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It’s a quarter past three am, and Eugene is dead on his feet.
He normally doesn’t drink coffee just as a principle. It can stain your teeth, and if there’s one thing in this world he cares about, it’s maintaining the smile that wooed his wife. Today, though, he’s downed more than six cups. Physically, he's wired. He doesn’t think he can sleep if he tried.
Mentally, though, he’s exhausted. He’s tired and angry and freaking the fuck out, just like he has been when they first got that video. He wants to rage and scream and cry, but he can’t. He’s got to stay focused, for the kid’s sake.
He leans back in the conference room chair, downing the last of his seventh cup and trying not to cringe at the taste. The coffee grounds the Captain paid for are never high quality since he’s so stingy with the department budget.
“Play it again,” he says.
Pete, the deputy to his right, makes a soft noise in the back of his throat. “We’ve already watched it seven times—”
“And I want to watch it an eighth.” His voice comes out a lot snappier than he means it to be. It makes Pete wince. Eugene immediately feels bad. “Sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Stan says, acting as a welcome buffer on his left. “He’s right, Pete. Play it again, maybe there’s something we missed.”
Pete grumbles but hits the playback button on the laptop anyway. The three of them have been crowded around it for the past two hours, with notepads, crumpled papers, case files, folders, and empty paper coffee cups spread around them. It’s a tornado of a mess that perfectly matches Eugene’s emotional state.
The dark screen bursts to life with a loud buzz of static. The setting is shadowy and grim, but not dark enough to fully obscure the two figures that come on screen. One is giant, blond, and grinning. The other is small and trembling, their arms and legs bound to a chair, a burlap sack thrown over their head.
“Hello, Rider,” the Baron says, gravely voice as smug as the smirk on his face. “Or should I say, Officer Fitzherbert?”
Eugene clenches his jaw so hard it aches. Even though he’s already got this asshole’s whole speech memorized, he can't help his muscles tensing at the sound of his alias.
“I hope you’re enjoying your evening.” The mob boss speaks casually, as though there isn’t a literal hostage at his side. “I know you’re probably having a little more fun than our guest.” His eyes slide over to the figure in the chair, his smirk going downright diabolical.
Despite the Baron having a reputation for being one of the most terrifying mob bosses in Corona, Eugene’s not scared of this guy. Ever since he had to go undercover to bust his operation, he saw who the Baron really is—a coward of a control freak who left the dirty work for his underlings. He’s someone who likes to hurt people smaller than him just because he can.
He’s a certified dick, through and through, and Eugene managed to land at the very top of his shitlist when he arrested his daughter.
“Oh, but I’ve been so rude,” the Baron croons. “Let's fix that.”
One of the man’s giant hands rips off the burlap sack with a flair, revealing a face Eugene knows all too well.
Varian, pale and terrified, shies away at the abrupt change of light. The left side of his face is a kaleidoscope of blues and purples, his eye swollen shut. A piece of fabric has been tied between his teeth, digging into flesh and silencing any scream.
He's seen this eight times now, but the sight never fails to make his blood boil. It’s the personification of Eugene’s worst nightmare. The Baron’s goons must have snatched Varian when he was walking home from school. They beat him, bound and gagged him, and carted him off somewhere in the dark.
It’s enough to make any fifteen-year-old terrified.
He digs his nails into his palms and forces himself to take a breath. Cap already said if he kicked over another desk chair, he’d be escorted off the station’s property, and he can’t leave now.
But Christ, seeing his baby brother like this makes him want to shriek. It’s all Eugene can do to stay in his seat and not set something on fire.
Later, he tells himself. He could let out all of his rage later. Once Varian is safely out of the reach of this sociopath.
The Baron grabs the kid roughly by the jaw, meaty fingers digging into bruised flesh. Varian tries to fight him off, but without the use of his arms or legs, it’s basically no use. He can’t help but succumb to the man’s hold as he’s forced to look straight into the camera.
“Say hi to your big brother,” the Baron coos.
