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emospritelet · 5 years

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[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9][Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15]

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We’re getting closer to a confrontation and some truth-telling between Weaver and Lacey, but it isn’t this chapter

Weaver was glad he had the distraction on his day off work of having arranged a play date for Tilly with Neal Nolan. He felt as though he was going slowly mad, but he knew that spending time with his daughter would do him good, not to mention it would give Nolan a chance to talk some sense into him. He needed that more than ever.

They spent the morning at the park, followed by a picnic lunch in the lounge while watching a Disney film. Nolan had suggested a painting session before their trip to the swimming pool that afternoon, and as it was his house Weaver figured it was up to him how much mess was made in it. They set the children up with a plastic sheet spread over the kitchen table, paint pots and brushes and a ready supply of old rags to mop up any spillages. After twenty minutes or so, Weaver left Nolan supervising the building chaos and went out to the garage, where his whiteboard was growing more cluttered by the day. He needed to add a good bit of information to it following Lacey’s visit to the station and his own research.

He had pulled a series of mugshots of local criminals who were known to be for hire to bigger fish, and lined them up at the base of the board, looking them over. Further investigations into the Black Fairy hadn’t yielded much from his informants, but there was general agreement that one of the men rumoured to accompany her during her visits had been dark-haired and fairly good-looking. He wasn’t sure which of the six potential candidates he had chosen would be the one, but he hoped that seeing their faces would spark some sort of connection in his brain.

“Daddy, look!”

Weaver turned at the sound of Tilly’s voice, smiling as she held up a piece of paper, dripping watery colour on the granite floor.

“Here, sweetheart, let me take that off you,” he said, grasping the edge and holding it level. “Wow, that’s great! Is that a dog?”

“It’s Wilby,” she confirmed. “Can we get a doggy?”

“Uh - I don’t think you can have pets in the apartment,” he said, and she pouted.

“That’s stupid.”

“I know.”

He studied the painted dog, a dark blue mess of colour with a bushy tail and a lolling red tongue about half its size. Perhaps there was a way to get a dog for her. It would mean getting his own place, perhaps a tiny house in the suburbs, but that would be better for her, right? Space to play outside, to rough and tumble with a dog, to be a kid. It was about time he gave up apartment living and thought about what was best for his daughter. Commuting to and from the precinct wouldn’t fucking kill him.

While he was thinking over their possible future, Tilly had walked over to the whiteboard and was staring up at it.

“Bad man!” she declared, and Weaver turned.

“Who’s bad?” he asked, and Tilly slapped one of the pictures.

“Bad!”

Weaver set down the painting carefully, moving to join her.

“This man?” he said, plucking the picture from beneath its magnetic button. “Have you seen him before?”

Tilly screwed up her face, then nodded.

“Where?” asked Weaver. “Did he come to the apartment?”

A pause, then another nod.

“Did you talk to him?”

“No,” she said decidedly. “He smells.”

“Good girl.” He ruffled her curls. “What about these other men? Did you see any of those?”

Tilly frowned at the pictures, then shook her head.

“Okay,” said Weaver. “Hey, how about you paint me a picture of Dragon while I make some lemonade for you and Neal?”

“Yeah!”

She ran back to the kitchen, and Weaver frowned at the photograph in his hands. A dark-haired man with a close-cropped beard and a faint scowl looked out at him. His name was Arthur Penn, according to the mugshot. A history of petty thefts, witness intimidation and assault convictions. It would be interesting to find out what he had been doing in Lacey’s apartment.

“So you definitely have it, then?”

Arthur’s voice was a drawl, the tone of someone who had heard it all before and suspected he was being lied to. Lacey felt her jaw protrude in annoyance.

“I said I’d get it, and I did,” she said curtly. “I’ve booked a flight out tomorrow morning.”

“In that case I’ll have someone meet you in Boston,” he said. “We wouldn’t want you to get lost, would we?”

“Fine,” she said wearily. “Whatever.”

“You don’t sound too enthusiastic about it.”

“I just want this over with, okay?”

“Alright,” he said. “Text me the flight details, I’ll make sure there’s someone waiting for you.”

“Great.”

She rang off before he could say anything else, texting the flight number and arrival time before dropping the phone on the bed. The apartment seemed very empty with Tilly gone, and she sat for a moment, staring at her hands where they lay folded in her lap, slim fingers threaded together. She couldn’t keep putting it off forever. It was time.

Fingers trembling a little, she picked up the phone again, this time to call Weaver. Every cell in her brain was screaming at her that she was a coward, that she should at least have the decency to look him in the eye when she lied through her teeth, but she knew she couldn’t do it. The faceless distance of a phonecall was as much as she could manage. At least it wasn’t a text.

“Hey,” he said, when he picked up, and she squeezed her eyes shut. He sounded - cautious. Could she blame him?

“Hey,” she said. “How’s Tilly?”

“She’s fine,” he said, after a pause. “We’re over at Nolan’s. Play date with Neal. They’ve been painting, so once we get them cleaned up, it’s off to the pool. I told them we’d go for burgers afterwards. Is that okay with you?”

“Of course,” she said. “You don’t need my permission.”

“Okay.” Another pause. “Look, I’m glad you called. I wanted to talk about this weekend—”

“Yeah, about that,” she interrupted. “I know I said maybe we’d do something, but I can’t. I need your help.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked immediately.

“Nothing,” she lied. “At least, nothing serious. I have a funeral to go to, and it’d be easier if Tilly could stay with you for a few days.”

“Funeral?” he said. “Whose funeral?”

“Old friend.”

“Which old friend?” He sounded suspicious now, and she wished she could have come up with something more convincing. “The only friend I’ve ever heard you mention was in Maine.”

“Yeah, it’s not Maine,” she said quickly. “It’s Vegas. And - and it’s not really a friend, okay? It’s a family member that I’m not sorry is dead.”

“Right.” Silence. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” She sighed, running a hand over her face. “No, it’s fine. Can’t decide whether I’m going to pay my respects or just make sure they’re really in the damn ground, you know?”

Weaver was quiet for a moment.

“I’m sorry, Lacey.”

“Don’t be,” she said wearily. “Just - can you look after Tilly for a few days?”

“Of course. You don’t have to ask.”

“I know you have work, that’s all.”

“I can take some time off,” he said gently. “Just go and deal with your - family thing.”

“Thank you.” She bit her lip, clutching at the phone. “You’re good to me, Rafe. And to Tilly. You’re a good father. A good man.”

“I don’t know about the last part,” he said. “But you both make me want to be better.”

She screwed up her face, eyes stinging, and Weaver sighed.

“Lacey, I meant what I said. You can tell me anything.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I’ll be back by Tuesday, okay?”

“Are you flying?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you need money?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Okay,” he said. “When do you go?”

“Tomorrow,” she said. “First flight out.”

“Call me when you get the chance,” he said. “I’d like to know you got there okay. Safe trip.”

The phone clicked as he hung up, and Lacey tossed it aside, covering her face with her hands and wondering if she would ever hear his voice again.

Weaver slipped his phone back into his pocket, mouth twisting. The chatter of the children behind him was light and cheerful, an odd counterpoint to the dark clouds that seemed to be swirling around him. He glanced at the jug of lemonade he had prepared, condensation starting to form on the glass as the ice cooled it from within.

“You okay?”

Weaver started at the sound of Nolan’s voice, turning to face him. Nolan was staring up at him from the chair, concern on his face, and Weaver jerked his head towards the garage before striding off. He heard the squeak of Nolan’s chair as he followed. The whiteboard stood where he had left it, one of the pictures having come free of its button and fluttered to the ground. Weaver snatched it up, crushing it into a ball between his palms as anger and frustration made his breathing quicken.

“Whatever’s going on with her, it’s happening this weekend,” he snapped.

“Lacey?”

“Yes, bloody Lacey! She just called up to tell me some bullshit about a family funeral!” He fired the ball of paper at the wall, watching it bounce off and fall forlornly to the floor. “What the hell am I supposed to do? I can’t leave Tilly and go chasing after her, even if I knew where she was going!”

“Didn’t she say?”

“Oh, she said she was going to Vegas, but that’s bollocks.” Weaver began striding back and forth. “No, I reckon she’s going to Maine. Storybrooke, to be precise.”

“What for?” asked Nolan.

“Not sure yet,” he admitted. “I may have a lead, though. Tilly recognised one of these creeps.” He gestured at the picture of Arthur Penn. “I think I might have a word with him.”

“Great, I’ll come too.”

“No, you fucking will not!” snapped Weaver. “Beating up Hamelin for intel is one thing, tracking down a fucking big bad’s lackey is something else entirely.”

“Oh, come on!”

“No fucking way, Snow would kill me!”

“Snow would kill you for what?”

The sound of his wife’s voice made Nolan start in his chair and crane his neck towards the doorway. Snow was standing with her arms folded, one eyebrow raised.

“Oh, hey honey,” said Nolan lamely. “You’re back early.”

“Just as well, by the sound of it,” she said, in a dry tone. “What are you threatening to get involved in now?”

“I - nothing, I was just—”

“I need to go and beat the crap out of someone so they’ll tell me why my wife is in danger,” said Weaver, catching Snow’s eye. “I may also need to chase my wife all the way to Maine to get her out of whatever shitty situation she’s found herself in. Neither of which is something I want my daughter involved in. Or your husband.”

“Good,” she said, shooting Nolan a flat look before glancing back. “In that case, go do what you have to do. Tilly’s more than welcome to stay with us.”

Weaver hesitated.

“Look, it’s not that I don’t appreciate it,” he said. “It’s just - these are bad people, and if I can get to Lacey before she does whatever stupid thing she’s planning on doing, they might take offence. I don’t want them posing any risk to Tilly, or to you. It’s known that we’re friends, and they might - well, they might come here, that’s all.”

Snow seemed to think for a moment, her eyes fixed on his, then she took a deep breath and clapped her hands together.

“Well,” she announced. “I think it’s time we took a trip down to California for a few days, don’t you, David? We can pack Wilby and the kids into the car and go get a little winter sunshine, what do you say?”

Weaver smiled.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, and she smiled and nodded an acknowledgement.

“I’ll go pack,” she said, and her eyes flicked to her husband. “Do what you can to stop him getting himself killed, okay?”

“Well, that’s what I was trying!” protested Nolan, and she sniffed and tossed her head before ducking back inside.

“Without going with him!” she called over her shoulder.

“See?” said Weaver, and Nolan grumbled.

“Fine,” he said. “At least take Fa with you.”

“No, I already told you…”

“Yeah, and your reasons are bullshit! She’ll kill you if you go off on your own like this!”

“For the last time, no!” Weaver shook his head, tucking his shirt into his jeans. “Look, I’d better go. I have an idea where I might catch this piece of shit.”

“You’re going now?”

“No time like the present.” He took a final look at the whiteboard. “I’ll make a few calls, say goodbye to Tilly, and I’m out of here. I’ll call you just as soon as I have news.”

“Be careful, would you?” said Nolan. “Try to at least think for three seconds before you go charging in somewhere.”

“Oh, I’ll be careful,” said Weaver grimly. “I got something to live for.”

Nolan went in to watch over the children while Snow packed and Weaver made a series of calls to his network of young informants, seeking info on any sightings of Arthur Penn. After hugging Tilly goodbye, and assuring her that he would be back just as soon as he’d taken care of some bad people, Weaver drove back to his apartment to pick up his gun, cuffs and badge. He took an extra clip, slipped into the inside pocket of his jacket, and after a moment, dug out a knife in its sheath and strapped it to his lower leg, beneath his jeans. It paid to be prepared, after all.

