Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nobody else was seeing it. 

The newspaper crinkles under his fingers, paper wrinkling as he stares at the short column forgotten between the pages of sports, updates on sculk, and the opening of a museum exhibit. Three students, no prior criminal history, are dropped off at the front of the hospital with concussions from an unknown weapon, the kicker being that all of them refuse to speak about the weapon. Completely different alibis about getting mugged, or gang violence, the author of the column notes an uptake in violence but ultimately concludes that they were just kids fooling around and got hurt, too embarrassed or concussed to come clean. Open and shut case.

Nobody else was seeing it, and it was driving Grian up the wall. 

Forcing a shaky breath through his nose, Grian rips the column out of the paper. It tears unevenly, a bit of the article on the museum hitching a ride as he pins the sheet onto the wall with a tack. He'd gone back and forth several times, between thinking it was important to thinking it wasn't. Maybe the author of the column is right, just dumb kids doing dumb things. Maybe the uptick in hospital admissions for unexplained injuries was a coincidence, maybe the whispers he had heard through drug rings were petty gossip, desperate plea bargains hissed through cell bars. 

Maybe he was the only one truly seeing it.

Grian takes a step back, almost tripping over his chair, as he takes in the mess his bulletin board has become. Hardly any cork left to be seen by the sheer number of things tacked on and spilling out around it. His colleagues said half of them were stretches, dead ends, unreliable sources but Grian was sure of it, one connection; he was sure of it, one hint, one tip and the case would all come together. The red thread that would unravel the sweater. He had other cases to look over, paperwork he needed to file but this case was taking over his life. Maybe it was the pressure of not breaking his wonderful streak of always being able to crack a case, the bane of a lazy perfectionist's existence, to the point that it'd become somewhat of an obsession. Nobody was going to help him, despite the fact that things had been slow as of recent times–borderline boring–because no one thought this was worth anyone's time.

But people always said Grian didn’t know when to quit.

“Knock-knock!” 

Grian sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What do you want, Scar?”

Scar pokes his head in, a lopsided smile coming in first before his signature blue uniform follows. A uniform, which like always, he’s not wearing correctly. Tie crooked, shorts not up to code and shirt buttons popped open. It's a nice view if not for the fact that he could get written up for it. 

“Is that a way to greet someone who’s just come with coffee?” He scolds, placing the paper cup on the little free space on his desk not covered in case files.

“Thanks, Scar, sorry, I’m just–”

“On the verge of a breakthrough," Scar finishes for him, waving his hands around. Grian notices his jaw tightens ever so slightly, though he manages to keep his voice light. "I know. I barely see you around the office these days, you don’t have time for us anymore."

“You know it's not like that.” Grian sighs, stepping closer. His hands wind around the tie hanging loosely around Scar’s neck, fingers already undoing the sloppy knot. “I miss hanging out with you guys too and you know it.”

“You–”

“Trust me I already know that there's a chance this case won’t lead to anything.” He admits quietly, looping the tie through properly, feeling Scar’s eyes boring into the top of his head. “Maybe I’m chasing a red herring, but I just…I want to be sure, okay?”

He pulls the tie up to his neck, meeting Scar’s soft eyes. “I know you guys think I’m crazy.”

“I would never think that.” Scar breathes, voice quiet as he stares into Grian’s eyes. Something inside Grian stirs but before he can open his mouth Scar beats him to it. “Do you want to get dinner?” 

Scar’s eyes widen as the words leave his lips, quick to add. “What I mean by that is, me and–and Skizz and Cub we–we’re going to get dinner tonight and I thought that maybe you’d also like to come along just–”

Grian steps back, the temperature of the room dropping as he does. “Thanks, Scar, I’m alright. Maybe another time.”

Scar’s smile falters for just a second, before his hand comes up to Grian's shoulder. “You don't have to work so hard, you know that, right?”

“Thanks again for the coffee.” Grian replies, managing a weak smile back at him as he spares a quick glance at the clock on the wall. “I’m going to stay back for a bit, you guys should get out of here.”

“Grian–”

“Next group dinner is on me!” He interrupts, grabbing a file on the desk so he doesn’t have to see the sad look on Scar’s face as he frantically waves him out the door. “Go have enough fun for the both of us!” 

Scar lets out a sigh, too quiet for Grian to hear before something else is dropped onto his desk. It's only when the door shuts does Grian look up to see it's a granola bar.

“Smooth as sandpaper, Scar.” Skizz chuckles as Scar closes the door to Grian's office; going in for a sympathetic pat on the back which Scar swats away.

“Shut up, I don’t want your pity!” He replies, glaring at Skizz. There's a bit of bite to his voice but Cub can tell he’s holding back a smile. “One of these days he's going to agree!”

Cub takes a small mental note that his tie is straight now. “Well, they do say humans are endurance hunters…”

“Not you too, Cub!” Scar gasps. “You're supposed to be on my side!”

“I’m assuming Grian isn’t coming?” Cub replies, changing the subject as he adjusts the ends of his sleeves. He squints through the small glass window by Grian's office, notices the addition of a small grey article pinned up to his evidence board; too small to read from where he's standing. Interesting .

“Yeah, he’s going to work himself to death instead.” Scar scoffs, folding his arms over his chest. “I don’t know why I even ask.”

Cub hums, pushing off of the desk he's leaning on. “Well, I’m going to head out too now.”

“Wait, I thought you were coming to dinner with us?” Skizz asks, looking at Scar who’s wearing an equally confused gaze. “Isn’t that the whole reason you’re here?”

“Nah, I already have plans.” Cub replies, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I just came to bother Scar on my way over.”

“Hey! Listen here mister you better not be flaking on us like Grian is–!”

Cub chuckles. “Scar–”

“First my…coworker –”

“–work crush.”

“–shut up Skizz, and now my very own best friend can’t give me the time of day–!”

“Next time, Scar, promise.” Cub interrupts. Scar settles but a frown is still evident on his face. Cub rolls his eyes. “We’re literally hanging out this weekend, Scar–”

“Thats not for another 3 days!” He pouts. “I got excited that you left your lab early and came to see me!”

“Run, Cub, I’ll hold him back!” Skizz laughs, wrapping an arm around Scar’s shoulders playfully. “We’ll enjoy our PoPo bonding time, you go ahead and have fun.”

“Thanks, Skizz.”

Cub walks with them to Skizz’s car, as personally requested by Scar, vaguely listening to their conversation and complaints about work as he does. Cub makes sure to wave at them as they drive away, ‘90s tunes blasting out of the windows. He can almost hear the loud laughter, hands tapping along to the beat on the dash as they peel out of the parking lot at full speed. He waits a solid five minutes before he starts his walk over. It's methodical at this point, a carefully crafted habit as he takes a left at the bakery that’s always sold out by noon. He crosses the road at the pedestrian crossing with a large pothill at its center that’s been there for five years, takes a right at the overpass, grabs a newspaper from the old man at the rundown convenience store, then walks straight until he sees the small bar tucked between a late night ramen shop and a vintage clothes shop.

He tries his key only to find the door is already unlocked.

The bubble columns are turned off, stage and seats empty with the normally bright orange lights dimmed only to illuminate the person sitting at the bar with a stack of papers and hair white as snow. 

“A drink on the house from someone who thinks you’re cute.” Joel smiles at Etho as he pops up from behind the counter, placing a colourful drink–most likely one of his experimental mocktails–in front of him.

Etho chuckles, dropping the papers he’s looking at on his lap and turning towards Joel on his bar stool. Neither of them hear Cub close the door. “I thought you were going to say ‘A drink on the house from the guy over there’ and then run to the end of the counter.”

“I was thinking of doing that but I was afraid I’d knock over the drink.”

Both of them laugh, Joel grabbing Etho by the shirt, finger pulling his mask down before pulling him close enough to bump their foreheads together. Cub clears his throat.

“Sorry, do you two need a minute?” Both of them jump away with wide eyes. Cub almost smiles at the red tint to Joel's cheeks. “I can take a walk.”

“Cub!” Joel exclaims, Cub walking over to the bar stool next to Etho. “Didn't expect you today.” 

“I can tell.” He teases, Joel scrunching his face up while Etho rubs the back of his neck. “Could I get a glass of water if you’re giving drinks to cute guys?”

Etho snorts while Joel glares but he goes to grab a glass from under the table anyways. Etho asks first.

“So why are you here today? I thought you were getting dinner with Scar?” 

“I was.” He states, sliding into his seat before dropping the newspaper–already turned to the page of the article–onto the table. It's only when they both look at him confused when he realizes they probably need more information than that. “I think we should invest in an on site ambulance.”

“Oh?” Etho manages, grabbing the paper and quickly scanning the page with raised eyebrows.

“I saw an article pinned up on Grian's wall, the one about the mysterious injuries,” Cub says, answering the unspoken question while dropping his bag onto the counter. “I think doctors on site will cover our bases.” 

“Detective Grian Xequla?”

“No, Etho, Grian the farmer.” Joel snarks, sliding the glass of ice water towards Cub. Etho opens his mouth before Joel gives him a quick kiss on the cheek, and Cub thinks he hears a ‘sorry that was mean’ from him before Joel grabs the newspaper for himself. Cub takes a sip of water as he watches Joel’s eyebrows furrow as he reads the paper for himself. “It’s smart but that's more people to keep quiet.”

“I could find someone in my inner circle, it's about time anyway.”

All three of them turn to the new voice, Pearl, with Gem on her arm walking into the bar. Gem lights up when she sees Cub sitting by Etho.

“Cub! I thought you were–”

“I think Grian is slowly catching up to us.” 

Gem frowns. “How?”

“Because people are going to the hospital after their fights, love.” Pearl replies, patting her arm. “We probably should’ve planned better for that.”

“So do you know any doctors, Pearl?” Cub asks when they take a seat on the other side of Etho. “I know a few personally but they’re not–”

“I’ll find some people, you can count on me.” Pearl smiles, pushing her sunglasses into her hair. “I’ll host a small party, I’m sure I’ll find people interested who are willing to…follow the rules."

It's a tone like that which makes Cub realise how easily she can go from bubbly and friendly eco-technologist Pearl Moon to ‘Eclipse’, owner of one of the largest underground fighting arenas in the city.

“Problem solved then.” Joel claps, pulling Cub out of his thoughts while simultaneously pulling out what looks like an expensive bottle of alcohol off the shelf. “I think that calls for a toast.” 

“You just want an excuse to open that bottle.”

“Shut up, Gem or you’re not getting any.” Joel bites back, pulling a series of shot glasses out and onto the table. Etho moves the mocktail to the side, handing out the shots after Joel clumsily pours into them. 

“Cheers lads.” Joel raises his glass up, everyone following. “To what we can't talk about.”

“To what we can't talk about!”

Chapter Text

It was a shot in the dark. 

Most of Grian’s ‘research’ was, this was nothing new but out of all the ideas he’s had this was probably the most far-fetched…and he could tell by the side glances that Scar kept giving him when he thought Grian wasn’t looking that he thought so too. The car ride had mostly been silent so far, save for the quiet blinking of the turn signal, subtle hum of the engine, and the radio which Scar was actively turning down which meant that he wanted to talk. Now normally, Grian would like talking to Scar but he knew what questions he would ask and there was no universe where Grian did not look like an absolute fool for making Scar drive them both an hour away for…and he’ll call it what it is, a hunch.

“So…an abandoned warehouse.”

Grian makes a conscious effort not to look up from the map folded out in his lap. “Factory, actually.”

There’s another beat of silence, Grian can hear Scar’s hands tighten around the steering wheel; rubber squeaking in his grip. A small sigh escaping from his lips.

“You know I meant it right? I’m not going to call you crazy if you–”

“It’s a development project.” Grian starts slowly, dropping his head backwards and bumping the head rest behind him. “Some company bought it and is hoping to revitalize it to its former glory.”

Scar’s eyebrows furrow. “Okay…and?”

“This factory has been abandoned for close to 15 years since they built a fish processor closer to the port and moved all the workers there.” Grian explains, folding the map up and stashing it away in the passenger compartment. “Why on earth would a company want to spend more money to re-build a fish processor further away from the dock just to have to hire more truck drivers and buy more cold storage?”

Scar hums in agreement, banking a slightly sharp turn. “Oh, sure, I can see how that’s a bit suspicious but what do…development projects have to do with your case?”

“I don’t know.” Grian admits quietly.

Scar's head snaps towards him. “You don’t–!”

“You promised no judgement!"

“I promised that I wouldn’t call you crazy!”

“Listen.” Grian demands, borderline pleads. “If its a red herring then we know, if its some other secret drug front then you’re here for that and if it's related to my case–”

“Which would be…?”

“An underground fighting ring.”

“Right.” Scar exhales forcefully, almost like he’s willing the exasperation to leave his body. “I thought this fighting ring theory meant that…I don’t know, they already have one?! How did your research even lead to development projects?”

“Simple.” Grian starts, pulling out the thick stack of papers from his bag. “Established fighting ring makes money, gets popular amongst fighters and gamblers–too popular. It means there's too many people in one location and it draws attention so then they need to use that money to expand.” 

Grian continues quickly before Scar can input. “But they can’t just expand anywhere, they need a location easily accessible but unassuming, where people can come in and out but not at a suspicious rate. It's expensive and time consuming to start from the ground up so they need a place that already exists and they need workers to actually repair the place and lots of workers means…”

“Lots of questions,” Scar offers, Grian gives a curt nod. 

“Exactly. And curious people mean even more money needed to keep people silent so they need a place with an alibi just about convincing enough that the workers don’t ask any hard questions while they're doing construction.” Grian finishes as he thumbs through the deck of papers, the pages thumping heavily against each other. “That means no flashy skyscrapers or shopping malls, no empty plots of lands with promises of buildings in 10 years and a good enough reason for development. All it took was me scanning all the latest development projects from the past few months for suspicious activity and I found this place. Only took me like...six, maybe seven hours? That's only like 400 minutes…”

Scar lets out a disbelieving chuckle. “Wow.”

“I know it's still flimsy but–”

“No, no! You’ve convinced me!” Scar shoots Grian a small smile over his shoulder. “Let's go catch these guys.”

“Thanks, Scar, you’re the best.” Grian can’t help but smile back. Only Scar would agree at a drop of a hat to spend his time chasing after a whisper of a dream.

Scar turns into an off-road. There's a slight incline and it's still unpaved, only really visible with the aid of a faded yellow road sign pointing in its direction. Grian’s thankful the rusted iron gate out front is open and unguarded, he really didn't want to explain the bolt cutters and fake permits he had in his bag to Scar.

“And uh…after this, what are you doing?” Scar asks, clearing his throat.

“If everything goes according to plan, making arrests and then after that interrogation and then…home for some sleep? Hopefully? Why do you ask?”

“No, nothing!” Scar laughs, not quite normal. “Just…making small talk, you know what I'm like.”

“Are you sure? Did you–”

“Well, would you look at that! Here we are!”

Scar comes to an aggressive park in front of a rundown building. As far as processing plants go, it's a small, short thing that looks nearly sunken into the ground. Tall trees surround what's left of the “parking lot” while grass and weeds shoot out from cracks in the pavement and scattered patches of soil. Mold and dirt cake the windows, vines and rust climb and creep around the corners and edges of the building; threatening to swallow the building whole. The roof is unevenly slanted, whether by design or age it's hard to tell from the angle they’re sitting at, but Grian can faintly see a bird's nest tucked into one of the structural support beams which look on the verge of rotting. 

Scar lets out a small whistle. “This place looks like it's been abandoned for fifteen hundred years, not fifteen.”

Grian huffs a laugh, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Let’s go.”

“But–”

“Come on.” Grian waves, already halfway out the door. “Bring a flashlight!”

The ground is soft, dried excavator tracks, tire markings and footprints in the mud being the only evidence that people have been around in years. Scar stalks quietly next to Grian, only a step behind as they approach the metal door; a nearly completely faded “employees only” sign pasted on. Grian jiggles the rusty doorknob, unsurprised when he finds it locked.

“Scar, do you think you could…?”

“Got it.” Scar affirms, before he takes a step back and lands a heavy kick right under the doorknob. The bang startles Grian–and nearby forest life–but the old chain lock snaps, the door giving way with a creak. 

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.” He winks, gesturing inside with a bow. Grian feels something invert inside of him but focuses instead on clicking his flashlight on, stepping inside. Despite all of Scar’s past…fumblings, he feels safer knowing that he’s right behind him.

The inside isn't faring much better than the outside, at least from what he can see. What looks like it used to be a smooth, polished granite floor is now caked in dust and debris, the pillars are riddled with holes and the stairs leading to the second floor balcony and higher look grimy and rickety with age. What little light coming in from the windows is muted, whether from the sun setting or from the fact that there isn't a single clean window…it's hard to tell.

“Not a single conveyor belt in sight.” Grian tsks with a click of his tongue, flashlight running over muddy footsteps. “Suspicious.”

“...no, not really? They probably just moved all the machinery to the new place years ago.”

Grian rolls his eyes. “Scar, do you mind?”

“Mind what?” He squints. “You need me to just mindlessly agree with you?”

“That'd be nice right about now, yeah.”

There's a creak from above them. Both of their flashlights immediately go up to the network of metal pathways and beams zigzagging above them. Grian puts a hand out in front of Scar, stopping them both in place.

“Hello?!” He calls out, hearing nothing back.

“Do you think–”

“Stay low.” 

“Got it.”

Both of them tiptoe quietly backwards, keeping their flashlights trained upwards as they do; light reflecting off the metal. It might be a wild animal, or the place settling or some shared delusion due to paranoia.

Or maybe, just maybe, they're not alone.

Scar bites back a small noise of shock as his back hits the wall. Grian follows close behind, palms flat against the surface of the wall; feeling around blindly at least until something jabs him.

He whips around, his flashlight shining on a dirty light switch. He heaves a sigh of relief before it clicks to him to check the internal power of this place. Without thinking he flicks the light switch and…

No light. He shouldn't be as shocked as he is.

But then. 

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

“What did you do, Grian?!” Scar gasps.

“I thought that would turn on the lights!”

“Why would this place have power!?”

“Well, how was I supposed to know this place had a working alarm system but not working lights!” Grian bites back, throwing his hands up in defeat.

“God dam–we have to get out of here!”

Both of them make a run for the door, flashlights bobbing in the dark as they try their hardest not to trip on a cracked floor tile or any clutter left lying around. Grian can just about make out the sliver of light trickling in from the door they kicked open when he feels a sharp sting in his leg that forces him to slow down.

He cranes his neck back.

Just as his brain registers what looks to be a hook dug into the back of his calf–a string of some sort twisted around his ankle several times–he's yanked backwards with a force that slams him against the floor so hard all the wind is knocked out of him.

“Grian!” He vaguely hears, Scar skidding to a stop in front of him.

Before Grian can get a sound out, he's dragged across the floor, nails digging unsuccessfully against the floor and teeth clinking together painfully as his chin is knocked against the ground in the sheer force of strength. 

“I got you!” Scar shouts, as he grabs Grian's outstretched hand. Tugging painfully against the pull of…whatever he's caught in.

“Ow! Fuck! Scar, just–just go!”

“No way! I'm not leaving you behind!”

There's running above them, heavy boots stomping against metal. Grian grits his teeth as he feels the hook sink deeper into the meat of his leg and the string starts to dig into his skin. Whoever was up there is getting higher up and further away.

Fuck.

“Scar, let go!”

“No, I'm not–”

“It's either they throw me, dragging you along with me or they're going to let you rip a hole in my leg trying.”

“What?!”

“Just let go!” He hisses, tugging on his hand. “Now!”

Scar releases just in time for Grian's prediction to come true. He goes airborne, screaming the entire time. Whether it's from the force of being thrown or from the hook ripping out of him uncleanly, he can't tell. He flies a sizable distance, crashing into an old stack of boxes with a groan. 