Varian is finally able to wriggle out of the man’s grasp. Even with one busted-up eye, the glare the kid is sending him would put him six feet under. Eugene knows for a fact that, if that gag wasn’t there, Varian would be cursing up a storm.
The Baron has turned his attention back to the camera, all business. “I’m sure sweet little Varian doesn’t want to be mixed up in his brother’s mess, so I’m going to make this simple for both of us. All I want is an exchange. My daughter for your brother.”
Eugene’s heart sinks into a pit. Putting Stalyan behind bars had been a huge break in their case. Giving her up is just as unthinkable as watching Varian remain in this man’s clutches.
Just like every other rewatch, he doesn't bother looking at the Baron to see how serious he is. Eugene can’t look away from Varian. The kid is staring straight at the camera, blinking rapidly. It makes Eugene's stomach twist. He’s probably trying not to cry.
“Because I’m so generous,” the Baron steps somewhere off camera so for a moment, only Varian is visible on screen, “I’m going to give you six hours to let her walk. If I get to hold my girl in my arms, I’ll be kind enough to provide the antidote. After that, well.”
The Baron appears back on screen, a syringe in his hand. Varian’s eyes go as wide as dinner plates and he throws his body as far away from the man approaching as his bindings will allow.
With a malicious grin, the Baron purrs, “I’m afraid I can’t be responsible for what happens after that.”
Eugene forces himself not to look away, rage and disgust and hurt all churning in his stomach like a storm. He feels utterly helpless as he watches his baby brother get grabbed by the hair and forced to bare his neck. Varian’s body thrashes so hard the chair jolts an inch across the floor, but ultimately, it’s not enough. When the needle slides into his neck, his face pinches.
Whatever the drug is, it must be powerful. Baby blues go glassy almost immediately, Varian’s head dipping in a struggle to stay awake.
“Six hours,” the Baron says. It has a note of finality that rings like a funeral bell. “Not a minute more.”
The last thing Eugene sees before the screen goes black is Varian slumping forward into unconsciousness.
The room is silent for a few beats, everyone too afraid to breathe. Eugene refuses to think about how this had been recorded hours ago, and there’s no telling what that bastard and his crew are doing to Varian right now.
“Okay,” Stan breaks the silence, voice steady. “Did you see anything new?”
“No.” The word tastes like ash in his mouth. “I’m gonna watch it again.”
Stan sends him a concerned look. “Eugene.”
“You’re just going to upset yourself,” Pete agrees. “I think it’s time we think of a plan.”
“What plan?” Eugene’s voice is nearly at a fever pitch. He wants to tear out all his hair. “What can we do? This message came from an encrypted sender. We traced the IP address back to a public computer. The background is too dark to make out any landmarks, there’s no outside noise for our sound guys to pick up…Either the Baron filmed this in a silencing studio or an underground war bunker.”
Pete’s lips are pursed. He frustratingly looks just as composed and calm and Stan does. “I meant a plan of what we should tell Cap if we're gonna convince him to give Stalyan up.”
Eugene leans back in the chair, pressing his palms to his eyes. He knows, probably more than anyone else in the station, just how ruthless the Baron is. He literally watched the guy cut off someone’s toe and then force-feed it to him. The Baron’s right—Varian shouldn’t be mixed up in this. He’s just a kid.
But giving up Stalyan is unthinkable. He’d been undercover for months, not able to see his friends or family to ensure his identity wasn’t compromised. What a lot of good that did. He’s worked so hard to crack this case, and bending now would be giving up everything. Not to mention they’d be bending to the will of a mob boss. What kind of message would it send to the public? To other criminals in the underground?
It’s a bitch of a catch-22. He doesn’t know what to fucking do.
Eugene has darkened the Captain's door several times tonight, and he's about to do it again. “Let me go talk to him.”
“Give him the old Fitzherbert charm,” Stan jokes, the jape falling like a dead fish on a floor. “Sorry.”
Eugene excuses himself and steps through the station on hollow legs, unable to resist glancing at the clock over the receptionist’s desk. He immediately regrets it. Every second was another failure; another instant that Varian had to be there with that villain.
