Kelly (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gonerunningaway) wrote2012-08-30 04:48 am
gonerunningaway) wrote2012-08-30 04:48 am
Tide-Water Dogs, Chapter Fourteen
Title: Tide-Water Dogs, Chapter Fourteen
Fandom: The Departed
Rating: NC-17
Word Count (this chapter): 1,418
Warnings this chapter (highlight to view): Murder victim, but not explicit.
Chapter Fourteen
Easley beats Sean to Queenan’s office on Tuesday morning, sitting in the chair outside the captain’s door. He smiles tightly at Sean, who nods back and knocks perfunctorily before sticking his head in.
“You know Easley’s outside?”
“Good morning to you too, Sean. Close the door.”
Sean does. “He’s getting his transfer today?”
“He is,” Queenan agrees. “He had grand jury testimony yesterday, and I’ve met with the White Collar captain.” He glances at his watch. “He’s early.”
“Good for him.”
“Let him in,” Queenan says, “and play nice.”
Sean rolls his eyes to himself once he’s turned to open the door. “Come on.”
Easley stands and straightens his jacket, following Sean into the office. “Captain, Detective.”
“Detective,” Queenan says. “Have a seat.” Easley does, his back ramrod straight. “How did your testimony go?”
“I think well, sir. Connelly seemed confident.”
“Good. He should be.” Queenan tips his glasses down and glances at a form. “We have your assignment, now that you’re a regular detective again.”
“Where am I going?” Good, he isn’t assuming he gets to stay with Undercover.
“White Collar.” Queenan takes out a form and slides it across the desk. “We feel it’s where you’d fit best.”
“Given your talents,” Sean interjects.
Easley flicks his eyes at him. “Thank you, Detective.”
“Considering what you handled while you were undercover,” Queenan goes on, “you’re suited to the world of corporate crime. I’ve already spoken to the captain and have your transfer paperwork ready. You just need to sign.”
Easley nods curtly and stands. “Where do I sign?”
Queenan directs him to the places on the pages before taking it back. “Go on over to White Collar. I’ll make sure your orders are in the computer. Do you have your gun and badge?”
Easley pushes back his suit jacket to reveal a shoulder holster like the one Sean favors. “Yes sir.”
“Good. They have a desk ready for you.”
“Name plate and everything,” Sean mutters.
Easley ignores him. “Thank you, sir.”
“It was a pleasure working with you, Detective. We may pull you in for your input in other cases.”
Easley nods, then he turns and slips out the door.
Sean turns to Queenan. “That’s how it usually goes?”
A faint smile pulls at Queenan’s mouth. “What do you mean?”
“Generally speaking, the undercovers who stay in the force get a few weeks off, and then they get sent off to some other department after signing their transfer paperwork?”
“Generally speaking,” Queenan agrees. “Is there a problem with that?”
Sean grins. “No problem. I just fucking knew you liked me, Captain.”
“What’s not to like?” Queenan asks dryly. “You scare half the department, piss off all of them, antagonize my undercovers.”
“And I’m damn good at paperwork,” Sean supplies.
Queenan shakes his head and hands Sean the folder with Easley’s paperwork. “Use your gifts on that.”
Sean’s nearly smiling as he leaves Queenan’s office. That, of course, stops when he runs into Ellerby in the hall between the two. “Ellerby.”
“Dignam, you look like you got laid.”
“More than you have,” Sean agrees.
“The burden of marriage,” Ellerby murmurs. “Getting laid whenever I want.”
“Must be a problem on your end, then. I hear a doctor can help with that.” Sean steps past him and into his own office. One of the only things Ellerby’s good for is insults that would go to waste otherwise. He might be a sergeant with a clean record, but that doesn’t make him a cop.
Sean gets the paperwork entered, then sends the rest of it to one of the department secretaries to be filed. Within a couple of hours, Easley is out of undercover, is up for a couple of awards, and is a White Collar detective. Whoop de fucking do.