His vision swims, gasping for breath as he wriggles around in the mess of boxes through sore muscles and the sharp pain he feels in his leg. He tries his best to ignore the stickiness of blood running down into his shoe and the ache of his back as he attempts to stand or at the very least re-orientate himself.

He faintly sees Scar sprinting towards him, Grian can see the worry etched into his features even in the dark but that means he also sees–almost in slow motion–as a hook descends from who knows where to wrap around once, then twice around his waist. Scar freezes in place, yelps when the hook pierces through his outfit no doubt hooking into him like it did with Grian.

Grian opens his mouth to scream his name, only to watch helplessly as Scar's thrown upwards like a ragdoll and out of view. Grian throws off the remaining boxes as he processes what just happened. A lasso, no, it's more like…a fishing rod. If a normal fishing rod had the strength to pull an adult man across the floor like a bag of sand.

“Scar!” He screams, limping his way to where he just saw his friend get yanked up only to hear a distant thud from above him.

“I'm okay, Gri!” Scar groans from the second platform, using the railings to pull himself onto his feet. “They're up there!”

Grian cranks his neck back, squinting in the darkness and seeing a billowy figure at the upper platforms peering down at them. It can't have been more than a second before Grian sees the glint of the metal hook being thrown at him again. 

He doesn't have the speed to run anymore, diving out of the way and hitting the floor once more; the corner of his coat being torn off with a sharp tearing noise as if made of paper.

“Move!”

Grian rolls out of the way, joints cracking as the resounding thump of a sand bag lands right where he used to be. Grian barely has time to scramble to his feet, when he feels the now familiar string of a hook in his hip. He squeezes his eyes shut, feeling his stomach lurch and wind rush past his ears as he’s pulled upwards; stars explode behind his eyelids as his head hits the metal walkway of what he believes is an upper floor. 

He hears the pounding of footsteps again, he doesn't know where they're coming from anymore.

Coughing violently, pain blooming and lungs seizing in his chest; he's pulled onto his feet forcefully before he has a chance to even attempt to do so himself. His head and heart are both pounding as he prepares to swing at whoever’s in front of him when familiar calloused hands stop him gently by the shoulders.

“It's me, Grian! It's just me! Are you okay?”

There's a not so distant crash, glass breaking. A dramatic escape. 

“They’re getting away!” Grian shouts, trying to pull away but Scar keeps them planted firmly to the floor.

“Let them!”

“But–”

“Look me in the eye and tell me you can chase them down like this, Grian!" Grian stills, blinks until Scar is in focus and then looks at him, really looks at him. He sees a bruised cheek, laboured breathing and small pools of blood in his wrinkled uniform. He can’t imagine he looks any better; his mouth clamps shut. “That’s what I thought, I’m calling in backup, we need to get you to a hospital now.”

Scar’s arm comes around his shoulder like a protective barrier, Grian can only follow along at the best of his ability as they stumble back towards the way they came.

“If they wanted us dead we would be dead.” Grian states plainly once they get back to the ground floor.

“Yeah. I know.”

Somewhere a bike roars to life.

Joel hears the rattling of keys before the front door of his apartment is thrown open. He smiles.

“Hey, babe, how was fixing those new fishing rods?”

“Fine.” Etho grits, door slamming shut behind him. “Until the detective showed up.”

The dishes slip out of his hands and back into the pool of soapy water in the sink, he whips around and sees Etho looking more frazzled than he's seen him in a long time.

“What? How?” Joel steps forward, hands already out. “Were you followed?”

“No! I promise I–I don't know he was just there with a cop and…”

“Did he see you?” 

Etho shakes his head, biting down on his already bitten looking lips. “I don't think so.”

“Thank God.” Joel sighs, pulling Etho in by the waist. “I knew it, I should've come with you.”

“You didn't know–”

“Doesn't matter. You shouldn't have been there all by yourself in the first place” His hand comes up to Etho’s cheek. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I just…I don't think it's a good idea anymore, Joel I…I don't want to go back.”

“Etho…”

His hands are trembling at Joel's sides. “I'll return the money to Pearl, I never should've opened my own I knew it would be–”

“Etho, don’t panic!”

“You’re panicking!”

“Only because you are!” Joel shouts before he softens, exhaling all the breath in his lungs at once. “Let's just…breathe okay.”

“Okay.”

There's a pause. Foreheads pressed together and eyes shut as both of them take in a long, shaky breath.

“You're right,” Joel starts quietly.

“Really?”

“They're probably calling in investigators, it wouldn't be smart to go back.” Joel whispers, barely audible. “Whatever's left there–and knowing you, nothing–won't lead back to us, the case will go cold.”

“We need to–”

“Of course, we'll lay low for a bit, let things settle.”

“That's not enough, Joel,” Etho insists, lips turning downward. “We need to stop this, we need to close down the club–”

“Hey, hey. Relax–”

“It's gotten out of hand Joel, it’s got out of hand years ago–”

“Remember why we started, Etho?” Joel smiles, voice dropping into a gentle, soothing tone. “Just two orphans with dreams bigger than themselves? Of working hard enough to never have to worry about food ever again?”

Etho sighs. “Joel…”

“Just a little longer, Etho." Joel promises. "Just a little longer before we have enough to stop. Then we walk away and never look back.”

Etho hums, not quite in agreement but at least Joel knows he's listening.

“Hey, how's this?” Joel starts, tilting Etho's chin up with a few fingers. “We lay low by taking that vacation you wanted, Sweden was it?”

“Switzerland.” Etho corrects the beginnings of a smile on his face.

“Sorry, I forgot you wanted to go broke again by skiing and eating their fancy cheese.”

“It's good fancy cheese.”

Joel laughs. “Sorry, the good fancy cheese.”

Joel leans in, pressing his lips against Etho's. Melting into him and waiting for him to reciprocate–and he does, he always does–hands pulling his neck down to be as close as possible, Etho's hands giving a squeeze to his hips before Joel is pulling away with a pop.

“Take a nice shower,” Joel says, pushing stray white strands out of Etho's face and giving him another quick peck on the lips. “I'll finish cooking dinner then you can tell me what happened. We'll set up a meeting with the others to talk about the untalkable later. How's that sound?”

Etho lets out another shaky sigh but he finally smiles back.

“Okay.”

“Everything is going to be okay.”

Chapter Text

Things weren't going well.

“Are you kidding me, Skizz?” Grian shouts, jumping up from his seat and biting back a wince as his ankle twinges at the movement. Skizz shifts back in his own chair, startled but only shaking his head sympathetically, pity etched in his face.

“I'm sorry, G, I just can't see it.” He states, dropping the yellow folder back onto the desk with a quiet smack. 

Grian is going to fight the next person who tells him that. There is no bright side to having three cracked ribs and nine stitches put in after all.

“I have hospital records, Skizz, I have a scar.” Grian rambles, throwing his hands up in the air. “I can roll up my pants and show you if you'd prefer but you can't submit that into evidence.”

“Relax buddy, I’m not calling you a liar or...or asking you to strip or anything like that!” Skizz says, gesturing with his hands at Grian to lower his voice…or to sit back down, one of the two. Grian chooses the former. “What I’m trying to say is that personally I can’t see it. Hell, G, even from your own witness report, I'd hardly call what you experienced evidence of a fight club.” 

Skizz sighs, pushing the folder across the desk back at him. “Like you said, no arena, no bleachers and no papertrail. If anything you two pissed off a deranged squatter.”

“A ‘squatter’ wouldn't have a fishing rod capable of launching someone up two stories.” Grian hisses with air quotations.

“That's a different case in itself, Grian, desperate people do desperate things and…and I guess do weird things too; I've yet to see the link.”

Grian rolls his eyes, folding his arms across his chest. “What about the alarm system?”

“According to records on that place, it's had an alarm system for years. Even places that are abandoned keep one hooked up for when urban explorers come poking around.”

Grian must make a face because Skizz sighs, pushing his hair back with his fingers. He pulls the folder back towards him with two fingers before flicking it open again, probably as a way to pacify him.

“I made a few calls while you were away, Grian, got in contact with the company.” Skizz starts slowly, casually flipping through the pages of the admittedly small case file. “Apparently, they made a mistake. It wasn't a development project, it was a demolition project; they're tearing the place down and selling the land.”

“What?!”

“Scar called in some of the boys to snoop around while you two were away but then the crew got back and they…well, let's just say they weren’t happy we were there.” Skizz bristles, adjusting his cap. “By the time we scrapped together all the proper paperwork for an official investigation, half the building was already gone.”

Grian actively feels the fight bleed out of him, fumbling for his chair with his hands before taking a seat. “Nothing? Nothing at all?”

“Nada G-sharp, found nothing but dirt, sand bags and scrap metal. Nothing we could bring back with us.” Grian deflates visibly, suddenly feeling really small in Skizz’s office. Skizz shoots him a small smile, reaching across the table to put his hand on Grian’s shoulder. “I’m sorry bud, I got nothing else for you.”

Grian’s dedication to causes that are “insignificant”, his stubbornness, his inability to quit or to stop while he is ahead…these would be the traits that would put him at the wrong part of the city or at the business end of a sword. These traits would be the things that'd kill him one day, from exhaustion or otherwise. 

He knew it and he jumped headfirst anyway.

Grian grabs the folder, laying it across his lap before he pulls the pen out from behind his ear. Click. 

“What's the name of the company that funded the project?”

“Listen, Grian,” Skizz starts, a rising panic in his voice and Grian can only roll his eyes. He knows what he’ll say, knows what Skizz wants but he also knows that it’ll be a cold day in hell when he willingly follows the hands that push him down by the shoulders; listens to the voice of someone telling him to sit down. “I want to put you on paid leave, you and Scar came back to work way too–”

“Company name, Skizz.”

“Grian, your obsession with this case is starting to–”

“Skizz.” Grian snaps. “If you don’t give me the company name I will find it myself. Let's make this easy for both of us, shall we?”

Grian matches his stare, unwavering and firm until Skizz breaks first. Skizz makes a small ‘tsk’ noise but he at least has the decency to turn to his computer, a dinosaur in terms of technology but it did its job. It's quiet as he takes a minute to scroll through whatever's on his monitor, dim light of the screen reflecting in his eyes. “Solar Flare Inc.”

Grian only digests the words when he’s halfway done writing them down, dark black ink and curled letters staring back at him. “The solar tech company?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Skizz shrugs, disapproval still laced in his tone.

Grian snaps the folder shut. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Hey, Grian,” Skizz blurts out, grabbing Grian’s wrist as he stands. Grian turns back to face him. “Take it easy alright? You worried us over here when we heard you were in the hospital.”

“Promise."

Grian sighs louder than he should when the door to Skizz’s office shuts behind him, ignoring all the eyes around the main room that immediately turn back to papers or computers. One lead. That’s all he has left. There is only so much patience and funding he has left for this case, and he is running out of time to prove he even has a case to begin with. 

“Didn’t go well?” Asks a familiar voice, Grian doesn’t have the mental strength to sugar coat it.

“Take a guess, Scar.”

“Sorry, I tried–”

“What’s going on?” Cub interrupts, appearing right behind Grian from who knows where with a styrofoam cup filled with watered down coffee from the breakroom in his hand. 

“Cub.” Grian exhales, hand on his chest as he tries to act as though he didn’t almost jump three feet in the air. “What are you doing here?” 

“Scar’s taking a half day and I took the day off, we’re going to get lunch in half an hour so I decided to just come early.”

It seems like the people in the force aren’t the only ones concerned about them coming back so soon. Grian swallows a chuckle but he knows he doesn’t quite succeed in biting back a smile by the look on Cub’s face.

“So you’re his babysitter?”

“Hey!”

“Basically, yeah.”

“Anyways!” Scar interrupts, a pink tint dusting his cheeks. “You were asking about Grian’s case right? Oh you know it’s–”

“Classified.”

Scar gasps like Grian just walked over and slapped Cub across the face. “Oh come on, Grian! It's Cub! You know him!” Scar swats Grian lightly on the arm. “Don’t you remember he was one of us once! Way before he started his research he had a desk of his own here, it wasn’t that long ago now was it? He was working here as a…as a…”

“Forensic scientist.”

“Forensic scientist! He was practically your manager, G!” Scar exclaims with a snap of his fingers, voice pitching as he does. “Besides, I don’t think he wants to hear about your three hour search through library databases, just give us a little morsel will you? What's next?”

Grian sighs. He doesn’t like that he has a weak spot for Scar and his boundless curiosity. “Either of you know anything about Solar Flare Inc?”

Cub’s eyes widen, an emotion nearing surprise while Scar lights up like a firework.

“Yeah, who hasn’t? Multi-million dollar company investing in eco-friendly technology. Oh my gosh Grian, have you heard of the CEO, Pearl Moon? Absolutely incredible woman. Not all CEO’s will slash their own salary so they don’t have to let go of employees, donate to charity on the regular or go out of their way to study engineering themselves so they can be a part of the team…now that's a leader.” Scar gushes, a faraway look in his eye. Cub only gives a skeptical raise of an eyebrow, wouldn’t be the first that Grian has received.

“Why do you want to know about the company?” Cub asks, a tilt Grian has never heard before from him in the backend of the question. 

“It’s…it’s a stretch.”

“Well you haven’t been wrong so far.”

“But–”

“Come on, please?” Scar pleads, putting his hands together. Grian looks back and forth between the two men before letting out a resigned sigh. He pulls the notepad from his pocket, pen in position.

“Do either of you know how I could get an interview or in a conversation with her? As soon as possible?” Grian responds in a hushed voice. “I need to ask about where they’re spending their money.”

Cub opens his mouth to speak but Scar cuts in first with a loud laugh.

“Are you kidding, Grian?! For someone who reads the newspaper on the daily you sure don’t know your stuff.” Scar replies, still mid laugh before he jabs an elbow into Cub’s side. “Cub, weren't you telling me that Moon was having a grand re-opening of her exhibit at the HC museum?”

Cub blinks. “Was I?”

“Yeah! We talked about it a few days ago!” Scar explains excitedly, almost like a kid in a candy store. “They’ll have food and champagne and a live orchestra and everything!”

“She owns an exhibit at a museum?” Grian questions, pen moving faster than his mouth.

“Crawl out from that rock of yours, Grian!” Scar laughs. “Moon’s a philanthropist, she poured hundreds and thousands into restoration of antique items and paintings to display inside, the entire room is modeled after an eighteenth century ballroom! It’s open on the…come on, help me out here, Cub”

“Uh, I don’t remember. Haven’t really thought about it.” Cub states, taking a sip of his drink.

“What how? Did you also forget that I’m supposed to be the forgetful one out of the two of us.” Scar teases, still prodding at Cub like it’ll jog his memory. “I mentioned that I wanted to check it out…what day is Thursday again?”

“The seventeenth, got it.” Grian confirms, drawing a circle around the date. “Who do I have to talk to in order to get in?”

“Nobody, I think, so long as you reserve in advance on the website. Fancy black tie event.” Scar clears his throat. “If you want we could go toget–where are you going Grian!?”

“I need to buy a suit!”

“Come here often, lovely?”

Gem spins around, a bright smile on her face when she meets Pearl's eyes. Gem looks beautiful, she always does, but especially today. Red curls loose around her shoulders, bangs swept to the side framing eyes as green as emeralds. Gold jewelry sits tucked between the waves of her hair, hanging from her ears and draped around her neck. Her dress hugs her figure perfectly, the pink bunched up in all the right places to conceal all her hidden knives.

“You scared me for a second.” She laughs, a beautiful thing before taking Pearl's hand into hers. “Aren’t you supposed to be doing all your announcements now and not hidden away in the washroom with me?”

“I wanted to see you before I had to do my big speech.”

“Pearl.” She drawls rolling her eyes lovingly. “You do big speeches like this all the time.”

“Yeah and being able to see you in the crowd calms my nerves.”

“Uh huh.” She replies with the hint of a laugh as Pearl spins her slowly like you would in a slow dance. 

“Thank you for agreeing to help me out for tonight.”

“Of course, where else would I be? At home while you ran an exhibit and then a tournament right afterwards in the new and improved fight club? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Pearl huffs, frowning but giving Gem her best ‘pathetic’ wet dog eyes. “But I’ve forced you to do all the behind the scenes, boring set up stuff, and background checks while you look this beautiful and, in the meantime, I get to have all the fun.”

“This night is about you, Pearl.” Gem grins, Pearl can only take her other hand into hers.

“And how could I ever repay you?”

Gem takes a step forward, leaning up to bump the tips of their noses together. “Oh I can think of a few things.”

Pearl meets her in the middle for a gentle kiss, one hand on the base of her neck and careful not to smudge Gem’s lipstick despite wanting nothing more than to just–what was that sound? She pulls away quickly, glancing over Gem’s shoulder to see Cub rocking back and forth on his heels, hands folded together and eyes respectfully looking away.

“Cub!” Gem exclaims once she follows Pearl's gaze. “How long have you been standing there?”

“I went looking for Pearl, and you two seemed to be having a moment so I didn’t want to interrupt,” Cub responds with a sheepish smile. Pearl sees the corner of his lip turn down, it’s too early in the evening for there to already be problems.

“Is everything okay out there?” She asks, pulling away from Gem and already missing the subtle warmth of her girlfriend's arms. Cub beckons her closer.

“Detective has arrived.” He whispers. Pearl shouldn’t be surprised that Gem still hears.

“Detective?” Gem repeats, eyes wide. “What is he talking about, Pearl?”

“Nothing you need to worry about, love.” She replies, pulling Gem’s hand to her lips for a kiss but Gem doesn’t let her pull away this time; fingers curling around hers, eyebrows furrowed.

“Well if a detective is here, I think I do need to worry, actually.”

“Cub already warned me in advance that he was coming,” Pearl states, rubbing her thumb across the top of Gem’s hand. “I’ll take care of him, he won’t suspect a thing.”

“Are you sure, Pearl? We could–”

“Kicking him out will draw too much attention, make him more suspicious.” Cub interrupts smoothly, fiddling with the cufflinks on his sleeve. 

“Cub’s right, Gem.” Pearl nods. “I’ll do my speech, talk with some guests and wait for him to approach me. I’ll answer his questions, put him at ease and we just have to make sure he’s out before the ‘VIP’ event.” 

“Okay, I trust you.” Gem sighs, squeezing Pearl's hand. “Come and find me if you need anything.”

“Promise.”

The next half hour goes exactly how Cub and Pearl expected it to go. The exhibit is packed to the brim with students dressed in borrowed ties and thrifted dresses, collectors with magnifying lenses pressed up to glass cases, and wealthy patrons who could probably buy out the exhibit if they wished. Pearl tries her hardest not to focus on the mousy brown haired individual at the back of the room holding a notepad as she gives her welcoming speech from the decorated mezzanine, hand gripping the engraved railing as she holds out her flute of champagne. 

She keeps a practiced smile on her face when people ask questions, laughs on cue, and talks about the right subjects. She even meets a few doctors and medical professionals in training–giving her card to the ones struggling with money–but otherwise she keeps her hands busy and her eyes focused only on what's in front of her and not the eyes boring into the back of her head. 

Not yet.

Their thirty minute estimate is off by roughly six minutes when the detective approaches her during the brief period she’s sitting alone at a small upstairs patio. She pretends to be surprised when he introduces himself.

“Grian Xequla, Grian is fine.” He starts, clearing his throat nervously as Pearl takes his hand for a shake before flashing his badge. “I work as a detective and I have some questions I’d like to ask you.”

“Not without a lawyer, mate.” She jokes, placing her flute down on the table and keeping her tone light while she watches Grian scramble for a response mentality, eyes darting around as if actually searching for one. 

“No, you’re not…you’re not being accused of anything.” Grian clarifies, hands out in front of him. “I just need to ask a question or two about a project your company funded, then I’ll get out of your hair. Won’t take more than five–ten minutes, promise.”

