#i think it is largely baseless on o'briens part just seeing what falls out

[parameddic]

@hvndredstories a drabble for you, mi amor (it's Owen, not TK) (that's your heads up). owen gets asked some questions, and answers just about zero of them

"I hear you're getting pretty buddy-buddy with Nikolai Volkov."

Oh. So that was what this conversation was going to be about. He had wondered why Sergeant O'Brien had wanted to meet here, a little out-of-the-way honky-tonk. Why O'Brien had told him, explicitly, to 'leave his son behind'. "Nikolai?" Owen asked, tipping his glass to watch the whiskey pool, "Yeah. I know him."

O'Brien watched Owen take a drink, waiting for more, and Owen did not provide it. There were a lot of things he'd thought about Nikolai over the past almost-two-years that he'd known the guy but the most firm one was that TK would die for that guy, he was really, really willing to fight for him, and Owen knew better than to sabotage his kid. He'd tried that once and TK had moved out because of it and in retrospect Owen thought maybe that was a good thing. Being able to set that line for himself. Being able to maintain living alone, the way he had.

No. Owen was not going to be selling Nikolai out to a cop, even a cop with a cool motorcycle.

"Captain Strand," O'Brien said, when he realised Owen was not intending to go any further, "Volkov has been a person of interest in a number of cases Austin PD is investigating."

"What sort of cases?" he wanted to hear this.

"Pertinent ones." O'Brien did not want to share it, though.

Owen put his drink down, thinking he wasn't in the mood for whiskey anyway. This felt more like a wine sort of a conversation. The music was awful, too. God, who ran this place?

"Look," Owen said, "I respect your position, Sergeant, but I have nothing to tell you about Nikolai."

"Does your son?"

It was too quick not to be at least a little bit of a threat. It drew Owen's eye back, anyway, a full beat lost to assessing how much O'Brien meant it. Assessing what he even meant, at all. "You can ask TK what you want," go ahead, "you don't need my permission."

"I don't think you understand," the Sergeant pressed, voice a little dip lower than the bad music, "Owen, I'm trying to do you a courtesy. The investigation in that sphere is happening, I think he might have something to do with it."

"You think?" so they didn't even have any evidence. "Sergeant, I'm not doing your job for you. Even if I wanted to, I don't know anything. He works in security."

"You believe that?"

"I believe my son." It was not what TK had told him (well -- it was, and it wasn't), but Owen believed his son, and he was content with that.

O'Brien did not miss the distinction, but he redirected anyway: "They're close, then? TK, and Volkov?"

"I'm starting to think this wasn't a casual catch-up."

Sharp, and with a tone dropped even lower, once again, flat and direct: "Is TK involved?"

Maybe it was a whiskey sort of a conversation. Owen downed his drink and leant back in his seat, patting down pockets for his wallet. Time to hit the road. "No." TK was not involved.

"So there's something to be involved in?"

"Sergeant O'Brien," Owen said, "it's been lovely seeing you, we should catch up more often. But let's make it a social call next time, 'kay?"

"If your son's involved in the groups I think he could be involved with he might be in danger, Owen. Volkov's circles--"

Yeah, tell him about it. "I don't know any circles," he said, instead of you're the last one to reach this page, "and I don't think Nikolai's involved in any of them. And I know my son isn't. Your drink's on me. Enjoy it." Owen left the bills beneath his glass. He left.