It occurs to Sean that he’s up for a couple of medals too, now that he’s testified. He should do something besides let them sit around getting dusty if he gets them. They’re just glitter, but they can be important glitter.
Once that’s all done, Sean goes back to Queenan’s office. Queenan looks drawn now, tight worry lines around his mouth and frown lines showing on his forehead.
“We’re going to Pittsfield. We’ll take your car. You can get reimbursed for the gas if you keep the receipts.” Queenan opens his drawer, pulling out his weapon and his wallet.
Sean blinks. “What’s going on?”
“Get your keys,” Queenan says, a non-answer.
Sean does as he’s told and walks down to the garage with Queenan. When they’re in his car, he asks again, “What’s going on?”
“There’s a body in the morgue in Pittsfield that fits the description of Hardison. I don’t know why she’d be in Pittsfield, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be her.”
Sean nods and starts the car. “It might not be her.”
“It might not, but she fits Hardison’s approximate height, weight, and age, as well as hair and eye color. I’ll see when we get there.”
For once, Sean doesn’t try to keep a conversation going. Queenan’s flipping through one of his small notepads, frowning at the pages, and it’s been awhile since Sean had a reason to go to Pittsfield, so he’s more focused on the drive than trying to draw Queenan out.
If it is Hardison…
They get to the morgue just after one. Queenan flashes his badge and signs in, and after a questioning glance and a nod from Queenan, Sean does the same. An attendant calls them in after a moment and asks who they want to see.
“The Jane Doe, Caucasian, short brown hair, brown eyes. We’re attempting an ID,” Queenan says.
The attendant nods and pulls on a pair of latex gloves. He opens a drawer and lifts back the sheet. Queenan and Sean look for a long minute. The woman was pretty once, her hair cut in a blunt way that would frame her face if she was upright, her features well-formed. The cause of death isn’t obvious.
“That’s not her.”
Sean lets out a breath and nods. “Good.”
Queenan nods. “It is. Thank you,” he adds to the attendant, and the two of them turn to leave.
“Are you hungry?” Queenan asks once they’re back aboveground and outside.
“Yeah,” Sean says after a moment. “I could eat.”
They pick a dive, a greasy spoon that advertises its coffee and meatloaf, so Sean orders that. Queenan gets a BLT and says, “Don’t tell Elizabeth I’m eating this.”
Sean smirks. “Quit smoking, huh?”
“I’ll find an excuse to demote you if you tell her that,” Queenan threatens, and Sean laughs.
“You like me too much for that.”
“God help me, but I do,” Queenan agrees, and sips his coffee. Sean can see him fighting a smile. He almost smiles back and looks down at his plate to avoid it.
“This is their famous meatloaf?”
“The coffee lives up to it,” Queenan says with a shrug.
Sean tries a bite. It’s not the best he’s ever had—even his own is better—but it’s better than it looks, more flavor than just a slab of dark brown meat should have.
“On Saturday,” Queenan starts a few minutes later, and Sean glances at him. He’s halfway through his BLT.
“On Saturday,” Sean repeats. “What on Saturday?”
“Elizabeth wants you to come for supper. If you come early, we can watch the game.”
Sean sees the gleam in Queenan’s eyes. “There’s a catch, isn’t there?”
“You’re bringing Robert.”
He stares at Queenan. “You’re really set on meeting him.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
“I meet the girls Patrick dates,” he says, like that’s supposed to mean something, and then the brick hits Sean, square in the face.
“I should have known when your kid said something about you adopting me.”
“Patrick’s a smart boy,” Queenan agrees. “Besides, Elizabeth wants to meet Robert, and I don’t think even you have the willpower to deny her.”
Sean snorts. “It’s a good thing she doesn’t use her powers for evil.”
“The city would be doomed,” Queenan agrees, and picks up the other half of his BLT.
The drive back to Boston is much better. Sean doesn’t have to push for conversation, and they touch on their various undercovers; the eventual Van Kais trials and how far away that is; the fact that the Middlebrook and Williams case is closing soon; everything they’d usually discuss. There’s nothing weird, no silences, nothing like the drive to Pittsfield.
