels exhausted, drained and embarrassed. But apparently words aren’t necessary. Pete’s lips curve into an affectionate smile—there is that dimple again—and then he leans in and simply kisses Vegas. There is the all familiar spark and tingle, but this is a slow and gentle kiss, the kiss that Vegas has been longing for since he woke up this morning. It’s long overdue, and he sighs into Pete’s mouth and just allows himself to drown in the sensations and the closeness, for once not overthinking.

When Tem comes back to the room he finds them in the position he left them; Vegas is still sitting on his chair with Pete kneeling before him. They’re holding hands, their fingers laced together and their foreheads leaning against each other. Tem looks at them and swallows hard. It’s very obvious who’s the third wheel in this room, and it hurts.

He interrupts their moment quietly, “I brought you some milk tea with extra syrup.”

Vegas sighs and reluctantly opens his eyes again, pulling away from Pete. “Thank you.”

To take the tea he needs to release Pete’s hands and he hates it, but they shouldn’t be holding hands here anyway. Someone else might walk into the office at any moment, after all, even though they’re probably getting so used to Vegas’ violent outbursts that they just ignore them.

Pete seems totally unconcerned about getting caught. He simply smiles, rises and stretches before returning to his seat. “Drink the tea, Vegas, you need the sugar. And then let us know if you are up to continuing the conversation.”

Taking a careful sip of the hot tea and nearly burning his mouth, Vegas can see that Tem opens his mouth to speak—but Pete gives him such a dark glare that his partner immediately reconsiders and stays silent. Why does Tem have a bloody nose? Something must have happened between these two when he was out of it, but Vegas doesn’t have the energy to get to the bottom of this pit of vipers.

“Let’s just get it over with.” He sighs deeply and takes another sip of tea. It is hot and sweet and just what he needs right now. Tem knows his taste well.

Speaking of which, Tem clearly thinks that continuing this talk is a bad idea, but after a wary glance at Pete he grits his teeth, picks up his notebook once more and asks the next question. “All right then… What is your connection to the first victim?”

Vegas almost regrets his decision to continue right there and then. It can’t be helped though; now that he knows about the incident at the bar, which is definite proof that he’s being stalked by an insane killer, he needs their assistance. And for him to get that help, both Tem and Pete unfortunately need more information.

“We had sex. He was one of my one-night-stands,” he states, sounding a lot calmer than he feels. Vegas can see Tem’s fingers clenching tightly around the pen in his hand. He feels bad for him; it must be painful to be reminded of the fact that Vegas is having sex with other people.

And Pete… Pete just folds his arms before his chest, looking at Vegas ever so calmly. As if this doesn’t bother him at all. Or maybe he suspected Vegas having flings like this all along? Suddenly Vegas feels the need to clarify things.

“I’m not sleeping around indiscriminately, I swear. It’s not that I like having one-night-stands. I really don’t. I know it’s not safe. I simply don’t have many options…” And then he shuts up, because he knows he’s making things worse. Another wave of embarrassment creeps up on him and he looks down at his hands once more.

“It’s all right, Vegas. I understand.” Why does Tem have to be so matter-of-fact about this? “I’ve known all along, this isn’t news to me.” Now that definitely makes it worse.

“I’m sorry, Tem.”

Pete shifts in his chair, regarding Vegas sharply. “Are those one-night-stands really just one time hook-ups, or do you have regulars you shift between?”

“Pete…” Vegas gives him a helpless glance. “I know this sounds bad, but could you please not make me feel like a total slut? What am I supposed to do? Can both of you just for a moment try to see my side of this? My father makes it impossible for me to have a steady relationship. You want me to live my life like a monk? I’m feeling horrible enough about this already, I don’t like casual sex. To put it bluntly, there’s only so much you can do with your hands, now and then you need the real deal. And no, I do not have ‘regulars’. I just hook up in a bar or club. Most times I don’t even know their names. I never saw Beam before that evening, and I didn’t plan on ever seeing him again.”

As expected, Tem gives him an encouraging smile, even though he appears to be deeply uncomfortable with the whole topic. So predictable. So reliable. So loyal. It’s sweet; Tem is an easy person to like and be friends with, and he would be an easy person to love as well. Once upon a time, Vegas thought he could be that person loving Tem, but that was before Pete crashed into his life. Tem is a quiet river compared to Pete’s whitewater madness. And unexpectedly, Vegas is discovering that he prefers a wild ride to a gentle river cruise.

Speaking of whitewater… Pete has listened patiently to his explanation, but now he is gracing him with such a deceptively gently smile that it instantly makes Vegas’ inner alarm bells go off.

