It was a blustery, cold day in New York. Odd, since it had been warm the past few weeks. Fucking Halloween was always shit-bricked for Brandy, that was just how it was. She'd had bad luck with Halloween for the last few years - next year she swore she'd celebrate in the Bahamas or some other such tropical land. Her damn fingers were so numb on the ride up that she had difficulty pressing buttons on her work phone to hear her messages. She gave up and dropped it into her pocket, figuring if William had called seven times, he'd call an eighth.
She stepped off of the elevator into her department, shaking her coat to rid herself of the cold, a loud "BRRR" noise from her (mostly frustration) as she did so. She grabbed her mail from the drop-box and stuffed it in her mouth, allowing her a free hand to hold her coat while her other held her coffee until she got to her desk, which was adjacent to Valentine's. Her cell phone started to ring from her jacket pocket and she turned wildly, trying to source out the noise before she spit the envelopes onto her desk and dug through her pocket.
"Wyatt," she drawled, still clearly flustered. "Oh, Billy! Shoot naw, I just got here. Why, where are you?" She paused. "Aw, hell, an elevator shaft? Yeah, has CSI already been notified? Guess I'd better get my climbin' shoes." She hung up the phone by flipping it closed on her chin and dropped down into her chair, taking a long sip of her coffee. She looked like she really wanted to pretend that hadn't just happened, and closed her eyes tightly before opening them to blink rapidly - presumably, to fight the last of the sleep from her body. It was only just six AM, after all.
She watched as Valentine looked up at her from across the short distance, having just sat down himself, and nodded. "Fuckin' elevator shafts, man. Can't people stuff bodies in more open spaces? I know I won't see you 'til it's dark out again. Again." She closed her eyes and rocked all the way back, then with a grunting noise got up and grabbed her coat and her coffee. "Okay. Here I go. Try not to strangle anyone we work with today." And with that thickly accented goodbye, she left, nearly running Cassandra on her way out.
"Damnit woman! As supernatural as you are and you can't see me comin'?" she barked.
Cassandra looked utterly mystified, and then nodded. "Must be a body in an enclosed space again," she said. She shook her head, a strangely fond smile on her mouth, and ducked into her office.
Brandy wasn't the only one who didn't like the change in weather that morning, though John was probably better equipped to handle it. He'd been in New York longer, so he wasn't accustomed to Texas heat, though he also didn't know how shitty her Halloweens tended to be. If it was someone else, he might not have cared, but Brandy wasn't all that bad. She had a pretty face, but she was more than that; the fact that she didn't throw up at a violent crime scene helped his assessment of her greatly.
He'd arrived at his desk maybe 30 seconds ahead of her, so he was still fidgeting around and deciding if he was going to actually do anything or go the London route and be a total dick for the first hour of two of his shift, though napping also struck him as a decent idea. Unfortunately for Brandy, 'Billy' called her about a body in an elevator shaft, and John might have offered to give her a hand with it if it hadn't been for that factor. He and Brandy agreed on a few things, and enclosed spaces was one of them. He wasn't volunteering to crawl down into an elevator shaft after a dead body. Nope.
"My last case, the guy was dropping the bodies into abandoned lots. No caves, basements or elevator shafts. Just weeds and a great big sky," he told her, smiling just because he could offer that to her. They didn't ALL dump bodies in dark, enclosed spaces. Too bad that last guy wasn't the norm in his habits. "Have fun!"
Either she ignored him, or she was too busy nearly running into Cassandra (and snapping at her, which only made John laugh), because she didn't have much of a response for him. That was fine, and when Cassandra neared, he made it a point to look busy and like someone who shouldn't be talked to. He didn't like her, didn't like that she made him want to spill all of his secrets, and just didn't want to be around her. She had an unfair advantage, one that he wasn't standing around to let her use. If she tried to talk to him, he'd make himself busy with a phone call or something, then go back to considering his plans for the morning. Cassandra would help him make up his mind in that area, too; he was likely to go the London route if he had to deal with her first thing.
Stephanie was less than thrilled to be awake before it was light outside every bit as Brandy was, but she wasn't as vocal about it - mostly because she was still half awake. She was trying to get in and out before Drew got there - mostly because she'd forgotten to give Nikolai his cell phone back the night before when she'd given him a ride home. She realized when she'd gotten all the way home from dropping him off (in the care of his hot next door neighbor, no less) that she had possession of two identical phones. Evidently she'd picked hers up, put it away, then repeated the action five minutes later with a confused notion she'd done this before. Anyways, the point was that she'd given Nikolai a ride home because he'd left the bar without telling the guys anything because he couldn't stand Wes and had to get out before he let them know it. If Drew found out it was his little sister who had gone to get him - well, nobody would hear the end of it.
