sailorstkwrning (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sailorstkwrning) wrote2010-03-25 11:45 pm
sailorstkwrning) wrote2010-03-25 11:45 pm
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As I suspected, finishing BBB this year is just not going to happen for me. The 2nd wave deadline is a month away and, well, there is just no way I'm going to make it. I'm posting what I've written so far to essentially forcibly DQ myself, for the sake of my sanity and GPA.
It's just a hair under 4K, and includes some unsexy painful (but not bloody) vampire biting, and a good deal of bad language. Also a werewolf!Spencer, for those of you who are into that kind of thing. Final note: also contains Bob Bryar, and when (if) I ever do finish it, recent canonical events will be politely ignored.
Brendon held Pete's gaze for a minute, but his face gave very little away. Spencer's panting was loud in the small room, and Brendon wondered if he needed some water. It was hot day, and they had been running around all afternoon.
"This isn't a transfer," Pete said, tapping his blotter with his pen.
"It's a loan," Gerard agreed. "A short-term loan."
Spencer rolled to his feet and padded over to the door. Brendon decided his tail could be described as being at half-mast. Spencer ducked his head and flattened his ears and stepped neatly through the dog door and out into the bullpen. Brendon twisted in his chair and watched Spencer walk towards their desk. Probably he did want some water.
Brendon heard feathers rustling, and turned to look at Pete. His wings were fluffed out at the edges, but still loose and flat behind his shoulders. One of his eyebrows lifted a fraction, and Brendon nodded his assent. Brendon knew neither he nor Spencer really had any choice in the matter, but he appreciated that Pete was willing to maintain the illusion that they did.
"You have access to the case files," Mikey said, glancing up from his laptop. "And Jepha wants to know how many desks you'll need at our shop."
"One is fine," Brendon said. "Spencer and I are used to sharing."
"How long has he been furry?" Mikey asked, squinting at his screen.
"Three weeks," Brendon said, and Pete rustled some more. "He's still street legal."
"Who's on his papers?" Gerard asked, and Brendon appreciated the gentleness of his tone.
"Me," Pete said. "The Butcher, and Brendon."
"We'll have to add Ray," Gerard said. Brendon could hear the I'm sorry in Gerard's voice.
"We'll see you tomorrow at eight," Mikey said, closing his laptop. "You know how to get there?"
"I've got a map," Brendon said, wincing internally at the prospect of finding parking, even that early in the morning.
Gerard's eyebrows jumped upwards briefly, but he didn't say anything. Mikey nodded and stood up to shake his wings out.
"Thank you," Mikey said, and it was Brendon's turn to arch his eyebrows.
"We appreciate it," Gerard added, his wings flapping just enough for Brendon to feel air moving over his face. "First cup of coffee is on us."
"Well, in that case I'll get the fancy kind," Brendon said, not really thinking. He was relieved when Mikey laughed.
Pete stood up to walk them out, and Brendon let them get a step or two ahead before he walked out of Pete's office. He went over to his – and Spencer's - desk and sat down. Spencer was curled up underneath, his tail draped over his nose. Brendon watched his fur flutter in time with his breathing for a little while, then sat back in his chair and considered what he wanted to pack.
There wasn't a lot that was really his -- some pictures; a couple of pieces of paper covered in scrawled notes, leftover from the last case; a laminated card with important municipal numbers on it -- and he kind of wasn't sure he wanted to take any of it. He didn't want to go away and leave his desk all alone and vulnerable to poachers. It was a nice desk, battered but sturdy, and he liked it.
In the end he took two pictures, one of his family, and one of himself and Spencer when Spencer wasn't furry. He left the one of Spencer sitting on a elf with giant moth wings and grinning with all of his teeth to guard the desk. Brendon was zipping his bag shut when he felt someone watching him. When he looked up Bill was peering at him from Sisky's desk, the sunlight making the orange whorls in his wings glow.
"I guess they need help in town," Brendon said. "Just temporarily, though. I - we'll be back. Don't let Sisky steal our desk. And if Ryan or Jon stop by - "
"I will tell them you and Spencer have temporarily decamped to more glamorous pastures and provide a forwarding address," Bill said without a hint of mockery. "Also I think this calls for a drink. Or several. The others are waiting for us at The Crooked Bo'sun."
Brendon leaned down to pick up his bag. The Bo'sun was where they went to see people off when they retired.
"We're coming back," he repeated. "When this case is over."
"I don't doubt it," Bill said, his stretching his wings out to catch the last of the setting sun. "I also don't doubt that I could eat my weight in cheese fries right now. Quickly, Brendon, before Sisky drinks all of the beer."
Brendon clucked at Spencer, and he uncurled himself and came out. Brendon grabbed Spencer's pillow and they both followed Bill out onto the street.
