[Derek Anderson] He had called Izzy and asked her to meet in a small dark bar. It was non descript, owned by a blading white man in his 50’s, no ties to the mafia and that’s what he wante. Yeah there were some bikers around, some less than friendly types but there were a lot worst places in the city.
He was wearing an old pair of jeans, a t-shirt and leather jacket tonight. He had found a table in one corner of the bar and already had two glasses of whiskey on the table. Yes, he knew her tastes a little by now. He had piked the place because the music was loud, no italians came here and no cops either. Also, no corporate type. It was essential since what he wanted to talk with Izzy was related to those 3.
He leaned in his chair, hands on the table, blue eyeswatching the door for the familiar figure of the Fenrir kin.
[Izzy Montoya] She’s late. She’s late – but she said that she’d be there, and she has all intentions of making it. And so, the door finally opens, and spills one exhausted detective into the bar. It weighs her shoulders down, there are shadows under her eyes, there’s the suggestion that she? works too damn hard. There’s also the expectation that she won’t stop doing exactly that anytime soon writ in the strength of her stance, even the way she walks when she crosses the room to join him at the table.
She slips into the chair opposite him, and settles back with a sigh as she grabs the glass of whiskey wiating for her. “You are a god among fuckin’ men….”
[Derek Anderson] He grinned “That’s the truth, don’t you ever forget it” He smiled to her in an easy friendly way. He drank from his glass, watching her “You look overworked Izzy. I’d avise you to relax and take it easy, but we both know you won’t. Though I seriously think a massage and a really good fuck would at least allow you to rest for a night”
He smiled, not offering himself. If she agree with his assessment and want him to do it, she’ll tell him. After all, she always get what she wants right? She told him that the night they played videogames and slept together. “How have you been? It’s been a while”
He downed the rest of his glass, listening to her answer.
[Izzy Montoya] She smirks, with a huff of amusement, before she takes a swallow of her whiskey, making a content sound after the burn starts to spread through her chest. His comment is amusing, and she arches a brow, slightly, that he doesn’t exactly offer.
“You called me out here for a booty call? Derek, my place was ever so much closer…” She chuckles, and the drags her hands through her hair, before letting it fall again. “Busy. Overworked, clearly, but that’s par for the course. You?”
[Derek Anderson] He chuckled “I haven’t called you for a booty call. Though you still are as tempting as ever” He said with a smile
“I’m doing, working mostly, investigating that kin thng and the Black Sun stuff. And that’s why I wanted to meet with you. I’ve found a few things and wanted to talk to you about it, in case you’ve been investigating too. Maybe we have learned the same things, maybe we can complement each other…either way, one of the things I learned concern someone from your precinct.
There’s a junior investigator named Sean Finnegan there. From what I learned he’s on the Scarpesci’s family payroll, who are linked to Mister Hutts, who is a junior board members on many of the companies buying the land around the Brotherhood”
He watches her as he tell her all that in a very low voice, leaning forward to be closer to her.
[Izzy Montoya] She smirks, and then listens. And then, she falls very. very. very. still. She finishes her drink. And sets it down with force enough to let him know that booty call? may very well have just gone out the window.
“You’ll wanna tread very fuckin’ carefully right now, Derek. You better have fuckin’ proof, and a lot of it.”
[Derek Anderson] His eyes watched her for a moment before he spoke “Izzy, do you think I would accuse any cop of being dirty? I mean you mgiht not know me that well or even trust me, but come on, why would I want to do something like that?”
He looked inot her eyes “Finnegan is one of the two most solid names I found linked to the Scarpesci. The other one is Nick Hagar, a lieutnant. I had a feeling you know Finnega, working at the same precinct. I’m osrry if he’s a friend of yours and I hope you’ll beleive me, because I’ve no reasons to lie to you.
It doesn’t help me professionally, doesn’t make us better firends nor would it help me get some action with you. I don’t need that for all of those. So all it leaves us is either the truth or I’m an idiot. And I know I”m not one”
[Izzy Montoya] She scrubs her hand across her face, again.