Besides, they’re going back to Boston. That automatically makes it better.
Fandom: The Departed
Rating: NC-17
Word Count (this chapter): 1,418
Warnings this chapter (highlight to view): Murder victim, but not explicit.
Easley beats Sean to Queenan’s office on Tuesday morning, sitting in the chair outside the captain’s door. He smiles tightly at Sean, who nods back and knocks perfunctorily before sticking his head in.
“You know Easley’s outside?”
“Good morning to you too, Sean. Close the door.”
Sean does. “He’s getting his transfer today?”
“He is,” Queenan agrees. “He had grand jury testimony yesterday, and I’ve met with the White Collar captain.” He glances at his watch. “He’s early.”
“Good for him.”
“Let him in,” Queenan says, “and play nice.”
Sean rolls his eyes to himself once he’s turned to open the door. “Come on.”
Easley stands and straightens his jacket, following Sean into the office. “Captain, Detective.”
“Detective,” Queenan says. “Have a seat.” Easley does, his back ramrod straight. “How did your testimony go?”
“I think well, sir. Connelly seemed confident.”
“Good. He should be.” Queenan tips his glasses down and glances at a form. “We have your assignment, now that you’re a regular detective again.”
“Where am I going?” Good, he isn’t assuming he gets to stay with Undercover.
“White Collar.” Queenan takes out a form and slides it across the desk. “We feel it’s where you’d fit best.”
“Given your talents,” Sean interjects.
Easley flicks his eyes at him. “Thank you, Detective.”
“Considering what you handled while you were undercover,” Queenan goes on, “you’re suited to the world of corporate crime. I’ve already spoken to the captain and have your transfer paperwork ready. You just need to sign.”
Easley nods curtly and stands. “Where do I sign?”
Queenan directs him to the places on the pages before taking it back. “Go on over to White Collar. I’ll make sure your orders are in the computer. Do you have your gun and badge?”
Easley pushes back his suit jacket to reveal a shoulder holster like the one Sean favors. “Yes sir.”
“Good. They have a desk ready for you.”
“Name plate and everything,” Sean mutters.
Easley ignores him. “Thank you, sir.”
“It was a pleasure working with you, Detective. We may pull you in for your input in other cases.”
Easley nods, then he turns and slips out the door.
Sean turns to Queenan. “That’s how it usually goes?”
A faint smile pulls at Queenan’s mouth. “What do you mean?”
“Generally speaking, the undercovers who stay in the force get a few weeks off, and then they get sent off to some other department after signing their transfer paperwork?”
“Generally speaking,” Queenan agrees. “Is there a problem with that?”
Sean grins. “No problem. I just fucking knew you liked me, Captain.”
“What’s not to like?” Queenan asks dryly. “You scare half the department, piss off all of them, antagonize my undercovers.”
“And I’m damn good at paperwork,” Sean supplies.
Queenan shakes his head and hands Sean the folder with Easley’s paperwork. “Use your gifts on that.”
Sean’s nearly smiling as he leaves Queenan’s office. That, of course, stops when he runs into Ellerby in the hall between the two. “Ellerby.”
“Dignam, you look like you got laid.”
“More than you have,” Sean agrees.
“The burden of marriage,” Ellerby murmurs. “Getting laid whenever I want.”
“Must be a problem on your end, then. I hear a doctor can help with that.” Sean steps past him and into his own office. One of the only things Ellerby’s good for is insults that would go to waste otherwise. He might be a sergeant with a clean record, but that doesn’t make him a cop.
Sean gets the paperwork entered, then sends the rest of it to one of the department secretaries to be filed. Within a couple of hours, Easley is out of undercover, is up for a couple of awards, and is a White Collar detective. Whoop de fucking do.
It occurs to Sean that he’s up for a couple of medals too, now that he’s testified. He should do something besides let them sit around getting dusty if he gets them. They’re just glitter, but they can be important glitter.