He glanced in the mirror as he strode into the hall. A grim expression seemed to be permanently etched on his face these days, his eyes darkened by worry. He scowled at himself. One way or another, he’d get to the bottom of this. One way or another, he’d save his family.

A knock at the door made him start, and his scowl grew. Whoever was calling, he wasn’t fucking interested. He wrenched open the door, mouth opened to release a tide of profanity, and the words caught in his throat as Detective Fa and Officer Dunbroch shoved him aside, kicking the door shut behind them.

“Where d’you think you’re going?” demanded Merida, hands on hips as she shook back her hair.

“Mind your own business!” he growled. “Can’t a man have a fucking day off work without the world’s most annoying lesbians butting in?”

“Apparently not,” said Fa dryly, dark ponytail swinging. “Seems that the world’s most annoying lesbians really care about the world’s most fucking stupid asshole detective with a death wish. I’m afraid you’re stuck with us.”

“Well, you can bugger off, I’m busy,” he spat.

“Yeah, we know,” said Merida, with a snort. “That’s why we’re here.”

“I don’t want—”

“Nolan ratted you out,” interrupted Fa. “Good thing, too. I see you haven’t totally lost that reckless streak. Shit like that’ll get you killed.”

Weaver let his head roll back with a groan, and ran his hands over his face. When he took them away again, Fa and Merida were watching him with identical stern expressions.

“I didn’t want to drag you into something personal—” he began.

“You’re a bloody idiot,” said Merida bluntly. “Do you seriously think we’d let you bugger off and have an adventure without us?”

“This is not a fucking adventure!” he snapped. “These are dangerous people and there’s a serious risk I could get killed!”

“All the more reason for us to tag along and drag your skinny ass out of the fire, then,” said Fa. “Now stop fucking whining, and tell us how we can help.”

Weaver growled impatiently, tapping a foot in irritation. Come on, you idiot, you need them!

“Alright, fine,” he said, in resignation. “Here’s what I need you to do.”

Half an hour later, the three of them were pressed against the wall in the alleyway outside The Rabbit Hole, waiting for their quarry. Arthur Penn had been spotted drinking in the bar by one of Weaver’s street kids when she had stopped to pick up a small drugs package for delivery, and she had informed Weaver as soon as she left. He had just finished explaining Lacey’s situation to Fa and Merida when he got the call, and while they had muttered darkly about him keeping it to himself for as long as he had, they had made some sensible suggestions. Their presence also made him feel a little more positive he’d come out of this alive. Assuming their target ever left the fucking bar, of course.

“Try not to let him see your faces,” said Weaver. “Let’s play this as though we’re part of his world. I don’t want him tipping off these fucking Fairies that the cops are onto them.”

“So glad you told us that, we’d never have thought of it otherwise,” said Fa dryly.

“He staying in there all night, you think?” whispered Merida.

“The longer he’s in there, the better for us,” said Fa. “A drunk guy’s easier to knock on his ass.”

“Less easy to get any sense out of, though,” said Weaver. “But you’re right, it’s better for us. If he’s drinking heavily, that means he’s not on call for either of the Fairies. Which means they’re out of town and unlikely to be expecting him to make contact.”

“Which also means they won’t notice if he disappears, right?” said Fa dryly.

“Right.” He hesitated. “Look, I know you didn’t sign up for that. I’m not expecting either of you to do anything illegal or—”

“Would you shut the hell up?” she said, not unkindly. “We’re in this together. Quiet, I think I hear someone.”

They pressed back, Weaver’s palms scraping against the cold bricks, still damp with rain. The door squeaked open, and Arthur Penn stumbled out into the alleyway, belching loudly and staggering two steps before fumbling at his zipper and leaning against the opposite wall. The splash of urine sounded, and Fa caught Weaver’s eye and nodded. Silent as a cat, she drew her gun and slipped up behind the man, pressing the muzzle to the base of his skull.

“Don’t move,” she whispered.

The man reacted quicker than Weaver had thought possible, elbow flying out behind him, but Fa was quicker. She ducked under the blow, punching him hard enough in the lower back to make him groan and twisting his arm up behind him as she shoved his face into the wall. Merida took the other side, and the two of them hauled him further along the alley, out of sight of the door. It was dark this far from the streetlights, and Weaver was counting on that to keep their faces hidden from view.

“Get your fucking hands off me!” bellowed Penn.

“Shut it!” snapped Weaver. “Search him.”

Merida went through his pockets quickly, pulling out a phone which she passed to Fa, a gun, and a large knife, both of which she tossed to Weaver. He stuck the gun in his inside pocket and glanced at Fa, who was flicking at the phone with a thumb. A press of Penn’s finger against the screen unlocked it, and Fa began looking through it with one hand, the other still holding a gun to the man’s side. Weaver took a handful of Penn’s hair and twisted. There was some sort of product on it, oily against his fingers, and he leaned in close, so that he could hear the man’s ragged breathing and smell the sour stench of alcohol and fear.

“Who do you work for?” he asked pleasantly.

“Fuck you!”

“Wrong answer.”

Weaver punched him in the kidneys, and Penn let out a choking cry.

“Look, I’m freelance, okay?” he wheezed. “I’m not working for anyone! Why, you - you want something doing? Someone taking out? I’m your man, if the price is right. Buys my silence, you know?”

“Well, that’s unfortunate,” said Weaver. “I was actually hoping you’d spill your guts. Or we could do it in the more literal sense.”

He unsheathed the knife with a satisfying whisper of steel against leather, and pressed the tip of the blade against Penn’s belly, just above his belt. Penn sucked in a breath, his body freezing in place.

“Hey look, I’m - I’m sure we can come to some arrangement here!” he said, his voice grown high with panic. “Prices are - are open to negotiation! Or - or if it’s info you want, just ask!”

“Alright,” said Weaver softly. “What do you know about the Black Fairy? And the Blue Fairy?”

Silence, but for the sound of ragged, terrified breathing. Weaver pressed the point in a little harder, and Penn let out a strangled noise.

“Alright, alright!” he said desperately. “Look, I don’t know much, okay? Up from Vegas, but not wanting to muscle in on anyone’s scene here, so you can take that back to whichever boss you work for! They’re not a threat to anyone’s profit line, okay, and - and neither am I! They just wanted to clear up a little family business!”

“Go on,” said Weaver lazily.

“There’s a girl, a - a young woman calling herself Lacey Weaver, only - only that’s not her real name! Her real name’s Isabelle. Some sort of family connection. She has something the Fairies want. A - a key to something.”

“A key to what?” asked Weaver. “Money? Drugs?”

“I don’t know, honestly! I know she had to get it from a police station, but that's all I know! Could be either!”

“So what about this Lacey, then?” asked Weaver. “What’s your dealings with her?”

“I’m - I’m done with that, I swear!” he stammered. “I had to keep an eye on her, to let her know when she had to meet them, to keep tabs on her progress. Her husband’s a cop, so we had to be careful, but - but it looks like they broke up. Guess it never would have worked, I mean you should have seen her...”

Weaver tightened his grip on Penn’s hair, jaw clenching.

“And where is she now?”

“Hey.”

Fa’s voice made him look around, and he glanced at the phone she was holding up. A message from Lacey, giving what looked like a flight number, along with departure and arrival times. Weaver squinted at it. Boston, not Maine. Interesting.

“So,” he said evenly. “Looks like this Lacey’s getting the hell out of town. Any reason for that? Anything going down here that we should know about?”

“No, I swear it!” protested Penn. “I - I was asked to call someone in Maine to let them know when she lands in Boston, so they can collect her!”

“Who?” demanded Weaver. “He work for these Fairies too?”

“I - I suppose so,” said Penn. “His name's Felix, but I never met the guy, and that's all I know! Whatever business they have, it’s not here!”

Weaver leaned in again, making the knife point dig in, and Penn let out a high-pitched cry.

“You’d better not be lying to me!” he growled.

“It’s the truth, I swear it! I’m - I’m done with the Fairies, and - and as far as I know they’re done with Seattle!”

Weaver nodded grimly, and took a step back, nodding to Fa, who used the butt of her gun to strike a hard blow on the back of Penn’s head. He slumped bonelessly to the ground, and the three glanced around to check they were still undisturbed. Weaver jerked his head towards the mouth of the alleyway.

“We should get out of here,” he said.

“Just a second.”

Fa squatted down next to Penn’s prone body, using his fingertip to open up the phone again. She tossed it to Weaver.

“Here, change it to a PIN,” she said. “Just in case they decide to get in touch with our boy.”

“Good thinking,” he said, and Merida grinned.

“My girlfriend’s fucking brilliant,” she said proudly, and Fa dropped her eyes with a self-conscious smile.

Weaver quickly changed the security settings on the phone to a PIN unlock. He chose Tilly’s birthday for the code, hoping it would be a good luck charm of sorts. The alleyway around them was still quiet, and he nodded to the others.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said. “Looks like I have to catch a flight to Boston.”

“We have to catch a flight to Boston,” corrected Fa, and he sighed.

“No canoodling on the plane,” he growled.

“I don’t remember agreeing to that,” said Merida, and grasped Fa’s hand as they made their way back to Weaver’s apartment.

#fic: things left unsaid #woven lace fic #woven lace #my fic #rumbelle fic

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emptiedstage · 7 years

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Okay ! So for now, I think I’m going to be deleting any old threads that aren’t starters ! I will write a list below of who I owed, and what is being removed. If you still want our thread, give this a like and I will reply to our thread too, if not, I’d love to start something new with you...I just know that now, with the new university year starting, I won’t be able to get them all done and having anxiety over that, just isn’t healthy ! i am very sorry for any inconvenience this might have.

I’ve got to reiterate for my own piece of mind, that it is not the ship / verse that I don’t want, but the current threads that I am going to struggle to reply to. Having 60+ drafts is making my muse flat-line, and it really is because I don’t love what we have, it’s because I’m an idiot and don’t keep up with threads as well as I should do. I really want to write with everybody tagged underneath this post though, and I am really sorry for letting you down.

If you have Discord you should add me : emptiedstage#9034 so we can plot / plan / progress our verses / ships, etc, or even plot new things because I am a sucker for all the things, but knowing we can do it on Discord too, makes it a whole lot easier to deal with.

DROPPED THREADS:

@fromtrembling : harper & kian x2, megan & logan, otto & isla, gloria & stella, alistair & stella, nigel & phoenix, lola & alfred, alex & finnegan, noah & katherine, frankie & elliot, justin & patrick, val & chelsea, tonio & val, roan & patrick, joshua & andrew, ariel & brodie, pierre & lacey, annie & mia, lachlan & rupert, diana & mia, genesis & rupert, hades & persephone, toby & mia, zeus & hara, poseidon & amphitrite, harley & natalia, caelan & buster, micah & cedric, annamarie & antonio, dylan & gareth, ( keeping the dunkirk / titanic threads ) @prepaids : naila & amelia, alexander & malia, juno & paulo, murray & anastasia @alittlemercyrps : nolan & anna, julian & erin @degeneratemaidens : toby & carina, @pxstiiche: theodore & evie, carter & ava x 4, ava & buster, patrick & isabella, jasper & nina, @infamcus: reggie & scout, @idlehumanity: acacia & maggie, @hazedsea: patrick & claire, patrick & aviva, winter & aj, tiana & panda, @lovethebeardedgentleman: bethany & valerie, clara & sam, @elitiist: noah & finley, @tobeephemeral: nolan & rumer, @wineglam: tommy & freya, @perniciiem: nolan & evangeline, anabella & jasper, julian & everest, alberto & erin, @trvnquilitics: isabella & jaques, @expoir: johnny & hazel, rupert & annie, diana & jessica, chelsea & aggie, otto & daria, jacob & leah, heather & mirana, nico & lola, reggie & katelyn x 2, @mythcsborn: lucas & lozea, zaki & anna, francisco & shae, nephthys & poseidon @fatesacred: antonia & rojer, sophia & issa, tiana & larissa, mikey & eden, ashia & margaret, @interstellalips: buster & hara @prtzlstix: scarlett & shiloh @brckenones: brooke & harry, gabriel & naila, @lucywrites: eric & rory, scarlett & thalia, @droppingpetals: reid & harvey

#✕ — out of character / posts.#i'm keeping a few older threads #but yes !#this is what i'm planning #i hope this is okay with everyone

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ofsacriifices · 7 years

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PSA: RETIRED MUSES

I’ve had this multi for awhile and it’s become too overwhelming for me to manage. It’s incredibly hard having to read every name and decide if I will ever write them. I feel as though this is necessary and I don’t want to have to resort to deleting this blog altogether, so I’m afraid retiring inactive muses is what is needed to keep things manageable.