“Don’t treat me like a fuckin’ child, Derek. All that – and you didn’t offer me the proof. I’ve know Finn since he was a fuckin’ cadet. He’s…” She stops. She doesn’t say anything else, but it’s clear they’re close. “Ya can’t fuckin’ blame me for demanding to see the proof for myself.”
A breath, frustrated. “He’s… just. I can’t just take your word on it. Ok? I have to know. This ain’t about you, dammit.”
[Derek Anderson] He nodded to her “All right, fair enough. Come over to my place, I have the files there.”He rubbed the back of his head “Look, I”m sorry. I didn’t know you two knew each other well.” He doesn’t ask about the nature of their relation. He had an idea about it and frankly, it didn’t matter
“And look, I’ll rectify what I said, as respect for your friend. He and Hagar are my most solid leads. It’s still possible I”m wrong. I doubt it but it mgiht. I hope so, for his sake.”
He pays when the waitress brings them the second glasses of whiskey he ordered for both of them. His eyes stayed on Izzy. he odesn’t reach to comfort her, he odesn’t say everything will be all right, because most likely they won’t be. He odesn’t bullshit her. Her friend is more than likely dirty and there’s nothing to be done about it except…deal with it. “I know someone heard about an informant while spying the construction site. I’m not sure if one of those two people is that informant, or it’s something else entirely.”
[Izzy Montoya] “He’s always… he” She trails off, growling in frustration. He’s the one she thought she could trust completely, and that she questions now, because of this? It bothers her. Deeply. But she nods – she’ll examine the evidence for herself, and make a decision.
…and try to figure out what it means for her in the precinct. He’s the one she’s always turned too when she needed information, who always had her back. She closes her eyes, and sighs, softly. She doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t have too. But she will deal with it – that is something she always does, and does well.
[Derek Anderson] She’s silent and so is he for a long time. He drink from his glass slowly, giving her time to process all this. “I’m here if you need anything you know. Help, support, more booze, whatever.”
He paused “I also think there might be a way to handle this in a way that doesn’t make us or me, someone who betrays a brother. But that, I’ll let you handle the way you want.” He doesn’t offer his help with that, his previous offer inlcuded everything after all. He finished hisglass, ready to take her to his place if she wanted right now, or stay here, or let her go if she didn’t want confirmation tonight
[Izzy Montoya] Oh, she wants confirmation. Right now. She can’t fathom getting any rest with this hanging over her – as it is, she’ll have to find someone else to be her right hand man when she needs things done for the Nation. Even the hint of this, and she has to take Finn off her list – and he was her list. She finishes the second whiskey, then moves to stand.
“Right now, I just need to see it.” The muscle in her jaw shows her tension, flexing as she sets her jaw, already fearing the worst. Nothing is worse than a dirty cop – except a dirty cop that she’d trusted.
[Derek Anderson] He nodded and got up “All right, let’s go.” He walked with her outside the bar, moving toward his car “Want to follow me or ride along with me?” He ask, looking at her. He wasn’t sure that she should drive, but he was sure telling her that was a mistake.
He stopped near his vehicule, wiating ofr her answer, feeling bad for how she felt at the moment but knowing that in the end, she will prefer to know the truth than life a lie. He hoped she will. He was wondering if she will blame him for it. Probably at first, maybe always but it was his duty as a cop and asomewhat friend to let her know she was being lied to or at least, mislead.
He doesn’t know that Finnegan was her whole ist of contact, probably jsut as she didn’t know he would be there for her as a fellow kin, a fellow detective and a friend. He had a different way to get things done than her. Together maybe they’ll be able to accomplsh more than alone..only time will tell..and only if she allows it.
[Izzy Montoya] She follows him to his car, already digging out her pack and lighter. He asks if she wants to ride with him, and she arches a brow at him, and lifts her smoke in reply. She’s driven in much worse shape than this, and she lights up, taking that first long drag, before tucking away the lighter as she exhales.
“I’m fine.”
Fucked up. Irrational. Neurotic. and something that starts with E. Fine.