**
The first day started with a traffic jam. Brendon rolled through all of the radio stations in Los Angeles twice before he found one that didn't make Spencer growl low in his throat. Brendon got the last parking space at the end of the lot and walked as quickly as he could without dragging Spencer along behind him. When they finally got to headquarters, Brendon was drenched in sweat and Spencer was panting hard.
Inside was cooler, but not by a lot, and also tremendously loud. It took twenty minutes and three different sets of directions from guards for Brendon to pick his way through the underground maze to the Magical Creatures division. And when he did finally get there, someone was sitting on his desk. Or at least Brendon assumed it was his desk; it was the only empty one in the bullpen. Well, empty except for the tiny dude in a pink dress who was sitting on it eating chow mein.
Brendon leaned down and let Spencer off his leash, then did his best to straighten his clothes. He couldn't do anything about the sweatstains, but maybe they'd dry out quickly in the air-conditioning. Spencer gave himself a shake and trotted off towards the back of the bullpen, where there was a line of water bowls. Lots of wolves, Brendon thought, then turned his attention to his more immediate problem.
"Hi," he said to Pink Dress, who looked up with a wide-eyed expression which quickly morphed into a big grin.
"Sharkbait!" Pink Dress said. "Wow, you really are tiny."
"And you really are sitting on my desk, dude," Brendon said, trying to keep his tone even. He didn't really want to make enemies on the first day.
"Where's the furball?" Pink Dress asked, craning around to look for Spencer.
"He prefers Spencer," Brendon said. "Officer Smith if he's in trouble. And I answer to Brendon."
"I answer to Fuckface," Pink Dress said, crossing his legs at the knees. He was also wearing big black combat boots. "But only if I like you."
"He also responds to Bert," someone else said, from behind them, and Brendom turned towards the voice. "Don't you have some suburban kiddies to rescue, McCracken?"
"Fuck off, Bryar, I'm the motherfucking welcome wagon," Bert said, and ate some more chow mein. "Sharkbait, this is Officer Butthead. He's a furball too."
Bryar's eyes narrowed, but before he could say anything, Spencer appeared from around the corner of the desk. His tail was up and his ears were pitched forward, and Brendon felt something in his stomach relax a fraction. Bryar crouched down and Spencer padded over to sniff his face.
"Officer Beavis isn't in yet. He's in charge of shooting the furballs when they get out of line," Bert said around a mouthful of food.
"Ray's out with our pixie right now," Bryar said, holding still while Spencer inspected him. "Emergency call, just came in this morning. He's sorry he couldn't be here. He wants to meet with both of you later."
"Okay," Brendon said.
"Coffee's in the back," Bryar said, standing up to let Spencer sniff his boots. "There's a fridge, too, which usually works. Just watch out for -"
"Anything labeled "broccoli" probably isn't," Bert cut in an aggrieved tone, and Brendon saw a flash of bright red feathers when he shuddered. "Also Mikey puts garlic in everything when he's working with bloodsuckers. Not even the grape juice is safe."
"That was one time, Bert," Bryar said, his lips twitching at the corners.
Spencer swung his head around and gave Brendon a wide-eyed look, and Brendon had to bite firmly on the inside of his lip so he didn't burst out laughing.
"It was a disgusting time," Bert muttered, his wings flaring out again. They were mostly red, with light brown shading on the tips of the feathers. "And Quinn burned the shit out of his mouth, which sucked."
"Quinn should know better than to drink things with Mikey's name on them," Bryar said, his tone suggesting they had had this discussion several times before.
Spencer made one last circuit around Bryar's ankles, accepted a friendly pat on the head from Bryar, and padded over to inspect Bert. Bert pulled a piece of -- something -- out of his breakfast and held it out towards Spencer, who sniffed it delicately then took it with his teeth.
"Anyway, um, there's a pool one level down," Bryar said. "I think Gee asked someone to clean it, but I don't know if that's actually happened yet. We haven't had a swimmer for a while, so it might be kinda gross."
"Coffins are next to the pool," Bert chimed in, shimmying off the desk and crouching down in front of Spencer, his wings sweeping out for balance. "Do you have a girl bloodsucker or a boy bloodsucker?"
Spencer paused, and his ears went flat, but just for a moment. Brendon stretched his fingers and summoned up his best charming smile.
"We have no bloodsuckers," he said. "And no pixie. We're a fabulous crime-fighting duo."
Brendon knew it sounded lame as soon as he said it. Bert looked up at him, his expression shifting rapidly from surprised to intent and fierce to something softer and undefinable, and Brendon bounced nervously on his toes. This was the part he dreaded: the explaining. He inhaled, prepared to go through the our other team members retired from the force and went into business for themselves, but Bert cut him off.