The muses:

* = test muse

Ella, Lady Mary Crawley, Lady Rose Macclare, Lavinia Swire, Tom Branson*, Matthew Crawley*, Anna Bates*, Danielle DeBarbarac, Sandy Young, Arwen, Kate Austen, Claire Littleton, Juliette Burke, Shannon Rutherford, Regina Mills, Lacey/Belle, Princess Aurora, David Nolan/Prince James, Killian Jones, Milah, Jefferson, Jacqueline, Karina Jones (OC), Christine Daae, Elizabeth Swann, Elizabeth Bennet, Rey, Jyn Erso, Leia Organa, Bella Swan, Maggie Greene, Beth Greene, Daryl Dixon*, Carol Peletier*, Lucille (personified)*, Princess Buttercup, Westley, Kara Danvers, live action Belle...

Just look at all of those muses, folks! That’s well over thirty muses I have come to love writing, want to write, or have has test muses. If I want this blog to be active and write with mun’s within those fandoms more often, I need this blog to be a stress free place for me to come to. If you’re a mutual and we have discussed thread ideas or if I have added a certain muse specifically for you that I’m dropping, let me know and said muse’s will be exclusive to just you and not advertised.

I will be back to update my muse page accordingly another time. I just wanted to keep all of you informed of the drop first.

Retired muses under the cut

While the majority of these muses are retired, some are on a hiatus until I can fully develop their bio and verses (i.e. Karina and Lucille)

Arwen

Aurora

Bella Swan

Buttercup

Christine Daae

Claire Littleton

Danielle DeBarbarac

Elizabeth Bennet

Elizabeth Swann

Ella

Jefferson

Jyn Erso

Karina (OC - on hiatus)

Kara Danvers

Lucille (personified - on hiatus)

Rey

Sandy Young

Westley

#; out of stories ( ooc )#( dropping kara is obvious given what happened at sdcc )#( but it really does pain me to drop the others or put some on a hiatus )#( maybe once i get a good handle on things #i will consider bringing some back )#( for not test muses are staying )

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backmaskcd · 11 months

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closed starter for @violenttempest ('jane') location: outside; in front of the commune

The pure desperation that had driven Nolan up to this point was like a different kind of adrenaline. He was nearly driven to madness by it, and yet here he was, finally having some evidence of where his (ex?) girlfriend had possibly wound up. The search had been long, and hard, but he absolutely refused to give up, despite almost everything pointing to the fact that he should have.

Finding Huntsville wasn't easy; and Nolan had crossed the line completely unaware of just how different his life was about to be now - both because of the Paradox, and because he had no idea what to expect when it came to the girl he used to know.

Driving into the town was weird; for the first time, he felt like he entered somewhere he shouldn't be. However, upon spotting the girl he'd been so desperate to find after all this time, he parked very haphazardly before bolting out of the car towards her, entire face lighting up. "Willow!" He called, grabbing her shoulder to turn to face him, pulling her into a hug. "Holy fuck I can't believe it's actually you I've been looking for you for so long."

#nolan lacey ; threads #nolan and willow 1 #i hope this is okay!

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backmaskcd · 4 months

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closed starter for @violenttempest (willow/jane) location: the commune

Nolan had been putting off going to get the rest of his stuff from the commune; partly because just getting out of bed was hard most days. However, he finally pulled himself off Savannah's couch on a day he was hoping that Willow - Jane? - was busy. Getting into the room was painful enough, and as he was putting the rest of his belongings in his bag, he straightened up to see his ex girlfriend standing in the doorway. Or maybe it was her ghost. Nolan wasn't entirely sure.

"Oh. Um. Hi." He swallowed hard, finding it difficult to even look at her, so he moved his eyes just to the left of her. "Sorry - I didn't want to bug you but I figured I should just um. Get the rest of my stuff."

#nolan and willow 5 #nolan lacey ; threads

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backmaskcd · 7 months

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closed starter for @ghostsbrokenbyfairytales (savannah) location: outside the commune

He had thought it was just another February day when he had woken up that morning; it all started normal enough - or what passed for normal in Huntsville - and he was going to go grab some breakfast for him and Willow at the coffee shop, but he stopped in his tracks as he spotted his sister just as he was leaving the commune, a frown creasing his forehead.

"Savannah?"

#nolan lacey ; threads #nolan and savannah 1

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backmaskcd · 8 months

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closed starter for @violenttempest (Willow/Jane) location: the commune

It had been almost two months since Nolan had come to town and started staying with Willow at the commune, and while he definitely wasn't used to it, he had settled into a comfortable enough routine. Much to his excitement, he'd noticed that Willow had seemed to be getting back to her old self, too.

"Hey, Willow," his cheeks were red from being outside as he stuck his head in their room, eyes bright. "Are you busy? I thought maybe we could grab a hot drink and walk around a little." He hadn't bothered to take the time to appreciate anything that Huntsville was, but now that there were cute snowmen and other snow creations to look at, he thought it might be the perfect time.

#nolan lacey ; threads #nolan and willow 3

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backmaskcd · 10 months

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Closed starter for @callofthxvoid Location: Around

Getting used to Huntsville was still a day by day process. Nolan often felt like he was an alien in a strange world most of the time, often going through the days in something that felt like a fog. He wondered vaguely if he'd ever get used to it when someone caught his eye - and it wasn't Willow.

"Wait - Lettie?" Rubbing his eyes hard for a minute to try to figure out if he was dreaming or seeing things, he closed them hard before opening them again. "Holy shit what are you doing here? And when?"

#nolan lacey ; threads #nolan and lettie 1

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backmaskcd · 10 months

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closed starter for @ghostsbrokenbyfairytales (jae-sung) location: the sasquatch

It probably wasn't the best idea for Nolan to be drinking in his current state, but if you couldn't drink when you were depressed, when could you? Unfortunately for the man next to him, it also made him a little too chatty. "What the fuck is even up with this town, anyway? How do you live like this?"

#nolan lacey ; threads #nolan and jae sung

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backmaskcd · 10 months

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closed starter for @ambercast (quinn) location: the commune

The past few days were a blur to Nolan; he was trying to adjust to everything but it all felt like a waterfall pressing down on his body. He was trying to give Willow space, but everything felt weird. However, if there was one person he needed to track down, it was Quinn.

"Hey - you're Quinn, right? Willow's talked about you." He gave her a wary look. "You've been helping her?"

#nolan lacey ; threads #nolan and quinn 1

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backmaskcd · 3 months

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closed starter for @ghostsbrokenbyfairytales (savannah)

Nolan was starting to feel like he'd overstayed his welcome at Savannah's. She hadn't said anything to him, of course, but there was no way his attitude was good for her.

"I've been looking into an apartment," Nolan offered that day at breakfast. "So hopefully soon I'll be out of your hair. I know it would probably just be easier to move back into the commune, but... emotionally, I'm not really ready for that yet. But at least you'll get your spare room back."

#nolan lacey ; threads #nolan and savannah 2

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backmaskcd · 7 days

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closed starter for @violenttempest (jane) location: main street

"Jane!" The name still felt foreign in his mouth, but Nolan was trying to respect the other's wishes. She didn't want to be Willow anymore; everything about that part of her life was painful, if remembered at all. He had avoided her for long enough; he missed her like crazy. But when he had gone to visit at the commune, she was nowhere to be seen. "Hey - I was looking for you. I was told you don't live in the commune anymore?"

#nolan lacey ; threads #nolan and jane

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emospritelet · 5 years

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[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9][Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14]

AO3 link

Last time in the present, Weaver opened up a new investigation into what Lacey could be mixed up in. Centre of operations: Nolan's garage.

Present Day

Weaver ran his eyes over the whiteboard again, pausing to take a slurp of beer.

“How are things going with Lacey, anyway?” asked Nolan, and he growled something, running a hand over his chin in frustration.

“I don’t bloody know,” he sighed. “I suggested spending some time together this weekend. She didn’t say no, but…” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think I’m kidding myself, trying to make it work, and sometimes it’s like I can see glimpses of the old Lacey. Sometimes I think she still loves me.”

“I don’t think she ever stopped,” said Nolan gently. “I’m sure it’s just - whatever this threat to her is. Nothing else.”

Weaver shrugged again, and took another drink.

“You know, you guys can always borrow our cabin again, if you want to get away for a few days,” added Nolan and Weaver gave him a wry smile.

“What, a second honeymoon?” he said. “I don’t think we’re ready for that, but thanks for the offer. I need to work out what the hell has her so scared. If I can find that out, and fucking deal with it so it can’t hurt her again, maybe we’ll be okay. Maybe.”

“What about asking Fa to help out?” asked Nolan.

Weaver shook his head.

“I don’t want her involved,” he said. “It’s not as though there’s a case to crack, unless you count Heller’s murder.”

“You think she’d care about that?”

Weaver eyed him.

“She’s even more of a stickler for the rules than you were,” he said. “Good detective, though.”

“Exactly. Maybe a fresh pair of eyes…”

Weaver shook his head.

“Look, I don’t know where I’m gonna end up by following these threads,” he sighed, gesturing at the whiteboard. “Could be nothing. Could be a massive pile of shit’s about to drop on me, and if that’s the case, I don’t want it landing on her too. If this is something that brings me down, I don’t want her taking a fall with me.”

“She’d want to help,” insisted Nolan, and Weaver shook his head, rolling the board marker between his fingers.

“I won’t do it,” he said shortly. “Not again.”

Nolan sighed, the wheels on his chair squeaking as he moved nearer.

“Look, man,” he said gently. “Would you stop blaming yourself for what happened to me? I didn’t have to follow you in there that night. It wasn’t your fault, any more than it was my fault, okay?”

Weaver was silent, and Nolan shook his head.

“Fa would want to help,” he said again. “She’s gonna kick your ass if she finds out you put yourself in danger without telling her about it.”

“Who says I’m in danger?” asked Weaver impatiently. “At the moment all I have is - is a bloody whiteboard! A whiteboard filled with loose connections that don’t even make sense!”

“So let’s make some sense of a few of them,” suggested Nolan. “You did say we needed a bottom feeder. How about we go and call on a rat?”

Weaver raised an eyebrow.

“Hamelin, you mean?” he asked. “I suppose the little shit’s due a visit. I’ve been paying him to keep his eyes open, but I’ve had nothing useful out of him in weeks.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Weaver stared at him for a moment, then shook his head.

“Snow would kill me.”

“She wouldn’t! Besides, she asked me to go fetch some takeout in time for her getting back with Neal. If we left now, and we happened to take a detour…”

“I am not taking you on an expedition to interrogate an informant!” snapped Weaver.

“I’m just saying we head down to the bars he hangs out in and get a drink,” said Nolan easily. “Nothing’s gonna happen.”

“Well, now you’ve fucking jinxed it. We’re both dead.”