Pearl hums in response, mind running through the preplanned script in her head before she gives a nod; almost smiling at the instant look of relief on the detective's face as she gestures for him to follow her lead. She waves her way past a few layers of security, the detective awkwardly trailing behind her as she repeats quietly in her head that he probably has family that will miss him when he’s gone. She notices the slight limp when he walks, in the same beat realizes it must be from his encounter with Etho.

This guy doesn’t know how to take a break does he? Jeez…

Her office is small, far enough away from the chaos to be quiet, and perhaps even “low scale” to some people but she doesn’t decorate an office for anything other than what it needs to function. She flicks on the lamp at her desk, a soft glow illuminating the space as the detective shuts the door behind them slowly, glancing around nervously like someone might pop out of a fern she has near the door (Cub and Gem would never be so ‘amateurish’…they know the secret entrance through the bookshelf if she needs them).

“Water?” She tries, watching as the detective nearly jumps at the sound of her voice.

“No, no, I just…I’m good, this won’t take long.” He stammers, pulling at the chair opposite to her roughly before thumbing open his notepad. “So uh–” 

He coughs, almost dropping his pen. Pearl wonders if he’s somehow more nervous for this than she is; wonders if he actually thought he would get this far. 

“Are you sure you don’t want some water?”

“No! It’s–approximatly a week ago your company purchased the old fish processor and–”

Pearl interrupts with a planned laugh, watching as the detective narrows his eyes. 

“That old thing?” She asks, folding her arms over her chest. “You scared me, mate, and here I thought it was about something serious."

"It's part of a case-"

"A case?” She interrupts. “You mean the people who stumbled into the place while an active demolition was occurring, that's enough to be a case?"

The detective goes red, chuckling nervously.

“Uh no, I–the people who walked into the site thought that that it was a construction site and went to investigate because they found it suspicious–”

"Yes, I'm aware it was wrongly listed.” She states, playing with a pen she left on the desk. She hopes her breathing is properly managed like she practised. “I've had my people correct it now, haven't I–"

“But why a–?”

"My lovely partner owns a dock yard, and she hasn't gotten around to that old shabby thing since her parents passed the company down to her.” She states, kicking herself under the desk for answering so quickly as told by the way the detective squints at her slightly from over his notepad, pen aggressively scribbling something out. “I thought I'd do her a favour and get rid of it on her behalf, nothing else to it, mate.”

“I–there was talk about another person there, would you happen to know…?”

She shakes her head, slow and after a few seconds of “deliberation”. “There shouldn’t have been, and if there was I didn’t know. Sorry I can’t help you there.”

“It’s fine, it's…” Grian snaps the notepad shut and Pearl allows herself to relax just a bit. “That’s all I really have for you, sorry for wasting your time, and dragging you away from your event.”

“Glad I could be of some help.” Pearl replies, shooting him a small smile before rising from her seat. “Anything else? Or can we–?”

“No, let's go. I might need your help getting back to the party.”

“Sure, follow me.”

The walk back over is mostly quiet. This time Grian walking beside her rather than behind her as they make their way back to the party. They’re one corner away when Grian speaks.

“By the way–”

“I thought you had no more questions, detective.”

“Oh no, this is completely unrelated!” Grian explains, waving his hands ever so slightly. “I noticed some people were carrying masquerade masks in bags and purses, did I miss the memo about this being ball themed?”

“Oh, no that’s…” Pearl swallows. “That’s for a VIP party I’m hosting after this, only for those looking to bid on items. The masks encourage anonymity and it's closed to the general public.”

“I see.” Grian nods, just in time for them to emerge back into the main exhibit. She barely hears his next sentence. “Thank you again for your time, you’ve helped clear up some things. And I forgot to tell you this when we first met but this is a lovely exhibit.”

“Thank you.” She smiles. 

“Im serious.” He adds. “My…friend was raving about you and I can see why now, you have a real eye for art.”

“Well that's very nice of you to say.” Even on the off chance that it's just empty praise, something in Pearl's heart swells. “Please enjoy the rest of the party, I hope you didn’t just show up to interrogate me.”

“Of course not!” Grian replies too quickly, he holds his hand out quickly. “Nice meeting you.”

“Nice meeting you.”

The second Grian turns his back, she's immediately swarmed with another group of guests, bursting with compliments and questions. In fact, she’s so busy with the guests that she doesn’t see Grian pull a masquerade mask out of a random person's bag and slip it into the blazer of his suit. 

Chapter Text

Nothing added up.

Her story was air tight, too much so. Her office too tidy and her mannerisms too stiff. Everything about it reeked of a practiced alibi, rehearsed in a mirror until even her laugh was perfect. Sure, Grian would say that this alone would be a stretch; “nerves” Skizz would say with the shake of his head but Grian had been in the business too long to be fooled by a lie forced out between a perfect grid of teeth.

For a cover story so perfect, you learn to look for the imperfections elsewhere.

For one, the display cases looked easy to move. Not enough to topple over if someone who had one too many drinks bumped into one of them but they shifted enough from a slight push that Grian can tell they're moved a lot for seemingly no reason.

When Grian noticed that, all the other “coincidences” came to light as well.

The seams on the floor, not so obvious that you'd notice if you stepped on it but when the lights of the chandelier hit the ground at just the right angle you could see faint outlines, too frequent to be mistakes. 

The weird patterning of bricks right at the start of the hallway Pearl had led him down, packed with a completely unnecessary amount of security. The texture of the floor seemed gritty compared to nearby walls and out of place which didn’t make sense considering the approximately one hundred thousand dollars spent on renovation (at least that was the rough estimate according to his research). 

Then there was the office, every single thing functional and in its place but Pearl had glanced at the bookshelf when she walked in so Grian's eyes naturally followed. A regular Mahogany bookshelf, dust coating the upper layers, a normal bookshelf if not for the fact that it was filled completely with decorative books that could purchase online and a single "inconspicuous" red book that looked to be inviting Grian to pull on it.

Then of course, was the so-called “VIP” party.

An “exclusive” party for the “bidding” of items in the museum for special guests only. A fine story on its own, a reason to give only the people born with silver spoons in their mouths and a net worth high enough to bid access to the party but unfortunately for Pearl, that description didn't align with the people Grian saw with masks. There were people with borrowed suits, discounted shoes and fake brand purses with masks; people who definitely could not afford to bid on items that cost more than their yearly rent to buy. 

Pearl, if that was even her real name, was hiding something, and maybe it wasn’t a fight club but he was going to get to the bottom of things if it was the last thing he did.

Grian could spot the burgundy top hat from a mile away. 

“Scar!” Grian half-whispers, beckoning the man over as subtly as he can. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t work, Scar continuing his animated conversation with the small group around him, champagne in hand and a wide smile on his face. 

“Scar!” 

This time Scar does turn, a wide smile on his face as he very blatantly waves Grian over. Grian swallows his annoyance with a sharp exhale as all nearby eyes turn towards him. A part of him realizing he probably shouldn't have expected subtly from a guy dressed as though he had stepped straight out of the early 1900’s. Grian ultimately decides to cut his losses and walks over, grabbing Scar by the wrist and shooting a polite smile to the small group he’s entertaining.

“Sorry, I need to borrow him.”

Scar chuckles, placing his flute down on the small circular table behind him. “Oh Grian! Whatever you have to say you can say in front of my new friends!”

“Private matter.” Grian growls, watching as Scar's smile falls off of his face.

“What–” Grian cuts him off this time by dragging him away, Scar’s eyes widening as he’s pulled away without so much as a wave over his shoulder. 

Grian mumbles apologies under his breath as they weave in and out of the evergrowing swaths of people. Grip around Scar's wrist tight as he pulls him into the closest bathroom.

“Is everything alright, G?” Scar asks lightheartedly, an almost chuckle tapped onto the end of the sentence as Grian marches down the rows of stalls, pushing doors and poking his head around corners to check for occupants. “Do you need help peeing or something? I know it's hard to get out of a suit but it can’t be that–”

“I need to change suits with you.”

Scar blinks slowly, like he’s waiting for a punchline. “...what?”

“I need something new to hide my hair and…well everything else too.” Grian explains gesturing awkwardly to his own body as he walks back towards Scar.

“Uh, sure but well I…well I hate to be the one to tell you this, Grian, but we don’t exactly have the same body type.”

“Well yeah, obviously but that doesn’t matter, I’ll just tuck the spare fabric into my pants and–” Grian cuts himself off, looking at Scar who only smiles back innocently; still standing obediently by the entrance of the bathroom with his hands folded together. “You don’t even want to know why I need to change suits with you? No thoughts, just yes?”

“I trust you.” Scar shrugs, like it's the easiest words to say in the entire world. “Whatever reason you need my clothes for, I’m sure it’s something important or you wouldn’t be asking me.”

His expression is so soft, so earnest that Grian can't help but melt a little; a small, unexplained flame furling in his stomach. 

“I owe you one, Scar. I mean it dude, anything you want.” Grian exhales, pulling Scar into a slightly hesitant but tight hug. He smells like an earthy cologne. “I…I wouldn’t have gotten this far without you, there's not much else to it.”

“Anything?” Scar asks, a tilt to his voice with hands tightening around Grian's back for a moment so quick Grian's convinced he imagined it.

“Within reason, yes.” Grian replies before he gently pushes Scar away, ignoring the small pang of disappointment as he steps back. “Enough of that now. Take off your blazer and your hat.”

“You don’t want the pants too?”

“They’ll be too long.”

“Oh but the outfit isn’t complete without the pants, Grian!” Scar gasps, sounding genuinely offended that Grian could even suggest such a thing. “They'll clash so hard with your black dress pants it may as well be a crime in itself! You need to–”

“Okay! I’ll take the pants!”

“That's what I thought.”

Before Grian can even get his next words out, Scar’s hands begin the process of tugging down his waistband. There's a split second of rising panic before Grian’s reaching over–overlapping his hands on top with a smack–to stop him before he can get too far.

“Not right here, idiot!” He chides, face surprisingly hot as Scar only grins sheepishly. “In the stall! What if someone walks in!”

“That’s a good idea.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

The exchange is rather quick, Scar absentmindedly tossing his clothing items over the stall wall–the blazer in particular hitting Grian in the face–but it’s efficient, other than the aspect where Grian needs to roll the sleeves and the pant legs up a lot more than he originally thought. Some people really do just get lucky in the height department…

“Thanks again, Scar.” Grian sighs, as he stares at himself in the mirror. Coming to the conclusion rather quickly that this is definitely an outfit that only looks good on Scar. “You’re a lifesaver. I really should’ve expected this and brought another outfit but I wouldn’t have had anything to carry it in and–”

“Don’t worry about it.” Scar interrupts, despite the fact that he looks so uncomfortable in Grian’s suit. Arms looking close to ripping through the sleeves. “Don’t forget the mask.”

“Right.” Grian says, eyes training away from Scars forearms to take the mask out of his hands. “Hey listen, one more favour but–”

“I’ll be ready for your call, anytime.”

“My hero.” Grian snickers.

“And hey, Grian?”

“Yeah.”

Scar’s hands come up to place the almost ridiculous looking top hat onto his head, adjusting the brim so it covers most of his hair but it doesn’t slip down to cover Grian’s eyes. 

“Be careful.”

“I’ll try.”

Grian tries his best to stay hidden for the rest of the main event, keeping his head down, sticking to the shadows and trying to look busy as the event winds down. It’s a slow transition but it's noticeable when it starts. Security starts coming around, telling guests they’re “closing” up, Grian flashes his mask when they get around to him; a copy of what he saw others doing in his same situation. 

“We’ll need your phone if you’re staying for the VIP event.”

Grian swallows, hesitantly handing over his device which the Guard takes before holding out his hand once more. Grian feels a rise of steady panic in his chest, mind racing as he thinks about what else the guard could possibly want from him. Throat dry, he just about opens his mouth to ask when the guard in question sighs loudly, probably tired of Grian blankly staring at him. In the next second Grian's hand is grabbed roughly and the back of his palm is stamped by a small device that the guard pulled out of his pocket. Grian stares at his…unmarked hand as the guard wanders off. 

Ink only visible under UV light, clever. That explains the flashlights. 

It's only a few minutes more before he notices the displays shifting, rolling around as if on small wheels being pushed–or more so pulled–to the sides of the room. The entrance doors close, so do the ones leading out to the hallways–locked too, no doubt–with security either standing guard or pulling down heavy red curtains to cover all the windows. Then, the lights dim to a soft orange, the orchestra begins reorganizing in the wings and eventually he sees people donning their masks; an excitement buzzing in the air at the very task. 

Then comes the cheering.

Grian eyes follow where the others look, watching as the spotlights focus on a woman standing alone at the top of the gallery. A solid blue pants suit with a flowy coat, brown hair draped around her shoulders and a mask of her own. She hasn’t said a word–simply waving to the crowd–and yet the cheering only grows louder as she brings a microphone to her mouth.

“All this for little old me?” The woman starts, free hand on her chest as the crowd begins to clap wildly. Grian follows, only settling down when the crowd does.

“Sorry for the wait.” She continues. “Just had to sort a few things out, make sure we had enough for everyone as so many people decided to reserve and you know me…I just couldn’t say no.”

There's another wave of cheering. It's a miracle that she’s able to get anything done with how easily the crowd gets riled up. She reaches over to one of the guards, who hands her what looks to be…a stick?

“Will our contestants for the night please step forward?” 

Grian is almost shoved to the side as an array of people push through the crowd of people to more deafening cheers, muscular, lean, short, tall, there doesn’t seem to be a criteria to be a “contestant”; the only constant seems to be that they each have a stick of their own and what looks to be a pair of moon boots on their feet. Grian instinctually takes a step back with the crowd taking note of a red line on the floor now visible under the dimmed lights, marking out a large area on the main floor. He watches as some people make their way to a small booth set up in the very back, cash in hand.

Illegal gambling? This could be it!

Grian tempers his excitement, refocusing on the woman standing at the top of the balcony with a smile. 

“Hope everyone’s ready for this.” She states, the end of her sentence immediately followed by a rumbling. Gasps come from the audience (and maybe from Grian’s own mouth) as cushioned columns with metal rungs along the side rise from marked spots on the floor. Other spots appear but instead of rising, the floor sinks into the ground forming gaping holes with soft padding in them. More excitement bubbles over as a long musical sting comes from the orchestra.

“Let’s dance!” She exclaims, throwing the stick up into the air. It's almost slow motion as Grian watches, mouth agape, as it transforms; handle lengthening and the top jutting out into the large head of a–

A hammer! I was right! A fight club! Oh I can’t wait to rub this one in–

The ground almost quakes as the woman dressed in blue vaults the railing, the players underneath scattering as the head of the augmented hammer comes down hard. Like clockwork players climb the columns or leap down into the holes, it's clear the boots must be specially made too because the players almost fly on impact with the ground; landing on the balcony or even hanging off the chandelier. The crowd is ecstatic, a mixed cocktail of names and cheers falling from lips as the fighters perform their own intricate dance; metal clashing and boots squeaking against hardwood.

More people rush to the booth at the back as the woman in blue jumps from a column and lands a resounding whack on a person in a red suit attempting to make a run for it. Grian winces at the heavy sound the impact makes, the weapon forcing them back and flying off towards the crowd. There's an uproar from the crowd as he hits the ground, some people groaning as the man in red stays down.

“Point for me!” The woman in blue exclaims with a wide grin, barely loud enough to be heard over the thunderous applause.

Grian wasn’t sure before but he is now. The dialect, the accent, even the enunciation is distinct. Even after one conversation, it can be none other than Pearl Moon. It makes sense. She's not just another player, another pawn. She's not a higher ranker or even a popular fighter, she's all the above. She's the creator, the owner and she's–

“Eclipse!” The person next to him swoons. “She’s amazing, I have two hundred on her tonight.”

“I got fifty on The Doctor.” Their friend replies. “He’s improved so much I couldn’t resist the gamble!”

Grian watches, on his toes to see over the sea of heads, as the man in red is loaded onto a stretcher by security; luckily still conscious enough to fold his own limbs inwards as he’s hoisted off and carried towards a guarded door. Grian is quick to force himself through the crowd to follow, getting cussed out and his toes stepped on the entire way until he’s stopped at the door.

“What are you doing?” The guard sneers, holding out an arm to stop Grian.

“I’m his friend.” Grian lies. “I want to check on him.”

“A friend.” The guard repeats, looking unamused. Grian huffs, before he pulls his wallet out, ripping a bill out from its folds.

“Yes.” He presses a twenty into the guard's palm insistently, watching as the man lights up. “Can I go see him now?”

“Well, it’s nice of his friend to check on him.” The guard chuckles, before stepping to the side. “Go ahead.”

The backroom is thankfully quieter, laid out like a makeshift hospital, enough cots for all the fighters and cabinets of painkillers and other simple remedies. The man in red is–hopefully–asleep in a small cot in the back but otherwise the room is empty. Grian pulls out his radio from the suit, hearing the unpleasant and somewhat concerning noise of static when he switches it on.

“Hello Scar! Come in. Do you read me?”

Nothing. 

“Hello? Anyone? Code 30, I need a squad.”

Grian groans, shoving the radio back into his coat. Radio jammers. Why didn’t he expect it?

Grian walks closer to the man lying in the cot, tiptoeing carefully as he gets closer to the bed. The man’s eyes are closed, a sizable bruise forming on his face, a concussion and other injuries that Grian couldn’t see but otherwise he looked relatively fine. Chest rising evenly, no blood seeping into clothes and all his limbs in correct orientations. Grian looks at the man’s hammer placed on the small nightstand next to him, now condensed back into its stick form before his eyes trail down to his boots left by his bedside. 

Grian would have to take this matter into his own hands, wouldn’t he?

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, mainly for his own conscience, as he swipes the weapon off the table. He just about slips into the moon boots when the man’s eyes flutter open, Grian freezes.

“Who are you?” The man croaks, squinting up at Grian.

The lie slips out before he can stop himself. “Your guardian angel.” 

What was he saying earlier about years of being a detective? Dozens of solved cases? Oh yeah, he didn't learn shit.

“Oh.” The man replies as Grian cringes internally. “Am I dying?”

“No, but you should probably rest.”

“Yeah, I should. I should stop coming here.”

“Probably for the best.” Grian nods, watching with baited breath as the man's eyes slowly close once more. Grian waits for his breathing to even out before he dashes out of the room.

The main event is still in full swing when he gets out, the orchestra in a rising tempo as two players fight for a spot on top of the chandelier, a dangerous tango they're dancing as they swipe and swing at each other haphazardly until one concedes and leaps down into one of the pits. Grian locks his sights onto Pearl who just barely misses another fighter, as heard by the sound of metal hitting the floor in a loud rumbling noise that Grian can feel deep within his bones. Grian pushes his way through to the front, running into the arena and just barely dodging the body of another fighter as they fly out.

Grian can feel his heart racing as he climbs the column, stick in his mouth as he narrowly ducks out of the way of someone's foot trying to kick him down. His eyes do a quick scan when he reaches the very top, very careful not to look straight down as he spots Pearl shoving someone off the balcony. Grian jumps for it, thankful for the boots giving him the boost he needs to jump over the railing and not into it.

“Pearl!” He shouts, hands gripping onto his weapon as he storms his way over. “Pearl!”

The last call gets her attention, she turns to him with almost dismissive eyes. 

“It’s Eclipse when we’re fighting.” She corrects, pointing the heavy end of her own weapon towards him in the blink of an eye. “Speaking of which, you want a piece?”

Grian is quick to shake his head. “You’re under arrest for hosting an underground fighting ring and the promotion of illegal gambling!”

Pearl's eyes widen in her mask for a split second before she lets out a manic laugh, weapon still pointed to Grian’s chest.

“Detective, I should have known.”

“If you stop now, I can help–”

“Can I have your attention, fighters!” Pearl shouts as she leans over the balcony. Grian only blinks in confusion, that was much easier than he thought it’d be. “This man over here, dressed all nice in burgundy is worth triple points!”

Grian’s mouth drops open. “You didn’t–”

“If you want me to stop the fight, you’ll have to catch me first.” She winks, launching off into a run before Grian can say anymore. 