"Shit, dude, I'm sorry," Bert said, resting the bowl of chow mein on the edge of the desk.
"We're okay," Brendon said, which was mostly true. Or at least it was true on most days. "They went into private practice, but Spencer and I wanted to stay with the force, and so, you know, here we are."
Bert looked down at Spencer, at Brendon, at Bryar, and then back at Brendon again. Spencer came and sat down on Brendon's feet and settled against his legs, and Brendon automatically leaned down to check in.
"Well," Bert said. "Welcome to the motherfucking jungle, babies."
**
It turned out someone had cleaned the pool. Brendon stripped down to his shorts and walked down the ramp. The water was chilly but clear. Brendon waded out into the middle of a lane and sat down on the floor of the pool. He couldn't really do much without his pelt, but the water felt good on his human skin. He let himself float up and stretched out on his back. He closed his eyes against the bright flourescent lights and drifted, gradually relaxing to the rumble of the filter.
Some time later Brendon felt water on his face. He put his feet down and opened his eyes to find Mikey peering at him over a cup of coffee. He was dressed completely in black, except for his sneakers, which had big green Frankenstein faces on them. Brendon could see the tips of his wings over his shoulders, the black feathers gleaming in the artificial light.
"Hi," Brendon said. "Nice pool you have here."
"Thanks," Mikey said. "You got into the server okay?"
"Yes," Brendon said. "But I only found 398 missing pixie reports attached to the file."
Mikey made a thoughtful noise and frowned into his drink. "We got 10 more this morning, actually. I'll check in with Jepha when I go upstairs."
Brendon blinked. Ten more missing pixies?
"Also, there's a staff meeting in half an hour, in the bullpen," Mikey said, his wings flaring up and out briefly.
"Okay," Brendon said, and started walking towards the ramp. Ten missing pixies in 24 hours was a lot of missing pixies.
**
"Two from Flagstaff," Brendon said, shifting single pieces of paper into stacks. "Three from Boise, two from Apple Valley, one from Fresno, and one from Grand Junction. For a grand total of ten additional pixies reported missing in the City of Los Angeles before nine o'clock this morning, and four hundred and eight missing pixies altogether."
Spencer arched his eyebrows and flipped one ear down.
"I know," Brendon said, walking around the other side of the table. He had already sorted the reports by state. "Where are they even keeping them all?"
Spencer raised one paw approximately three inches off the ground.
"Four hundred and eight pixies is a lot of fucking pixies, Spencer," Brendon said, fanning out the California pile to look at the faces one more time. "They'd be motherfucking loud, if nothing else."
Spencer flipped his other ear down briefly, then walked around to jump up on the chair nearest to Brendon. Brendon rested a hand on his scruff and considered the reports. The pictures, which seemed to all have been taken in nightclubs, were mostly terrible, either out of focus, too far away, or both. The decent ones included two glamour shots, three Olan Mills-style portraits and seven black and white pictures featuring the Hollywood sign. Brendon studied them, looking for similarities in the faces or bodies, but the only thing they had in common was being a pixie. He tugged the reports loose and sat down next to Spencer to read them. Spencer rested his muzzle on Brendon's shoulder and breathed wetly in his ear.
"Dogbreath," Brendon muttered, but he didn't pull away.
Ten minutes later Spencer jumped down and padded off towards the wolf-run. Brendon lowered the pages a fraction to watch him go. He decided Spencer's tail was on the "up" side of half-mast.
Brendon looked back down at the page, running his eyes slowly over the lines of tidy black type.
Brendon put the page down and stood up to stretch his back. Almost all of the reports were in the database and attached to the main case file. There was no need for him to sit there with piles of paper and drive himself crazy. Brendon sighed, gathered up the reports, put them back in the binders they had come from, and trudged up to his desk.
Once again, Bert was sitting on it. This time he was wearing camo-patterned short-shorts, a Pigface t-shirt, big black boots and a pink tiara. He also had two pixies in his hand. They were both wearing standard police-issue black uniforms, and from what Brendon could tell, they were having an argument about Batman.
"Sharkbait," Bert said. "These are our squeakers. Frank. Jepha. Shut the fuck up and say hello to the new kid."
The pixies turned around and looked at Brendon.
"Hi," he said, holding out one finger from his right hand. "I'm Brendon."
The pixie on the right grabbed his fingertip and swung himself up so he was balanced on Brendon's knuckle. Brendon automatically cupped his left hand around the pixie, ready to catch him if he fell. The pixie grinned at him and picked his way down Brendon's finger to stand on the top of his hand.
"Batman or Superman?" the pixie inquired, hands on his tiny hips.
"Batman," Brendon said, and the pixie pumped his fist in the air.