“Come on, let me live a little!”

“I’d prefer to let you live a lot.”

“Weaver, come on,” pressed Nolan. “Just this once! We can do the old ‘good cop bad cop’ routine.”

Weaver sighed heavily, fixing him with a flat stare.

“If you get killed, they’d better shoot me too, because if Snow gets to me I doubt I’ll have a quick death.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Nolan took the unfinished beer from him. “Come on, I’ll drive.”

Rain was starting to fall again as Weaver entered the bar, trickling down inside his collar and making him shiver. At six-fifty it was relatively quiet, a large screen blasting out highlights of a football game with the few customers eyeing it over their beers. Weaver’s mouth flattened as he spied a small, thin man turn away from the bar and walk swiftly to the rear. He followed, fists opening and clenching, and the man quickened his pace until he was almost running. The rear door squeaked open under his hurried shove, and Weaver heard a muffled cry of surprise and pain. Heading through the door into a narrow alleyway, he could see the man sprawled on the ground with Nolan’s large hand twisted in his collar.

“Sorry about that, friend,” said Nolan genially. “Didn’t see you there. This chair’s a bitch to manoeuvre.”

“Let me go, you asshole!” snapped the little man. “You touch me and you’re fucking dead meat! I know people, you got me?”

“Alright, give him here,” said Weaver, in a bored voice. “Hamelin, get your arse up before I fucking drag you.”

Hamelin gave him an ingratiating smile, somewhat spoiled by the missing tooth on his upper jaw. He was a hollow-cheeked, rat-faced man with a long nose and thin dark hair, and he squawked a little as Weaver hauled him upright by the lapels of his leather jacket and shoved him against the wall.

“W-Weaver!” he said, his voice high with anxiety. “I - I didn’t realise it was you!”

“Bollocks,” said Weaver, in a flat tone. “Where’ve you been hiding? I’ve had nothing out of you in fucking weeks. Do you think you can take my money and just piss it up the wall?”

“Hey, if there was something going on I’d tell you in a second!” protested Hamelin. “But it’s been real quiet around here lately, and—”

“I just raided a fucking meth lab earlier today, don’t fucking lie to me!” snapped Weaver. “That has to have caused some gossip amongst the fucking scum you like to drink with.”

“Well, I’m not saying you’re making Seattle’s top ten of favourite cops in this place, but—”

“Anyway, that’s not why we’re here,” interrupted Weaver. “I need some info on someone in town. Someone new.”

Hamelin glanced rapidly from left to right, as though checking they were still alone.

“Who?” he asked suspiciously.

“I don’t know,” said Weaver, cursing his lack of solid facts as Hamelin curled his lip in derision.

“Is this a joke? You want me to tell you about someone but you don’t know who?”

“Someone who turned up maybe four months ago,” said Weaver, using as accurate a date as he could. “Maybe they stayed around, maybe not, but if not, they’re at least visiting regularly.”

“Someone big enough to scare your usual drinking buddies,” added Nolan, and Hamelin eyed him for a moment before shrugging.

“I - I have no idea who you could mean.”

“You know, for an informant you’re remarkably ill-fucking-informed.”

“Weaver, you’re killing me…”

“Not at the moment I’m not,” said Weaver coldly. “But all that could easily change, as I’m sure you remember.”

“Come on, man!” Hamelin spread his hands in protest. “I have to walk these streets when we’re done!”

“I’m not asking you to bloody well spy on them for me!” snapped Weaver.

“All we need is a name and description,” added Nolan. “We can take it from there. Just tell anyone who asks that we forced you into it.”

“I can always beat you up from the sake of authenticity, if it makes things easier,” offered Weaver, and Hamelin flinched.

“Alright, alright!” he snapped. “I might have heard - something.”

“Good.” Weaver shoved him back against the wall again. “Spill.”

“They call her the Black Fairy,” he said. “Dark hair and expensive suits. Probably one of those cougar-types, you know? Word is she’s hot as hell but would cut your balls off soon as look at you. I heard she was up from Vegas.”

“What for?”

“Business.”

“With who?”

“I don’t know, man. None of the usual crowd, that’s for sure. The whisper is that it was something personal.”

“Personal?” Weaver frowned. “As in family?”

“I don’t know,” insisted Hamelin. “Don’t even know her name, only that she’s called the Black Fairy. Apparently there’s a Blue Fairy as well. Doesn’t sound too bad, right, but I’ve seen grown men twice your size shut their mouths and back the fuck away when they’re mentioned. Real heavy hitters down in the desert. Escorted around the place by huge dead-eyed fucks who’d feed you feet-first into a mincer for looking at their boss wrong, you know what I’m saying?”

“I know,” said Weaver quietly, thinking hard. Vegas again. I wonder… “When did they arrive?”

Hamelin screwed up his nose, the gesture making him look even more ratlike.

“Can’t be sure, but I first got whispers of ‘em a few months ago. Late summer, I guess.”

“And you said nothing?” said Weaver flatly. “What the hell do I pay you for?”

“Hey, I didn’t know you’d be interested!” he protested. “Not like they were causing trouble! Just turned up, did their business and went home again.”

“How often?”

“Can’t say for sure,” said Hamelin. “I heard a rumour the Blue Fairy was here this week. No description of her, though.”

“Anyone got more information on this rumour?” asked Weaver.

“No one who’ll talk to you.”

“Then it’s a good thing I have you to ask questions for me, isn’t it?”

“Give me a fucking break, man! You don’t pay me enough to risk my neck!”

“You’re a dramatic little bitch!” growled Weaver.

“Yeah, and I wanna stay that way!”

“This business,” said Nolan calmly, drawing Hamelin’s attention again. “What was it? Drugs? Guns?”

“No idea,” he said, with a shrug. “Like I said. Personal. Nothing that moved in on any of the local big bads, anyhow. Far as I can tell the Fairies paid their respects and were in and out nice as you please.”

“And all you know are their bloody nicknames?” asked Weaver. “Black and Blue Fairies? You sure you’re not just taking the fucking piss?”

“Hey, would I lie to my favourite detective?”

“You’d sell out your grandmother for a half-eaten hotdog,” said Weaver flatly.

“That’s harsh, Weaver. I’m wounded. I’m in actual physical pain here.”

“Shut up.” Weaver glanced at Nolan. “What do you think?”

“Vegas again,” said Nolan, echoing his own thoughts, and Weaver nodded grimly.

“So - so that’s everything,” added Hamelin, and cocked his head to the side. “You gonna let me down and pay me, or what?”

Weaver eyed him suspiciously, and released his lapels, stepping back and reaching inside his jacket for some cash. Hamelin brushed himself down, tugging his jacket straight, and took the money.

“Pleasure doing business with you, detective,” he said, flipping a salute.

“You hear anything on these - Fairies,” said Weaver. “You let me know, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear.”

“You want me to punch you in the face?” asked Weaver, and Hamelin sighed heavily.

“Alright,” he said resignedly. “I guess a bruise or two would help if anyone asks what you two wanted. Just - not the nose, okay?”

“So,” said Nolan, as they made their way back to his car. “You think these - Fairies - and Lacey are linked?”

“I don’t know,” said Weaver grimly, massaging his knuckles. “The timing matches up, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“Vegas again, though,” offered Nolan.

“Yeah. Could be a coincidence. Not like Sin City is short on criminals.”

"You don't believe in coincidences, remember?"

"Yeah, but this time I want to. Better that than think she's in serious danger." He grimaced. "Fuck, I hate this! I hate feeling fucking useless!"

“Give yourself a break, you're doing what you can.” Nolan pointed his keys at the car, unlocking it as he rolled up. “What are you gonna do now?”

“Follow my gut, I guess,” sighed Weaver. “Heller’s murder is making my nose twitch. There’s something there. Something I need to find.”

“We couldn’t find anything before,” Nolan reminded him.

“I know.” Weaver shoved his hands in his pockets, hunching his shoulders against the falling rain. “But maybe we were looking in the wrong place.”

The next day, Weaver went into work feeling more positive than he had been in months. Even if he had no answers, it helped to be looking into things. It gave him at least the appearance of being in control of his own destiny, if nothing else.

He parked at the precinct and walked to the deli around the corner, buying a box of mixed donuts and heading back with it under his arm. It was a relatively fine day, enough that he had needed to don his sunglasses, and the weather further lifted his mood. The scent of coffee was filtering along the corridor as he neared the office, and Merida glanced around as he entered.

“Ah, fresh coffee,” he said, with relish. “Just the thing to make this beautiful morning perfect. Did I ever tell you how much I appreciate you, Officer Dunbroch?”

“Not usually,” she said. “What’s got you in such a good mood? You get laid last night, or something?”

Weaver frowned.

“You have a one-track mind,” he said. “Anyway, I need a favour.”

She looked suspicious.

“Thought there must be something,” she said. “What kind of a favour?”

“The dull, boring, monotonous kind,” he said apologetically, and opened the box. “Look, I bring donuts as a bribe.”

“God, this favour must be boring as fuck,” she declared, but took a donut anyway. “Go on, let’s hear it.”

"That cold case you pulled for me," he said, as she took a bite. "The victim was a lawyer. I need you to go through his client list and pick out any that had dealings in Las Vegas. Either that, or any with a connection to - to some other part of the US.”

“Which other part?”

“I don’t know.”

"How many clients are we talking?"

"Couple of hundred."

Merida stared at him incredulously as she chewed and swallowed, lips shiny with sugar glaze.

“Oh, right,” she said sarcastically. “So when you said it was boring and monotonous, you weren’t kidding.”

“Did I mention the donuts?”

“That’ll take me bloody ages!” she complained.

“Your social life suddenly more interesting, or something?” he enquired, and was amused to see her blush.

“Shut up.”

“Admit that you have a date with Fa, and I swear I’ll say nothing further on the subject.”

She glared at him as she gestured with the half-eaten donut, red curls swinging.

“It’s drinks and a movie, that’s it!”

“Sounds like a date to me.”

“Do you want me to do your bloody searches or not?”

“Please,” he said cheerfully. “Anything that points to an area outside of Seattle. But prioritise those with a Vegas connection.”

“And what are you gonna do?”

“Try to get through the cases that Drake keeps piling on my desk,” he said, eyeing his in-tray.

“So you’re looking into that murder case again, then?” she enquired. “Better not step on Homicide’s toes.”

“No one’s looked at that case in years, it’s colder than the Arctic,” he said dismissively. “I just have a hunch, that’s all.”

“Well, those usually turn out okay,” she said. “I’d better get started. You can pour your own bloody coffee.”

“Happy to.”

“Pour one for me while you’re at it,” she added, and stuffed the rest of the donut into her mouth before taking another.

Weaver did work through his new cases, dealing with quick queries before moving on to those that required more of his attention. He worked through lunch, and once he had set the last aside, he continued his investigation into Lacey. Since he had temporarily hit a wall on her present difficulties, he had decided to concentrate on her past, about which he knew precious little. He knew her name and date of birth, but as far as her family went, he had nothing. He was aware that she had kept in touch with a friend from Maine, but he had no idea who it was, or if they were even a relative.

She was an American citizen, so there must have been a record of the family’s naturalisation, but searching the name French yielded nothing that linked to Lacey. Weaver tapped his fingers on the desk, frowning. An uneasy feeling was spreading up from his spine, a twinge in his gut that he had learned to trust over the years. He stopped searching under French, and instead started looking for immigrants from Australia naturalised in Nevada over a five year-period covering the time between Lacey’s fifth and tenth birthday. A list of records popped up, and after reading through it carefully, Weaver sat back with a sigh. No one by the name of French, or anything even remotely similar. As he had thought.