At any rate, she shrugged her grey/black/mulberry double-breasted plaid peacoat with the (very tasteful) ruffles that went about to her mid-thighs off as she stepped off the elevator, smiling in passing to Brandy as they effectively switched sides. Stevie actually was dressed nicely, her bright red (some of it was the Manic Panic, but she was a natural redhead as Drew showed) hair that was finally growing out tied into two pigtails at the back of her head. It was worth noting because the girl hadn't spent much of her natural life without being covered in dirt, sand, or some sort of engine fluid - the fact that she looked, well, normal? Something was up.
"Stephanie," Cassandra greeted, coming back out of her office. "You look nice today. Special occasion?" she asked, a genuine smile on her soft, sensual features.
"Oh, sure!" she chirped, twirling Nikolai's keys on her index finger as she relaxed her posture. She tapped a knee-high boot gently. "When I had to pick up Kassle last night - he went out with the guys last night and got too drunk to drive but skipped the strip club and went to a normal bar because he really hates Wesley - but I don't know why he called me, because we don't ever really talk, but anyway! I accidentally took his phone and house keys with me by mistake. I know that sounds like a weird thing to do, but it's because I let him into the apartment then dropped them into my pocket by mistake. I think I had his phone way before then. But I wanted to get in and out before my cousin sees me because if he does, he's going to ask Nik a thousand questions and they'll probably squabble like a buncha babies." She took a breath. Finally.
"Oh my," Cassandra said. "I'm glad you realized you had them, at the very least," she said. She was unsure of what to say at that point - Stevie always made her regret her ability. The girl could literally talk for hours. About anything. Since she was good with mechanics, chemicals, and a veritable ginger MacGuyver, no topic was unknown, and nothing was too taboo. That was a Richardson.
Stevie flushed. "I'm gonna go hang out until he gets here. He said he'd be here in about twenty minutes. Drew doesn't get in until like nine, right? Cool, that's what I thought. Seeya, Cass!" she cheered, giving the elegant woman a slap on the back in her own horribly hickish way. The look on Cassandra's face was priceless as she received the hefty "pat", and Stevie bounced along, getting only to about where John's desk was before she suddenly stopped, slowly shook her head, and proclaimed, "I hate her power."
"Hey you," she said with a smile. She hooked a chair with her booted foot and pulled it up, sitting down at the side of John's desk. They'd always been on decent terms, and after that wring-through she'd just experienced with the Deputy Chief, she was eager to sit down for a few minutes and chat off the shame. She immediately picked up his multicoloured tower of sticky notes, peeled one off, and began making something. She was wicked good with origami, and she made him something different every time she saw him. She didn't come in often, but when she did.
"How was your weekend? You know, I never see you at All Hallows with the rest of the gang. I know it's a strip club, but we don't really go there for the girls. More because Drew 'n Josh's gals work there. I just didn't want you to think you weren't invited. I'd like it if you came, anyways. Or, you know. Out anywhere with them. Or me." Fucking Cassandra's power was still wearing off of her, so Stevie was still spilling, although she was getting better. She rolled her eyes and concentrated on her neon yellow animal, which still had not begun to take shape yet.
"Ignore anything I say for the next five minutes and don't ask me any questions," she warned him. Yeah, she liked him. But he was real. Plus, they talked a lot about a lot of nonsense that nobody else cared about. Not stupid shit like tabloid bullshit, but cool stuff, like the badass old school Challenger he was thinking about restoring. If he'd have told her he was a swan, she wouldn't have believed him, because John was pretty damn manly.
If he'd told nearly anyone that he was a swan, they wouldn't believe him, and that was intentional on his part. From the time he was old enough to truly realize how fucked up his mother was (which was while he was still a young teenager and she was trying to 'make arrangements' for him to father little pureblood swan babies), he'd worked to make himself into something better. More substantial, less caught up in her crazy world of social status, family pride and pureblood idiocy. Then, with his sister and cousin's help, he'd changed his name and taken off, and that had done the rest. It was amazing the difference in his life and general happiness that came when he was no longer trapped in that insanity, and if he could have traded in being a swan altogether for something else, he probably would have considered it. He was done with that life.
Fortunately, nobody he worked with and knew had a fucking clue that he came from that mess, or that he was a 'rare swan prince' or any of that shit, so he didn't have a whole lot to worry about. The other supernaturals around the office all had 'theories' about what he was because they all knew he was a shifter and nobody could determine the breed, and he refused to confirm or deny any of their guesses. The only one with any kind of concrete reason for her line of thinking was that bitch, Blair, and only because she was a snake and every now and then caught his eyes and wouldn't let him go. Apparently, he was easier to catch than humans and other breeds of shifter, so she thought he was some kind of bird. Just another reason not to like her.
Like Cassandra, who could have asked him outright what he was, and he'd have told her everything. He hated it, so he avoided her when he could and certainly didn't blame Stevie for her irritation with the same vampire and ability that he couldn't stand. That didn't mean that he didn't find it amusing when she continued to spill until Cassandra's power wore off. It was why he shut his damn mouth whenever he was around her and for a period afterward, but he wasn't going to warn Stevie about that just yet.