She stalks to her car, and gets inside, and in the shadows of the street lamp, he’ll see her smack the steering wheel with her fist. once. Twice. Then a third time for good measure – then? The roar of her car starting, as she takes a breath, and readies herself to follow him home.
[Derek Anderson] He nodded to her and let her go to her car. Once he was sure she was relatively ok, he got in his car and started it. He drove away from the slums to one of the good upper middle class neighborhood of Chicago. Along the drive, he made sure she was following him. He parked the car and got out, waiting for her to join him, then went into his appartment building. He was silent, letting her break it if she felt like it.
They took the elevator and went up 5 floors. He let her to his appartment, a spacious two bedroom loft. The living room wa large, leanding into the kitchen, barely separated by a small wall about 5 foot high with a dining table nearby. The living room was nicely furnished, uncluttered, the whole appartment looknig pretty clean.
“There’s some whiskey in that cabinet” He point to her “Glasses and ice in the kitchen. I’ll get you the files” he look at her for a moment “I usually don’t allow smoking here but I’ll make an exception for you. Do as if you’re at your place”
He took off his jacket and disapeared for a moment
[Izzy Montoya] She finished the cigarette on the ride over, and radio’d in to let dispatch know she was done for the night. On call, always, of course, but effectively free for however long this conversation will take. She pulls into the drive, and parks where he indicates, stretching as she gets out. She doesn’t light up again, as much as she may want too. She does, however, stop in the face of the elevator.
“What floor?” When he tells her the fifth, she takes a step back, and curses under her breath. “fuck.” She pushes her hair back holding it, fist clenched at the nape of her neck as the doors open. She looks toward the fire escape stairs, and then back, and then steps into the death trap. She leans against the back, her hands wrapped around the railing, holding until her knuckles are white, her grip strong enough that it’s a shock the metal doesn’t bend. It’s a grip of terror, straight up, the moment the door closes.
She takes a shaky breath. She hates showing weakness more than anything else, and this? This is a reaction she can’t control and it galls her to her very core. She trembles as the car lifts… counting the floors with each ding, her jaw grinding, audibly. And when it opens, she all but explodes out into the hallway, taking a moment to just… breathe.
She doesn’t say a word about it, though. She doesn’t explain. She simply follows him into his apartment, and goes straight to the whiskey cabinet, and drinks from the mouth of the bottle the minute his back is turned. She leans over, resting her forehead on the cool stone of the countertop, and breathes.
Then, she stands and pours them both a proper drink. She doesn’t light up again – not yet.
[Derek Anderson] He had watched her, her reaction to the elevator. Claustrophobia..most probably. If she noticed the way he looked at her, the brief moment he did because he turned his eyes away, letting her handle her own fears, there was no judgement, no pity, jsut acceptance as the fears were part of her. He noted it so he wouldn’t put her through something liek that again. He felt sorry to have done this to her and his apology was to step aside ot let her out first.
Acknowledging her fears without saying so. Apologizing without saying either.
Once in the appartment, he might have heard and deduced that she drank from the bottle. He didn’t mind. He had placed his mouth on some very intimate parts of her body, some saliva on a bottle won’t kill him. He came back with the files and sat on the couch, placing them on the table
“Thanks” he said, taking his drink and then leaned back, letting her go through them. He had placed the most important documents on top. He wasn’t about to have her search through the info. She didn’t need that.
[Izzy Montoya] She noted that he let her out first, and it’s with some relief that he doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t point out her weakness. She is Fenrir. She isn’t supposed to have weakness. Despite how it happened, that she still bears this scar, this one born of the same place those along her lower belly were – though these are unseen, she does not acknowledge it. She will not. She can’t.
She is Fenrir.
She has composed herself when he returns, though her hands still tremble a little when she hands him his drink. He’s had his lips, his hands, every part of him over her, so the saliva won’t kill him. He’s never asked about her scars, either. There’s a respect in that – one she appreciates.
But there are other things to worry about now. Finn, her Finn, dirty. She settles down next to him, and grabs the files and starts to go through the info he’s found.