Grian must take a single step forward before the fighter dressed in white–the one that Grian recognized hanging from the chandelier–lands with a thud in front of him. He takes a step back as she swings at him wildly, knocking his hat off with a murderous look on her face as Grian fumbles in an attempt to open his own weapon.

He is going to die here.

He glances over his shoulder and notices more fighters clambering up towards the second floor like ravenous dogs on a hunt before he does the only thing he can think of doing; he runs. He launches off the railing before he can think too much, stomach screaming at the drop as he aims for one of the soft landing pits. He scrambles to his feet, fist pounding onto the stick before he finally opens it with a click just in time to clumsily shove another fighter back. He slides behind a column, a scream torn from his vocal cords as he comes face to face with another fighter on the other side. He jumps back, meeting their weapon with a clink of metal to the roar of the audience before he nails a kick to their shin for another quick getaway. He gets a good six feet away before he’s forced to dodge left, almost panicked before another fighter lands a hard smash just where he was standing a second ago.

He is definitely going to die here.

He swings at the nearest person, nearly thrown off balance by a near miss, before dropping into a sweep kick to knock one fighter onto the ground. He staggers to his feet, taking a step backwards just in time to take a whack to his abdomen. The air rushing out of his lungs all at once, weapon dropped in pure shock as he flies back into a column. It's not a fun kind of deja vu as he feels all his muscles seize, his ears ring, and his head throb all to the joy of the crowd as he forces himself onto his hands and knees. He coughs painfully, vision swimming but he can still see fighters running towards him, each desperate to take the victory for themself. 

Grian squeezes his eyes shut, ragged breaths as he braces himself for the final knockout when…nothing.

He opens his eyes to see panicked expressions on the fighters faces, the crowd kicked up in a frenzy and desperate guards trying to quell the madness. As the ringing in his ears settles he hears one word repeated over and over.

Cops.

There’s screaming and running, people desperately trampling over each other, and the sound of glass breaking as people make a desperate escape. The fighters all but forget about him, chatting amongst themselves hurriedly before all of them rush away in opposite directions. The sirens get louder as the front doors are kicked open, a large squad forcing their way in with heavy shields as they begin cuffing the nearest people. Grian recognizes Skizz, a head taller than most officers barking orders and pointing to areas of escape. Right behind him is a wide eyed Scar who locks eyes with Grian almost instantly, and is by his side even faster.

“You were right.” Scar remarks the second he gets to Grian, on his knees likely scanning for injuries. Grian doesn’t even have the energy in him left to feel good about himself.

“How did you know I was in trouble?” He wheezes, grasping for Scar’s hand.

“I tried to check up on you and couldn’t get through to you on anything.” He smiles weakly. “I got worried. Got Skizz and the crew out here when I told them of potential large scale signal jamming.”

“I owe you twice now.” Grian affirms as Scar pulls him to his feet.

Ragged breathing and the clicking of heels against marble floors, Gem runs–with her dress bunched up in her hands–down the hallway until she catches sight of her girlfriend; quick to throw herself into her awaiting arms.

“What’s going on?” She gasps, hand reaching up for her face instinctually. “I heard police are swarming the building?”

“Flight club is over, love, we’ve been caught.” Pearl states simply bringing the back of her hand up for a kiss. 

“That’s fine.” She insists, taking her other hand into her own. “We knew this would happen eventually, we have to run now.”

“I can’t” 

Gem stops. “What?”

“The detective knows my name and my face, he’ll shut everything of mine down and flush me out.”

“That’s why we run, Pearl. We use your connections and we dis–”

“I can’t take you down with me, Gem!” Pearl exclaims, dropping her hand. “If we had a few more minutes, some time to prepare I’d consider it but…the building is almost completely surrounded, we won't even make it down the block before they catch us.”

“We have to try, Pearl, you’re an idiot if you think I’m leaving you!”

“I’ll go out front and cause a distraction, that should buy enough time for you and Cub to take all the information out of the office, and get out through the secret entrance before they eventually find that too.”

Gem shakes her head. She was never much of a crier but she can feel the hot tears welling at the corner of her eyes as she grabs onto her girlfriend. The girlfriend she feels is actively slipping away from her. “I don’t care about the fight club, I care about you, Pearl! Let them take the club down, you can’t–”

“I can’t do that to the others, I can’t do that to you. I made an oath just like the rest of you, remember?” Pearl reminds her softly, taking Gem’s face into her hands. She looks so tired, has she always looked so tired? “You still have a shot to not live like a fugitive, and I want you to, I want to protect you from that detective, I want to buy your freedom for as long as I can. I want you to pretend to not know a single thing.”

“But–”

“Please, Gem, do it for me.” 

Gem pulls her down for a kiss, harshly pressing their lips together. Hard enough that she wants to imprint a part of herself into Pearl’s soul, onto her very being. Pearl kisses back just as fiercely, hands finding the back of her head to keep her close. 

“I’ll come back for you.” Gem states, watching worry work its way into Pearl's features. “I’ll run now, get everything and go, but I’ll come back, and I'll save you. You can’t make me forget you.”

“I love you.” Is all Pearl says in response, like it's the only thing she can say in this situation. Gem feels the same.

“I love you too.”

Gem only allows herself to look back once.

Chapter Text

There was still more to the story.

There just has to be. For someone who sicced an entire group of fighters on him just to avoid arrest, Pearl surrendered to the police way too easily. For someone whose projects and even own house was chalked full of secret entrances and hidden files there still seemed to be missing information everywhere. For the amount of people they pulled in for questioning, there seemed to be too many contradictions for the case to be closed just like that. 

Like a puzzle with a missing piece in the middle, there was still something left to be discovered.

Grian stares at the bulletin board, thick red ropes connecting photos and pages just like the movies. The small gaps in between taunt him, cork still left visible where evidence could go like even the board knew there was still a layer. He was missing something; something he couldn't see standing so close, something miniscule that he couldn't quite capture just yet.

Arresting Pearl is just the beginning and despite the insistence of everyone around him he isn’t going on holiday until he gets to the end of it. 

There's a knock at his door.

“Come in.” He states without thinking, glancing at Skizz pushes through the door with a clear basket in his hands and a familiar smile from the corner of his eye.

“Hey G, got the evidence you requested.”

“Put it on the desk,” Grian dictates without looking at him.

“So I managed to get the moon boots, the…hammer thingy and some transcripts of the interrogation of the people we arrested that night.”

“Pearl still refusing to talk?”

“What do you think?” Skizz sighs, pointing the end of the clipboard and a pen towards Grian. “Sign here.”

Grian raises an eyebrow. “That's it? Just got to sign here and I get to keep this evidence as long as I'd like? No hoops or hurdles?”

“Well, considering you just busted one of the biggest underground fighting rings in decades, I think I owe you more than a couple of favours.”

Grian snorts, taking the pen from Skizz’s hand. “You’re like my little lapdog.”

“I had something more crude in mind but essentially yes.” Both of them laugh as Grian scribbles in a rough signature, Skizz tucking the clipboard under his arm when he's done.

“So…what's next?” He asks as he follows Grian's gaze to the bulletin board, squinting at the board like he's also trying to solve the case.

“I don't know…maybe be a little delusional for a bit longer–”

“Hey!” Skizz shouts, playfully whacking Grian in the arm. “I said I was sorry like a million times at this point, you want me to tell you I was wrong again? Is that it?”

“I know, I'm just messing with you,” Grian chuckles, taking a step forward to dig through the container. The stack of confessionals alone will probably take him days to comb through completely which he is already dreading. “I’m trying to find a knowing accomplice.”

“Another ringmaster? I don't know, G…”

“Yeah I know, I think I'm just looking for someone who knows something more than just ‘its a fight club’. Maybe even just a motive.”

“We already got one, G.”

Grian looks up. “We do?”

“Well yeah, we're not useless around here.” Skizz scoffs, rolling his eyes before he pulls out a thick stack of papers from the bottom of the container. He flips through to a few highlighted sections. “A couple of bad investments and really poor timing almost bankrupted the company. On paper, they got back on their feet because of their wind turbines and other related tech, and, to be fair to them, a lot of money can be traced back to that, but some of it definitely was–”

"A front." 

"Exactly.” Skizz replies with a snap of his fingers. “Maybe there is an alternative motive hidden somewhere but underground fighting rings typically only have two; money and violence.”

Grian sighs deeply, running a hand through his hair. “Not talking with anyone? Nothing at all?”

“She'll barely eat, G, I don't know what to tell you.” Skizz exhales with a click of his tongue. “Almost bit the hand off one of my guys earlier.”

“Probably should've expected that. Well, thanks anyway, Skizz.” Grian replies, putting his hands on his hips. “I'll probably be dying inside for the next few hours.”

“Don't need help?”

Grian shakes his head with a small smile. “Nah, you have more important things to do than read testimonies all day.”

“Mmkay, if you're sure.” Skizz says hesitantly but already halfway to the door. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Of course.”

Grian is sure there is more to the story but so far all the pages he's turned to have come up blank. 

The statements from the arrested gamblers had revealed nothing important and the fighters themselves didn't fare much better, everyone kept almost equally in the dark. The weapons and boots had already been dusted for prints and swabbed for DNA, and the construction plans told him nothing he didn't already know. 

Getting whacked with the hammer was less painful than hitting all these dead ends.

Grian collapses into his office chair with a sigh, feeling it creak under his weight, head dropped back to stare up at the ceiling light. He thought he already did all the hard work, so why weren't things get easier like he thought they would? Why couldn't all the evidence just do him a damn favour and have it's link just fall into his lap?

Grian presses the palms of his hands into his tired eyes, running them down his face and slowly forcing out another–

Wait.

Hands. 

Grian jolts out of his office chair like a man startled from slumber, looking at his hands like they just solved all his problems. The invisible stamp! How could he forget? If they used invisible ink to stamp hands, what's to say they wouldn't use it to write documents? Sure, there could also be nothing but it was the only lead Grian had to go off as he rushed out his office–startling nearly everyone close enough to hear his door slam open–screaming for a UV flashlight.

He must look crazed, hunched over his desk with the flashlight; eyes laser focused on the pages found in Pearls home but it isn't until he scans the lining of the moon boots does he get an actual hit. And he must scream in joy louder than he thinks he does because he hears another knock on the door, this time from Scar.

“You okay in here, Grian?”

“Look, look!” He exclaims, waving Scar over excitedly.

The flashlight reveals a few small stains of…something present on the boots. 

“Wow.” Scar gasps, leaning in closer. “What could it be?”

“No idea, maybe some sort of special oil used for production?”

"Could it be something else?” Scar muses, finger on his chin. “Like food residue?”

“Maybe, but check this out.” He hands Scar the flashlight, grabbing a weapon out of the box instead. As Scar scans the handle, Grian watches with glee as the same stains appear along the bottom. 

“Have you talked with the forensic team about this?” Scar asks, still looking at the suspicious stains under the light.

“Not yet.” He states. “I know the forensic engineering team is trying to figure out how the boots work but–this is definitely something important, I–!”

Grian cuts himself off with a squeal of excitement, nearly bouncing on his feet when Scar's eyes widen.

“Wait Grian, do that again!”

“What again? Scream?”

“Yeah.”

“What no, I'm not–”

“Just do it!”

Grian manages a quieter–more akin to a squeak–noise with a crack of his voice at the end, it's pathetic and also really weird but Scar noticeably perks up.

“It moved.”

“What?” Grian blurts out without thinking, looking back at the stains under the flashlight. “Are you sure?”

Scar lets out a–slightly deeper–scream, nearly dropping the boot when the largest stain along the rim shifts ever so slightly.

“Woah.” Grian gapes, mind already whirling with possibilities. “It's…it's alive. What could it be? Some…I know some plant material glow under UV light, maybe fungi or–”

“Sculk.”

“Sculk?”

Scar nods. “Responds to high pitch sounds super well, spreads a lot like…like what's the mushroom thing called again?”

“Mycelium? Wait, you're right, I–” Grian shakes Scar excitedly. “Scar, you're a genius! Oh my God, we literally have a sculk expert in our phone contact list, we–”

Grian freezes, words caught in his throat as a terrifying thought crossing his mind while he stares at the sculk residue on the boot. He dares to make eye contact with Scar as a chill runs down his spine and into the very heart of his soul. The words are shaky even as they leave his lips.

“You don't think Cub could be apart of–”

Scar slams the flashlight down onto the table like it personally offended him, hitting the table so hard it's like a gunshot went off in the room. Scar turns slowly to face him, face dangerously neutral.

“Are you implying what I think you're implying Grian?” His tone waivers at the end, betraying his true feelings.

“I'm not…I'm not saying anything for sure, Scar, but–”

“Oh no.” He chuckles mirthlessly. “We are not bringing innocent Cub into this, I simply refuse”

“Scar.” Grian starts, quieter hoping to placate him. “I'm not accusing him of anything, maybe it's someone–”

“Maybe? Did you just say maybe? Are you even hearing yourself, Grian?” Scar retorts incredulously, stepping closer to Grian as he does. He seems taller than he actually is when he's this close. 

Scary, even.

“Scar, relax, you don't understand–”

“No, you don't understand, detective.” He spits venomously, hand rattling the table. “Just because Cub works with sculk, it doesn't mean everything involving sculk involves him.”

“I–”

“And secondly, how dare you even think something like that. That Cub, one of the nicest people ever, someone who has treated you with nothing but respect could even think of creating weapons of…of this calibre on the side of his important research.”

“Well he certainly would be capable.”

Completely wrong thing to say as shown by the way Scar's face immediately darkens.

“Unbelievable, Grian.” He snarls, throwing his hands up.

“I mean, it can't hurt to bring him in to–”

“No!” Scar snaps, turning his nose up at Grian like a defiant toddler. “I refuse!”

“Scar, you agreed with me when I said that Cub was the sculk expert.” Grian tries to add, hand reaching up to his shoulder. “He could really–.”

“Yeah and now I'm saying you can fuck right off if you think I'm calling him in so you can waste his time by grilling him for something he didn't even do!” He growls, a frown so deep it's practically embedded in his face.

“Be reasonable, Scar.”

“You first!” Scar counters, jabbing a finger into Grian's chest. “You’re the one so…so delusional, so lost in your case–”

“Excuse me?” Grian gasps. “Did you say delusional?”

“Yeah! And I'll be the first to say it to your face!" Scar shouts. There's hurt in his eyes, for who exactly Grian's unsure. "I defended you when people said it behind your back, I backed you when people doubted your case but maybe they were right!”

Grian steps even closer, hands balled into fists. “That what you really think?”

“Yeah! And you know what, Grian? I believed you. I believed you when you said there was more to this case, but if you're so desperate for leads that you're pointing fingers at your own friends, well…”

“Well what, Scar?” Grian dares, standing up straighter. “Well what?”

“Well, I better get out before it's me on the chopping block next.”

“You–”

“You can say goodbye to me helping you at all with this case.” Scar seethes, turning on his heels and marching towards the door. “I'm not saving your ass this time.”

“Let the door hit you on the way out!” Grian shouts back, toes curled to stop himself from taking a swing at him.

Grian's looking up Cub’s research articles as soon as the door slams shut.

Cub jolts when his lab door slams open, pushing away from his microscope just in time to see Scar waltz in with a scowl and red eyes, plopping down in the seat next to him.

“Good evening to you too, Scar.” 

Scar only huffs in response, staring straight forward and arms folded like a petulant child.

“I'm surprised they let you in after last time.” Cub tries again, adjusting the lens of his microscope. “You did ask to be let in…right?”

Scar's expression breaks just a little bit, the twitch of a smile for a second.

“The security here is really bad.”

Cub chuckles. “Did the ‘look over there!’ trick work again or did you try a new method?”

“Don't fix what isn't broken,” Scar replies, this time actively biting back a smile. Cub bumps him lightly in the shoulder, Scar pushing him back.

“I cleaned the closet recently if you need a place to hide.”

“I was just about to ask.” Scar snickers. “Last time I opened that thing I almost got crushed.”

“Eh, more like mowed down but details.”

Scar laughs, a real one followed by a real smile. Cub can't help but smile a little as well. That's the Scar he knows, this is so much better.

“So,” he starts, spinning in his chair to face him, “bad day at work, I’m assuming.”

Scar scoffs. “You can say that, it's just–”

He cuts himself off, biting down on his lip. Cub raises an eyebrow, probably someone he doesn't want to speak ill of then. Someone he respects deeply even when furious, maybe even feels guilty about fighting with in the first place.

“Grian?”

“Don't even say his name right now.” Scar scoffs, putting a hand up. “I don't even want to think about him.”

“Whatever you say, man.” 

A rejection? No, Scar wouldn't be that upset over something like that. Cub doesn't think he's seen Scar so mad at Grian since…well, forever.

“So anything new?” Scar blurts out, like he's following Cub’s train of thought. “About sculk, I mean.”

“Didn’t you read the paper I sent you?” Cub replies, pretending to look busy with a few scattered papers on the desk. “You sent me three fire emojis in response to it.”

“Well, I mean I was getting to it and–” Scar cuts himself off, whacking Cub in the arm. “You know me, Cub! I'm dyslexic and I don't understand all that fancy–”

“I'm kidding, Scar.” Cub chuckles, bumping Scar in the shoulder again with his fist this time. “As for something new…well to sum up the paper in five words or less–”

“I like that kind of summary.”

“–use gloves when handling.”

“Oh?”

“Welp.” Cub claps, turning back to his petri dish. “I hope you're happy with the information because–"

“Okay I get it, your research is super interesting and I'm sorry for acting like it isn't.” Scar drawls teasingly, spinning Cub's chair back towards him. “Keep going!”

“You know how sculk infects living organisms like parasites do? Wrapping around roots or entry points and draining the life out of them before spreading?”

“Of course.”

“Well I discovered that they can use humans as hosts.”

“What? Cub!” Hands come up to his shoulders. “Are you okay, are you–?”

“I'm fine.” He states, mainly out of habit. “They're easy to kill with a bit of hydrogen peroxide in small quantities, they're just stubborn with most other things–basically they like to cling to hands and even objects for long periods of time, even if not provided with sufficient nutrients.”

“And you tell me this now!” Scar shrieks with wide eyes, rubbing at his fingers. “After you let me hold some of that in my hands!” 

“Don't worry, it's rare.” Cub comforts, squeezing Scar's shoulder lightly. “Only happens to people who handle sculk a lot, they start…start adapting, so to speak.”

“And you're being safe right?”

“As safe as you're being on a daily basis.”

“Cub!”

“Dont worry, Scar.” Cub repeats. “I know how to handle sculk better than anyone, I'm staying cautious.”

“You better be, or I'm filing a complaint.”

“A complaint where?” Cub asks with a smile. “A complaint at the front desk where the receptionist has a picture of you and a sign that says ‘do not let inside’?”

“Okay, she's got the wrong idea–”

“No, she's got the right idea, it's why we're friends.”

Scar smiles. “Best friends, forever.”

“Of course.”

“What do you mean, Mumbo?!” Grian all but whines, Cub’s latest article staring at him mockingly through his monitor.

“Well, what do you think I mean, Grian?” Mumbo bites back, hearing the ebbs of static from whatever remote location his research has taken him. “Just because I'm friends with some of the guys that work there doesn't mean I can just get you inside willy-nilly!”

“God, why am I even friends with you.” Grian sighs dramatically, hearing a gasp from the other end. “Can't even use you to my benefit…”

“Excuse me?! I'm so sorry that I'm not a magic–”

“How are things there, Mumbo? Are you nice and relaxed studying pretty waterfalls and climbing mountains?” Grian interrupts tiredly but genuinely, smiling when he hears Mumbo chuckle.

“You should join me, mate, sounds like you could use a vacation.”

“You have no idea.” Grian sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Well, sorry for bothering you, I honestly should've expected your response. I'm just…I'm just tired. Miss you loads.”