The other pixe crossed his arms over his chest briefly, then waved at Brendon. Brendon extended his left hand slowly, and the pixe jumped on to it. Brendon took a deep breath and willed himself to be still. Even after three years on the force, he wasn't quite accustomed to the sensation of tiny feet walking on him.
"I have to go now," Bert said, hopping off Brendon's desk. "Lunch rush in Union Station. Leave them with Mikey when they're done."
"Done with what?" Brendon asked, but Bert was already gone, hollering for someone named Dan. Brendon caught a glimpse of a big grey wolf tail moving between the desks just as the pixies started scrambling up his arms.
The first pixie - there was a tiny scorpion tattooed on his neck, what the fuck? - got to Brendon's shoulder first, then walked over to grab Brendon's ear. His little fingers pinched, and Brendon made a mental note to put his earring back in as soon as possible. The second one sat down in the crook of his elbow and hung on to the edge of Brendon's shirt.
"I'm Frank and we have to go upstairs," the first pixie said, yanking on Brendon's earlobe. "Quickly, before they finish taking it apart."
"Take what apart?" Brendon asked, already turning in the direction the pixie was tugging his ear.
"The bomb," Frank said, and jumped into Brendon's hair.
Brendon stopped walking and lifted the other pixie -- Jepha, he reminded himself -- off of his arm and up to his face. Jepha had an even bigger tattoo on his neck; Brendon thought it might say "choke" but he wasn't sure.
"The fuck is he talking about, the bomb?" Brendon said, squinting a little as Frank yanked on his hair climbing up the back of his head.
"Frank deactivated it this morning," Jepha said, wrapping one arm around Brendon's pointer finger. "Chop shop in South Central, pay me or your Corvette gets it, blah blah we're assholes who like to blow things up - "
Frank settled down on the top of Brendon's head and yanked on his hair. Brendon started walking again, and hoped he didn't trip over anything.
" - and then we brought it back here and started cutting it open and found this inside." Jepha reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny pink piece of cloth that Brendon eventually realized was a bra.
Brendon stopped and stared at it. He didn't recognize it, specifically, but he was willing to bet every nickle in his pocket that he had seen it before in one of the terrible pictures in the casefile.
"Fuckers," he said.
Jepha arched his eyebrows in agreement and folded the bra up and put it back in his shirt. Frank yanked on Brendon's hair again, and he walked through the bullpen and up the stairs as quickly as he could.
**
"Ryan." Brendon pinched the bridge of his nose with his right hand and extending the left one towards Ryan. "You are so hungry you are giving me a headache. Eat. Please."
Ryan turned the page of the newspaper clipping he was reading, arching his eyebrows at something on the page. Brendon let his left hand come to rest on a nearby pile of papers and waited. Ryan continued to read. Brendon closed his eyes and took a couple of slow, careful breaths. This was usually the point where he exploded and started yelling about Ryan's responsibilities to the team and their investigation. But now Ryan wasn't really on Brendon's team, and the investigation was the least of his problems. Furthermore, Mikey had already read the clippings; Brendon had his reports in a file in his drawer. He could totally send Ryan home.
Spencer nuzzled Brendon's ankle, and Brendon reached down to pet him. He was rubbing little circles into the soft, short hairs by Spencer's ears when he felt Ryan's thin, dry fingers wrap around his wrist and lift his arm off the table. Ryan tugged gently, and Brendon sat up. He moved his right hand to his lap and closed his eyes, scrambling to gather up all of the least erotic images he could think of and erect a mental bulwark against the coming tide of wholly inappropriate arousal.
Ryan bit him. Brendon felt his fangs sink in, and the initial jolt was not eased by the usual bright tug of pleasure. Instead the two sharp stabs of pain blossomed into a bone deep ache as Ryan drank. Brendon clutched at the edge of the table, surprised and fighting the urge to yank his arm away. Spencer shifted against his knees and Brendon took a breath, and another, and another. His fingers and toes were tingling, and he could feel every inch of his scalp. Everything in the room had developed sharp edges, and the colors seemed brighter. He could barely hear Ryan swallowing over the roaring in his ears.
Then Ryan retracted his fangs, and lowered Brendon's arm to the table. Brendon fought to stay upright again, this time overwhelmed by sudden silence.
"Thank you," Ryan said, softly, then picked up his pen and went back to his reading.
The silence in Brendon's head continued, and he slowly realized his headache was gone. Brendon pressed his left hand to his chest, curling around it protectively, though the ache was fading fast. He couldn't decide if he wanted to cry or punch Ryan in the face. He settled on resting his right hand on Spencer's head and grounding himself with furry warmth. Ryan made a note on a nearby pad and flipped the page over.
Brendon lowered his left hand to the table and pulled over a stack of missing creature reports. Somebody, possibly Mikey, had sorted them neatly by species. Brendon flipped to the P's and started reading.