Hey, it was morning and he'd just decided that with Cassandra going the other way, he'd nap a little. Stevie being there cancelled the nap, so the least she could do was help wake him up. He smiled a little when she continued talking, suggesting that she'd like it if he spent time with her cousin and the other cats in SWAT (plus Nikolai), or her specifically. The invitation was noted, and so was the subtext, though he hadn't decided what to make of that.
"Thanks for the invite, I'll keep it in mind," he said mildly, letting it go and proving that he wasn't a total asshole when he could have pushed it for full disclosure from her and lots of embarrassment. "Spent some time Saturday night with Gabe, Kat and Britt, got some drinks and watched her try to set him up, which didn't work and was slightly hysterical. Sunday, I started on the Challenger."
He knew she'd be interested in that because they'd talked about it a few times already, and though he considered asking her if she wanted to come have a look at it after he got more finished, or ask why she was dressed so nicely (he didn't miss much), he refrained. She'd asked him not to ask her anything, and just because he could didn't mean that he should. If it was someone else, he might have, but he liked her enough to respect her request.
She leaned back in her chair a little, grinning. "Why would she try to set Britt up? Doesn't she know he's a lifer now? I hope she never tries that with Kassle," she said offhand, knowing his dislike for the undead and especially for the type that meddled, which Kat did a lot. Kassle tolerated Summers and Sinclair because they were coworkers, the same way he tolerated Cassandra and the others, but the truth was that Nikolai fucking hated them all. He was an asshole, he knew it, and he embraced it.
Not a lot of votes for Cassandra, actually.
She continued to fold the yellow paper diligently while she asked him some questions about the car that I don't feel like typing because I'm fucking lazy, but the point is that she made a swan and set it on his desk. "I don't think I've ever done one of those before," she said, a little proud of herself. "I was going to do a crane but it sort of morphed. Oh well! Oh hey, there's Nik!" And she waved him over. Clearly, Cassandra's power had worn off.
Nikolai came alongside the duo, bag over his shoulder and eyes as beady and focused as ever. Did he ever sleep? "Hey, Stevie. Have my shit?" he asked, giving a grunt and a nod to John, along with a point at the origami. "You decorating your desk now?"
"I have your keys and phone and I made it. If you say anything about how it's gay, I promise I'll have Tanya get me into your apartment and I'll fill your bedroom from floor to ceiling with them."
"Okay Sadako, calm down," Nikolai said, making an incredibly odd reference to a book in which a cancer patient in Japan tries to make a thousand cranes before she dies; it was set shortly after WWII, which explained the cancer, he supposed. "Thanks for taking me home last night. One more story from Wes about how awesome he is and I was going to give myself a .45 caliber asprin." He shot Valentine a knowing glance. Neither of them liked Bishop - for different reasons, but also for similar ones.
"Okay guys, I gotta jet. John, Nik, I'm sure I'll see you both around," she said with a wave and a smile.
Make way for the next contestant... the elevator dinged and BLAIR, COME ON DOWN.
Car talk was a comfortable change for him, and part of why he liked Stevie so much; she was one of the few people he interacted with who could speak intelligently about a car, especially on the topic of restoring one. There were others who were interested, and he still gave them credit for that, but she knew her shit. The fact that she made an origami fucking swan while they talked really wasn't helping, though.
He stared at it when she set it on his desk, obviously proud of it, and made it a point not to comment. He had to fight back a short-lived wave of paranoia, but Nikolai's approach was a good distraction. Kassle didn't pull any punches, so there was little need for paranoia around him, and neither of them seemed to take it too personally when they were assholes to each other. Kassle was nastier and less happy on a regular basis, but they spoke the same language, in essence. John didn't take it personally when asked if he was decorating his desk, and may have had a sharp retort if Stevie hadn't jumped in first.
Hers worked just fine, though the mention that she even thought that Kassle was going to call it 'gay' (especially since she was right) irritated him, then irritated him more because it had bothered him. Not a good start to the morning. Still, Nikolai's mention of Wes' stories and his .45 caliber aspirin was enough to lighten his mood. It was funny because it was true.
John actually grinned at that, knowing all too well exactly what Nikolai was talking about. Fucking lion. Drew and Josh weren't bad and neither was anyone else in SWAT, but Wes had an ego big enough for all of them. "Catch you later, Stevie," he told the girl's retreating form, leaning back in his chair and feeling a little better about his life for the fact that he hadn't spent the night listening to Wes' stories. Nikolai went in the opposite direction Stevie did, off to the SWAT area, after a comment or two, and John was just slipping the origami swan into his desk drawer with all of the other animals when the elevator door opened.
He'd have been content to pretend he hadn't even heard it, but a glance in that direction proved just how impossible that would be. "Oh, fuck me," he muttered. Great.