“There will be no more one-night-stands,” Pete declares with absolute certainty. “You better remember what I told you yesterday, because I meant every damn word of it, and you have the tendency to conveniently forget my warnings.”

Message received loud and clearly. Vegas swallows drily and nods hastily. He remembers, oh, yes, he remembers. Yesterday he thought it was a cute remark, but he just now got the tiniest glimpse of the same Pete who jumped off that roof. Not taking Pete seriously would be a fatal mistake.

“Nodding won’t do, Vegas; I need some verbal acknowledgement from you.”

The way Pete is staring at him makes Vegas feel hot and cold; it’s both exciting, and scary as hell.

“I will not be having sex with anyone else, I promise.”

It’s a no-brainer really. Why on earth would Vegas want to sleep with someone else, now that he has Pete. He has Pete, right? And damn, doesn’t that take them right back to the root of the problem? What are they to each other now?

“At some point you and I need to have a talk, Pete.”

“Eventually, yes…” Pete shrugs nonchalantly. It isn’t the answer Vegas was hoping for, but it is better than nothing.

“You two need therapy,” Tem states bitterly. From where he’s sitting, he stares at both of them with disbelief written all over his face. “Could we please focus on not getting Vegas killed? You can deal with your toxic personal life after work hours.”

“Sorry,” Vegas mumbles, and Pete just smirks darkly.

“So in summary, you do not follow any specific patterns when it comes to your sexual encounters.” Tem sounds awfully stiff now. “Do you go to the same clubs and bars?”

And back to their murder problem it is. “Basically, yes. I have a handful of places I prefer. The days vary. There is no pattern there at all.”

“When did you hook up with the first victim then?”

Vegas has been thinking about this a lot, so he can give Tem an exact date.

“We’d best go check the security tapes of the club then,” Tem suggests, and Vegas flinches a bit.

“Uhm, that won’t be necessary. I already collected those tapes. And had a look at them.”

“Damn. You’re messing with potential evidence now, Vegas? Are you out of your mind?” As a fellow police officer, Tem finds this appalling.

“I’m sorry, okay? I panicked. It was a stupid thing to do, but I was so worried I would get suspended if anyone found out that I knew the victim.”

Pete interrupts them once more. “Both of you are missing an important fact here: the murderer must have either been stalking you already by then, following you to the club that night in order to see your interaction with your one-night-stand, or he was at the club for some other reason but you caught his attention on this very night for the first time.”

“I don’t like either option,” Tem admits, and Vegas nods in agreement.

“You don’t have to like it, I am just stating the obvious,” Pete shrugs. “Think carefully, Vegas: has anything else out of the ordinary happened to you since then? Any strange phone calls? Weird letters or notes? New neighbours? New friend requests on social media? We’re going to have to look at all of those things.”

Vegas is bewildered. “Not to my knowledge. I simply don’t understand, why me? What is so special about me? My life sucks. Why would a serial killer pick a police officer to obsess about? Isn’t that illogical?”

Tem frowns and suggests, “Maybe he likes the challenge?” Then he turns towards Pete and asks him, reluctantly, “From your professional point of view, how much danger is Vegas in?”

Pete resumes twirling his multicoloured pen with his fingers, contemplating this for longer than Vegas likes. This isn’t a good sign. Neither is the frown and the increasingly grave expression on his face.

“I need another day to analyse the new information and incorporate it into my profile. But I think it’s safe to assume that Vegas has guessed correctly; the killer is indeed targeting him. So far it’s all indirectly connected to Vegas; as far as we know, no direct contact has been made—yet. This is most likely going to change in the very near future. The killer will need reassurance that Vegas is aware of the offerings—the gifts—he’s leaving behind for Vegas. And by that I mean the victims, of course.”

Pete twirls the pen faster. “It really all depends on how patient this murderer is. Will he be able to wait until Vegas figures out that he himself is the connection between all the cases? No matter how many dead bodies this takes? Or will he be forced to leave Vegas more tangible clues?”

He stops, momentarily lost in thoughts. “Considering all the serial killer case studies I have read, I don’t think Vegas is in immediate danger. But that will change the moment the killer takes the step to initiate contact. Once that happens, it’s only a matter of time before the murderer shifts his full focus from second-hand acquaintances directly onto the object of his obsession, with all the dire and potentially lethal consequences for Vegas that this entails.”

“Well, shit…” Both Tem and Vegas stare at Pete with wide eyes. Not good. Not good at all. Fuck.