It's just a hair under 4K, and includes some unsexy painful (but not bloody) vampire biting, and a good deal of bad language. Also a werewolf!Spencer, for those of you who are into that kind of thing. Final note: also contains Bob Bryar, and when (if) I ever do finish it, recent canonical events will be politely ignored.
Brendon held Pete's gaze for a minute, but his face gave very little away. Spencer's panting was loud in the small room, and Brendon wondered if he needed some water. It was hot day, and they had been running around all afternoon.
"This isn't a transfer," Pete said, tapping his blotter with his pen.
"It's a loan," Gerard agreed. "A short-term loan."
Spencer rolled to his feet and padded over to the door. Brendon decided his tail could be described as being at half-mast. Spencer ducked his head and flattened his ears and stepped neatly through the dog door and out into the bullpen. Brendon twisted in his chair and watched Spencer walk towards their desk. Probably he did want some water.
Brendon heard feathers rustling, and turned to look at Pete. His wings were fluffed out at the edges, but still loose and flat behind his shoulders. One of his eyebrows lifted a fraction, and Brendon nodded his assent. Brendon knew neither he nor Spencer really had any choice in the matter, but he appreciated that Pete was willing to maintain the illusion that they did.
"You have access to the case files," Mikey said, glancing up from his laptop. "And Jepha wants to know how many desks you'll need at our shop."
"One is fine," Brendon said. "Spencer and I are used to sharing."
"How long has he been furry?" Mikey asked, squinting at his screen.
"Three weeks," Brendon said, and Pete rustled some more. "He's still street legal."
"Who's on his papers?" Gerard asked, and Brendon appreciated the gentleness of his tone.
"Me," Pete said. "The Butcher, and Brendon."
"We'll have to add Ray," Gerard said. Brendon could hear the I'm sorry in Gerard's voice.
"We'll see you tomorrow at eight," Mikey said, closing his laptop. "You know how to get there?"
"I've got a map," Brendon said, wincing internally at the prospect of finding parking, even that early in the morning.
Gerard's eyebrows jumped upwards briefly, but he didn't say anything. Mikey nodded and stood up to shake his wings out.
"Thank you," Mikey said, and it was Brendon's turn to arch his eyebrows.
"We appreciate it," Gerard added, his wings flapping just enough for Brendon to feel air moving over his face. "First cup of coffee is on us."
"Well, in that case I'll get the fancy kind," Brendon said, not really thinking. He was relieved when Mikey laughed.
Pete stood up to walk them out, and Brendon let them get a step or two ahead before he walked out of Pete's office. He went over to his – and Spencer's - desk and sat down. Spencer was curled up underneath, his tail draped over his nose. Brendon watched his fur flutter in time with his breathing for a little while, then sat back in his chair and considered what he wanted to pack.
There wasn't a lot that was really his -- some pictures; a couple of pieces of paper covered in scrawled notes, leftover from the last case; a laminated card with important municipal numbers on it -- and he kind of wasn't sure he wanted to take any of it. He didn't want to go away and leave his desk all alone and vulnerable to poachers. It was a nice desk, battered but sturdy, and he liked it.
In the end he took two pictures, one of his family, and one of himself and Spencer when Spencer wasn't furry. He left the one of Spencer sitting on a elf with giant moth wings and grinning with all of his teeth to guard the desk. Brendon was zipping his bag shut when he felt someone watching him. When he looked up Bill was peering at him from Sisky's desk, the sunlight making the orange whorls in his wings glow.
"I guess they need help in town," Brendon said. "Just temporarily, though. I - we'll be back. Don't let Sisky steal our desk. And if Ryan or Jon stop by - "
"I will tell them you and Spencer have temporarily decamped to more glamorous pastures and provide a forwarding address," Bill said without a hint of mockery. "Also I think this calls for a drink. Or several. The others are waiting for us at The Crooked Bo'sun."
Brendon leaned down to pick up his bag. The Bo'sun was where they went to see people off when they retired.
"We're coming back," he repeated. "When this case is over."
"I don't doubt it," Bill said, his stretching his wings out to catch the last of the setting sun. "I also don't doubt that I could eat my weight in cheese fries right now. Quickly, Brendon, before Sisky drinks all of the beer."
Brendon clucked at Spencer, and he uncurled himself and came out. Brendon grabbed Spencer's pillow and they both followed Bill out onto the street.
**
The first day started with a traffic jam. Brendon rolled through all of the radio stations in Los Angeles twice before he found one that didn't make Spencer growl low in his throat. Brendon got the last parking space at the end of the lot and walked as quickly as he could without dragging Spencer along behind him. When they finally got to headquarters, Brendon was drenched in sweat and Spencer was panting hard.