Despite the early hour, the Captain’s office isn’t empty. Cassandra, the bane of his existence and half-sister-in-law, has her feet up on her dad’s desk. Great.
“Fitzherjerk,” she greets. When the video first came in, Stan and Pete treated Eugene delicately, like they were treading around a volcano about to erupt. At least Cass is treating him normally. She’s always this mean. “Can’t you see we’re in the middle of something?”
The Captain gives him the same look he’s given him the past few times he’s come in here. They both know nothing has changed; he'd know if there was an update. “We’ve already sent out a squad to search the Baron’s home and usual hideouts. When our team finds them, they’ll report back.”
“But Varian has been poisoned.” The words taste sour on his tongue. This is all his fault. “Give me clearance to go out there. I know the Baron’s hideouts better than anyone. The faster we find him, the faster our medical team can—”
The Captain raises a hand to cut him off. “We're following procedure.”
He knows they have a procedure. He knows that. He’s been involved in hostage negotiations before, he knows how this is supposed to work. But that still doesn’t take away the fact that his baby brother is in trouble and if they can't find him he's going to lose it. His instincts are fighting with his police training and he wants to pick up this chair and throw it through the nearest window. “But—”
Cap’s expression is stern and professional. “You’re a direct relation to the hostage, which makes you a liability. I’m not negotiating with a criminal, Fitzherbert. Nine times out of ten, they bluff about their threats to manipulate the police. A hostage situation is serious, yes, but so is letting our key arrestee go.” Then, his face softens. “I understand you’re upset Eugene, but you need to trust the process. We’re going to get your brother back just fine.”
Trust the process. Sure. He trusts the Captain with his life, but he doesn’t trust Varian’s life with anyone. Not even himself, since this happened under his watch.
The man must be able to tell Eugene is at his breaking point, because his eyes dart from him to his daughter. “Cassandra, why don’t you take Fitzherbert for a walk?”
“Let me grab the leash,” Cassandra says, but stands and ushers Eugene out of the office.
Eugene takes a deep breath, trying to ground himself. This is taking too long. He needs to do this himself. “I’m gonna take a squad car and go looking on my own.”
Cass snorts. “Look where? The whole city?”
“Anywhere. At least I'll be doing something instead of just sitting here on my ass.”
“You’ll get fired,” Cassandra tells him. “And then Raps will divorce you.”
“In your dreams.” It’s easy to fall into banter with her. It almost lifts his mood from manic to average freak out. Almost.
But she’s right. If Eugene knew where to start looking, he would have already been there. Their officers had already cleared most of the Baron's known hideouts. He's somewhere new, which makes it ten times harder to sweep the city. As they walk back through the station, he pauses by the now empty conference room, eyes lingering on that laptop. “I just feel like I’m missing something. I can’t get it out of my head.”
Cassandra follows his gaze and puts a hand on her hip. “How many times have you watched that thing now?”
“Eight.”
The dark-haired woman nods. “And how many times have you asked me to watch it?”
Eugene notices the ghost of a smirk on her face and sighs. “If you find a detail that I’m missing, I’ll kiss you on the mouth.”
“That's sexual harassment. I’ll report you.” Cassandra brushes past him into the conference room, plopping down in his chair. Whatever. At this point, he’s too desperate to make a fuss.
Cassandra cues up the video again, squinting as the video takes shape in the static. For the ninth time, he listens to the Baron try and bargain for his brother’s life. Using a minor like a chess pawn. What a bastard.
“—for your brother.” Cass hits the pause button with a frown on her face.
Eugene is at her side in an instant, heart in his throat. “What is it?”
“Maybe nothing,” Cass mutters, but she grabs a pen and discarded notebook. She starts the video again, jotting down a series of dots and dashes every time Varian blinks.