Snakes may not have been known for their keen hearing of airborne sounds (since they relied on vibrations due to a lack of external ears), but that didn't mean Blair didn't have a supernatural sense of hearing. It came from being pretty, actually - naturally, people would talk about you, and good or bad, Blair at one point in her life wanted to hear all of it. Of course, she didn't care so much now, but it was still a sort of habit of hers, so when John uttered those fateful words, she was only all too happy to improve his mood a little less.
"I would, loverboy, but you just don't seem interested in me," she said, a pout on her full, plushy lips. Blair never wore much in the way of makeup, but damn she didn't have to. She was gorgeous, and there was no denying it. "Of course, birds don't usually go for snakes, so I can see why you have your reservations," she purred, and none too quietly, either. That she did specifically to piss him off.
When she finally got to his desk - right up to his desk, she leaned across the front of it and put herself in his face. He'd either lean back in his chair or he'd stay still, but either way, all of the upper torso on her 5'9 body was stretching across as she planted her hands down firmly on either side to steady herself. She even tipped one foot back for good measure, so to an onlooker they were flirting.
"Wanna have a staring contest?" she asked, her sweet voice suddenly dropping an octave. Her smile had a razor sharp edge to it, and her eyes glinted maliciously at him. He brought out the predator in her, that was for sure. Rarely ever did she react to anyone quite like she did to him. Most of it was because of what he was and what she was - she didn't really understand that, because it was on a more basic level than she realized. What she did know was that he was hiding something, and shit you hid could bite you in the ass later on. Sort of like a snake. "I'll let you kiss me if you win," she said, and there was nothing nice in her voice. "I promise I won't use my poison."
The only thing about this situation he was grateful for was the fact that they were alone in the room. For as little as everyone else knew about his personal business, the fact that she called him a 'bird' so loudly would probably have inspired him to punch her square in that fake fucking mouth of hers if there had been witnesses present (though that still would have blown up in his face, he was sure). She was grating on him with all of her might, and it was starting to damage his calm in ways she couldn't have fully comprehended.
She was dangerous, he understood that. She was a very poisonous snake, she had that ridiculous staring thing in her favor, nobody believed him when he said how much of a bitch she was and she was a criminal profiler, which meant she was smart. She knew what buttons to push on him, and contrary to what everyone else thought of her, she used her knowledge to upset, anger and alienate him. The closer she got, spitting that bullshit about his 'reservations', the more he wanted to lash out.
He leaned back, but since he was already striking a pretty leisurely pose in his desk chair, it didn't entirely look like he was trying to get some distance from her. In truth, he wanted space because she was a snake and therefore fast, plus the facts that he didn't trust her and he wanted her off of his damn desk.
A staring contest?! Alright, this was getting fucking ridiculous.
"I'd rather lose," he spat, deliberately avoiding eye contact. He hated the fact that he couldn't use eye contact and an aggressive demeanor to maintain control of the situation, but a 'staring contest' would only make him freeze up. It had happened before. Instead, he let his head fall back and closed his eyes despite his instincts being to watch her every move, and tried to rein in his temper of the offered kiss. Since he didn't want to kiss her, it only pissed him off more that she offered it if he 'won'. That was one of the things he hated about her, how she tried to push herself into the space of other people in such a sexual manner, whether they liked it or not. She knew that he didn't want anything to do with her, and still she forced herself at him.
"Get off my fucking desk."
NOPE.AVI, at his spitting command, Blair actually crawled closer. In fact, it was almost seductive how she did it; to an onlooker, it was downright hot, but from John's point of view, she looked like - she looked like a predator closing in on its prey. Her gem-toned eyes positively flashed with hatred as she drew in closer, and she became sort of lost in the moment. For a second, she really thought she was going to strike at him, and every muscle in her body tensed up. Her plush lips were parted only slightly, but there was no breath coming from her. In fact, she was so caught up in everything that she forgot to breathe at all.
Very softly, and with a vehement tone, she hissed, "Make me."
"Whoa there," came a second female voice from behind Blair. The other profiler in the building at the moment, someone who happened to be on good terms with everyone (which was good for John at the moment), physically grabbed Blair by the arm and yanked her off of the desk. "We use our powers for good, not evil," she said, chastising the woman. Of course, Felicia didn't know exactly why the duo didn't get along, but she knew that both of them had psychological training - though Blair definitely had John beat as far as qualifications went - and that they, especially if left unattended, would no doubt hurt eachother.
Blair shook her head, looking visibly disconnected for a second, and then she put her hand to her cheek. It was an incredibly different mood swing from what had just happened, and she seemed deeply worried or ashamed (it was hard to tell which, because she was putting up a poker face that just didn't meet her eyes). "Sorry, John," she whispered, before turning and literally rushing towards the hall and the direction of her office.
Felicia watched her go, and then looked down at Valentine. "I don't know why you two don't get along, but I wish you'd figure it out. You're a good detective, and she's one of the best profilers we have. You two would be a dream team if we could keep you in the same room for more than five minutes." And it wasn't for a lack of trying. The last time, John had called her fake to her face, which everyone thought was bizarre, though noone could deny that Blair was different around him specifically. Felicia accepted that sometimes two people just didn't click - Lord knew that she heard about it day fucking in and out when it came to Kassle and Bishop - but Christ, this was getting ridiculous.