Inside was cooler, but not by a lot, and also tremendously loud. It took twenty minutes and three different sets of directions from guards for Brendon to pick his way through the underground maze to the Magical Creatures division. And when he did finally get there, someone was sitting on his desk. Or at least Brendon assumed it was his desk; it was the only empty one in the bullpen. Well, empty except for the tiny dude in a pink dress who was sitting on it eating chow mein.
Brendon leaned down and let Spencer off his leash, then did his best to straighten his clothes. He couldn't do anything about the sweatstains, but maybe they'd dry out quickly in the air-conditioning. Spencer gave himself a shake and trotted off towards the back of the bullpen, where there was a line of water bowls. Lots of wolves, Brendon thought, then turned his attention to his more immediate problem.
"Hi," he said to Pink Dress, who looked up with a wide-eyed expression which quickly morphed into a big grin.
"Sharkbait!" Pink Dress said. "Wow, you really are tiny."
"And you really are sitting on my desk, dude," Brendon said, trying to keep his tone even. He didn't really want to make enemies on the first day.
"Where's the furball?" Pink Dress asked, craning around to look for Spencer.
"He prefers Spencer," Brendon said. "Officer Smith if he's in trouble. And I answer to Brendon."
"I answer to Fuckface," Pink Dress said, crossing his legs at the knees. He was also wearing big black combat boots. "But only if I like you."
"He also responds to Bert," someone else said, from behind them, and Brendom turned towards the voice. "Don't you have some suburban kiddies to rescue, McCracken?"
"Fuck off, Bryar, I'm the motherfucking welcome wagon," Bert said, and ate some more chow mein. "Sharkbait, this is Officer Butthead. He's a furball too."
Bryar's eyes narrowed, but before he could say anything, Spencer appeared from around the corner of the desk. His tail was up and his ears were pitched forward, and Brendon felt something in his stomach relax a fraction. Bryar crouched down and Spencer padded over to sniff his face.
"Officer Beavis isn't in yet. He's in charge of shooting the furballs when they get out of line," Bert said around a mouthful of food.
"Ray's out with our pixie right now," Bryar said, holding still while Spencer inspected him. "Emergency call, just came in this morning. He's sorry he couldn't be here. He wants to meet with both of you later."
"Okay," Brendon said.
"Coffee's in the back," Bryar said, standing up to let Spencer sniff his boots. "There's a fridge, too, which usually works. Just watch out for -"
"Anything labeled "broccoli" probably isn't," Bert cut in an aggrieved tone, and Brendon saw a flash of bright red feathers when he shuddered. "Also Mikey puts garlic in everything when he's working with bloodsuckers. Not even the grape juice is safe."
"That was one time, Bert," Bryar said, his lips twitching at the corners.
Spencer swung his head around and gave Brendon a wide-eyed look, and Brendon had to bite firmly on the inside of his lip so he didn't burst out laughing.
"It was a disgusting time," Bert muttered, his wings flaring out again. They were mostly red, with light brown shading on the tips of the feathers. "And Quinn burned the shit out of his mouth, which sucked."
"Quinn should know better than to drink things with Mikey's name on them," Bryar said, his tone suggesting they had had this discussion several times before.
Spencer made one last circuit around Bryar's ankles, accepted a friendly pat on the head from Bryar, and padded over to inspect Bert. Bert pulled a piece of -- something -- out of his breakfast and held it out towards Spencer, who sniffed it delicately then took it with his teeth.
"Anyway, um, there's a pool one level down," Bryar said. "I think Gee asked someone to clean it, but I don't know if that's actually happened yet. We haven't had a swimmer for a while, so it might be kinda gross."
"Coffins are next to the pool," Bert chimed in, shimmying off the desk and crouching down in front of Spencer, his wings sweeping out for balance. "Do you have a girl bloodsucker or a boy bloodsucker?"
Spencer paused, and his ears went flat, but just for a moment. Brendon stretched his fingers and summoned up his best charming smile.
"We have no bloodsuckers," he said. "And no pixie. We're a fabulous crime-fighting duo."
Brendon knew it sounded lame as soon as he said it. Bert looked up at him, his expression shifting rapidly from surprised to intent and fierce to something softer and undefinable, and Brendon bounced nervously on his toes. This was the part he dreaded: the explaining. He inhaled, prepared to go through the our other team members retired from the force and went into business for themselves, but Bert cut him off.
"Shit, dude, I'm sorry," Bert said, resting the bowl of chow mein on the edge of the desk.
"We're okay," Brendon said, which was mostly true. Or at least it was true on most days. "They went into private practice, but Spencer and I wanted to stay with the force, and so, you know, here we are."
Bert looked down at Spencer, at Brendon, at Bryar, and then back at Brendon again. Spencer came and sat down on Brendon's feet and settled against his legs, and Brendon automatically leaned down to check in.