He sat forward, eyes running down the list, and they narrowed as he caught something. Schwartz. A familiar name, and one which was making that twinge in his gut increase. Weaver stroked his chin, nodding grimly before picking up his pencil and notepad. This was going to take some time.

“Got your searches done.”

Merida’s voice made him start, and he sat back, clicking at the computer screen to minimise what he had been doing.

“I sent you an email,” she added. “Take a look. I put them in name order, but you can change it around if you like.”

"Any more coffee?"

"God, no rest for the fucking wicked!" she grumbled.

"I could use the caffeine."

"I bet," she said sternly. "Did you even eat lunch?"

"No."

"There's four donuts right there," she said, pointing at the open box.

"I wasn't hungry," he said impatiently.

"Oh, starve to death, see if I care,” she snapped. “Just look at your bloody searches."

Weaver opened up the email, clicking on the spreadsheet she had attached, filled with a list of names, dates of birth and addresses.

“So, his clients were a miserable bunch of petty crooks and drunks, seems to me,” she said. “Very good at getting arrested, not much going for them otherwise. Most of them seem to have family willing to bail ‘em out, so I focused on the ones with out of town connections.”

“Good. What’s the verdict?”

“There were several with relatives in California,” she went on, gesturing at the screen. “This one had a base in Maine, there are two with summer homes in New Jersey… How do you manage to get a bloody summer home, anyway? I can barely afford the one I’ve got. I guess the guys on your list were the black sheep of the family, huh?”

“Did you say Maine?” he asked, and she shrugged, peering at the screen.

“Address given was care of someone in Storybrooke, Maine.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Neither had I, until I looked it up,” she said. “Couldn’t resist, the name was too cute, and it’s exactly what you’d think a town called Storybrooke would be. Small town on the coast, fishing port, regular bake sales and local artisan crafts... Sounds so quaint you want to kill yourself.”

“Long way from Vegas.”

“So’s Seattle.”

Weaver grunted.

“Okay, thanks for that,” he said. “Anything else leap out at you?”

“Not really. You can go through the list in your own time, though.”

“I will.” He looked up at her. “Are you done for the day?”

“Pretty much. A few of us are heading to Roni’s for a drink. Want to come?”

“No. Lacey’s bringing Tilly over in an hour.”

“Oh. Well, give them both my love.”

“I will.”

“And don’t work too late, either.”

“Yes, Mum.”

She shot him a look, then took a donut and stomped out again, leaving him with a faint grin on his face. Weaver turned back to his computer, running his eyes down the list that Merida had compiled. There’s something here. I know it.

Lacey was tired: stress, guilt and anxiety had been stealing her sleep and wearing her down, and she wanted nothing more than to go home and crawl into bed and drink hot chocolate. Preferably with her husband and their daughter, just like old times. Instead she was on her way to drop Tilly off with Weaver for a few days, and it was the last thing she wanted to do. The fine day had ended poorly; the evening was dark and miserable, driving rain turning to sleet as she walked swiftly along the street to the precinct with Tilly balanced on her hip and the little suitcase being wheeled along beside her.

“I’m hungry,” Tilly grumbled.

“You can have dinner with Daddy, okay?” she said soothingly.

“I want pizza.”

“Maybe Daddy’ll make you pizza for dinner.”

“I want Daddy home.”

Lacey squeezed her eyes shut momentarily.

“I know, sweetie.” She kissed Tilly’s cheek. “I’m sorry.”

She felt like crying again, so she was relieved when Tilly fell silent. Lacey’s legs wobbled a little as she entered the precinct, and she let Tilly slip to the ground, grasping her hand to lead her inside. Her heart was thumping hard in her chest, nerves making her breath catch. The officer at the front desk smiled in recognition, and nodded her through, and Lacey tried to calm her racing heart as she led Tilly along the corridor.

“Daddy!” said Tilly excitedly.

Weaver looked up from his desk, a broad smile breaking across his face as he saw them, and Lacey felt guilt stabbing at her, raking her innards with steel claws. Lacey released Tilly’s hand and let her run to him, and Weaver swung her up in his arms and hugged her tight.

“Hey, princess.” He kissed her cheek. “Have you been a good girl?”

“Yes,” said Tilly stoutly. “I want pizza.”

He laughed, and kissed her again.

“Well, let’s see what we can do about that,” he said, and turned her around to sit on his knee. Lacey slumped into the chair opposite with a heavy sigh.

“You alright?” he asked, and she nodded.

“Fine,” she lied. “Just tired. You on your own here?”

“Everyone’s gone to Roni’s,” he said, with a shrug. “Fa and Dunbroch finally have a date, by the way.”

Lacey smiled faintly.

“Good for them.”

“Yeah.” Weaver bounced Tilly on his knee. “Anything planned for the next couple of days?”

Lacey shifted uneasily.

“Laundry and crappy TV, mostly,” she said. “You?”

“Well, I thought I might take Tilly swimming,” he said.

“Yeah!” said Tilly excitedly.

“I didn’t pack her suit,” said Lacey.

“That’s okay, I can drop by your place and pick one up,” he said. “If that’s alright.”

“Sure.”

Tilly slipped from Weaver’s lap and wandered over to inspect the contents of the waste paper basket, and Weaver caught Lacey’s eye. He looked hesitant, as though he wanted to say something but was unsure how she would react. She hated that she made him feel that way.

“You know you said maybe we could spend some time together this weekend?” he said. “Nolan offered us his cabin.”

“Not really the weather for a trip to the woods, is it?”

“It’s just a thought,” he said wearily, sitting back, as though in defeat.

“Sorry.” Sharp needles of guilt pierced her. “I’m sorry. I’ll think about it.”

He nodded, but he wasn’t looking at her, his gaze turned to his computer screen. It was locked, a square box asking for a password. She took a deep breath, steeling herself. It was time.

“Oh, since I’m here, I wanted to ask you something,” she said, in a casual tone. “You know that murder I witnessed, the night we met? What was the guy’s name again? Hector, Hiller…”

“Heller,” said Weaver, looking back at her. “Isaac Heller.”

“That’s it.” She shifted in her seat. “You ever crack that case?”

He eyed her for a moment, then glanced away.

“No,” he said. “We thought we’d found out who the murderers were, remember, but we couldn’t prove who had hired them. Then after Nolan was shot, they turned up dead, so there wasn’t enough hard evidence to make any arrests…” He shrugged, the irritation over an unsolved case evident in the gesture. “Case is cold. Why?”

“Oh, because someone mentioned him in The Rabbit Hole last night,” she said, and held up a hand as he opened his mouth. “Before you say anything, I wasn’t working. I just went to pick up my wages. Garrett wasn’t even there.”

He nodded, sitting forward and clearing the scowl from his face.

“Who mentioned Isaac Heller, and what did they say?”

“Don’t know who it was,” she said vaguely. “Never seen ‘em before, and I wasn’t really paying attention, but then one of them mentioned ‘the lawyer that got pulled out of the harbour’, and he was the only one I could think of.”

“Okay.” Weaver grabbed a notebook and pencil. “Tell me exactly what was said.”

“Hmm.” Lacey chewed her lip. “Exactly? I think it was something like ‘you know, that lawyer that got pulled out of the harbour? I thought he hadn’t paid his debts, but it turns out he had information’. And then the other guy said ‘what kind of information?’ and the first guy said ‘a code. The key to a pile of cash’. That’s what made me think it must be our guy, because we found that key, remember? And - and that code, written on the sticky note?”

Weaver stopped scribbling and looked up, his eyes narrowing a little.

“Right,” he said. “There was a note. A series of letters and numbers. You said it looked like a wifi password.”

Lacey shrugged.

“What do I know? Maybe not. What if it’s a code to get into something else? Like - like a computer program, or - or whatever those guys were talking about. Maybe he was waiting to hand it over, and he got killed before I could turn up with the package, right?”

“Maybe,” he said slowly. “We’re reaching, but maybe you’re right. I know we couldn’t find any obvious use for the code based on Heller’s belongings or internet accounts.”

“Well, I guess it’s been awhile since you saw it,” she said, with a shrug. “Maybe you should take a look.”

He sat back slowly, his face expressionless.

“I don’t work Homicide anymore.”

“Oh, so you don’t want to solve the murder?” She shrugged again. “I guess I can understand that. No point doing someone else’s work, right?”

Weaver tapped his pencil against his notebook. She was aware it was an unconscious habit of his, indicating that he was thinking. His eyes never left hers, and it made her want to squirm, as though she was the murderer herself. As though she was guilty.

“Wait here,” he said abruptly, and got up, striding from the room.

Lacey sat back in her chair with a sigh, glancing around the place and keeping half an eye on Tilly, who had climbed onto Weaver’s chair and was making it spin around by kicking at the edge of his desk.

“I wanna pee,” she said.

“Wait until Daddy gets back, okay?”

Tilly blew a raspberry, head rolling back as the chair turned around, and Lacey stilled her restless feet from tapping on the tiled floor. She folded her hands in her lap, trying to present as calm and uninterested a picture as possible, and after a few minutes Weaver returned with an envelope in his hands. He opened it up, pulling out a piece of thick paper folded into thirds.

“This is what you were due to deliver to the victim,” he said.

“Yeah, I remember,” she said, in an offhand tone.

“Daddy, I wanna pee,” said Tilly insistently, and Weaver glanced across at her.

“Can you take her?” asked Lacey with a sigh. “My feet are killing me.”

“No problem.” Weaver dropped the envelope and the piece of paper onto his desk, and held out his hand. “Come on, sweetheart.”

Tilly slipped from the chair, reaching up to take his hand, and he led her from the office into the corridor where the restrooms were housed. Lacey craned her neck to check they had gone, and sat up, grabbing the envelope and tipping it upside down. A tiny silver key fell out into her hand, and Lacey set it on the desk before reaching into her pocket for a key of a similar size. She fretted a little over the differences, but she doubted they would be enough to cause suspicion; two safe deposit box keys looked much alike. She dropped it into the envelope, setting it back on the desk in what she thought was the same position as Weaver had left it. She then pocketed the original key, pulling her phone from her pocket and flicking it to camera mode, then leaned forward to open up the paper itself.

It was good quality paper, smooth between her fingers, with a single sentence written in black ink and a green sticky note with a seemingly random sequence of letters and numbers on it. She took pictures, one of the paper itself, and two of the note, each focused to give the best view of the code. Carefully folding the paper again, she replaced it on the desk, checking both its position and the envelope’s to ensure they would appear undisturbed from where Weaver had dropped them.

Sitting back in the chair, she slipped her phone back into her pocket, hearing a tiny clink as it knocked against the stolen key, and tried to calm her racing heart as she waited for Weaver to return. He was back with her in a couple of minutes, Tilly clutching his hand.

“Look, I’d better get going,” said Lacey. “Crappy TV shows won’t watch themselves.”

“You know, you’re always welcome to come for dinner,” he said.

She tried to smile, guilt biting at her, gnawing at her.

“Maybe some other time.”

He glanced at the evidence on his desk, and she felt her heart thump, sudden fear that he could sense what she had done.

“I’ll take a look at the Heller thing tomorrow,” he said. “If you hang on for five minutes, I’ll check this back into the evidence room and give you a lift home.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” she said hastily.

“I do if I want to pick up Tilly’s swimsuit.”

“Right,” she said lamely. “Yeah. Sure.”

Weaver picked up the letter, sliding it back into the envelope with the fake key.

“Back in a minute,” he said.

Lacey slumped back in the chair as he left, arms going around Tilly as she climbed onto her lap.

“I want pizza,” she grumbled.

“I know, baby.” Lacey kissed the top of her head. “Daddy’s gonna buy you pizza.”

“You come too?”