Blair wasn't the only one tensed up, but John wasn't sure if he was prepared in case she struck him, or if he was willing to strike her first. If he'd really put any conscious thought into it (he hadn't, it was all in the back of his mind along with whatever instinct made him freeze up when he locked eyes with her), he would have thought it was stupid to wait around for her to move first, but from a human's perspective, hauling off and nailing a pretty girl in the face without her doing anything overtly aggressive first was a bad move. He was an asshole, but he didn't want to have her pressing charges against him for assault. You couldn't be a good cop and have that going on, and regardless of anything else going on in his life, he was a damn good cop.
Instead of getting off his desk, like he'd told her to do, she just crawled closer (just like a fucking snake) to further invade his space. He found it to be just as threatening as she no doubt meant for it to be, but she needed to remember that he wasn't just a bird. Yes, he had that going on and he really fucking hated it, but he was also a man, and he was bigger and stronger than her. Physically, she was no match for him, but all she seemed able to focus on was the bird thing. Fucking moron. He was a swan, which could be trouble with a coyote, wolf or any other big predator, but no mamba in the wild would be eating a swan and she didn't know what kind of bird he was. For all she knew, he could be a bird of prey, and those bitches ate snakes often enough. Stupid bitch.
When she hissed at him, challenging him, he went from his leisurely and almost dismissive reclining position to suddenly in her face in seconds, but it didn't matter. His movement was wasted, since there was a brief second of eye contact before he would have spoken and Felicia yanked Blair off of his desk. That worked in his favor, since he'd still made the aggressive move, and Felicia had removed her before she could catch him with her eyes. He'd been stupid to rise to the bait, but it hadn't blown up in his face. This time.
Blair's apparent worry or shame, whatever it was supposed to be, didn't work on John. He'd seen past her pretty little mask to the scales underneath far too many times, and she didn't fool him. Her apology would never be accepted because he didn't believe it to be sincere (or that it meant she wouldn't be a threat in the future), and the only thing that kept him from flicking off her retreating form was Felicia's presence and some sense of maturity he thought he should maintain under the watchful eyes of a witness. If he was alone, he probably would have, just for the satisfaction of having done so.
With just Felicia there, he made it a point to lean back in his chair again, trying not to seem too bothered by the exchange. It was a failed attempt because he wasn't the fake bitch that Blair was, but he tried. He turned his eyes up to Felicia, whom he usually liked just fine, and shook his head. "Don't hold your breath. You're a damn good profiler, we work together fine, and there are others," he pointed out, mostly because it was easier than trying to explain anything else and he sure as hell wasn't going to try. He didn't like Felicia enough for all that.
Felicia looked at him, mouth half-open, and just shook her head and closed it. What was it with these New York types? Too much pride, too much wit, and not enough common sense to work as a team. They were all in it for themselves. And people said Hollywood was bad? She rolled her sky-blue eyes at his obvious attempt to appear unbothered when he clearly was.
"I'm not the one who's being felt out by the FBI," she reminded him. "I may be good, but trust me, one day, you'll be glad she's here." She left it at that. She and Blair both did well at their jobs, but Blair - well, Blair took her work home with her. It could be considered unhealthy, but as an Elavie, she was a lot more resilient to mental fatigue. If Felicia tried to pour herself into it as much as Blair did, she'd be sick a lot more often than she was. To be perfectly honest, both of the girls were a little weird, but Blair was dark when she wanted to be. Felicia was thankful she was human... and she knew what humanity was and how to hold onto it.
"Did Brandy already go?" she asked, trying to change the subject to something she figured he'd rather talk about. She knew every time that London got into a sour mood, she could usually talk about Tanith and perk him back up - although perk wasn't really the word. But, he would be less.. mad.
Oh, make no mistake, John could work on a team just fine when he needed to; he was a survivor above all else. He just didn't work with Blair without it becoming a problem, and that was mutual. He worked with Brandy just fine, and Felicia, Tanith, the SWAT guys, hell, even London and Nikolai, who were kind of the department's 'problem children' because of their combination of temperament, willingness to give attitude and sometimes lack of morals. If he had a problem with one person, did it really matter? Apparently, yes, but everyone was going to have to suck it up.
He smiled some when she went on about Blair and the FBI, though it didn't really reach his eyes. "Well, color me impressed," he drawled, though he wasn't really that impressed. He didn't know anything about Felicia's career choices, but he didn't think that Blair was all that much better at the job than Felicia, if she was better in the first place. He liked Flea better, if only because they didn't fight. She wasn't going to change his mind, but he wasn't going to argue about 'one day' that might never come.