"Well," Bert said. "Welcome to the motherfucking jungle, babies."
**
It turned out someone had cleaned the pool. Brendon stripped down to his shorts and walked down the ramp. The water was chilly but clear. Brendon waded out into the middle of a lane and sat down on the floor of the pool. He couldn't really do much without his pelt, but the water felt good on his human skin. He let himself float up and stretched out on his back. He closed his eyes against the bright flourescent lights and drifted, gradually relaxing to the rumble of the filter.
Some time later Brendon felt water on his face. He put his feet down and opened his eyes to find Mikey peering at him over a cup of coffee. He was dressed completely in black, except for his sneakers, which had big green Frankenstein faces on them. Brendon could see the tips of his wings over his shoulders, the black feathers gleaming in the artificial light.
"Hi," Brendon said. "Nice pool you have here."
"Thanks," Mikey said. "You got into the server okay?"
"Yes," Brendon said. "But I only found 398 missing pixie reports attached to the file."
Mikey made a thoughtful noise and frowned into his drink. "We got 10 more this morning, actually. I'll check in with Jepha when I go upstairs."
Brendon blinked. Ten more missing pixies?
"Also, there's a staff meeting in half an hour, in the bullpen," Mikey said, his wings flaring up and out briefly.
"Okay," Brendon said, and started walking towards the ramp. Ten missing pixies in 24 hours was a lot of missing pixies.
**
"Two from Flagstaff," Brendon said, shifting single pieces of paper into stacks. "Three from Boise, two from Apple Valley, one from Fresno, and one from Grand Junction. For a grand total of ten additional pixies reported missing in the City of Los Angeles before nine o'clock this morning, and four hundred and eight missing pixies altogether."
Spencer arched his eyebrows and flipped one ear down.
"I know," Brendon said, walking around the other side of the table. He had already sorted the reports by state. "Where are they even keeping them all?"
Spencer raised one paw approximately three inches off the ground.
"Four hundred and eight pixies is a lot of fucking pixies, Spencer," Brendon said, fanning out the California pile to look at the faces one more time. "They'd be motherfucking loud, if nothing else."
Spencer flipped his other ear down briefly, then walked around to jump up on the chair nearest to Brendon. Brendon rested a hand on his scruff and considered the reports. The pictures, which seemed to all have been taken in nightclubs, were mostly terrible, either out of focus, too far away, or both. The decent ones included two glamour shots, three Olan Mills-style portraits and seven black and white pictures featuring the Hollywood sign. Brendon studied them, looking for similarities in the faces or bodies, but the only thing they had in common was being a pixie. He tugged the reports loose and sat down next to Spencer to read them. Spencer rested his muzzle on Brendon's shoulder and breathed wetly in his ear.
"Dogbreath," Brendon muttered, but he didn't pull away.
Ten minutes later Spencer jumped down and padded off towards the wolf-run. Brendon lowered the pages a fraction to watch him go. He decided Spencer's tail was on the "up" side of half-mast.
Brendon looked back down at the page, running his eyes slowly over the lines of tidy black type.
Name: Oriole Xanadu
Last seen: 4 AM on Sunset Strip
Occupation: Companion of Miss Petal, 42, nail art designer, Hollywood.
Height: 3 inches.
Weight: 6 oz.
Wearing: Black short-shorts, silver lame' halter, black leather boots.
Addictions: None
Record: None
Brendon put the page down and stood up to stretch his back. Almost all of the reports were in the database and attached to the main case file. There was no need for him to sit there with piles of paper and drive himself crazy. Brendon sighed, gathered up the reports, put them back in the binders they had come from, and trudged up to his desk.
Once again, Bert was sitting on it. This time he was wearing camo-patterned short-shorts, a Pigface t-shirt, big black boots and a pink tiara. He also had two pixies in his hand. They were both wearing standard police-issue black uniforms, and from what Brendon could tell, they were having an argument about Batman.
"Sharkbait," Bert said. "These are our squeakers. Frank. Jepha. Shut the fuck up and say hello to the new kid."
The pixies turned around and looked at Brendon.
"Hi," he said, holding out one finger from his right hand. "I'm Brendon."
The pixie on the right grabbed his fingertip and swung himself up so he was balanced on Brendon's knuckle. Brendon automatically cupped his left hand around the pixie, ready to catch him if he fell. The pixie grinned at him and picked his way down Brendon's finger to stand on the top of his hand.
"Batman or Superman?" the pixie inquired, hands on his tiny hips.
"Batman," Brendon said, and the pixie pumped his fist in the air.