“Aww mate, I miss you too.” Mumbo coos, followed by another bit of static. “And listen, there are still a lot of people you can ask like Impulse and–”

“Tango!” Grian exclaims, suddenly full of energy again like a kid after candy. “You're a genius, Mumbo, why didn't I think of that first before wasting time talking to you!?”

“Oh wow.” Mumbo laughs. “Screw you too then, I take it back!”

“Wait no, I love you Mumbo and I can't wait to see you again but I have to go now, it's very important, bye!” Grian exhales all in one breath, barely hearing the goodbye back before he's hanging up and punching in Tango's number.

He holds his breath as it rings, letting out what's probably an audible gasp when he hears a click after three rings.

“Hello?”

“Tango, hey!"

"Grian!?” Tango says, half surprised and half excited. “You okay, dude?"

"Yeah why wouldn't I be?"

"Well for one you're calling me and you never call."

"Oh yeah, I need a favour." The last part comes out more bashfully than he'd like to admit.

Tango lets out a long sigh. "Of course you do. I should've known, it's never 'oh I just wanted to talk to you, Tango' or a 'just checking up on you'."

"Sorry, how are you?"

"No, too late for that.” He chuckles. “What do you need, Grian?"

"I need a visitor pass to your lab."

"A visitor's pass?” Tango repeats, more bewildered than anything which Grian takes as a win. “Why? I thought all this science technification stuff went over your head?"

"I need to...check something."

"Uh huh."

"It's complicated.” Grian sighs, pinching his nose with his thumb and index finger. “Please, Tango? Just this once?"

"Sounds serious.” Tango hums. “Why not get a warrant or something?"

"Because... there's nothing concrete yet." He grits out, already feeling the familiar wave of embarrassment at the admittance.

"Sorry, I think I heard you incorrectly, what did you say?"

"It's a hunch, okay!" He shouts, throwing his hand up.

"You're–”

"Listen, I am already stepping on toes by asking you for a way in.” Grian insists, free arm now outstretched and leaning on his desk; hand balled into a fist. “And if I get a warrant and I make a big deal out of this and I'm wrong then a lot of my friendships will end. Do you understand, Tango?”

Tango lets out a whistle. “Wow okay, so it is serious.”

"You owe me one, Tango. Remember, I introduced Jimmy to you."

"I remember.” He groans, although Grian can hear a twinge of a smile at the end. “You hold it over my head every time you need something.”

The other end goes quiet, a brief pause in which Grian can see the gears in Tango's head rapidly turning. He knows whoever speaks next loses this exchange.

“Fine.” Tango concedes, already sounding exhausted. “I'll talk to someone and get you a pass as soon as I can."

"You're a lifesaver, Tango.” Grian sighs, forearms almost collapsing in relief. “Keep it on the downlow, please."

"Yeah yeah. I get it, super secret case. You owe me one.”

“Thanks, Tango. I promise I'll call more.”

“Please don't.” Tango begs. “Text me like a normal person.”

“No promises.”

Grian finds himself staring at the article once more as the other line goes dead, narrowing his eyes at Cub's signature at the bottom of the page. One hundred and seven articles all on the intricacies of sculk, everything he'd possibly want to know. And it's weird, all this work and he wants nothing more than to be wrong this time around.

Chapter Text

A lot was riding on this.

“What are you wearing?” Tango asks hesitantly as soon as Grian comes into earshot, judgement clear in his face and tone.

“A disguise, obviously.”

Grian had exchanged his usual trenchcoat and deerstalker hat for a lab coat he’d purchased online that came with thick goggles and rubber gloves. He'd also worn heavy rain boots and a face shield just to be on the safe side.

“You look stupid.”

“What? Don't you wear this stuff–?”

“Yeah, some of it.” Tango insists incredulously, doing something similar to turning his nose up as he gets another once-over of Grians outfit. “And definitely not outside the lab. At least take off the face shield!"

“I don't know, I think I look kinda cool.” Grian muses with a grin as Tango's face scrunches up even further in response. “Better safe than sorry I think.” 

Tango makes a small–almost offended–noise at the back of his throat before he lunges for Grian's face shield, ripping it off as Grian cackles.

“Alright!” He laughs, pulling his goggles down. “I'll take some of it off!”

“I’d be embarrassed for you if you walked into the lobby like you were going into a crime scene.” Tango mutters, eyeing Grian as he pulls off his gloves before he hands him a lanyard.

A simple laminated card with big, bold words that read visitor pass. Grian almost kisses it.

“Alright come on, unfortunately I have to keycard you behind some doors.” Tango sighs dramatically as he waves him in.

Grian doesn't know what to expect for one of the largest foundations for research and development in the country but when he steps inside–other than the cranked up air conditioning–it looks like the lobbies you see in movies…and by that he means extremely normal. High ceilings, large windows, trimmed shrubs and scattered armchairs; people passing by in quiet conversation with clipboards and other papers and the clacking of shoes on polished floors. His disappointment must be evident because Tango chuckles.

“Did you expect the lobby to be filled with bubble columns and lasers or something?”

“No.” Grian lies, not very convincingly. “I didn't expect it to look grey and cold and clinical like they don't want people to come visit them.”

“The fun stuff is inside.” 

Grian's nose wrinkles. “Somehow I doubt that.”

Tango only laughs in reply just as they make their way to the front desk. Tango makes a vague gesture with his head to the receptionist who barely looks at Grian before buzzing them in.

The hallways are somehow even more boring, beige walls and dim lights with the only interesting things centered around the doors of who Grian believes works there. Decorated namecards, silly decor or awards and research papers tapped on or around the thick wood. Almost like the building is trying to keep the “fun stuff” contained within the labs.

“So,” Tango starts hesitantly, keeping his eyes forward. “Is there something about this company I need to know? You don't have to give me details, just wondering if I need to be looking into job apps."

"Nothing about the company...for now. Is there something I need to know?” Grian half jokes, glancing at an increasingly panicked Tango.

"No!” He exclaims. “Just...is it me?” Grian almost laughs at how he whispers that, playing with his keys nervously. “I know I'm messy, but I promise my lab is up to code."

"It's not you, it's..." Grian trails off, biting down on his lip.

Maybe it isn’t a good idea to tell Tango considering his relationship to the person he is here to investigate but at the same time, taking into account all the work Tango has done to get him this far…

"I won't tell.” Tango adds when he notices Grian's hesitation. “You said you were stepping on toes, is it Impulse? I–”

"Cub."

"Cub?” Tango repeats, eyes widening for a split second before he nods, facing forward. “Okay, I could maybe see that.”

“Why? What do you know?” Grian blurts out instantly, barely stopping himself from actually reaching out to latch onto Tango.

“I mean...and you didn't hear it from me alright but sometimes I feel vibrations in the floor coming from his lab.” Tango says, voice low. “I'm not saying it's anything worth investigating, but for someone who keeps his lab as quiet as possible when he’s working, it's weird to say the least."

"Lot of people come in and out?" 

"Well yeah, obviously, it's Cub we're talking about here.” Tango scoffs fondly, throwing his hands up. “He's a legend around here, got one of the biggest labs and everything. Highest funding, hosts conferences and gives tours, after-hours privileges, whatever he wants he gets."

"Interesting."

They take a turn, Grian takes note of the lab a couple doors down with a red T on it and paper flames taped to the side. Would it be the right thing to do to go in to see his research or would Tango know he was just trying to be polite?

"You really think it could be something?” Tango asks, voice still dropped into a whisper. “I mean he's not in the lab today."

"I know." Tango looks at him with raised eyebrows before Grian continues with a sheepish grin. "I gave Scar a voucher for a discount at a restaurant, and told him to take Cub as an apology.”

He was planning on simply asking Scar when Cub was off work or when he wasn't in his office, but that would be too obvious, even for Scar. Subtle apology dinner–assuming Scar hadn't already told Cub what he said–worked better, and if he was wrong then it actually was a proper apology dinner.

"Apology?"

"Long story." Grian states, waving him off. "Do you know if Cub has a keycard or anything?"

"Nope, all these labs have good old fashioned locks.” Tango stops at his door, spinning his keychain in his hand before he gets to a small copper one. “You can have my spare if you'd like to go without the trouble of lockbreaking."

“Just locks?” Grian clarifies, face riddled with so much confusion that it makes Tango laugh.

“I mean…you’re the first person I’ve ever met that’s wanted to break into a lab so yeah, just locks.”

"In that case the spare key would be nice.” Grian exhales. The less things he had to break into, the better. “Thanks."

"Keep walking straight and take a left, you'll know when you see it.” Tango instructs, pressing the cold key to the palm of Grian's hand. “Take your shoes off at the entrance, everything is sound sensitive in there."

Grians mind immediately (and unhelpfully) supplies him with several images of sound activated traps which he desperately shakes off.

"Thanks, Tango, I owe you one.”

“I mean…do you still have any of those food vouchers?” Tango prods, a knowing smile on his face. “I could use a cheap dinner for me and Jimmy.”

“Look at the time!” Grian replies instead, faking a look at a watch he does not own before taking off down the hallway. “Won’t be long!”

He hears Tango laughs fading away as he disappears into his own lab. 

Grian turns on the lights–and if he takes a breath when no alarm sounds, that's just for him to know–and he's greeted by more sculk than he's ever seen in his life. It's everywhere from the benches to the fume hood to some hanging in planters from the ceiling; almost as if it's infected the room. There are a few other things that break up the sculk in there, tentacle-like plants in red and blue shooting out from pots on one of the benches, a variety of specimens in petri dishes, fancy equipment he doesn't know the name of along the back wall and papers scattered on the desk with a microscope.

It looks lived in; a still frame of a painting, like a part of Cub’s spirit is always working in the lab.

Grian toes his shoes off, pulling back on his rubber gloves before tiptoeing across the floors and quickly scanning for cameras. When he finds none he moves to scan the papers on the desk and finds nothing he hasn't seen before. Then he moves to the strange plants, then gets scared when a particularly large clump of sculk makes a noise at him and backs away as quickly as he can. The drawers of the desk are filled with office supplies and…assorted Scar knicknacks, but are otherwise normal. Grian sighs, running a hand through his hair.

Maybe he is wrong about Cub. The feelings he gets from that are mixed.

Grian turns back towards the exit when he just about gets the glimpse of cabinets near the supply closet. He pauses, taking a look at them and then a look at the door…he'd just check those to be sure and then he'd leave. Just to be sure. Rusty and a faded green, he pulls on one of the handles to find it actually locked. He mumbles a quiet apology to Cub before he jams in a small paperclip, wiggling it around until it clicks. He pulls it open fully, expecting more files but is shocked to find it filled almost to the brim with…fireworks? 

Out of all things to catch Cub out on, illegal procession of homemade fireworks is not one of them.

Grian pulls one out, snapping a quick photo with his phone before studying it. The fireworks themselves are wrapped simply, alternating lines of red and white, about the size of his palm. Near the wick, Grian notices small notes written in undoubtedly Cub's handwriting, a small description of the firework shape, colour and duration. Grian's about to pocket it for evidence when he notices a small number written on the bottom of it. 

Experimental 13/45

An enthusiastic and organized pyrotechnic. Some things didn't change with Cub.

He shoves the firework back where he found it, brows furrowed as he picks the locks of the cabinets underneath and around, finding them filled with files and papers but the occasional strange one. Like the one he finds filled with random crystals like quartz and obsidian, another with just rusted, sawed off copper pipes, one filled with homemade and store bought sparklers or a completely empty one but with walls lined with gunpowder residue and dyes.

Grian's feeling of dread grows heavy in his stomach as he runs his finger along the stains, rubbing them into his skin. He either really doesn’t understand Cub's research or there's something else here.

Grian exhales, pushing the cabinet shut with a little too much force, jumping when the sculk responds to it; a vibration that causes a chain reaction. What catches his attention isn't the vibration itself but what he hears on the back end of it, too quick and quiet to confirm but something.

Out of curiosity, Grian presses his ear to the wall before clapping his hands. He hears the sculk respond again but this time he's sure that he hears something click, like gears whirling or a pressure plate activating; not tech savvy enough to tell exactly what it is. He stomps his foot loudly this time, hearing a different but distant mechanical whirl just as the sculk finishes responding. Grian almost laughs, ecotechnology is one hell of a thing. Tango’s words bounce around in his head, repeating like a mantra.

“Everything is sound sensitive in there.”

Grian rummages through the cabinets. He was going to be here all night if he was trying the pitch and tone of every note against every wall and surface. He needs to think like Cub, not mellow Cub who nodded along to Scar's long rants or the dedicated Cub who wrote research papers in record times. He needs more…madness, he needs the secret pyrotechnic (and whatever else he is hiding) Cub who is crafting fireworks in his lab and hiding it from people, he needs the Cub who acts more like Scar.

He starts popping back open some of the cabinets to rummage through them. He needs an object with a sound that stays relatively the same no matter how you use it, something that wouldn't draw the attention of everyone around, a sound easy to replicate and reproduce by the lowest common denominator he needs…

A sparkler.

Grian prays to whatever is up there as he shakily lights one of the sparklers, fingers trembling as he holds it to surfaces and walls. He's careful not to make any sudden noises, no muddling sounds or accidental fires as he dangles the sparkler carefully over plants and sculk alike.

It's an unassuming wall that gets him the ticket, jumping back and slapping a hand over his mouth to prevent a surprised scream when a piston loudly activates and a hole in the wall opens. Just wide enough for the average person to squeeze through.

Grian takes a step forward, grasping for his phone flashlight as he shines it into the gaping hole in the wall, watching it light up a copper staircase with red motion sensor lasers leading down to who knows where.

Holy shit.

“Give me another one.” Gem demands, muffled by the bar counter. 

“Gem, you've had–”

“And until my g-girlfriend gets out of prison I will…I will get as many as I want!” She slurs, more of her hair falling over her slumped shoulders and onto the table itself.

Cub raises his eyebrows looking behind the counter at Etho, who only sighs, and gestures to Joel, who hesitantly pours Gem another beer. They hadn't had a meeting like this before, losing a member instead of gaining a new one, and it is going as well as he could expect it to.

From what he knows, this is the first time Gem had left her apartment for something that wasn't essential, and Etho had been glued to Joel's side since they had come back from their trip and heard the unfortunate news from Cub himself.

“When's her trial?” Etho asks, flinching when Gem jolts upright from the counter; eyes bloodshot and face still wet.

“Two weeks.” She spits out, rubbing her eyes on her sleeve. “She'll have the best lawyers, money for bail, and…and–”

“No one ever had permanent injuries from her club.” Cub adds, swirling his own drink in his hand. “Assault charges maybe, but no manslaughter.”

Gem jabs the heel of her palms into her eyes, elbows pressed onto the counter. “That stupid fucking detective will probably find ways to add more charges to her, doesn't know…I hate him, I hate him more than I've ever hated anyone in my life, I think.”

Cub opens his mouth to speak when he's interrupted by Gem dropping back into the counter with a resounding thump, letting out a frustrated shout into her forearms. Joel pats her on the head, gentle like she’s a kitten from the shelter as he puts a glass of water down beside her beer. Etho speaks first, clinging to Joel's arm as he does.

“We need to shut it down.” He whispers, eye contact with the floor. “They'll trace it to us, we need to–”

“And what?” Joel scowls, head snapping to Etho who only squeezes Joel's arm tighter. “Let everything we built crumble? Run away scared?”

“Joel, don’t let your ego–”

“I think Joel's right,” Cub interjects, putting his own glass down with a thud. 

Etho’s eyes go so wide they might pop out of his head. “Cub?”

“I know Grian, he's smart, and more than that, he's stubborn.” Cub explains, adjusting the sleeves of his shirt. “He'll track us down eventually, whether it's now or later, no matter what we do to try to hide at this point.”

Cub thinks back to dinner, he'd tried to ask about Grian but Scar had immediately shut down, dropped his eyes onto his lap, mumbled something vague then completely changed the topic. Which meant a lot considering there were very few things in life that Scar would not talk to Cub about.

“From what I know, he might've found another tentative lead.” He speculates, picking his glass up again.

“But–”

“I'm not scared of him.” Cub states plainly. “If he wants to keep digging, well, my fight club is always open.” Cub makes mental note of his inventory. “I have something new I wanted to test anyway.”

Etho seems to shrink. “You're not thinking of…?”

“No, obviously I don't want to kill him.” Cub clarifies, scooting closer on his bar stool. “Too much cleanup and besides…”

Cub thinks of the cats on Grian's homescreen, the long distance calls to Mumbo he takes on his breaks. He thinks of the coffee cups that are offered to him from everyone in the office, or the family that beg him to visit. He thinks of Scar, bright smile and desperate to please; hanging off of Grian's every word.  

“...people would look for him, too suspicious.” Cub finishes, bringing his glass up for a sip of the alcohol. He holds it in his mouth so it burns a bit of the bitter taste left in his mouth. 

Scar...

Maybe one day he'd understand. Maybe one day he'll tell him. 

“Look,” Cub asserts, looking at Etho in particular. “I'm saying if we want someone like Grian to stop digging, shutting things down cold turkey is not the way to go. I say we keep our clubs open, lay the trap for discovery, and then we…scare him a little bit.

“Scare him.”

“Rough him up.” Cub reiterates with a teasing smile. Etho rolls his eyes. “Keep him quiet.”

“I know what it means, Cub, you–”

“If we stop now, then Pearl's sacrifice will have been for nothing!” Gem shouts suddenly, swaying slightly as she slams her fist onto the table. “I’m with you, Cub! If that ‘Detective Grian’ wants to come to a fight club, then he can come over to mine any day of the week!”

“And hey, that doesn't mean we stop being careful.” Cub warns, looking at Joel this time who grins wide. “I still want everyone to make sure their regulars are quiet and their jammers are still working, we want to deal with Grian, not the entire police force again.” 

“Yes, dad.” Gem groans, but with the first real smile he's seen on her in days. “Just because we don't all have military grade gas masks and constant weapon development doesn't mean we're amateurs.”

“I mean, considering that you and Joel have been doing this longer than me, it's unusual that you two–”

Gem snorts, shoving Cub lightly. “Our fight clubs are fine, Cub!”

Cub throws his hands up. “Just talking out loud here!”

“Then it's settled.” Joel nods, pulling the bottle back out and quick to refill everyone's glasses. Even Gems. “We keep our doors open, so when that detective finds us…well, he'll get the full force of what we have to offer.”

“He’ll learn the rules.” Gem grins, almost giddy. “One way or another.”

Etho doesn't look so sure but Joel tugs at his sleeve, whispering something into his ear before planting a small kiss on his cheek that at least gets the lines on his forehead to settle. This time Cub starts the toast, raising his glass up and prompting even the hesitant Etho to do the same. 

“To what we can't talk about.”

"To what we can't talk about!"

Chapter Text

Everything depended on today.

Grian fixes the thick goggles to his face as he walks into the building, makes sure it's tight right above his medical mask and that his lab coat is nice and straight. The chances of seeing Cub right away was low, but never zero and he wanted to buy as much time being anonymous as possible. 

Grian pushes through the front door and finds that unlike the day he arrived with Tango, the place is nearly deserted. The building seems larger than it actually is when it's quiet, the sound of his footsteps against the scrubbed floors being the only sound as he approaches the only other sign of human life. He's glad to see that like the first time, the receptionist doesn't look up at him when he approaches the desk; choosing to instead continue playing minesweeper. Grian waits a beat, fingers tapping against the counter a few times before he gives in and clears his throat. 

“Excuse me, I'm here for–”

“Follow the yellow arrows to Dr. Fan’s lab.” The receptionist interrupts, borderline bored as they open the gate and vaguely gesture Grian inside. “Have a nice conference.” 

The walk to Cub's lab is the same but it feels just a little longer, feet heavy as Grian forces himself forward and towards the sound of distant laughter. Unlike the day with Tango, there's only light where there are arrows making it feel more like a labyrinth straight out of a horror movie rather than a series of hallways. 