“What is that?” Eugene’s eyes dart rapidly from the screen to her page, realization slowly dawning. “Is that…”
Cassandra nods. “Morse code.” She rewinds the video as Eugene scrambles to sit next to her, staring more intently at the recording. This time, when she plays it, the Baron’s voice drifts off into nothing. Eugene’s total focus is on the way Varian is blinking.
Short, rapid-fire fluttering eyelashes are followed by slower, deliberate blinks. As they happen, Cass taps out the rhythm with her pen against the notepad. “W-I-N-D-O-V-E-R. Windover Street? That’s in the Old Corona district.”
Holy shit. His baby brother is a genius. Eugene feels speechless. This whole time, this whole time, Varian has been telling him the answer.
And he’s missed it.
He’s been so wrapped up in his own anger and anxiety that he completely overlooked the possibility of Varian keeping a level head. Of course the kid would stay calm in a situation like this—most of his family members were cops. Uncle Hector has been training Varian in self-defense since he was six.
Eugene’s never felt more stupid and proud in his entire life.
He doesn’t let the guilt and shame cloud his mind. They have a location now, and he’s got to focus. He can't let Varian’s bravery go to waste.
He rises from the chair, amped and ready to bring the Baron down. “Let’s go.”
The Baron’s hideout is in an abandoned warehouse, which, come on. Can you get any more cliché than that? Honestly, though, he’s happy for the guy’s Bond-villain level of smarts right now. It makes it easy for the building to get surrounded by their brigade of officers.
Staring at the damp, decrepit building, Eugene is ready to vibrate out of his own skin. He knows he has to wait for the signal but if it doesn't come in the next five seconds god he’s going to explode.
Finally the signal comes. Once the front-line officers have made it past the point of entry, he’s off, running through the various scuffles of other officers with the Baron’s gang. He recognizes a few of the goons, but doesn't stop to chat. He narrowly avoids bullets and thrown arms. He and Cass are on a mission.
Cassandra clears the right side of the building near the storage units and the shelves. It’s so goddamn dark in here, hiding a fifteen-year-old in plain sight wouldn’t be that hard. At this point, Eugene isn’t above burning this entire place to the foundation to find Varian.
Ducking to avoid a stray bullet, he makes his way to the abandoned offices. Most of the doors are unlocked—except for one. Bingo.
He kicks the door down, the wood clattering to the floor in a puff of dust. He sticks close to the wall, expecting to find a goon or two guarding the place, but there’s nothing. Looks like everybody ran at the first sniff of police. There’s an old ratty desk, a filing cabinet, and a tiny figure in flannel, handcuffed to the radiator.
Fuck.
Eugene doesn’t breathe, crossing the room in seconds. He drops his gun, hands flying to cup Varian’s face. The kid is pale and clammy with feverish sweat, but thank god he’s still breathing. His eyelashes flutter, the wound in his eye festering. Even in the dark Eugene can only see sickening purple on the left side of his face.
“Hey, hey Goggles,” Eugene tries softly, one hand staying on Varian’s face as he searches through his pockets for the spare pick he always keeps. “Varian. Can you hear me?”
The kid lets out a pitiful groan, flinching away from the hold. Eugene’s heart lurches. What the fuck did they do to him? “No, no, hey. It’s me. Your stupid big brother.”
Finally, Varian manages to open his good eye. It’s wet and cloudy with fever. “…’Gene?”
A fissure opens up in Eugene’s chest. “Yeah bud, it’s me. I’m here. You’re gonna be fine, I just gotta get you out of these cuffs. It’ll take me thirty-seconds, tops. You gotta stay awake for me, though, okay?” He doesn’t allow his fingers to shake as he starts working the tiny lock. C’mon, Fitzherbert. You’ve done this a thousand times. You can do it faster now.
Varian’s head lulls, and it takes Eugene a second to realize he’s trying to shake his head. “Dr-drawer. The…the v-vial.”
It takes a second for what Varian is saying to click. Shit, that's right. The kid’s been shot up with something.
He drops the pick, hurrying over to the desk. He doesn’t ask which drawer it is—he just starts tearing them all open, ripping them off the runners and dumping out the contents like a man possessed. The noise is loud, so loud that it nearly drowns out his frantic pulse.