Brandy was a much safer topic. He glanced in the direction she'd gone, the elevator, and when he smiled? It actually reached his eyes, though it was a smaller, almost more 'private' of a smile. Not something usual, but nothing that was really more than fond. He liked Brandy enough that he could hang out with her and friends outside of work, which was kind of a big deal for him. He wasn't very trusting.
"Yeah, she had to go deal with a body that turned up in an elevator shaft. Sucks to be her right now," he offered, and that was a genuine sentiment. He liked her, and he definitely wouldn't have wanted to trade with her (though he might have if she'd asked nicely), so she had some sympathy. He didn't give that out often.
Most people might have missed that flicker of emotion on John's face, but not a profiler; certainly not Felicia. She smiled, too, if only because that was the type of person she was. She knew there was more to John than met the eye - much like Nikolai, and the rest. It wasn't necessarily her job to read the people around her, but that was the burden of her talent. Unlike Blair, evidently, Felicia only used her talents for good.
"Elevator shaft?" she parroted, her brows raising. "Brandy hates elevators," she pointed out, only echoing John's sentiment when he said "Sucks for her" in his sly little way. Felicia took the opportunity to lean against his desk and finally enjoy her coffee now that she wasn't having to manhandle Blair off into another direction.
"So, you two are...?" she said, leaving it open-ended. Yep. She was going to pry - but only a little.
Most people might have missed the flicker of emotion, and most people, John would prefer that. Felicia was nice enough that he didn't mind too much if she noticed, but they weren't quite friendly enough for him to spill too much to her. Maybe in the future, who knew? For now, they could at least have a decent conversation without someone getting hurt in some way.
"No shit," he remarked, though there wasn't really any venom to the comment. Brandy didn't make it a secret that she hated small spaces, unlike him. He hated them, but he wasn't about to parade around his weaknesses if he could help it. Granted, it wasn't like he could do anything about it if someone was nearby when he started getting antsy, but he tried. He also didn't have a debilitating phobia, either. It was uncomfortable and would eventually really bother him, but he didn't freeze up or freak out like some people might. He just hated that feeling of being trapped and unable to escape (or fly, even if he didn't escape via flight often). It just bothered him.
Of course, so did prying, though Felicia could get away with it better than some people, especially given what she was asking. John was too paranoid about his personal business to take kindly to someone trying to figure it out, but the topic of Brandy was a pretty simple one. For now, anyway. Given her attachment to her cowboy boyfriend, he didn't see that changing. He hoped they didn't all have to wear stupid hats to the damn wedding.
"Sharing this section of the room," he finished her sentence for her, and cocked an eyebrow up questioningly. He knew what she was getting at, but was going to make her bring it into the open if she wanted to ask. The issue of William being Brandy's high school sweetheart and the reason she was in NYC at all was a big reason for them to only share some office space and work together on a case when they were asked to.
She snorted a little. "Okay," she said, a knowing smile on her mouth as she held her free hand up as a sign of defeat. She knew she was on to something. She also knew Brandy's situation, though not the details. For instance, she didn't know that William was an Anubi, and that eventually Brandy would have to make a choice. If she could tell the future, though, she'd probably laugh at the outcome. "It's none of my business. But I will say this - she's a good girl. She's a smart girl. She'd have to be, or you wouldn't give her the time of day. I do know that."
She heard voices behind her and looked over her shoulder just in time to see her fiance come into the main office area, gym bag slung over his shoulder. She looked back at John and smiled, this time less knowing and more apologetic. "I gotta go and wrangle him before he runs off to play with the boys for the day. I'll talk to you later. And I'll talk to Blair," she promised. She knew that it wouldn't mean much to John, but she wanted to know why one of her best friends had it in for the detective, and she aimed to get answers. Blair was good at pulling people apart; Felicia's interrogation tactics rested on the ability to make people cave by saying very little.
"Zeke," she called, turning on her heel and heading towards him. "Mm, all sweaty. I can only imagine what the inside of that bag smells like," she teased.
Britton was having his own spectacular day. He'd 100% lied to Tanith when he said he was running late due to traffic so he couldn't meet she and London for coffee - he was actually dropping his son off at school. Brandon was getting up early and feeding Laurel some bullshit about extra-credit projects that he had to be in early for. They'd enjoyed about fifteen minutes of quality time, which consisted mostly of Brandon trying to explain why exactly he was grounded - again.
By the time he got to the office, he was super over drama, which was perfect timing because Blair nearly ran him over on her way down the hall. "Whoa, girl, where you thundering off to?" he asked, dodging her only because of his celerity.
"Not now," she snapped, which was uncharacteristic of her.
She kept going and didn't look back, which made Britton wonder what he'd missed. He headed on, nodding to various people until he got to his desk, noticing Felicia was talking to John. And then, it all made sense. He didn't, as a rule, read minds, but that didn't mean he didn't pick up on certain things. The tension in the room when you put Davis and Valentine together was thick enough to cut with a knife. He was curious to know why exactly, but the chaotic energy that encompassed both of them told him enough to know that he may not want to know the details.