The other pixe crossed his arms over his chest briefly, then waved at Brendon. Brendon extended his left hand slowly, and the pixe jumped on to it. Brendon took a deep breath and willed himself to be still. Even after three years on the force, he wasn't quite accustomed to the sensation of tiny feet walking on him.
"I have to go now," Bert said, hopping off Brendon's desk. "Lunch rush in Union Station. Leave them with Mikey when they're done."
"Done with what?" Brendon asked, but Bert was already gone, hollering for someone named Dan. Brendon caught a glimpse of a big grey wolf tail moving between the desks just as the pixies started scrambling up his arms.
The first pixie - there was a tiny scorpion tattooed on his neck, what the fuck? - got to Brendon's shoulder first, then walked over to grab Brendon's ear. His little fingers pinched, and Brendon made a mental note to put his earring back in as soon as possible. The second one sat down in the crook of his elbow and hung on to the edge of Brendon's shirt.
"I'm Frank and we have to go upstairs," the first pixie said, yanking on Brendon's earlobe. "Quickly, before they finish taking it apart."
"Take what apart?" Brendon asked, already turning in the direction the pixie was tugging his ear.
"The bomb," Frank said, and jumped into Brendon's hair.
Brendon stopped walking and lifted the other pixie -- Jepha, he reminded himself -- off of his arm and up to his face. Jepha had an even bigger tattoo on his neck; Brendon thought it might say "choke" but he wasn't sure.
"The fuck is he talking about, the bomb?" Brendon said, squinting a little as Frank yanked on his hair climbing up the back of his head.
"Frank deactivated it this morning," Jepha said, wrapping one arm around Brendon's pointer finger. "Chop shop in South Central, pay me or your Corvette gets it, blah blah we're assholes who like to blow things up - "
Frank settled down on the top of Brendon's head and yanked on his hair. Brendon started walking again, and hoped he didn't trip over anything.
" - and then we brought it back here and started cutting it open and found this inside." Jepha reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny pink piece of cloth that Brendon eventually realized was a bra.
Brendon stopped and stared at it. He didn't recognize it, specifically, but he was willing to bet every nickle in his pocket that he had seen it before in one of the terrible pictures in the casefile.
"Fuckers," he said.
Jepha arched his eyebrows in agreement and folded the bra up and put it back in his shirt. Frank yanked on Brendon's hair again, and he walked through the bullpen and up the stairs as quickly as he could.
**
"Ryan." Brendon pinched the bridge of his nose with his right hand and extending the left one towards Ryan. "You are so hungry you are giving me a headache. Eat. Please."
Ryan turned the page of the newspaper clipping he was reading, arching his eyebrows at something on the page. Brendon let his left hand come to rest on a nearby pile of papers and waited. Ryan continued to read. Brendon closed his eyes and took a couple of slow, careful breaths. This was usually the point where he exploded and started yelling about Ryan's responsibilities to the team and their investigation. But now Ryan wasn't really on Brendon's team, and the investigation was the least of his problems. Furthermore, Mikey had already read the clippings; Brendon had his reports in a file in his drawer. He could totally send Ryan home.
Spencer nuzzled Brendon's ankle, and Brendon reached down to pet him. He was rubbing little circles into the soft, short hairs by Spencer's ears when he felt Ryan's thin, dry fingers wrap around his wrist and lift his arm off the table. Ryan tugged gently, and Brendon sat up. He moved his right hand to his lap and closed his eyes, scrambling to gather up all of the least erotic images he could think of and erect a mental bulwark against the coming tide of wholly inappropriate arousal.
Ryan bit him. Brendon felt his fangs sink in, and the initial jolt was not eased by the usual bright tug of pleasure. Instead the two sharp stabs of pain blossomed into a bone deep ache as Ryan drank. Brendon clutched at the edge of the table, surprised and fighting the urge to yank his arm away. Spencer shifted against his knees and Brendon took a breath, and another, and another. His fingers and toes were tingling, and he could feel every inch of his scalp. Everything in the room had developed sharp edges, and the colors seemed brighter. He could barely hear Ryan swallowing over the roaring in his ears.
Then Ryan retracted his fangs, and lowered Brendon's arm to the table. Brendon fought to stay upright again, this time overwhelmed by sudden silence.
"Thank you," Ryan said, softly, then picked up his pen and went back to his reading.
The silence in Brendon's head continued, and he slowly realized his headache was gone. Brendon pressed his left hand to his chest, curling around it protectively, though the ache was fading fast. He couldn't decide if he wanted to cry or punch Ryan in the face. He settled on resting his right hand on Spencer's head and grounding himself with furry warmth. Ryan made a note on a nearby pad and flipped the page over.
Brendon lowered his left hand to the table and pulled over a stack of missing creature reports. Somebody, possibly Mikey, had sorted them neatly by species. Brendon flipped to the P's and started reading.