He keeps talking through it all, rambling to distract from the panic. “You know, I remember the Christmas you got into those weird military books. I thought you teaching us all morse code would be a waste of time. What a way for your nerd obsession to come in handy, huh?”
Papers, old pencils, rusted bolts, and long forgotten office supplies all get dumped out on the desk. He’s down to the final two drawers, manic fear finally starting to creep up his spine. He hears it before he sees it. The tiny clink of a glass vial hitting the old mahogany desk.
Eugene could have sobbed. “Helloooo beautiful. Hope you’re feelin’ thirsty kid, because—”
He looks up and every molecule in his body freezes. Varian has gone totally still, face ashen and chest still.
Like a shot, Eugene races back around the desk, hitting the floor so hard his knees rattle. He searches for Varian’s pulse and finds it—thank Christ—but it’s so weak it’s barely there. And he’s not fucking breathing.
“Kid? Kid, come on. Shit—okay, you’re really not gonna like me for this but desperate times.” He laughs at his own joke, the hysteria making the sound more like a high-pitched wheeze. He manages to get that damn vial open and pours it down Varian’s throat, pinching his nose and mouth shut.
It takes a second, but Varian’s body convulses when it doesn’t get enough oxygen. Eugene watches as the kid’s throat works, finally swallowing the antidote.
Only, the relief doesn’t come, because Varian keeps convulsing.
“No no no.” Eugene’s hands fly away from him, cold terror pulsating through his veins. He wants more than anything to grab the kid and shake him, but his training has taught him better than that. Varian’s eyes roll back, fluttering against the whites, throat gurgling as beads of foam appear on either side of his mouth.
The kid's body writhes like a flopping fish that’s been dropped on dry land. The chains that bind his wrists rattle like an echoing funeral bell.
Bile rises in Eugene’s throat. Fuck, where is Cass? He needs a medical team.
“You’re gonna be okay,” he mutters under his breath. He can’t do anything but watch as Varian’s body rides out the aftershocks of the poison and antidote. “You’re gonna be okay. I know you are. You’re gonna be fine and then we’re going to have a sleepover and watch all those Star Trek movies you like and I won't complain once. We'll eat a bunch of pizza and I’m going to throw up because it’s going to be so greasy. I’ll even let you make fun of me for the rest of the year." He sucks in a rattling breath, his chest tight with emotion. "I’m so sorry it took me so long to find you. You’re so smart, Varian, and you’re gonna be okay, I promise you will.”
Finally, finally, Varian’s body goes still. He’s breathing now, and the soft inhales and exhales are the best thing Eugene has ever heard in his life.
Thankfully, two EMTs come busting in through the door, Cassandra close behind. One of them has a cutter that snaps the chain of the handcuffs like it’s a stick. They both quickly assess Varian’s state, and the next time Eugene blinks they’re loading him into a stretcher.
“Find him?” Eugene asks Cass. She doesn’t need to ask who he means.
“Yeah,” she says. “We got him.”
“Good.” Sweet, sweet vindication sweeps through his soul. Eugene wants to take those cutters the EMTs left behind and drill them into the Baron’s eye socket. This guy came after his family, and that’s something Eugene is never going to forgive. Or forget.
He makes his way outside, out of the dirty hellhole that Varian spent the last six hours in. An EMT is strapping an oxygen mask to Varian’s ashen face when he climbs inside. Still unconscious, Varian looks like a tiny bird, delicate and fragile.
Eugene lets himself settle to the sound of his brother’s soft breathing. All the rage and adrenaline he’s felt over the past few hours slowly drain out of him like a bathtub that’s stopper has just been removed.
It’s okay, now. Everything’s going to be okay.
The first thing that Varian registers is that he’s laying on something soft. The second thing is that his mouth is abhorrently dry and tasted like a dirty, sweaty sock. The third thing is that he feels like he got hit by a bus.
So, there’s that.