“I can’t, sweetie, I’m sorry.”

“Why not?”

Tilly looked up at her curiously, dark eyes wide, and Lacey sighed.

“I have to work,” she lied.

“Oh.” Tilly wrinkled her nose. “Work is stupid!”

“Yeah, it sure is.”

Tilly snuggled against her chest and stuck her thumb in her mouth, and Lacey kissed her head again, breathing in the scent of her. The sound of Weaver’s footsteps made her look around, and she watched as he grabbed his jacket and pulled it on. He nodded to her brusquely, not quite meeting her eyes, and there was something in his face: a weariness that made her heart clench. She hated that she was probably the cause.

“Right,” he said. “Let’s get going.”

The journey back to the apartment was made in near silence, the only break in it Tilly seeking assurance that they would indeed be going for pizza afterwards. Weaver carried her case up to the apartment, and Tilly jumped onto the couch and reached for the TV remote as he and Lacey went into her room to retrieve the swimsuit. The sound of a cartoon had started up in the lounge, something bright and cheerful, and Lacey was glad of the noise. Anything to lift the cold, heavy silence that seemed to follow her around. She rummaged in the third drawer of the dresser.

“She likes the octopus one,” she said, fishing out a blue swimsuit.

“Thanks.”

“Hang on, there are water wings in the box under the bed.”

She could feel him watching her as she pulled out the box, pushing aside toys and books and retrieving the orange plastic water wings. She shoved the box back under, pushing to her feet and holding them out. Weaver nodded, taking them from her and opening up the little suitcase before dropping them in along with the swimsuit.

“Looks like we’re all set,” he said.

“Have fun.”

He zipped the case and paused a moment, tented fingers resting on the outer shell, eyes staring at nothing.

“Guess I’ll see you Friday,” she added. “You’d better go get that pizza.”

“Lacey,” he said quietly. “Just - just a minute.”

He had turned to face her, and was watching her with dark eyes, his expression something she couldn’t quite interpret. Love, perhaps, though God knew she had done nothing to deserve it. Love tinged with sadness, with quiet desperation. It made the well of tears inside her rise up, threatening to overflow and drown her in sorrow.

“Whatever’s going on with you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You know - you know you can tell me anything, right? You know I would never judge you, that I’d want to help you.”

“You can’t,” she said abruptly, and wanted to bite her tongue. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping the tears wouldn’t spill out. “What I mean is, there’s nothing I need help with.”

He was still staring at her, and it hurt, as though his gaze could pierce her chest and see into her soul. As though there was something there worth saving. She clenched her jaw, raising her chin.

“I know you think there’s some big secret I’m keeping, Rafe,” she said clearly. “Something that I’m not letting you in on, for whatever reason you’ve cooked up in that mind of yours.”

“Well, that’s because you’re a terrible liar, and I’m not stupid,” he said stiffly. “And because I know you. I know you need my help, and I know you’re too brave and too bloody stubborn to ask for it.”

“I’m not brave,” she muttered.

“You are,” he said, and his tone was gentle again. “You’re the bravest person I know.”

I’m not, I’m a fucking coward!

“I don’t need your help,” she snapped, raising her hands and letting them fall against her thighs with a slap. “God, it’d be so much easier if there was some dark tale of bloody woe I was keeping from you! It would probably hurt less than the truth!”

“‘The truth’,” he said flatly. “I’m still waiting for the bloody truth!”

“I told you—”

“No.” He shook his head, sadness in his eyes. “You haven’t. But I’ll wait. And - and I’ll go on waiting, Lacey. Whenever you want to tell me, I’ll be waiting to hear it.”

Lacey stepped forward.

“But the truth is just - ordinary,” she said gently. “No terrible secrets, no dark deeds to discover. Just two people who don’t belong together. Happens every day. This time it happened to us. That’s all there is. That’s it.”

There was silence for a moment, a long, terrible moment in which he held her gaze, the twitch of his mouth the only hint that she had stuck a dagger in his heart and twisted it. It made her want to break down and weep, to fall into his arms and beg forgiveness. Her lower lip trembled, and she snatched at it with her teeth to hold it still. Blood bloomed on her tongue, the taste of iron and salt, and her eyes stung with tears. He had glanced away from her, his face tight with pain, but he took a breath before meeting her eyes again.

“Nevertheless,” he said, his voice hoarse and heavy with emotion. “If you need my help for any reason, all you have to do is ask.”

“I already told you—”

“Any reason,” he repeated. “I mean it. We’re still friends, no matter what. I still love you, Lacey. I always will.”

She didn’t trust herself to speak, her fists clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms to distract her from the pain in her heart. He finally looked away, before glancing back, nodding once, and grasping the case in his hand. Footsteps echoed back at her as he walked through the apartment, the sound of him leaving, and she closed her eyes. He wouldn’t give up on her. He would never give up on her.

#fic: things left unsaid #woven lace fic #rumbelle fic #my fic #woven lace

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emospritelet · 5 years

Text

Chapter 13 is up. Last time in the present, Lacey told Weaver that she wanted to try to make things work, and that she was going to try to be more open with him. And then she asked him to stay the night.

I'm not saying that you HAVE to have read the prequel Opening Lines before reading this, because it'll make sense without it, but there will be references in this chapter to things that happened in that fic, so if you think ‘wait, when did that happen’, that’s why.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9][Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12]

AO3 link

Present Day

Weaver woke slowly, the scent of fresh coffee drifting into his nose and pulling him out of a pleasant dream. He rolled onto his back, ears registering the sound of the bedroom door opening, and ran a hand over his face, groggy with sleep.

“Daddy!”

Weaver grunted as Tilly landed on his chest with a thump and a giggle. He opened his eyes a crack, and she was perched on his belly, grinning at him in red pyjamas with a cartoon fire-breathing dragon on the chest. Weaver pushed up onto his elbows, the covers falling from his shoulders as he put an arm around her and kissed the top of her head, hugging her close.

“Mornin’ darling,” he murmured, and Tilly settled against his chest, raising a hand to pat his right nipple.

“You got no clothes on!” she said accusingly, and he rubbed an eye, yawning.

“Yeah, I know, sweetheart. I forgot to bring my jammies, okay?”

“Mummy got jammies!” she said brightly, as if that was the obvious solution.

“She does,” agreed Weaver. “And very pretty they look on her, but I doubt they’d fit me.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Lacey’s voice from the doorway made him look up. “I think you’d look good in the red flannel pair. Maybe a little tight on the butt, but that’s not a bad thing.”

She was smiling slightly, but it didn’t reach her eyes, which were dark and troubled. Her arms were folded, as though she was protecting herself, her shoulders a little hunched. Weaver shifted, arm tightening around Tilly as he sat up.

“You okay?” he asked cautiously.

“Sure, why wouldn’t I be?” She looked away, towards the kitchen. “You want coffee?”

“Thank you.”

Tilly had stuck her thumb in her mouth, and he kissed her forehead. Lacey was watching them, chewing her lip with an expression he couldn’t interpret, but she nodded and turned away without a word.

Weaver sighed, settling back in the pillows as Tilly snuggled against him. It had been a long night, and Lacey had been fierce and desperate and passionate. By the feel of it, his back had several rows of scratches, and he was tired and aching all over. He had poured every ounce of feeling into the sex, and she had cried and clung to him and said she was sorry, though for what he wasn’t sure, and he hadn’t pressed her for an explanation. It was the most unguarded they had been with one another in months, even though it almost felt like she was saying goodbye, but in the cold light of day it seemed that they were back to square one. So be it. Nolan was right. He was a bloody detective, after all, and Lacey had been a mystery for far too long.

He ran a hand over his face, the scent of her arousal still heady on his fingers. A glance at the clock on the nightstand showed that it was gone seven-thirty, and he really needed to be in work within the hour. With any luck, it would be a quiet morning, and he could get some time alone to think. There had to be a thread tying everything together. Even if he couldn’t yet see which points that thread joined up.

Lacey came back through, a steaming mug in one hand and a plate in the other. He could smell toast, and pushed himself upright once more. Tilly grumbled at being made to move.

“You go eat your breakfast in the lounge, okay?” said Lacey, and she pulled her thumb from her mouth, pouting slightly.

“I wanna eat it here.”

“No toast in bed, baby, you know the rules.”

“Go on.” Weaver kissed the top of her head. “Daddy doesn’t want crumbs in his butt.”

Tilly giggled, but slipped from the bed and toddled over to Lacey, taking the plate from her in careful hands and trotting off to the lounge. Lacey set the mug of coffee down on the nightstand and stepped back, teeth tugging at her lower lip again. Weaver nodded at the coffee.

“You not having one?”

“Yeah,” she said, after a pause. “I - I wondered if you wanted breakfast.”

“Coffee’ll do,” he said. “Go on, get your own.”

She opened her mouth, as though she was about to say something, but seemed to think better of it, and went back to the kitchen. He could hear the sound of the TV from the lounge, and Lacey pushed the door to with her foot as she came back in. He expected her to sit on the edge of the bed, away from him, so was surprised when she climbed on beside him and sat back against the pillows with a sigh.

“How did you sleep?” he asked tentatively, and she shrugged.

“Well, you were awake with me for most of it, so…”

He grinned at that.

“Okay, point taken.” He took a sip of the coffee, wincing as it burned his tongue. “Shit!”

“Yeah, you might want to leave it ten minutes,” she said. “You sure about breakfast? I could do some eggs.”

He shook his head.

“I’ll have to get going soon,” he said, and glanced at her. “How - uh - how do you want to work things this week? I know I said I’d take Tilly Wednesday through Friday, but I can be flexible. You know, barring any major developments on the Vice front.”

“No need to change anything,” she said. “I’ll have her today and tomorrow, bring her over to the precinct on Wednesday, you can bring her back Friday evening.”

“And the weekend?”

Lacey hesitated.

“Maybe - maybe we can talk about that,” she said. “Later in the week.”

Her tentative suggestion made hope flare in his chest, and he shifted, sitting up a little more.

“Alright,” he said. “Maybe we could do something. Drive out of the city, get a change of scene. I bet Tilly would like the woods.”

“Not really the weather for walking.”

“It’s just a thought.”

“Yeah.” She let her head drop. “Well, like I said. We’ll talk about it later.”

He nodded, not wanting to push for more than she was willing to give. At least she seemed open to the idea of spending a couple of days together, which was more than she had done in months.

“Right.” He took another sip of coffee. Still too hot, but he kept at it. “I guess I’d better get dressed.”

“Okay.”

He set down his cup, slipping from the bed to gather his clothes. He could feel her eyes on him as he dressed, tugging jeans over his hips and buckling his belt. He sat down to pull on his boots, deft fingers tugging the laces and tying in double knots. He really needed a clean shirt, but he had time to get home and pick one up. If he left now.

Getting to his feet, he picked up the coffee as he turned to face her. Lacey had drawn up her knees and wrapped one arm around them, her head a little bent. She looked small and sad, and he wanted to climb back onto the bed and take her in his arms and tell her everything was going to be okay. He doubted she’d welcome it. Or believe him. He gulped at the coffee, the liquid just cool enough to drink without blistering his mouth.

“Right,” he said. “I’ll see you Wednesday, then.”

“Okay.”

He wanted to kiss her, but he didn’t, simply nodding to her and taking his mug through to the kitchen to rinse it out. He said goodbye to Tilly, receiving a firm hug and a peanut butter-laden kiss on the cheek. She grumbled about his stubble, which made him grin, and he kissed her hair.

“You look after Mummy, okay?” he said. “Make sure Dragon burns up any bad people, got it?”

“Okay,” she said stoutly, and he grinned and kissed her again.

“Bye, sweetheart.”