Felicia brushed past him to greet Zeke, someone he was familiar with but had never spoken with for more than a few minutes at a time. "Hey man," he said, nodding to John. "I get the feeling your day has gotten off to a winning start," he said sarcastically. They had similar attitudes about a lot of things, despite being from obviously different backgrounds. Of course, Britton's business preceded him; his transfer was facilitated after his suspension ended. Things like that got around - especially because Zeke's brother Zack worked with him in Ramsa.
"What's on our plate today?" He assumed since Brandy was gone, she was working on something with someone else. John didn't really have a partner, nor did Brandy or Britton or Gabriel, come to think of it. O'Donovan just stuck them with eachother in random groups when she needed to, but generally speaking there was nothing solid. However, Sullivan was gone already as well, so Britton naturally assumed it was the two of them.
If John knew that William was an anubi, or what that entailed, he would have both felt sorry for William being unable to have full control over who he could fall in love with, and told Brandy to cut and run. He most definitely wouldn't stand by and let her make the choice that would keep her with William, and that was without knowing exactly what the future had in store. If he'd known, he would have actively worked against the damn jackal, especially since he saw Brandy more often than the boyfriend did. As it was, he was mostly content being a pretty decent friend, and that was nobody's business except theirs, so Felicia was smart to let it drop. She obviously still had her suspicions, which there was nothing he could say to discourage, but he wasn't even going to try. This wasn't high school.
"Well, thanks for having faith in my taste, I guess," he told her, and he meant it. He knew he shouldn't be, but he was just a little surprised that she thought highly enough of his standards to know that if he gave a shit about Brandy, she had to be something special. He wasn't egotistical enough, however much he might pretend sometimes, that he didn't sometimes forget that he didn't choose friends lightly and that he probably used the psychological training he had to pick good people. "Don't worry about Blair, though. I'm sure talking to her isn't going to do shit, and there's no need to stir up more drama by getting anyone else involved."
He meant that, if only for the sake of drama. He hated it more than anything else in the world, and that was actually one of the reasons he couldn't stand Blair, on top of everything else. She was the kind of girl that he could imagine was surrounded with drama all the time; who she slept with, who she wanted to sleep with, who she was flirting with, who she wouldn't give the time of day, who wanted to be like her, who was jealous of her...the list went on, and that was too much for John. He wanted to come in, do his job, and go home. Maybe he'd get a beer with someone from the station after work. That was all he needed, and another reason he was glad to be away from his family. They were all about the drama and the social status, all of the craziness that he couldn't handle. He didn't need Felicia, however well-meaning she was, to build it up further with Blair, and he certainly didn't want Blair telling Felicia anything about him.
"Later, Wright," he called, watching her go to meet her husband, who probably needed the kind of wrangling she was up to. Those SWAT guys were a bunch of morons sometimes.
Next on the long list of people to enter his space this early in the morning was Britton, who wasn't really an unwelcome visitor. After Blair, he'd take almost anyone. The fact that the man offered his sarcasm as a greeting only made him more comfortable with his presence, and John didn't really give a shit about vampires, so it was okay with him. He even smirked a little, body language looking naturally relaxed instead of forcibly so for the first time since Stevie wandered off.
"Yeah, I'm off to a great start. She set a new record for how early in the work day I have to sanitize my desk," he told the other man, who would know exactly what he was talking about. Blair had been seen all over London's desk before, and he had been known to blatantly ignore her if he wasn't in the mood to deal, which had to be worse for her because she wasn't getting any kind of reaction. Of course, London also flirted back if he was in a decent mood, but that hadn't happened since his wife had died. Big surprise.
"What's up with you?" he asked in turn, leaning forward only because the vampire asked what was on their plate and John hadn't actually bothered to look just yet. He had some files that he was apparently supposed to deal with, and when he actually looked at them, he saw the note saying that he should take Britt with him. That was probably why Brandy and Sullivan were already busy and Britton was here wondering what they were going to do. "Here, take a look. Most of it's pretty standard, I'm thinking, but we might find something interesting."
Britton said nothing but shook his head a little, reaching for the file instead of choosing to make a disparaging remark about Blair. He was still newish, and he didn't need any more trouble than he already had. He leaned against the edge of Brandy's desk, flipping through a few and making various faces. He paused when he ran over a MP flag, and glanced up at John.
"Any reason why O'Donovan put this in here? This isn't even our department. Missing Persons.. this girl's been gone for a few months now. She's gone." He threw the file down on John's desk, face up. The 3x5 picture attached to the top of it was of a frowning girl with large gem-like eyes and plush lips; she was pretty, but she looked like trouble. "Mya Shadow," he said. "I know her sister. She must have some pull with the PD. This case won't leave me alone."