He didn’t even know the human body could feel this awful. He really, really just wants to roll back over and pass out for the next twenty years, but the soft snores alert him that there’s someone else in the room.
Cracking an eye open—only one eye, the other one is totally swollen shut—he sees Eugene, curled up in the bedside chair like a pretzel. He’s totally dead to the world. It’s almost a miracle—he hasn’t seen his brother fall asleep without his eye mask…well, ever. He’s even still in his uniform and not his preferred fuzzy PJs.
“Eu—” he tries, his voice instantly cracking from disuse. Ugh, right. Those assholes stuffed that fabric in his mouth when he tried screaming. No wonder his mouth tastes so weird.
Water. He needs water. With effort, he sits up, happy to find a full plastic cup waiting for him on the bedside table. It's then that he catches sight of his wrists. The flesh is rubbed raw, the top layer of skin completely chaffed and pink. The sight is enough to make him jolt in shock—and knock over the cup.
Eugene jolts awake with a snort, brown eyes wild for a moment before they land on him. “Kid, you’re awake! Did you—oh.” He breaks off into a wry chuckle, “Oops, hang on.”
He quickly ducks into the in-room bathroom and comes back armed with paper towels. He wipes up the mess Varian made, quickly pouring another glass and handing it to him. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I got kidnapped and drugged by a mob boss.” Maybe Varian shouldn’t have been so literal, because it makes Eugene wince. “Heh. I mean, I’m not kidding because that literally just happened to me, but I’m fine. I really am.”
“It’s okay to not be,” Eugene murmurs lowly. “I know that was really scary.”
And, if Varian is being totally honest, scary doesn’t even come close to cutting it. Primal terror is more akin to what he felt, adrenaline pulsing through his entire body until everything got sluggish and slow from that injection.
“I…don’t remember a lot of details, actually.” He frowns to himself, thinking. “Everything gets kinda fuzzy after I was, um. Y’know.”
“Poisoned?”
“Yeah.” The word croaks in his throat. He takes another drink of the water, swallowing down the uneasiness. “But it’s fine now. I knew you’d figure it out.”
He thinks this will make Eugene smile, but it only makes the man’s face pinch. “Varian, you should be furious with me. It took me so long to figure out something that was right in front of me.”
Varian blinks, taken aback at the self-loathing in his brother’s voice. “Eugene, I’m not mad at you. You didn’t kidnap me.”
The older man runs a furious hand through his hair, mussing it up. It normally was styled so much better than this—Eugene must be feeling worse for wear. “I know, but it’s my fault for even getting involved with the Baron. And the morse code was so obvious after I knew what it was, I should have—”
“But you did.” Varian cuts him off swiftly. “Sure, it was a few hours of nightmare fuel, but I never thought you wouldn’t come for me. I knew I just had to wait it out until you got there. You're not responsible for the actions of some dickhead.”
“Language.”
Varian rolls his eyes—er, eye. At least Eugene’s sense of humor isn’t totally gone. The older man still looks guilty, so he’s got to take drastic measures.
He scoots to one side of the bed and pats the empty space. He can’t exactly make puppy eyes right now, but Eugene caves all the same. It’s a tight squeeze, but that’s okay. Out of all the cramped areas he’s been in the past six hours, this one is the most relaxing.
An arm wraps around his shoulders, and Varian curls into the steady heat that his brother provides. Damn, he’s tired. Getting poisoned and almost dying sure takes a lot out of you.
“That took ten years off my life,” Eugene mutters into his hair. “You’re not allowed to get kidnapped ever again.”
“Noted.” Varian feels his eyelids droop, the aftereffects of the morphine they probably shot him with making the exhaustion creep in that much faster. “I promise, but only if you get some cream for those stress wrinkles.”
Eugene snorts, the soft puff of air ruffling his hair. “Brat.” There’s no bite in his voice, and he draws Varian that much closer.
“Jerk.” He lets out a yawn, and finally lets himself relax. The sound of his brother’s steady breathing and heartbeat lulls him to sleep.