Once that’s all done, Sean goes back to Queenan’s office. Queenan looks drawn now, tight worry lines around his mouth and frown lines showing on his forehead.
“We’re going to Pittsfield. We’ll take your car. You can get reimbursed for the gas if you keep the receipts.” Queenan opens his drawer, pulling out his weapon and his wallet.
Sean blinks. “What’s going on?”
“Get your keys,” Queenan says, a non-answer.
Sean does as he’s told and walks down to the garage with Queenan. When they’re in his car, he asks again, “What’s going on?”
“There’s a body in the morgue in Pittsfield that fits the description of Hardison. I don’t know why she’d be in Pittsfield, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be her.”
Sean nods and starts the car. “It might not be her.”
“It might not, but she fits Hardison’s approximate height, weight, and age, as well as hair and eye color. I’ll see when we get there.”
For once, Sean doesn’t try to keep a conversation going. Queenan’s flipping through one of his small notepads, frowning at the pages, and it’s been awhile since Sean had a reason to go to Pittsfield, so he’s more focused on the drive than trying to draw Queenan out.
If it is Hardison…
They get to the morgue just after one. Queenan flashes his badge and signs in, and after a questioning glance and a nod from Queenan, Sean does the same. An attendant calls them in after a moment and asks who they want to see.
“The Jane Doe, Caucasian, short brown hair, brown eyes. We’re attempting an ID,” Queenan says.
The attendant nods and pulls on a pair of latex gloves. He opens a drawer and lifts back the sheet. Queenan and Sean look for a long minute. The woman was pretty once, her hair cut in a blunt way that would frame her face if she was upright, her features well-formed. The cause of death isn’t obvious.
“That’s not her.”
Sean lets out a breath and nods. “Good.”
Queenan nods. “It is. Thank you,” he adds to the attendant, and the two of them turn to leave.
“Are you hungry?” Queenan asks once they’re back aboveground and outside.
“Yeah,” Sean says after a moment. “I could eat.”
They pick a dive, a greasy spoon that advertises its coffee and meatloaf, so Sean orders that. Queenan gets a BLT and says, “Don’t tell Elizabeth I’m eating this.”
Sean smirks. “Quit smoking, huh?”
“I’ll find an excuse to demote you if you tell her that,” Queenan threatens, and Sean laughs.
“You like me too much for that.”
“God help me, but I do,” Queenan agrees, and sips his coffee. Sean can see him fighting a smile. He almost smiles back and looks down at his plate to avoid it.
“This is their famous meatloaf?”
“The coffee lives up to it,” Queenan says with a shrug.
Sean tries a bite. It’s not the best he’s ever had—even his own is better—but it’s better than it looks, more flavor than just a slab of dark brown meat should have.
“On Saturday,” Queenan starts a few minutes later, and Sean glances at him. He’s halfway through his BLT.
“On Saturday,” Sean repeats. “What on Saturday?”
“Elizabeth wants you to come for supper. If you come early, we can watch the game.”
Sean sees the gleam in Queenan’s eyes. “There’s a catch, isn’t there?”
“You’re bringing Robert.”
He stares at Queenan. “You’re really set on meeting him.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
“I meet the girls Patrick dates,” he says, like that’s supposed to mean something, and then the brick hits Sean, square in the face.
“I should have known when your kid said something about you adopting me.”
“Patrick’s a smart boy,” Queenan agrees. “Besides, Elizabeth wants to meet Robert, and I don’t think even you have the willpower to deny her.”
Sean snorts. “It’s a good thing she doesn’t use her powers for evil.”
“The city would be doomed,” Queenan agrees, and picks up the other half of his BLT.
The drive back to Boston is much better. Sean doesn’t have to push for conversation, and they touch on their various undercovers; the eventual Van Kais trials and how far away that is; the fact that the Middlebrook and Williams case is closing soon; everything they’d usually discuss. There’s nothing weird, no silences, nothing like the drive to Pittsfield.
Besides, they’re going back to Boston. That automatically makes it better.