This must be the after hours privileges that Tango was talking about.

Grian gets to the door of the lab, light leaking out from its crevices and soft music being played. Grian just about raises his fist to the door when suddenly it opens, music and other noise flooding out before a stranger pokes their head out with a clipboard and a lab coat and mask of their own. Grian notes they have a blue pin stuck in their lab coat as they step out of the room and into the hallway, closing the door behind them as they do.

Perfect.

“Hi.” They greet with faux enthusiasm, a fake smile plastered to their face. “Sorry, this conference is private; could I have your name please?”

“Sorry, could you repeat that?” Grian asks as sheepishly as he can.

They roll their eyes, stepping closer. “I'll need your name if you want–”

“Sorry about this.”

In quick secession, Grian grabs them by their outstretched arms, twisting the sleeves of their coat. Their eyebrows furrow, mouth opening to speak when Grian shoots a leg out in front of them to break their balance before he bends his knees and throws them over his shoulder and onto the floor. They don't fall gracefully, the clipboard flying off somewhere as Grian jumps on top of them. Before they can scream, Grian is shoving a rag into their mouth, knee pressed onto their back as he half wrestles, half rolls them onto their back to cuff them.

“It's nothing personal.” He promises, wrapping a ziptie around their kicking feet. “Think of this as me just…giving you a break.”

Grian, with much struggle, manages to get a hold of their feet, pulling them by a couple meters down the hallway and into the nearby supply closet that Grian had spotted his first time here. It's not a large place Grian realizes as he flicks open the lights, he hopes they aren’t sensitive to the smell of chlorine…or afraid of spiders.

“The original plan was pepper spray or bear mace.” Grain muses, as he closes the supply closet door behind them. “So you're actually kinda lucky.”

The person continues to make muffled sounds around the gag, flopping around pathetically even as Grian ties another ziptie from their foot to the metal leg of a random shelf filled with other assorted cleaning supplies.

“Listen, I wouldn't try to speak so much.” Grian warns after he rips the blue pin from their chest. “I did douse the cloth in chloroform and you will pass out if you breathe in too much.”

There's a shocked noise that makes its way out, panic visible in their still wriggling body with big eyes pleading at him silently.

“I'm sorry, I'll be back to untie you later!” He promises, turning off the lights. “Just…uh, rest for now!” 

Grian finds their clipboard tossed down the hall, picking it up and reading the list of codenames, most written and crossed off in pencil. He exhales roughly, straightening out his lab coat for the second time; he only hesitates for a moment longer before he's turning the handle and walking through the door to the lab.

The inside is just as crowded as the clipboard entails, people dressed in all different kinds of medical masks and coats mingling and more notably exchanging cash. There's significantly less sculk in the room, instead platters of food and drink set out on tables with a radio perched on a particularly crowded one. Grian rises to his toes, eyes scanning for a familiar head of black hair and a full figure, unfortunately–or fortunately depending on how good his disguise actually was–seeing nothing.

He lets out a small sigh, careful not to stare too much as he resumes what he assumes was the person he just tackled to the floor's position of standing at the door and waiting for guests. He'll be the first to admit, it's a pretty fun job; random people thank him for ‘doing the boring job’, offer him food and drink and he lets in three more people–pretending he couldn't find one of their names just to see them panic–with the same wide smile the poor guy stuck in the supply closet gave him. The chatter winds down as the lights of the lab change to a cool blue. 

A familiar signal.

There's excited squeals and shouts, Grian’s head on a swivel searching for Cub and only seeing someone, this time with a red pin taped to their chest, reaching into the familiar–noticabally now unlocked–drawer filled with sparklers before lighting one. People watch as he walks over to the wall with practiced ease, secret door opening with a loud clunk. He's deactivating the motion sensor lasers with the wave of a hand–Grian thinks it may be related to the watch on his wrist–before people in the room start funneling after him, excitement clear as day.

Everything looks exactly how Grian remembers it; long, rickety, rusted copper staircase with old lanterns lighting the way down to a new area with bleachers painted red and white surrounding a massive arena; well lit with harsh spotlights. 

It was almost a complete one eighty from the beauty that was Pearl’s arena which was filled with old decor and rich history. This arena was…not to say it didn’t have its own beauty, but it focused heavily on function meaning it was designed very much like an actual cage. Complete with wire fencing surrounding the entire thing and heavy metal doors dictating entrances and exits. The holes of the wire fence allow Grian to peer inside where he sees copper pillars and pipes jutting out in all directions and spring launchers along the edge for access to the built in second floor. Instead of just ladders or leaps of faith like Pearl's arena, there seems to be a large copper pole right at the center surrounded by soft padding.

Grian almost rolls his eyes at himself for even thinking of the idea of safety, noting down the very recognizable but small scorch marks on the sides of the copper. But maybe he was really starting to think like Cub.

He's pulled out of his thoughts by cheering and the stomping of feet, watching as the man with the red pin taped to his chest reappears from the sidelines, headset on and waving at the audience with one hand while holding a few briefcases in the other.

“Good evening lab rats, are we ready for the experiment of a lifetime!?”

Another set of cheers. So this was the theme of this fight club…it made sense.

“I'd like to make an important announcement before we begin, the Doctor is in fact in today and looking to fight!” Another wave of cheers and Grian thinks he sees two people holding onto each other and bouncing. Grian's almost brought back to the audience's reaction to Pearl's big speech. Again, a miracle that they were even able to get to fights done with how rowdy the crowd got. “And did I mention it's with a new weapon ready to be tested!?”

There's a booming thud from above, the noise of heavy boots landing on metal as a person with a large gas mask and a multi-colour stained lab coat over a suit and tie drops down from the ceiling onto the very top of the arena, giving a small wave to the audience. Grian can only clap as well.

The Doctor. His friend Cub. Both, probably.

“Could we have a few volunteers from the audience?” The MC asks, a shine to his eyes. “Who would like to make an appointment with the Doctor?”

As if the club was giving out free candy, hands shoot up from the audience immediately as people rise to their feet, jumping up and down or nearly clambering over each other trying to get the attention of Cub; Grian can even hear excited shouts of “me!”. Grian wonders if there is more to this than just money or if people who come here are truly that excited to be tested on. Grian looks back up, a hand over his eyes to cut the glare of the spotlight as Cub or should he say the “Doctor” paces the top of the arena; the weight of his eyes sweeping the crowd. 

Then slowly, he points. 

All eyes turn to Grian as the finger lands on him. 

Fuck.

Before Grian can even fully comprehend what happens, the MC is barrelling right up to Grian. “What's your name?”

“...Parrot.” Grian gruffs, not breaking eye contact with the Doctor. The beginnings of sweat pooling around his neck and hands.

“Give it up for Parrot everyone!” The MC shouts, hyping the crowd up as he does. The cheers seem distant as the Doctor tilts his head, almost like a nod in acknowledgement. Then he takes a few steps back, just out of Grian's view before he can see anymore. “Can we have some more volunteers?”

More hands go up, more enthusiastic pleading. Grian barely looks, balling his shaky hands into fists as he forces deep breaths in; heart racing in his chest. Cub wouldn't be so stupid as to try to kill him here…would he?

“Hold on!” The MC shouts, sounding genuinely confused himself as he adjusts his ear piece. “I'm getting word from The Doctor that he wants this to be a one on one appointment, this is completely unpredictant!"

The crowd roars as Grian squeezes his eyes shut to stop the room from spinning. Maybe Cub did want him dead afterall. The MC is quick to usher Grian closer to the arena entrance and the people around him are quick to follow, many choosing to forgo their seats at the bleacher to come right up to the cage to watch this “special event”. Grian can see even more cash being waved around as he's being patted down by the MC–no doubt for hidden weapons or phones–as even more loud whispering fills the arena.

Grian already feels like he’s suffocating.

“This is for you.” Grian barely hears as one of the briefcases the MC was carrying earlier is shoved into his hands. Grian clicks it open, seeing a crossbow with a small stack of fireworks next to it before he just as quickly snaps it shut.

“You're kidding.” He drawls, only to get an enthusiastic pat on the back.

“Exciting isn't it? You're basically the first to touch the first “multi-shot” crossbow, it can fire three rockets at once!”

Was there a point in fighting? 

He was more than ninety five percent sure that his cover had already been blown the second Cub had noticed him standing there, there was no point in pretending to be an experienced fighter or a regular anymore. But then came the matter of the shoe on the other foot, what would happen if he chickened out? Would he be kicked out? Forced to deal with an angry mob? Would Cub change the locking mechanism of the club, gaslighting Grian with the same comfortable smile and calm tone that there was nothing going on?

Or worse?

He had to commit now. 

Grian manages half a nod, keeping his hands as steady as possible as he pops back open the briefcase, shoving all the fireworks into the deep pockets of his lab coat before loading one onto his crossbow. He tosses the briefcase back at the MC, who hands him a small plastic shield before taking a step backwards through the metal door, slamming shut in front of him. No escape until there was a winner, he should’ve expected nothing less. 

There’s a loud crackling noise that makes Grian jump, something like a firecracker that gets the crowd going. It takes a split second to realize that it's their version of a starting buzzer, still fumbling with his grip on the crossbow and the awkward nocking of a firework instead of an arrow. 

What gets him moving however is the whistle of a firework through the air.

Grian dives behind a pillar, wincing at the loud boom of a firework crashing into the pillar just next to him; an explosion of yellow light. His mouth drops open, adrenaline levels in his body soaring to dangerous levels. This small shield was supposed to protect him from that?! Grian hardly has a moment to think, forced into a run as another whistle approaches him at lightning speed; barely making it behind another pillar before an array of purple bursts close enough to him for some of the sparks to land on the ends of his pants.

It’s deja vu all over again, Grian running and hiding for his life while he’s hunted down by someone with years of experience over him.

The cage rattles around him, people's fists pounding on the metal or fingers looped into the holes to shake the fencing. Greedy demands and insults are hurled at him, mixed in with roars of excitement. 

Grian pulls himself off the ground, peaking out from his hiding spot before blindly firing a firework at the smallest movement of white he sees. It goes flying, a slight left tilt before it blows up on impact with a random pillar. He curses himself under his breath, quickly grabbing another firework from his coat before barely rolling out of the way of a rebuttal firework.

He feels this one fly past him, hitting the cage itself with another blast of light and debris.

Grian can hear the MC laugh over his ringing ears, the disturbing familiar sound of footsteps stomping over him on metal, the gasps from the audience as the debris nearly hits them instead. 

“Pop quiz!” The MC sing-sings, an unrecognizable gleeful tone to his voice. “Parrot is lacking something that's preventing him from gaining the upper hand, what is it?”

Grian throws himself up to the second floor with one of the spring pads, landing face first. He was getting really tired of falling flat on his face in these places.

“Is it practice?”

Grian can see the fireworks go off even with his eyes shut, arm covering his face as sparks fly everywhere.

“Is it drive?”

Grian pants, sweat dripping down his brow as yet another firework misses its mark; Cub sliding down the pole to the first floor as an array of colours follow behind him.

“Is it power?”

Grian grits his teeth in pain, biting back a scream as the firework hits his shield hard enough to force him back into the fence, cracking the plastic in half. His only protection rendered useless just like that.

“Or is he simply not hungry enough?”

For a split second Grian makes eye contact with Cub, he stands on the floor above him looking down through the hole at the center of the arena like Grian was just mud at the bottom of his shoe, like a bug he just squashed or an animal he had hit with his car. It can't be more than a second but it feels like time slows down as his glare only grows more imposing, more anxiety inducing without a single word needing to be said; like he's trying to bore holes into Grian's skin through his gas mask.

Like he's daring Grian to stand up.

People always said Grian didn't know when to quit and it wasn't about to start now.

Struggling through fatigued muscles and aching tendons, he stumbles onto his feet. The crowd roars in approval although Grian's not able to pay them much mind. Vision still swimming he wipes the soot off his goggles with his sleeve, bends his bruised knees into ready position. His twitching hands load three fireworks onto the crossbow, blood under the tips of his fingernails. Just a little longer, he only had to hold out for a bit more.

He wouldn't–couldn’t–beat Cub just aiming at him, he just didn't have the experience or expertise to hit him like this. 

Which means he'd have to level the playing field.

Grian launches the array of fireworks straight up watching them soar until they reach the top of the cage before exploding, showering sparks and debris and smoke into the arena. There's gasps as Grian repeats this process, launching them everywhere his weakening arms will let him. They pop off along the side, against pillars, he hears the rush of footsteps as people back away from the cage itself with screams of confusion.

Grian coughs, glad for his mask and goggles as the entire arena is coated in a dense smog. Sliding out of his shoes, he tiptoes along the arena keeping his stance low to the ground. Cubs footsteps in comparison are loud, confused and clumsy. The gas mask wasn't doing him favours in terms of vision already, it's why the lights of the arena were almost blindingly bright and the shields helped act as reflective targets.

Pop quiz, how would Cub cope when suddenly Grian could see more than he could and there was little sound he could rely on?

The answer? Not well.

Cub barely manages to turn around with his shield when Grian lands behind him, firing a rocket at him nearly point blank and launching him back just the same as he did to Grian. He thinks he can hear the door open, hears the MC call out to both of them, the rushing of blood in his ears drowns him out. Grian launches another just to the left of him, Cub bringing his arms up as sparks fly far too close. 

He's not even off the floor yet.

Grian loads another one, stalking closer. He hears the panicked cries, another set of firecrackers going off to signal the end of the fight; he doesn't stop moving forward, doesn't stop until he's towering over Cub.

He pauses, smiling when he hears the rumbling of a different set of footsteps, these ones making their way down the entrance staircase.

“POLICE! HANDS IN THE AIR, WHERE'S THE BOMB?!”

—

Hours earlier

“I need you to call in a bomb threat.”

Mumbo spits out his tea, coughing into his sleeve. “What?!”

“A bomb threat?” Grian repeats, tilting his head in confusion as he wipes the spill down. “It's when you–”

“I know what it means you…you absolute Muppet, I'm asking why?!”

“On Friday I need a full team of police or better yet, SWAT to raid this address. Remember to list the room number of the lab” Grain replies, pushing a small slip of paper towards the bewildered man. “Use the payphone by the old movie theater so it's harder to track you.”

Mumbo reads the slip of paper, letting out an incredulous guffaw. “You know this is not what I had in mind when you invited me to your place and said you wanted to get together to talk.”

Grian folds his hands together. “Listen, let me explain.”

“Please.”

“I'm convinced that there is dangerous and illegal usage of explosive material at this location–”

“Okay so just get a team and–”

“Let me finish.” He interjects, holding a hand out. “I'm convinced, like I'm ninety-nine percent sure, but there's heavy security that I don't know how to pass and even if I did I need to see it in action, I need evidence that no one can refute. So I will be going in with a disguise…” Grian trails off as he pulls in a mannequin with a lab coat on from behind a shelf. “With devices that aren't suspicious.”

He taps a particular button on the coat, running back to his laptop so he can turn the monitor around to show Mumbo how the hidden camera works. Capable of internal storage meaning capable of bypassing jammers; he still owed Impulse one hell of a favour for his turnaround speed.

“They'll have signal jamming no doubt so I won't be able to send out a distress signal which means I need someone from the outside to call in help that will be immediate.” Grian continues, pouring more tea into Mumbo's cup just to keep his hands busy with something. “Firemen, police and especially ambulances in case someone gets hurt.”

Mumbo shakes his head. “This is crazy Grian, you do realize that right?”

“I do, but you trust me right? Don't you?”

“Grian–”

"Do you trust me?”

Mumbo lets out a heavy sigh, running his hands over his face. “What time?”

“Online it says the ‘conference’ is at eight, so…forty five minutes? I just need to blend in, sit back and watch a couple of fights, won't even break a sweat.” Grian shrugs, plopping back down in his chair. “The big worry is hopefully you guys don't come too early.”

“I hope you're right.”

“Me too.”

“Get on your knees!” A voice booms.

“We have a runner!” Another follows. There’s chaos, people screaming and sprinting towards emergency exits. They don't make it far.

“Quick, check their pockets!”

A bomb threat. Cub almost laughs at the almost ridiculous irony of that, something so stupid being the thing that bypassed some of the best signal dampening that he had created using sculk. Bested by his own safety precautions, he knew he should've fitted the gas mask with night vision…

Or maybe Gem was right, maybe the gas mask was too much in the first place. He was going to miss Gem.

“Hands up.” Grian states, voice trembling even with the words.

“Should've put two people at the door instead.” Cub chuckles, not sure if Grian can hear him clearly through the mask. “I hope you didn't hurt them too badly.”

“Hands. Up.” Grian emphasizes, almost butting the crossbow into his face. Cub complies, letting Grian close enough to peel off his gas mask and then ‘politely’ allowing Cub to adjust to the light. 

Grian's face falls at what he sees under the mask, face lined with disappointment for…for a lot of reasons probably. Cub wants to tell Grian he looks silly in his outfit but he's sure Grian already knows, biting his tongue as Grian slaps handcuffs onto him and hauls him to his feet.

As his back screams in pain at the sudden movement, Cub makes a mental note that the rockets are too strong at point range. He’ll need to lessen the dosage of gunpowder or maybe make them smaller…not that it matters anymore but maybe for the future. He'll miss his research, he thinks for a second that maybe someone will continue it in his honour but as he watches people being cuffed and tackled to the floor around him and marched up the stairs he realizes probably not.

“Does he know?” Grian whispers, almost too quiet to hear.

“I thought I had the right to remain silent?” Cub jokes sparing a glance at Grian over his shoulder, he's not too surprised when the joke falls flat; Grian scowling at him.

“Off the record, I just want to know…does Scar know you're doing this?”

Cub grimaces, looking forward again. “Let me think…” 

“Cub please.” Grian begs, walking so fast he might as well just be pushing Cub forward. “If you ever cared about me at all.”

“No.” Cub states quietly, fingers digging deep into the skin of his palm. “He doesn't know.”

“Is that the truth?”

“Ask him yourself.” Cub retorts, watching as Grian looks equally surprised when they emerge from the building and see Scar with another officer, a conversation drowned out by the sirens but a frantic look on his face illuminated by the flashing lights. Scar briefly looks at the both of them as Cub is shoved into the back of a police car, before he's turning away just as fast; posture going rigid.

And that action alone hurts more than any injury he has ever, and ever will have. 

Chapter Text

Everything was happening according to plan…for the most part.

“I can't believe you had Mumbo call in a bomb threat." Skizz snorts, pouring more coffee into his cup and offering the rest of the pot to Grian. 

"Well I knew none of you guys would do it." Grian shrugs, shaking his head and instead taking another bite of his granola bar. If he had any more coffee he’d probably have a heart attack, not that Skizz needed to know.

"Because it's illegal.” Skizz scoffs, bringing the cup up to his lips for a sip before putting it back down on the table. “If you were wrong Mumbo would've gotten into a lot of trouble you know.”

“Ah but you see, I wasn't wrong.”

Skizz rolls his eyes. “My point is, you could've just asked us to raid Cub's lab.”

"On what evidence?” Grian asks, raising an eyebrow at Skizz. He leans on the counter with his forearm, hand under his chin. “Just the proof that he had a secret room wasn’t enough, I mean Cub had a real permit from the government to build a spare room, you know? The receptionist wouldn't have even let you guys past the door.”

“That sounds about right.”

“And besides–and be honest with me here Skizz–would you have believed me if I said Cub, the respectable gentleman that you knew him as, was hiding a fight ring under his lab?"

“Well…” Skizz trails off with an aborted noise, waving his hands around in some argument he starts then stops several times before eventually giving up.

"That's what I thought." Grian chuckles.

There's a beat of silence that follows, Grian finishing his granola bar while Skizz stares into the dark waters of his coffee cup. The breakroom is oddly void, not even the distant sounds of friendly chatter or laughter spilling in from the main office space. In fact Grian would go as far as to say the entire mood of the building has been somber all morning. 