He frowned and pulled out a chair, sitting down and taking a long sip of his coffee. "I don't want to investigate this. She's not dead. I know where she is. I don't know why her sister's pushing this. I guess she wants proof, but I'll be damned if I'm going to bring it to her." He rubbed his eyes to try and wake himself up, which was funny considering as a vampire he didn't really get tired like humans did, but that didn't mean he'd forgotten his mannerisms.
"We can either do this or the call girl strangling. It's for NYElite, though, which means we're going to spend all day chasing down the owner."
The fact that Britton didn't comment about Blair didn't bother John in the least, and was probably best for the situation at large; John wasn't looking for sympathy, he didn't care whether Britt liked or hated Blair, and he certainly wasn't looking to exacerbate the situation. It all worked out and let the two of them go over the files in some attempt at planning their day, which wasn't looking too good, by the way.
"I don't know, why don't you ask her?" he returned, glancing over the file a little more closely after Britt rejected it. He didn't know her sister the way Britton did, but he knew the date she went missing (all police in the area did, whether they knew the real cause, or not), and he certainly knew she was never coming back. Talk about a nightmare.
He nodded his agreement with the vampire's assessment of the case, not wanting to do it and knowing where she was. John didn't want to get the sister proof anymore than Britton did, but the other man was oh so kind as to point out the alternative case for the day. "Ooookay, so we either investigate the blackhole that 90% of our missing persons fall into for proof that the pretty girl in the picture isn't coming home, or we go chase the local madam down to ask her if any of her customers are into erotic asphyxiation when she's probably already had tall, dark and creepy kill the guy and hide the body Hoffa-style? Either way, the day is fucked, so I say we flip a coin."
He shrugged, giving Britton one of his more open 'I-really-don't-give-a-fuck-I'm-over-today' kind of looks, complete with raised eyebrows and a patient ease about him that only descended every now and then. He'd delivered his evaluation of the cases so matter-of-factly that it was possible that he really didn't care, especially since he was right; they weren't going to get much of anything done on either case.
Maybe they'd end up having a really good lunch. That might help make up for the rest.
Britton sighed. He could feel the length this day had already, and it was only just now the early morning. "No need to flip a coin. I'll - I'll talk to Chandra later." He'd met Mya. The days before she'd been taken, Chandra had said she'd had a far away look in her eyes, like she knew it was all going to happen before it did. It couldn't be possible, but people took Mya's beauty for granted. They forgot that she was a Phasi, and Phasi by nature were scary smart - beyond that, she was Chandra's sister, and no Shadow female was an idiot.
"Let's go talk to Morgaine and Sir Mordred. God, even though I'm sure I could take him he still freaks me out. He's got those yellow eyes," he said, making a face where his lips curled and he bared his teeth. "Like Scutt Farkus from A Christmas Story," he added. He threw his empty coffee cup away and nodded. "Let's get out of here before someone tries to make us do something even worse than what we're already up against."
As they walked through the parking garage to the car, Britton's phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and grimaced at the number. "Oh, nooo," he said, hitting silent on the ringer. "It's my son's school. Absolutely not, they can call Laurel," he snarled. "Those fuckers always call me when he's done something bad. I made the mistake of going down there one time. I heard it so bad from his mother I thought she'd tell my old Captain to ban me from going within 500 feet of a school like some Chester!" he exclaimed.
He climbed into the passenger side of the car, making the decision to let John drive. If his day was already bad, trying to fight for control of the vehicle would make it worse. Besides, if he wrecked, Britton could teleport to safety. "Don't ever get married, bro. Ever."
When Britton made up his mind about the case they were going to cover, opting to talk to Chandra Shadow at a later point (John might offer to go with him out of some nagging feeling of sympathy, if Britton was smart about how he went about things), John gave him a brief glance and the opportunity to change his mind before shrugging in a way that suggested that he hadn't been kidding when he said that he didn't care which case they followed.
"You really think so?" he asked once Britt mentioned the character from A Christmas Story, giving his partner for the day an almost disbelieving look and then shaking his head. "Maybe it's just me, but I think Richardson from SWAT looks like that kid. I hear he has a whole pile of brothers, couldn't you see him with a shit-ton of freckles and giving some other red-haired kid that kind of squinty look?"
That Drew was also a bigger, potentially nastier ('potentially' only because John was pretty sure there was a screw or two loose in Mordred's head) cat didn't hurt the comparison and the 'yellow eyes' bit, but whatever. He certainly didn't disagree with making tracks before they got to go looking into any of the many, many murders that Midnight had left for them to try to make sense of.
He also wasn't opening his trap about the school thing, or Britton's marriage. You didn't have to work in the station long to have heard a thing or two about that mess, and to know not to touch it. Given John's family problems and desire to keep a lid on them, he wasn't getting into someone else's private life.
LOL, get married? That was one of his reasons for leaving home, imagine that.
"Preaching to the choir, man. You couldn't get me to do it shotgun style," he agreed, hopping into the driver's seat without comment. He didn't mind driving, though Britton had better teleport them both to safety if they wrecked, the bastard.