[Derek Anderson] He has learned something about people in his life. Trust them, respect them and they’ll respect you back, maybe even open up. Not asking about someone’s past or wounds sometimes show that you care as much as asking about them. Like with Tabitha and the scars on her hands. Once he got her ot show him her hands, she eventually opened up to him, talking about her past, conquering her fears and they ended up spending really nice moments together.
Though right now his mind wasn’t on Izzy gorgeous body or her fascinating scars. He actually thought they made the woman sexier. No, hs mind was on her, what she was gonig through and what she will say about his findings. He poundered what she’ll do about them too, but he didn’t know her well enough to think she’d do anything but deal with it permanently.
[Izzy Montoya] She reads everything. Twice. She’s a damn good detective, and even she can see the lines drawn, see the way things connect, see the implications of it all. She returns to the damning documents that were on the top, and reads them a third time. Then, she carefully closes the file, and sets it aside, when she wants to fling it against the wall, deny what she’s seen, scream that it’s not true, it’s not right, it’s NOT. She befriended him. She took him under her wing. She fucked him. She trusted him.
She falls back into the couch, and downs her drink. She closes her eyes, and leans her head back, and puts it all into a single word.
“Fuck.”
[Derek Anderson] He watched everything, silent. Thre wasn’t much he could say or do after all. He drank his glass, letting her vent which ended up only being one word and filled both their glasses. He put a hand on her thigh, one of his big strong hands nad gave it a squeeze. No hugging, she wasn’t the type. No empty words either. He simply looked at her, drinking his fourth glass since they have met up at the bar.
He was getting buzzed but not drunk, though there was enough alcohol in the appartment to get them both drunk a few times over. He didn’t do anything, letting her decide what she wanted to do, how she wanted to cope. He would be there for her, in some way, they were in this together now.
No cops liked to rat on another one, even a dirty one. But no cleam cop could stand a dirty one either. And in the end, both he and Izzy were lcan..where and when it mattered.
[Izzy Montoya] He puts his hand on her thigh, and muscle tenses under his hand, briefly, before she relaxes into the touch. He has gleaned what Finn means to her – in some part – from the intensity of her reaction. No one likes to think of a cop being dirty at all, let alone someone they’ve trusted. She knows he understands, and that she doesn’t have to say it.
She’s angry – that much is true. It’s visible in the way tension rides her, in the way her teeth grind, in the way her muscles beg for action. She’s holding it back, too, through an act of will alone. It isn’t in her to shoot the messenger (…well…) and she knows he was unaware of her connection to Finn before this. But it still hurts – a little ball of ache deep inside, where she won’t… can’t… let it show. She knows he knows, anyway. They are cops. It’s a brotherhood unlike any other. And this… betrayal… is hard to take.
Finally, a breath, and she slides her hand over his, wrapping her fingers around his. A nod, and then she sits up, and then takes another drink. “Alright.” It’s a statement of belief. And intention to deal with it. Somehow. But first. “I hope you don’t mind the company, because I’m about to get really fuckin’ drunk.”
And assuming he doesn’t – and they both know he won’t – that’s what she proceeds to do. She doesn’t look at the file again. She doesn’t need too. The damning evidence is burned into her mind, and right now she’s going to drink it away. One bottle turns into two, and there’s a stupid movie on TV – something not a cop flick, but with plenty of explosions and mindless chatter – and then there is a demand that take her to bed.
Under the demand, is a hint of the vulnerability she refuses to show. It’s a need to connect with someone who had told her the truth, that knows of the secrets she has to hold for the Nation, who understands the fine line she’s walked for so many years. A connection with someone who won’t condemn her her secrets, and won’t condemn her the need to forget for a few hours of mindless passion. Someone who understands just how betrayed she feels.
She doesn’t ask that he profess anything to her – no loyalties, no promises, nothing. All that she asks is that he help her forget what she knows for just a little while. Give her that moment of abandon, so that she can hold tight to the control she’ll need in the coming days.
This.. this is how she copes.
[Freud would have a field day.]