Cub was arrested last night, alongside all the players–fighters might be the more “proper” word for it now that Grian thought about it, “experiments” also worked too if it was Cub they were talking about–in the building. Most got slaps to the wrists, fines and maybe a few nights in a cell depending on how they reacted to the raid…all except Cub of course. From what Grian knows is that he was shaken down and left in a cell overnight before being pulled into questioning this morning and like Pearl, they've gotten nothing out of him just yet. Unlike Pearl, this arrest wasn’t the talk of the office, in fact it wasn't exactly a pleasant conversation to have considering how friendly Cub was with most of the force being their old co-worker and all. And of course there was…

“Poor Scar..." Skizz sighs, looking back up with a frown Grian doesn’t see often.

“Wasn't he supposed to be off shift?" Grian muses, trying to picture the schedule in his brain. Scar tried his best to never work nights, always saying he got “nothing done” at that time. “What was he doing there?”

"He probably heard the address of Cubs lab on his personal radio.” Skizz replies, deep in thought himself. “We were still contacting the necessary reinforcements and he burst through the front doors like the Terminator asking to come with.”

“And you said yes?”

“I don't really have the authority to tell him no.” Skizz explains, tone bordering on sheepish. “Honestly I think he would've come no matter what was said, even if that meant getting dragged along behind the car like a piece of trash.” Skizz sighs again, swirling the shallow pool of liquid still left in his cup. “Poor guy, hasn't come out of his office all day.”

Grian has to do a mental double take. "Shit, Scar came in today?"

"I tried to tell him no G, okay? I tried."

"How's he doing?"

"How do you think he's doing?" Skizz pauses to take another sip of coffee, swallowing before continuing. "Cub has been asking for him all morning.”

“And?”

“No dice.”

Grian hums, he expected as much. “Maybe I'll go check on him.”

“That'd be good, he’ll talk to you.”

Scar’s office is the closest to the break room, personally chosen by him because on a normal day Scar spent more time in the break room than his actual office. Grian goes to knock, surprised when he finds the door is actually cracked open. It's pitch black inside, the light streaming in from the hallway illuminates a Scar seated on his chair, legs pulled up to his chin and head rested on his knees. 

He doesn't acknowledge Grian.

“Hey.” Grian starts softly, moving slowly towards his desk to place down a cup. “I got you some water.”

“Thanks.” He mutters, tone completely flat and devoid of any emotion. 

Grian nods, strolling over to the window. His hand barely grazes the tilt wand for the blinds when Scar suddenly grabs his hand. 

“Don't…I just…don't, it's fine like this.”

“If you don't want light can I at least crack open the window for some fresh air?” Grian tries, offering the best compromise he can come up with. Scar blinks up at him slowly, processing the words, before dropping Grian's wrist. He gives a small nod, eyes shifting away.

“Yeah actually, that sounds nice.” He responds, voice still empty. Grian cranks open the window, a gentle breeze blowing against the white blinds. “I kept the door open because it felt like I was suffocating when it was closed but it's not really helping and I just…” Scar trails off, clutching the neckline of his shirt tightly in his fist; the collar being as wrinkled as it is emphasizes that it’s probably not the first time he’s done this. “Is betrayal supposed to feel like you're constantly running out of air?"

"I think you're just hyperventilating Scar." Grian offers, getting another curt nod from Scar who curls himself back into a tight fetal position.

"Right. That...that makes more sense."

Grian walks around the desk. Not surprised to find all the trinkets from Cub have disappeared somewhere; photos of them together pressed face down on the desk. The tie from Scar's uniform–a gift from Cub once he had gotten the job–now thrown into the small waste bin tucked underneath a small basketball hoop.

Grian sits on the only clean spot on the desk, pushing the cup closer to Scar. He doesn't expect them to talk much, doesn't even expect Scar to drink it, he just wants Scar to know he's here. Understand without judgement, the very same Scar had first afforded him. Grian watches the clock perched above the door, swinging his feet ever so slightly, it's only two and a half minutes of silence before Scar speaks.

"How did I not notice?” Scar snarks, anger directed at himself. “It’s so obvious now that I think about it. The soot on his clothes, the burns on his wrists or the way he suddenly had all this extra money to spend on dinner I–”

“How could you suspect your best friend of something like that?” Grian counters, thinking how he'd react if Mumbo got caught in something as serious as this. He can't imagine it. Then again, neither could Scar.

“I'm sorry for yelling at you and for basically helping Cub cover everything up.” Scar blubbers, voice cracking at the end. “I’m a terrible officer.”

“You didn't know Scar.”

“And I didn't mean all the mean things I said about you.” Scar sniffles, rubbing at his eyes furiously. “You can tell me that you were right and that I was stupid, I can take it.”

“That's not what I'm here for Scar.” Grian responds gently, handing him a tissue from his desk. “You were just defending him, I would've reacted the exact same way if I was in your shoes.”

Their argument is all but a distant memory in his mind, water under the bridge. Right now he just wants to be there for Scar like Scar was there for him, maybe in the future they’ll be able to look back and laugh about this. Maybe.

“You know,” Scar sniffs, dabbing the corner of his eyes with the tissue. “I was there.”

“I saw.”

“No, what I mean is.” He corrects, voice small and weak. "I was there when he won the award for his contributions to sculk, when he published his first paper and when he burned his hand playing with sparkers for the first time.” 

Grian can only pat him on the shoulder, running his hand back and forth along his arm with as much comfort as possible. 

“When he told me he was interested in astronomy I spent my first paycheck to buy him his first telescope, I put the first potted plants in his lab and celebrated his birthday with him when his parents forgot.” He looks up at Grian with bloodshot eyes, tissue crumpled up tightly in his hand. "It's deeper than him not telling me things. My best friend–my brother–was actively lying to me with a smile on his face."

"He's asking for you." Grian assumes it's as good a time as any to bring that fact up. Scar only shakes his head.

"I don't want to see him. I don't even know who he is anymore." Scar cries. Grian hands him another tissue which is damp in a matter of seconds. "Be honest with me Grian, did I ever know him at all?”

"Of course you know him, Scar just as he knows who you are.” Grian insists, squeezing his shoulder. “It's why he didn't tell you, you never would've approved; regardless of the reason.”

Scar chucks the waded up tissues towards the trash, he misses and they drop to the floor right beside it. Neither of them move to pick it up.

"Sorry Grian I don't mean to be such a downer–”

"I get it–”

"–as politely as I can manage...no you don't but that's a good thing.” Scar finishes, before he’s gently shaking off Grian’s hand and standing up on wobbly knees. “I'm going to take the week off, my mind...it's a mess in there Grian, I’ll be useless here.”

“Take the time to think, Scar.” Grian opens up his arms for a hug which Scar takes, grasping onto Grian desperately; smelling the distinct scent of Scar’s aftershake as Scar tucks his face into his neck. Grian’s shoulder feels damp but he barely notices. “I'll be here when you get back.”

"When I get back...that's when I'll talk to him.” Scar mumbles into Grian's shoulder.

"You don't have to.”

“I owe it to you.”

“You don't owe me anything Scar.” Grian insists, patting him on the back. “In fact I still owe you one for saving me.”

“Then I owe it to myself, so we can finally rest when we close this case and get you eight hours of sleep to get rid of those dark circles under your eyes.” He chuckles weakly at his own joke, the next words come out slower. “Maybe then I can work something out with Cub.”

Grian's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “You still want to fix things?”

Scar pulls back just enough to give a tired smile “I want to try, like you said he's still my best friend and I know him better than anyone.”

He pulls away completely, clasping Grian's shoulder for a second longer before he walks away. Just as Scar's hand graces the doorknob, he stops, looking back at Grian who's picking the used balls of tissues off the floor.

“Did he say why he did it?”

Grian makes a sharp inhale through his teeth. “If you're asking based on the evidence there are records of a lot of his experimental weapons going out on the black market, the money he received disguised as government grants and used to help fund his research…if you're asking based on what he said to us however…”

“Yeah?” He whispers, looking at Grian from the corner of his eyes.

Grian shrugs. “He hasn't given a reason, you'll have to ask him yourself.”

Scar nods, opening the door fully but not moving just yet. He turns back once more to face Grian. “By the way, you should talk to Pearl.”

Grian shakes his head. “She won't talk to anyone but her lawyer, after her trial she–”

“Ask about the girl that keeps coming to visit her, Gem I think her name was.” Scar interrupts, looking deep in thought. “She's nice but with…everything that's happened, I don't think she's as innocent as she's pretending to be.”

“Are you sure?”

“I'm not sure of anything anymore, Grian.” Scar chuckles dryly. “But if you need a lead, it's worth a shot.”

“Noted.”

Pearl has gotten a little too familiar with the little black box of an interrogation room, the way the light flickers every few minutes, the fingerprints along the two way mirror, the suspicious stains on the fold out table and the way the cold metal chair under her butt that wobbles ever so slightly. Her handcuffs almost feel familiar, anchoring her in place and keeping her from getting too far from the table.

She's not all that surprised when she sees the detective walk in with a small manilla folder tucked under his arm. She is surprised, however, when there isn't another cop accompanying him, like the tall one who likes demanding things or the muscular one that's secretly sweet on said detective.

Grian takes a seat, the folder remaining closed in front of him before he gestures to the pitcher with tap water left to the side of them.

“Water?"

Could this be considered karma? Some sick form of irony? He's still interviewing her but this time it's him offering the glass, it's him in the nicer clothes and it's him with the upper hand. Well jokes on him she's also gotten really good at keeping her mouth shut, no matter what they throw at her.

Locking her up was not going to break her.

She scoffs. "What do you want, detective?"

“Gem Tay, your girlfriend who you've been together with for close to four years now–according to social media at least–does not live with you?”

“What are you trying to say detective?” She challenges despite being genuinely confused.

“Nothing.” He’s quick to say, holding his hands up. “Just think it's strange that you two haven't made that step.”

Gem technically did live with her, most of the time at least. She had her own place, which she bought once she had enough funds, to act as a place to store her things and a home away from home in case things went sideways. It was a money deficit for sure but considering how all things turned out Pearl's glad she's safe. Not that Grian needs to know any of this.

“Are you just here to ask about my relationship detective?” Pearl scoffs, rolling her eyes. “I didn't realize that–”

“I'm saying there's a reason you two have separate apartments, and it's not because you two don't like living together.”

“What do you mean?” Pearl asks carefully, narrowing her eyes. They had no proof that Gem was involved, they couldn't search her apartment without a warrant. She bites the inside of her cheek, forcing in another few even breaths.

“I'm saying you didn't fund the demolishing of the fish processor with the intent to demolish it and I'm saying that she knew that too.”

Pearl has to dig her heels into the floor to stop from jumping the stupid detective with his stupid little hat from across the table. 

"Well personally, I think you've fully lost it mate.” Pearl hisses, matching Grian's stare. “She has nothing to do with this, so keep her out–”

"I have to factor in all the players, Pearl.” Grian responds casually, leaning forward on his forearms. “Where is she?"

"Overseas." She grits out. "She left right after my trial and will be overseas for a few months."

"Is that the truth Pearl?"

"I want my lawyer." She states instead. She didn't have to fall for the bait, she didn't have to say anything. Grian stares at her for a minute before shaking his head, leaning back in his chair.

"Okay. I get it." Grian exhales, Pearl isn't sure if she's able to hide her surprise this time.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I'll leave. I know when I'm not wanted anymore.” He moves to open the folder, there's only one sheet of paper inside with a small photo clipped to it. “Just want to show you something before I go.”

"What is that?" Pearl asks cautiously, Grian turning the folder around when she finishes her sentence.

"A permit to enter the dockyard she owns without permission, in a few days I'll probably scrape together a warrant out for her arrest."

This time Pearl does jump up, chair scraping back and voice going shrill. "On what evidence!"

"On the evidence that she isn't overseas, last seen working less than twenty four hours ago!” Grian snaps back, jumping up from his seat as well, punctuating his next words by jamming his finger at the blurry photo with Gem’s signature red hair. “On the evidence that her dockyard gets a suspicious amount of activity in the dead of night, on the evidence that you're lying to me so that makes me think she isn't as innocent as you're claiming she is."

"Don't you dare hurt her." She demands lowly, hands gripping onto the table so hard her knuckles are turning white.

"From what it sounds like she might hurt me.” Grian chuckles mirthlessly, closing back up the folder. “I don't think she has much in her home, I would rather see the real thing in person for more evidence.”

Pearl bares her teeth, feeling her cheeks flush. “She doesn't–”

“You don't have enough space on the dockyard itself, unless you’re hosting it in a random building or a shipping container which I doubt.”

“She–”

“It's probably not underground either, unstable soil and the high possibility of unintentional flooding. Besides, you guys seem to have a big thing with themes.”

“You're not listening to me she–”

“What about that big cave a mile down from the dockyard with no real path to it, you know the one on the beach down by the rocks?” Grian states, folding his hands together in false interest. The blood in Pearl's veins go cold all of a sudden, her expression slipping only for a second but she knows it's all Grian needs. “I know you have to wade through a little bit of water to get there and it's closed to the public due to the ‘dangers’ but it's nice that the city made an exception for me. Don't you think so?”

“Go to hell.” She seethes, spitting onto the folder. Grian only picks the folder up, wiping the spit away casually with a tissue from his pocket before tucking it back under his arm.

“Careful with what you say now.”

“You first.”

“Tell me there's nothing there Pearl.” He asks, nearly demands. “Tell me I won't find anything when I search.”

“You wouldn't believe me even if I did.”

“You know…even with the permit it feels polite to ask for her permission first, it is on her property afterall.” He adds, finger pressed to his chin. Gem was right, it was so easy to hate this guy. “I don't want to interrupt the workers, can I expect to find her in her office? At home? Or…?"

"She'll know you're coming." Is all Pearl says, settling back into her chair with her arms folded across her chest.

Grian raises an eyebrow. "Evading the law is a criminal offense."

"Oh I don't mean she'll run.” Pearl laughs, starting mellow and devolving into something high pitched and crazed. A frown tugs at the detective's lips. “Just between you and me, off the record here, it's going to hurt.”

“A threat?”

“A threat implies there's a chance it won't happen. This is a warning, you should be thanking me.”

She enjoys the flash of panic on Grian's face. It makes all the cold nights in her cell worth it, all the time away from Gem worth the pain. She hopes he's scared, she hopes he doesn't sleep tonight thinking about Gem. Arresting her and Cub will have seemed like a piece of cake compared to Gem.

“I think we're done here.”

She grins. “I think so too.”

Etho shuts the TV off as soon as footage from Cubs arrest pops up, the news reporter blipping out of existence. His trembling arms are quick to wrap around Joel as the brunet thoughtlessly cleans the inside of a glass, whispering something into his ear.

Gem traces a finger around her shot glass. No energy to tell the two of them to go get a room. She should've hugged Pearl like that more, should've kissed her more and told her she loved her every single day.

But she'll see Pearl again soon, she’d make sure of it.

Joel looks up at her with defeated eyes, placing the crystal clear glass back under the counter before picking up an equally clean one to polish. Etho doesn't let go of him.

“They'll be coming for you next.” He states.

“I know.” 

It's not a question of if, rather when. Pearl kept her promise, she bought Gem her freedom for as long as she could. Now it was her turn to uphold her end of the bargain. 

“It's not too late to leave.” Etho mumbles into Joel's shoulder, barely audible. “Take the next flight out and–”

“Etho–”

“–I know she won't but I'm…” He trails off, refusing to make eye contact with her. He doesn't approve of the choice she's made for herself, always the survivalist; maybe Gem could learn a thing or two.

Or she could have another drink.

“It wasn't supposed to be like this.” Joel adds with a sour look, taking a second to whisper a couple of soothing words to Etho before turning back to her. “I’m sorry, I really am.”

“Don't be.” She says, downing the rest of her shot and setting the glass down on the counter. “I'm ready for him.”

Chapter Text

A case that never seemed to end.

Grian was grateful, if that was the proper word for it, that he decided to take this case because it had led to success…if that was the right word to use in the scenario. He'd worked harder–phycially and mentally–in the past few months than he had ever done in his entire life, eaten shit for lack of a better word more times than he could count and possibly nearly died on several occasions but he had accomplished what he had set out to do; just with more consequences than he intended.

He was mainly bluffing with the shout about the cave, trying to pry information out of Pearl by any means possible but by the way she hesitated, eyes widening for a split second, when it was mentioned told Grian all he needed to know. At least it was enough to get Grian interested enough to check for himself, even if it meant going alone.

Grian stares out of his car window, watching the fenced off beach come into view. In fifteen minutes a small police force would be raiding the dockyard, a smaller force designated for her apartment and hopefully they would find her in one of those locations and if not…

Well at that point all Grian could hope for was that Pearl was lying. Both about Gem being overseas and about her being ready to jump him.

Grian pulls his car onto the beat up path, hearing gravel crunch under his car. The tall fence blocks off a dangerously steep path down large rocks that lead down to the beach and by proxy the cave. From Grian’s car he can already see the padlocked gate and the array of warning signs about trespassers and litterers plastered about.

Grian sighs, nothing could be easy for him; could it? He had a habit of always biting off more than he could chew, what was one more?

Grian parks his car onto the grass, door clicking open and the sea air greeting him (a nice change from the putrid dead fish smell of the dockyard). There’s a chill to the air, a salty breeze blowing back his hair and a dampness he can taste on his tongue; the fence groans in the wind and the full moon illuminates the waves churning in the distance like an ethereal dance. Grian doesn’t think he takes more than a step forward when he hears an approaching car, and by approaching he means barrelling down the street at a speed of roughly twenty five over the limit.

Grian’s hand is on his pistol, a lesson he should’ve learned with what happened at Pearl’s club, backing up towards the fence. He wasn’t the best shot in the world, a lesson he learned from Cub’s club, but it was better than nothing. The person in the beat up car skids to a stop on the gravel, tires kicking up debris and pebbles; seconds later the headlights are shutting off and there is someone practically tumbling out the door.

“Grian!?”

Grian hesitates. He knows that voice.

“Scar!” Grian exclaims, stepping back out into the dim streetlight. “What the hell are you doing here dude? You’re supposed to be home on break–”

“I was driving north and I happened to pass by.” Scar exhales as he runs up to Grian. He looks…tired, wearing a simple sweater and loose fitted pants, it looks as though he just rolled out of bed. “I heard you over the police radio, why are you going in alone?”

“Well I'm just hoping to get some pictures, I have a weapon if something goes wrong.” Grian responds, pulling his coat open to reveal the small pistol attached to his hip. “Why are you going north?”

“I…” Scar cuts himself off, biting his lip. “No reason I just –”

“Come on Scar don't give me that, are you actually going north or are you just here because you're worried?”

“I…well okay you got me it's both.” Scar sighs, wringing his hands. “I was going north to visit somewhere special to me, I…it used to be our spot, the place where we'd tell each other everything and I don't know I thought it'd bring me comfort or something.” Scar rambles, eyes everywhere but Grian. He doesn’t need to ask who Scar’s referring to. “It's stupid, I know it's a full moon and I wouldn't even be able to see a lot of stars and–”

“It's not stupid.” Grian interrupts, hand on his arm and squeezing lightly. He shoots him a small smile. “You can keep going, I'll be fine on my own.”

“Well I'm already here, so let's go in together.”

“Scar…”

“A small detour isn't going to ruin my work life balance G, I meant it when I said I also came to check on you.” Scar chuckles, it’s hard to see through the darkness but Grian swears he can see just the tiniest dots of pink at his cheeks. But maybe that's just what he wants to see. “I have my flashlight and gun in the car, just give me a minute.”

“Scar–!”

Scar is already running back as the words leave his lips, waving Grian off from over his shoulder. Grian can only sigh, shaking his head affectionately. There was no stopping Scar when he was acting like this, and besides a small part of him was happy that he wouldn't be going in alone. Grian turns his attention back to the gate, pulling hard on the heavy numbered padlock and groaning when it doesn't budge. 