The day was bright when he left the apartment, a biting wind whistling along the streets and the sky a harsh, vibrant blue. He walked quickly, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket until he reached the car. It was still early, the sun only just rising, gleaming red-gold in the windows as it climbed. Back to his lonely apartment, a change of shirt, and he could make it to work before Dunbroch had made the coffee.

Forty minutes later, he was sitting at his desk, pencil tapping against his notebook as he stared unseeing at the screen in front of him. He had taken Nolan’s words to heart, and was starting to consider the current situation with Lacey as though it were one of his cases. The Mystery of the Miserable Wife, he thought wryly, and his mouth flattened. Perhaps he was being ridiculous. Perhaps she really had grown bored of him, and their life together. Perhaps he was looking for external causes for their break-up, when all he really had to do was look in the fucking mirror.

“No,” he muttered, throwing the pencil down in frustration. “There’s more to it, I fucking know it.”

“Talking to yourself, Weaver?” Merida’s voice made him look around. “First sign of madness, you know.”

“I thought I’d blown way past the fucking first,” he sighed, and she chuckled.

“You and me both,” she said. “Here.”

Weaver sat back in his chair, nodding his thanks as she handed him a coffee, and frowned as he started thinking about how he might approach his current problem. Perhaps if he worked through things logically, methodically. Used what patience he had to construct an accurate timeline, and let his gut do the rest of the work until he had some hard evidence. It had always worked before.

“You look like you’re thinking really hard,” observed Merida. “Want me to call an ambulance?”

He shot her a flat look, and she shoved him fondly to show she was joking.

“Do you remember that murder case from a few years back?” he said. “Isaac Heller. He was a lawyer. Got shot in the head and dumped in the harbour.”

Merida frowned, nose creasing as she pursed her lips.

“Wasn’t that the one Lacey witnessed?” she said. “Yeah, I remember you and Nolan looking into it. Didn’t we turn up to arrest the guys that did it, and Nolan got shot?”

“That’s the one.”

“We never caught the scum that shot him, did we?”

“Not alive, no,” he said grimly. “Their bodies turned up along the coast a few weeks later, though. Not an easy I.D.”

“That’s about the extent of my memories of that case, sorry.”

“Fine, I’ll check the records instead.”

“What’s made you bring this up?” she asked. “You thinking of going back to Homicide?”

“No, just - just trying to tie up some loose ends,” he said. “We thought the killers might have been hired thugs for some casino down in Vegas, I think. Never had the evidence to question anyone, but we passed the info to the Vegas P.D anyway. Don’t know if anything came of it.”

“Let me pull the file,” she said. “Pretty sure there’s something in the evidence room, maybe it’ll spark that brain of yours into life.”

“Wish something would,” he grumbled, and she chuckled and went out.

He went through his messages while she was gone, rattling off replies to some and filing or deleting others, taking sips of coffee as he did so. The sound of footsteps registered as he was tapping out a response to a query on a relatively new case, and Merida dropped a brown envelope on the desk, making him jump.

“This was in the evidence room,” she said. “Not much in it, by the feel of it, but maybe it’ll trigger something.”

Weaver opened it up, pulling out a folded piece of paper, memories crowding back in as he opened it up to reveal a green sticky note and one line written in a looping scrawl. The price is paid. He wondered if it had been meant for Heller, or for someone else. Perhaps the person who had ordered the two thugs to track Heller down. Perhaps someone else entirely.

The sticky note was still firmly in place on the letter, one corner curling up, a series of letters and numbers written on it in pen that had dug into the paper. He didn’t think they had ever managed to work out what the code was for; certainly it had matched nothing in Heller’s possession or on his computer, and their enquiries at the cycle dispatch company that Lacey had been working at had yielded nothing. Peering into the envelope, he spied the glint of silver at the bottom. A tiny key, the sort that opened secure lockers, or safe deposit boxes. They had never found out what that was for, either.

After a moment, he took photographs of the code written on the sticky note, of the tiny key, and of the letter. Perhaps there was something he had missed, and the visual reminder would help him figure it out. He checked the file for the Heller case, but could find no evidence of anything happening since they had sent their own findings to the Vegas P.D. The case had been cold for some time, and he suspected that there would be no justice for the late Mr Heller.

He glanced at the spare whiteboard to the side of his desk, but elected not to use it. The Heller case was not technically his anymore, and in any event he wanted to widen his investigation. There was also a nagging thought at the back of his mind that was telling him to work this one out on his own. He opened up a new document on his computer instead, and started writing down everything that he could remember from the first moment he had met Lacey, including dates and times, as near as he could pin them down in his brain. He started from the night they had met, moving on to the investigations he had been doing at the time, the people he had questioned, the places Lacey had worked. It meant checking back in his old case files and his diary, as well as trying to unearth old memories, but the timeline soon began to take shape.

Weaver finished writing about the night that Nolan had been shot, and that Lacey had left, and sat back, frowning as he read over what he had so far. It was going to take awhile to get down everything that had happened in the past four years, but if he could get to the bottom of Lacey’s current behaviour, it would be worth it. There had to be something in there, some clue that would point to where things had started to go wrong, and he was growing more convinced that it was an external force rather than the two of them simply imploding. The thought was strangely comforting, even as anger began to fester in him. He squashed it down, dousing the flames with cool reason as much as he could. She was scared, she was in danger, and she needed his help. That was enough for now.

Detective Fa turned up just as he was reading through what he had so far, giving him her usual abrupt greeting and taking a cup of coffee from Merida with a beaming smile. Weaver rolled his eyes. The two of them still hadn’t done anything about the fact that they were hopelessly in love with each other, and he was beginning to think they never would.

“You all set for tomorrow morning?” asked Fa, dark ponytail swishing as she turned back to face him. “I think we’re as prepared as we can be.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said vaguely. “I’ll meet you here. Five o’clock?”

“Make it four-thirty,” she said. “I want to catch those bastards sleeping.”

“Sounds good.”

“What are you working on?”

“What? Oh, nothing.”

He minimised the window, swinging around on his chair and waving his coffee mug at Merida until she filled it up. She swore at him as she did so, which made him grin.

“With any luck we can wrap this thing up tomorrow and it’ll be another meth lab out of commission,” said Fa, rolling her shoulders tiredly. “Which only leaves like a dozen others.”

“And the rest,” he grumbled, and they shared a weary smile. “Sometimes it feels like everything we do is pointless. You take one down, another three pop up. It’s like fucking Whack-a-Mole.”

“Then we need a bigger mallet,” she said. “Drake’s gonna go to the chief, ask for more resource.”

“Good luck to her,” he said, with feeling. “I doubt she’ll get it.”

“Me too, but at least she’s trying.” She took a drink of coffee, her eyes following Merida as she left the room with a bunch of paperwork in hand. “You want to go for a drink afterwards?”

“Depends what time we get finished, I guess,” he said. “I’m having Tilly on Wednesday, so I don’t want a late night, but I’ll put in for the bar tab if you lot are in the mood to celebrate.”

“That’s fair.”

Weaver sat back in his chair, pursing his lips as he looked her over.

“Here’s a wild idea from out of the blue,” he said. “Why don’t you and Officer Dunbroch spend some quality time together in Roni’s bar? Take some of my hard-earned money, get shit-faced, go back to your place and shag each other silly.”

Fa’s mouth dropped open.

“Weaver, oh my God!”

“I’m serious!” he protested. “The two of you have been driving the entire precinct up the bloody wall for years now!”

“I don’t believe this…”

She shook her head, blushing furiously.

“Look, just because my private life’s gone to shit doesn’t mean love’s doomed, okay?” he said impatiently. “Just - just bloody well kiss her, damn the pair of you!”

Fa glared at him, grinding her teeth, and buried her nose in her coffee cup as Merida stomped back in.

“Drake wants to see you both about the raid tomorrow,” she announced. “Best get your arses to her office.”

Weaver pushed back his chair, getting to his feet and smirking at Fa, who was still blushing.

“Oh look,” she said sarcastically. “Work. What we turn up at this place for, instead of interfering in other people’s lives. How about that?”

“We interfere in other people’s lives all the time,” he said dismissively. “At least you know my intentions are good where you’re concerned.”

“You can take your intentions and shove ‘em.”

“What are you two on about?” asked Merida curiously.

“Nothing!” said Fa, glaring at Weaver as though daring him to contradict her. “Just work. That’s it.”

“Work takes priority until we’re done with this raid tomorrow,” he said snidely. “After that, I’ll be expecting you to forget about the job and take a little time for yourself, got it?”

“Does that mean you will?” she asked, in a wry tone, and he shot her a look.

“Move your arse, go on,” he grumbled, and she gave him a satisfied smirk, slinking out of the office ahead of him.

Lacey’s day had started well, wrapped in her husband’s arms, warm and safe and happy. Until, of course, she had fully woken, and remembered that they were supposed to be separated, they were living apart, and she had been given a task to perform. It would have to be soon; the way things were going she didn’t trust herself not to break down and tell him everything, and there was too much at stake to risk that.

She thought it over as she washed up the breakfast things after he had left, teeth tugging nervously at her lip. Tilly was still watching TV, the noise from the lounge a cheerful cacophony of music and squeaky voices from the cartoon characters she was so engrossed with. Lacey scrubbed at the cup in her hand, taking out her frustration on the coffee stains. The buzz of her phone made her jump, and she wiped her hands on a towel, reaching for it. Her heart sank as she saw a message, the incoming number identified as Work. Two words, no more. Seven thirty.

Scowling at the phone, Lacey quickly texted back okay and dropped it on the counter. It would mean asking Roni if she could watch Tilly for an hour or so while she went over there, but she suspected that wouldn’t be a problem. Tilly would like seeing Henry, anyway. Nodding to herself, her mind made up, she set the clean cup on the drainer, and picked up the next. There could be no more delays.

At twenty-eight minutes past seven that evening, Lacey squared her shoulders, flexed her fingers, and stalked into the bar of The Rabbit Hole as though she was marching into battle. Her heart was thumping in her chest, her breathing uneven, but she told herself that if the person she was going to meet wanted her dead, she already would be. Not to say that they would care if she died once she had served her purpose, of course, but she had long abandoned any hope of a happy ending for herself in all this. The past four years had been a pleasant dream, one from which she had always been destined to wake. She told herself it didn’t matter.

Despite what she had said to Weaver, Lacey hadn’t worked since Tilly was born, and hadn’t done a shift at The Rabbit Hole since the night she had first moved into his apartment four years earlier. The place hadn’t changed for the better in that time, and if anything the customer base was even worse, but she ignored the stares and leers she received from the men huddled over round tables sticky with spilled beer. She ignored Garrett too, and for his part he said nothing to her when she entered, merely sneering and jerking his head towards the back. Lacey raised her chin as she passed him, resisting the urge to smirk at the bruises that hadn’t quite faded from the beating Weaver had given him. The bastard deserved it.

The bar had a room upstairs that was reached by a narrow staircase, and was frequently used by unsavoury types to discuss their affairs, with Garrett keeping an eye out for police, Feds, or rivals for his customers’ business interests. The stairs creaked as Lacey climbed, heart hammering in her throat, fingers shaking a little as they grasped at the banister, rough with flaking paint. She reached the top, and almost screamed as a figure loomed out of the darkness. Swallowing her terror, she scowled as she recognised Arthur, with his oily smile and perfectly-groomed beard.

“Right on time,” he drawled. “It’s so heartening to know you can keep your promises.”

“Go fuck yourself,” she muttered, and pushed past him as he laughed softly.

He fell into step behind her as she walked to the door on the right, standing almost close enough to brush against her. It made her shudder, but she clenched her jaw, balling her hands into fists as she glanced over her shoulder.

“So, is there some sort of secret knock, or are you guys done with the dramatics?” she asked, in a dry tone, and Arthur reached over her shoulder and rapped on the door.

It opened almost immediately, creaking slowly as it did so, and Lacey took a breath as the room beyond came into view. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, casting a yellowish light over the room. The tall man who had opened the door peered at her from deep-set eyes beneath a heavy brow, his face expressionless. He stepped back, moving against the wall and giving her a view of what awaited her. A table faced the door, surrounded by four chairs, and a woman was seated opposite her, elbows resting on the table, hands clasped together. She was slender, brown hair neatly brushed up and pinned on top of her head, a demure blue dress covering her to the neck, long sleeves reaching to her thin wrists. Pretty, with small features and a tiny, knowing smile that never left her face, she gestured to the chair in front of her.

“Isabelle,” she said pleasantly. “Do have a seat.”

Lacey raised her chin, folding her arms and taking a firm stance.

“It’s Lacey,” she said curtly.

“Yes, I heard you’d changed your name,” said the woman. “I suppose that was to be expected. You can imagine the fun we had, trying to work out what you might have called yourself. My first guess was Elizabeth.”

“Like I give a crap,” said Lacey flatly. “I’m not here to talk over old times or pretend I care that you’ve been looking for me, Azurine. Just tell me what you want.”

“Hmm.” The woman looked a little perturbed, but shrugged. “Fiona said you’d become insufferably rude. You always were an ungrateful creature.”

Lacey bit the insides of her cheeks to keep her vitriol internal, and swallowed hard as she stared the woman down. Eventually Azurine rolled her eyes with a sigh.

“I hadn’t intended to come all the way up here from our home, as you might imagine,” she said. “However, it so happened that I had business in Seattle, and I thought I might kill two birds with one stone. As it were.”

Her eyes held Lacey’s for a moment, the threat unspoken but plain, hanging in the air between them. Lacey licked her lips.

“I’ve had some difficulty in getting what you asked for,” she said, shifting position a little. “It’s not exactly easy.”

“What, with your estranged husband getting in the way?” Azurine pursed her lips, looking thoughtful. “You know, if he’s proving too much of a burden, we can always fix that.”

“No!” Lacey realised she had shouted, and shook her head, trying to remain calm even as her heart thundered in her chest. “You promised not to hurt him.”

Azurine looked satisfied at her outburst, and nodded slowly.

“Such a caring nature,” she purred. “We always felt that you could be so much more than you led us to believe.”

Memories of her old life clamoured from the depths of the dark chest she had shoved at the back of her mind, and Lacey shuddered, blocking out the noise.

“Look, just leave him out of this,” she said. “I can get what you need, just as I promised. Give me a week, and I’ll have it.”

“We’ve already given you months.”

“Yeah, and it’s taken time to make him trust me enough to let me near,” she said impatiently, waving a hand. “We’re getting divorced, or have you forgotten? It doesn’t exactly lend itself to intimate little chats.”

Azurine regarded her with narrowed eyes, and Lacey hoped that her ability to lie and deflect had improved significantly over the years.

“When will you have it?” she asked then. Lacey tried not to sigh with relief.

“I can complete phase one by the end of the week, I think,” she said. “I have to be subtle about this, okay? Then it’s onto phase two.”

“For which I presume you’ll need our assistance.”

“I already told you what I needed.”

“Indeed you did.”

Azurine glanced to her left and nodded curtly. The tall man reached into the inside pocket of his black coat and withdrew a padded envelope, which Azurine took from him with a smile. She placed it on the table, pushing it across with slender, manicured fingers, and Lacey stared at it. The envelope was unmarked and light brown, its edges a little crumpled.

“You’ll find everything you need in there.”

Lacey hesitated, then took a step forwards, reaching for the envelope, fingers closing on it with the crackle of paper. She slipped it inside her jacket.

“We’ll expect an update by the end of the week,” said Azurine. “You can send it via Arthur.”

“Fine,” muttered Lacey. “Is that it?”

“Save one final reminder.” She looked up, tapping fingertips together. “Any further delays will have consequences. Our patience isn’t infinite, Isabelle.”

Her voice was cold, her eyes like flint above that tiny smile, and Lacey tightened her jaw.

“I’ll do it,” she said stiffly. “I’ll keep my promise. Just be sure to keep yours.”

Azurine smiled.

“Then their fates are in your hands, are they not?” she asked. “Make sure you do nothing that might endanger them.”

“Fine.” Lacey scowled at her, and raised her arms, letting them fall to her side, hands slapping against her thighs as she glanced around. “So, is that everything, or do you want to villain-monologue me to death?”

"That's everything." Azurine raised her head. "We'll be expecting your call."

Lacey nodded, stepping back and turning on her heel as Arthur opened the door to let her out. She ignored him, sweeping past, her head held high. Inside she was shaking, but she wasn't about to show it. She made her way down the creaking stairs, breezing through the bar without a word to Garrett, and strode out into the street without a backward glance.

Weaver reflected that sometimes, the universe at least appeared to be on his side. The early-morning raid had been an unqualified success; there had been twelve arrests, a large haul of drugs and around two hundred thousand dollars in cash had been seized, and the officers and detectives involved were congratulated on a job well done. They celebrated by leaving early and heading to Roni’s, who was delighted to get an unexpected boost in trade. Weaver was true to his word and put a wad of cash behind the bar, but he wasn’t interested in drinking any of his own money, merely buying a coffee and sitting at the bar as his colleagues chatted and laughed. Roni refilled his cup, eyeing him curiously.

“Not in the mood to celebrate?” she asked. “From what I can overhear things went well.”

“Oh, today was a good day as far as the job goes,” he admitted. “But on a personal level I’m still up Shit Creek, no paddle, and no idea where the current’s fucking taking me.”

Roni fixed him with a flat stare, hands on hips.

“Haven’t you two made up yet?” she asked. “This is the most ridiculous break-up ever. It’s obvious neither of you wants it, so what gives?”

Weaver sighed, slouching over the bar a little more.

“I don’t know,” he said. “But I’m gonna find out. One way or another.”

“Just tell her you love her and you want to make it work.”

“You think I haven’t tried that?” he demanded. “There’s something else going on.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.” He tapped his fingers on the bar. “Has she been in here looking for work?”

Roni looked surprised.

“Lacey? No, why?”

“Never mind.” So, she wasn’t so desperate for money that she asked Roni for a job. Thought as much. “Has she been in here at all?”

“Only to bring Tilly over to play with Henry,” she said. “She came over yesterday, actually.”

Weaver’s eyes narrowed.

“Yesterday? When.”

“I don’t know - seven?”

“What time did she get back?”

“Maybe eight, eight-thirty?”

Weaver nodded. So, not work, then. Running an errand? Why wouldn’t she take Tilly, in that case?

”Did she say where she was going?”

Roni shook her head.

“She just said she had to go somewhere, and she wouldn’t be long.”

“Have you seen her with anyone else?”

“You think she’s cheating on you?”

“No.” He shook his head, sitting back. “Besides, we’re not together. Not sure it would count.”

“I don’t think she’d do that, anyway,” she said. “Pretty clear to me she still loves you.”

“Is it?” He grimaced, and took a slurp of coffee. “I don’t know what’s clear anymore. Anyway, I wasn’t asking about potential new lovers, for what it’s worth. Have you seen anyone else around her? Anyone at all?”

She shook her head.

“Sorry.”

“Okay.” He took another drink. “I’m sure there’s something I’m missing. I keep trying to pull these threads together and it’s like grasping at bloody water.”

“Maybe you need a new perspective,” she suggested. “Take a step back, look at the big picture.”

Weaver sat up a little.

“You could be right,” he said. “I’ve been running through everything on a bloody single document on the computer. I need something like the whiteboard I use. Something I can create a picture with.”

“So take a whiteboard back to your place,” she said, and he shook his head.

“I don’t want her to think that I’m - I’m investigating her like she’s a criminal,” he said.

“Are you saying you’re not?” she said, and he pulled a face, puffing out his cheeks and slumping onto his elbows again.

“I just want answers, Roni,” he said wearily. “I want answers and she’s too frightened or too bloody stubborn to give me them. If we’re really over then I’ll accept it, but I’m not gonna walk away if the problem isn’t with us, you know?”

“Okay,” she said. “So what’s your plan?”

“I’m gonna take a whiteboard from work,” he said. “But I won’t be taking it to my place.”

Weaver pulled up onto the driveway of David Nolan’s house, a bottle of wine on the seat beside him, along with a packet of cupcakes with chocolate frosting and a bunch of flowers. He figured that if he was going to be using part of the Nolan’s garage, he may as well come bearing gifts. Nolan had opened the garage door and was watching him from his wheelchair on the porch as Weaver backed the car in a little way and then got out.

“Set up wherever you think best,” called Nolan. “You want a beer?”

“Thanks.”

Weaver heard the front door close, and went around to the back of the car, opening up the trunk and lifting out the whiteboard on its stand. He set it up at the side, where the light fell on it and where he had enough room to walk around and collect his thoughts. There was a folder of documents in the trunk, and he opened it up, a picture of Lacey lying on the top. It was a photocopy of the photo he kept on his desk, taken on the beach at Port Angeles, not long after they were married. She was smiling, her eyes shining, strands of hair brushing her cheeks in what he recalled had been a stiff breeze. She looked happy. He wished it were true.

He stuck the picture in the middle of the board with a magnetic tab, and brushed Lacey’s cheek with the tip of his forefinger, holding that frozen smile in his mind for a moment. Then he picked up one of the board markers, and started writing.

By the time Nolan had brought him a beer, the whiteboard was starting to take shape, with Lacey at the centre and the places and people connected to her, however tenuously, scattered around the outside. He nodded his thanks as he took the beer, swigging from the bottle as Nolan looked the board over.

“Not much so far,” he observed. “What about her family?”

“Well, that’s just it.” Weaver settled back on his heels. “She never talked about them. No one was invited to the wedding, she didn’t contact anyone when Tilly was born… The few conversations we had touching on her old life - well, she never wanted to talk about it. From the little she let slip I figured her family was abusive, so I didn’t really push.”

“Where were they from?”

“Melbourne originally, moved over to Nevada when she was a kid.”

“Well, maybe that’s something to work on.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He took another drink, looking around. “Look, thanks for letting me do this. I don’t feel all that great, investigating my own wife, but I definitely don’t want Tilly seeing me do it.”

“Hey,” said Nolan gently. “You’re trying to keep her safe. Keep both of them safe.”

“I know.” Weaver took another drink. “Maybe in the end she’ll thank me.”

Nolan pushed his chair closer to the board, one wheel squeaking faintly.

“Want me to put some oil on that?”

“What? Oh, no, it’s fine. I’ll do it later.” He gestured at the board. “You put The Rabbit Hole on there. Did you ever find out why Lacey went back there?”

“No.” Weaver frowned. “And she didn’t ask Roni for work, so it wasn’t lack of cash like she told me, not that I believed that.”

“Must have been something serious to make her want to go back to that dive and the creep that hit her that time.”

“See, that’s something else.” Weaver began pacing. “I thought the bastard had hit her again, so I went down there to beat the crap out of him, but he said it wasn’t him. Whoever it was, he wouldn’t tell me. Looked scared.”

“Someone higher up the food chain than him, then,” mused Nolan.

“Yeah,” said Weaver grimly. “Sharks eat the little fish, and the bottom-feeders hang around and wait for the waters to clear.”

“So maybe you need to find a bottom-feeder,” suggested Nolan, and Weaver grinned.

“My thoughts exactly.”

#fic: things left unsaid #woven lace fic #my fic #woven lace #rumbelle fic #rumbelle

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