“What are you doing?” He hears over his shoulder, as Grian rotates through a couple of obvious combinations.

“Trying to get this lock opened, I forgot my bolt cutters and I don't feel like climbing just yet so I'm–”

“What just–?” Scar cuts himself off as he picks a large rock off the ground and Grian just about gets the message in time to drop the lock and back away as Scar smashes it with full force. There's a loud crack noise as it snaps: pieces falling to the ground. “There, open.” He pushes the gate open with his signature grin, the rusty metal creaking in the win. “Ladies first.”

Grian snickers, rolling his eyes but stepping through anyways. “What a gentleman, making me walk into the factory and down the rocks first.”

“You're less clumsy than me.” 

The climb is not fun to put it simply, especially in the dark. The rocks shift precariously beneath their feet, pebbles coming loose as both of them shuffle their way down with the help of the small beam provided by their flashlights. The tides get louder as they get closer, water crashing against the shore as the cave in question grows larger and more intimidating as they approach.

“You think they got those bats with rabies in them?” Scar whispers, almost as quiet as their footsteps against the sand. “Or stalagmites that come loose and–”

“Scar.”

“Sorry, just trying to lighten the mood.” He grins sheepishly.

“Roll your pant-legs up as far as you can and keep your shoes on in case there's debris.” Grian instructs, tucking his flashlight into his belt. “The water in the cave apparently goes up to your waist, you can swim right?”

“Better than you.” Scar bites back, puffing out his chest. Grian knows Scar used to swim a lot, dreams of going pro before he joined the force; it was just fun to pretend he didn't know sometimes.

“Good.” Grian smirks. “Hope you're ready to go up to drive home cold and wet.”

“Jokes on you, I keep towels and an extra pair of clothes in my car.” 

Grian rolls his eyes. “Years of experience huh.”

“Oh so I get made fun of when I'm not prepared and I get made fun of when I am prepared, there's no winning with you is there?” Scar responds though there’s humour to his tone.

The water is frigid as it laps at Grian's ankles, Grian clenching his jaw tightly as he trudges forward, splashing slightly in the water. His socks immediately get soaked, followed closely behind by his pants. The cave is rather spacious, algae and other plants growing along the side and out of large boulders with moss growing at the tops. Grian's close to calling it pretty, which means he's also close to calling it too pretty. Intentionally clean and organized, aesthetically suspicious even as the water level continues to rise as he walks through.

Grian points the flashlight at the ceiling, searching for any of the aforementioned surprises that Scar spoke about earlier.

“It looks like it's been smoothed out.”

“I was about to say that.” Grian nods, looking at the smooth almost reflective surface of the cave ceiling. He wouldn't be surprised if it was coated in something at this point. “Almost like they wanted to prevent cave-ins or animal issues.”

“They wouldn't do all that and then barricade the entire beach.” Scar deduces out loud. “I mean it's one thing to fence off a cave for the amateur cave divers and social media gurus looking for a photo shoot opportunity but come on, spend a bit of money to add a proper path, a couple of ice cream stands and life guards and you got another tourist hotspot!”

Grian chuckles, still wading forward. “You might be onto something there Scar.”

“And you mister, might just be right again." Scar responds with a more curt laugh, Grian feeling the ripples from Scar splashing behind him. “Next case you work on you could tell the force that you found a drug den at a daycare and they'd call in half the team for you.”

“Don't speak so soon.” Grian warns, choking back a laugh. “We haven't found anything yet.”

“And what are we looking for exactly?”

“Something easy to find if you're looking for it, like a button or a switch or–”

Grian stops when his foot touches something cold, too sturdy and thin to be an animal or a rock. His hand is underwater in seconds, shocked by the cold but still flailing about clumsily for a minute before finding the top of–

“A lever.” Grian finishes out loud, grasping it tight and pulling hard against the pull of the water.

There's a loud grinding sound, a large trapdoor slowly begins to open exposing a large hole that starts to draw all the water surrounding them into it. It's not a particularly strong pull but he appreciates the way Scar grabs onto him to steady them both regardless, digging their feet into the ground below as the water drains in a swirling counterclockwise motion. The noise stops when the water level drops to just his ankles, the water calming as they both peer down the newly exposed hole.

Rusted copper lines the side of the square hole, followed by a small drop that requires them to jump down into a large pool of water a few couple of feet below them. Grian almost laughs as he stares at the still pool below them. For a fight club, if it was in fact one, they weren't very courteous about getting their fighters or patrons in there dry.

“I know I'm not the guy you want to hear this from but you probably should've thought about that lever before pulling it immediately.” Scar says, finally breaking the silence. It's embarrassing to admit but it takes a second for that to register in Grian's brain.

“Oh you're totally right, that could've been a bomb or something.”

“Well again, you were right Grian so…” He gestures forward, tucking his flashlight into his belt. “Do you want to hold hands as we jump?”

Grian scoffs. “The last one down is a slimey snail.”

He jumps. Again, something he should've thought about a bit before doing but he doesn’t have much time to think as the water greets him once more, this time warm instead of chilling him to the bone. There's another large splash beside him, undoubtedly Scar as he follows Grian into the…

Fight club.

It's blue. The first thing Grian can say about it. Cracked rock walls painted different shades of blue with large blue support pillars that reach up towards the ceiling. It's small in comparison to the club's Grian's seen in the past but undoubtedly a fight club, complete with its fighting ring in the middle. 

Grian crawls out of the water, met with a big blast of air from hidden vents that dries him near instantly and scares Scar so much he lets out a little yelp.

The fighting ring itself is designed like an expensive fish tank, flat and regular black borders hold the decorative glass together. A large hole cut out in the front marks the entrance and columns of water pour in from pipes in the ceiling and down the sides of the arena into what's probably a large pool below. A single spotlight shines down on it. Blue light, of course. 

“It's so quiet.” Scar gasps, eyes training upwards. “Bring a camera?”

Grian nods. “My hidden one I was expecting…”

People. He knew it was late and the chances of running into the fight club while it was actively running was low but he was just used to the norm of a person here to take his phone by now or a jammer of some sort preventing footage or communication with the outside world. Sometimes both. Instead it's just quiet, no people here scrambling around for a view, or throwing money around it. There's no big announcement or MC, he'd even go as far as to say it's almost…lonely now that it's just him and Scar in here.

But if there's light and water flowing, that can't be the case.

“Keep a look out.” Grian whispers. “We don't want another fishing rod scenario.”

“Right. I think that's a place for the fighters to wait.” Scar replies in a hushed tone, pointing at a small cut out area of the wall where a few chairs sit. “I'll take a closer look, maybe there's some stuff left behind.”

“I'll get a few pictures of the arena.”

Grian takes a few steps closer, stopping just before the entrance. The platform in the fighting ring itself doesn't look to be a solid floor, more like a flat wooden plank suspended by rope tethering it to the sides. The second he steps onto it, it bends under his weight; creaking loudly as he stands.

Then there's a clunk.

Before Grian can even open his mouth, the floor around the arena slides open, forming a large circle around the arena. Grian just about makes eye contact with Scar who's still over by the nook with a helmet in hand when a jet of water blasts out of the floor. It's followed by another, and then another, all in a chain until it's forming a solid circular wall around him, blocking any sort of vision.

Grian hears a clatter, footsteps pattering closer.

“What did you touch Scar?!” Grian shouts.

“Just the chest I–are you okay!?” Scar screams back, his figure reduced to a shadow casted over the water wall and barely audible over the flowing water.

“I'm fine, just stay there and I'll–”

“We finally meet Detective.” A voice interrupts, sickeningly and deceivingly sweet. There's a thud behind Grian, the familiar sound of another drop in entrance from some ceiling rafter or something. Grian freezes, a chill down his spine preventing him from turning around. “You took your time getting here, don’t you know it's not polite to keep a lady waiting?”

“You must be the girlfriend.”

“That's me!” She giggles, devoid of kindness. He hears her stalk towards him, stealthy like any good hunter. “The name's ‘Captain’, sometimes ‘Pirate’ depending on who you ask but you can call me Gem, it's a real pleasure.” Grian turns on that note, coming nearly face to face with an angry red headed woman. She bows sarcastically, eyes never once leaving his. “My Pearl speaks a lot about you, you've caused a lot of problems for us.”

“I bet.” Grian states slowly to keep his voice from trembling.

Her hair tied into a ponytail with a bandana covering half of her face and she's wearing something close to a pirate outfit. Blue shawl over a white laced shirt, loose fitted jeans and tall boots. Most notably however is the two tridents in her gloved hands.

“Grian?!” Scar calls out again, more panicked this time. “Hang on let me–”

“Tell your boytoy not to touch the water unless he wants to be burned alive.”

“Boiling?” Grian asks.

“No, it's actually concentrated hydrochloric acid but good guess!” She grins with way too many teeth and almost creepily wide eyes, tone so sharp it could cut him.

“Scar, don't touch the water!” Grian shouts.

“What?!” 

“Don't. Touch. The. Water.” Grian emphasizes, enunciating each word. “It'll melt the skin off your bones!”

“Oh yikes! I–just hold there G, I'll find a way in!”

“No Scar! Find a way out, go get–” He's cut off by a crash on the other end of the ‘water’ wall followed by the tearing of fabrics and more smashing. Grian sighs, turning his attention back to Gem, pressing down harder on the platform with the tip of his foot. “Did stepping onto your fight club mat trip the alarm?”

“Hm?” She hums, tilting her head before realization hits her. “What? No alarm, silly! I just waited until you walked on and manually triggered it.” She waves around the fancier of the two tridents, the one with a golden trim and carved accents along the handle. There are buttons of different shades close to the bottom. “What, you thought Cub gave all his fancy tech to Pearl?”

“So you admit this is a fight club, that you know of Pearl and Cubs?”

“Of course, I mean there's no hiding anything from you detective.” She nods, sarcasm dropping from her tone and grin never once leaving her face. “I, Gem Tay, own a fight trident fight club where I collect money to host fights. You got me, very clever detective.”

It looks like she'd clap if she had available hands. So that's what this was then, a trap; a lure specifically designed just for him. But why? If she wanted him dead she could've blown him up right at the entrance like Scar said, why all the effort and planning?

“How did you know I'd step on?” Grian asks instead, hand slowly reaching over towards his pistol. “What if Scar got on instead.”

She shrugs. “Then I'd threaten you with him until you stepped on yourself, simple as that. You care about him deeply don't you?”

The words from earlier just about sink in. “He's not my boyfri–nevermind, Gem, I'm going to need you to come with me. I don't want to make this any harder than it has to be and I don’t want to hurt you but–”

“You have a gun?” She gasps, eyes dropping to where Grian's hands are. “Well that won't do.”

With one grand gesture, she's bringing her trident up and over her head; waving it around in a circular motion. There's a loud humming sound as she points the end of it towards Grian, narrowing her eyes at Grian's coat. With another push of a button Grian watches as his gun begins to vibrate violently where it sits holstered. It's only a minute later that he watches helplessly as parts of the gun are magnetically torn off, ripping the gun to pieces and leaving shreds all over the floor.

“Told you.” She smiles, looking at Grian's distressed face. The bottom of the trident thumps against the ground as she leans against it. “Cub lended me a lot of stuff to play with. Here you can have one too.”

She tosses the plain trident over to Grian, clattering to the floor before it slides over to Grian's feet.

“I–”

“What? Did you really expect me to go easily?” She laughs, shaking her head. “Come on, you should've expected a fight walking into a flight club, don't you think?”

Grian hesitates, kicking the prongs with the tip of his foot. Gem rolls her eyes.

“Oh now you're paranoid!?” She mocks, letting out a frustrated noise. “You just saw me holding it and I've made it clear that I don't want to rig it to explode so…pick it up.”

He has a feeling she won't ask twice. Grian bends down for it hesitantly, making sure she doesn't leave his line of sight.

“There's nobody here.” He states, nothing but running water and wherever Scar has run off to.

Gem laughs. Full body, gasping for air and bent over on her knees type of laugh; the kind that leads to a bit of a maniacal laugh when you're done.

“How are you still not getting it, detective?!” She barks out, still laughing at the tail end of the question. “For all that case work you're not very smart are you?” She continues to laugh when Grian doesn't offer any type of response, giddy like a high school bully. “This isn't about the fight club anymore, not about the money or about entertaining a crowd.” She opens her arms out, gesturing to an empty ring. “It's just you and me in here Grian, this is about vengeance.”

“You want to kill me.” Grian deadpans, feeling his heart drop into his stomach when Gem nods, a grin split across her face. “Then why not do it earlier?”

“Because I want to see the look on your face when I slit your throat myself.” 

Spoken like a statement, no anger, no threat; spoken like it's a truth.

Grian swallows heavily, grip tightening against his weapon. “You don't want blood on your hands Gem, murdering someone is different from fighting someone; it changes you. Come with me and–”

“You think I care about getting into trouble? You think I have more to lose, consequences I'm afraid of?!” She screams, trident pointing so close to his chest that one wrong move from Grian will lead to him being impaled. “Pearl didn't kill you because she was kind, Cub didn't kill you because he's reasonable but when it comes to this detective, I'm neither.”

Gem takes the opportunity to swing, slow and dramatic like a final mercy that gets another part of Grian coat torn off as he dives to the side. He watches, crouched near the floor, as Gem stands in the spot where he just was, picking up the loose fabric from the floor. She chucks it into the water wall, the leather disintegrating near instantly.

“A sneak peak of how I'm going to clean up the mess afterwards.” She smiles over her shoulder, Grian scrambling to his feet in response.

She strides towards him, trident scraping against the floor creating a sound close to nails on a chalkboard. “No where to run now, is there Detective? No tricks you can pull or places to hide. A fair fight.”

“You have years of experience, hardly–” He cuts himself off as Gem swings, barely blocking as his feet slide against the unstable floor as she pushes hard. 

He drops lower, forcing a weight shift that gives him another time to lunge out of the way as her prongs meet the floor instead of his flesh. She yanks it out in one swift movement, already sending another heavy swing his way that he steps back just enough to dodge. She doesn't give him space to breathe, blocking every swing with a counter; leaving rips in every single one of his pieces of clothing as well as angry red lines and gashes dripping of blood in its wake. 

This isn't working.

Grian ditches the strategy of some miracle happening that ends with him beating her and instead starts going for distance, focusing on backing up instead of attacks; if she couldn't get close enough to attack they'd be forced into a stalemate. An uncomfortable tie until Scar could do whatever and hopefully get help.

That plan is shattered when Gem throws her trident at him at full force, grunting as it leaves her hand. Grian ducks just a second before it stabs him in the chest and watches it cut through the wall of acid and out of the arena, small bits of acid splattering against the arena floor. He’s barely back up when Gem makes a small ‘come here’ motion with the fingers of her outstretched hand and he's forced to duck again as the trident comes hurdling back towards her. She catches it with ease, spinning it to dispel momentum. 

Grian thinks he needs to be more scared of what Cub is capable of now.

Cub.

Cub once mentioned that humans are endurance hunters and Grian sees it clearly now, the way Gem plays with him; stepping forward with a swing and a stomp as Grian is forced to react, with a block or a roll or even jumping out of the way of a particularly low swing. He's not always successful. Metal clashes and sweat runs down his back, his injuries only grow as she swipes at his knee to give him one more. She's catching and releasing the same fish, poking a bird with a stick stuck in a gilded cage, wearing him down like a gazelle until he's too tired to run anymore.

She's playing with her food.

“You took everything from me and it's time to return the favour.” She growls, fire in her eyes. Grian lets out a cut off yelp as he finds himself backed way too close to the wall, acid splashing onto the tips of his shoes. “Tell me Detective, is this job worth dying for?”

He's exhausted, his legs sting and he can feel the wetness of blood on one of his cheeks but if this is where he was going to die it wasn't going to be on his knees. 

“Vengeance.” Grian pants, chest heaving from air as he keeps his trident out in front of him. “After you kill me then what? What changes for you Gem? Will it fill the hole? Will it bring her back?”

Gem's expression darkens and he doesn't have the energy to react in time when she charges at him suddenly, tridents clashing and wrestling for dominance until Grian's trident is forced out of his hands and falling into the pit of water below him with a splash. Gem has a knee on his stomach, pinning him to ground and leaving him fighting for air. He claws desperate at her leg only for her to bring her knee down harder against his stomach, effectively squeezing all the fight out of him.

She holds the trident above her head, metal gleaming in the light. In what's probably the final moments of his life, vision fading at the corner of his eyes and lightheaded from lack of oxygen…Grian thinks of Scar.

He was always a better shot than him, a better friend and a better person. When Grian first met him he was greeted with a crooked tie, a sly smirk and naive beliefs about being the change he wanted to see in the world. And maybe Grian couldn't help but feel a little inspired to do a little more as a detective.

Grian was never built to be a cop. Deep rooted societal issues aside he didn't have the stomach for death. He had the aggression, the will to survive, vengeful spirit and the tenacity to stand up after being kicked to the ground but he couldn't look someone terrified in the eyes and pull the trigger. Maybe that made him weak. 

Maybe it's why he sees himself in Gems eyes.

“Fuck!” Gem swears, hand trembling on the handle of the trident. “Don't look at me like that you…! I'm supposed to kill you now and I can't do it when you're–”

The weight on his stomach lessens ever so slightly, Grian forces as much air in as he can muster; vision clearing ever so slightly.

“Please.”

She tries again at Grian’s plea, only bringing the trident an inch closer before she's pulling back again. Her lip is quivering, like she's somehow as scared as he is. 

“Gem please. I don’t want to die.”

There's a pause, air heavy and the sound of desperate pants filling the space. Time for her to make her choice. 

“My parents were terrible business people.” She whispers, voice almost lost to the rushing waters surrounding them. “Their heart was in the right place but when I inherited the place…God the amount of debt they had would put most backtellers into a coma.” She rambles, trident still held above his head but she has a far away look in her eye. Staring through Grian rather than at him. “So many people were going to be laid off, so many families were going to go hungry because I couldn't sign their paychecks and then he approached me.”

“Who?” Grian wheezes. 

“He said he saw me work, that I was strong and had the perfect land for it and then he promised more cash than I would know what to do with and…and I'm going to be honest here I was desperate.”

A confession.

“Just wanted to earn enough to be comfortable before you left it all behind.” Grian states, every word a struggle as he continues to gasp for air. She nods slowly, it's a story both of them had heard before.

“Even if no one has died, you're right, we're hurting people, we're encouraging monetization of violence and people selling their bodies in order to live.” She sniffles, ripping off her bandana. She looks a lot younger than Grian thought she was. “I never wanted it to get this far. I'm only a little better than the loan sharks that made my parents work themselves into an early grave.”

The trident drops to Grian's side as she slumps off of him, all the fight draining out of her. She pulls into herself, shoulders hunched and her face buried in her hands. Grian lays there for a second more, half to catch his breath and half because he's a bit scared to approach her at the minute, waiting for the second she changes her mind and decides to just stab him anyways.

"I just want to be with her…” She cries, sobbing into her hands. “She’s all the family I have left she–”

“I can arrange for that.” Grian exhales, pulling himself onto his knees. She looks up at him. “I can’t let you just walk off there's too much evidence against you for that but if you want to see her, if you want to be close to her; I can pull some strings for that. I'll take what you told me as a confession, help you reduce both of your sentences and your fees, set it up so you guys both get a lot more visitation than what’s normally offered and maybe even live close to each other just…stop this.”

“Really?”

“Won't even mention the part where you tried to kill me.” Grian promises, taking a look around. “But…I can't do that if I'm trapped in here.”

“If you're lying–”

Grian tears the secret camera button from his shirt and throws it into the acid before she can finish her sentence. There's a split second when he recognizes that might be a mistake but when he turns back around she's smiling, a real one.

She opens her mouth to speak when there's a shout from above.

“I'm coming Grian!”

And just like that Scar drops in from the ceiling, a rope tied around his waist that unravels and leaves him falling and then splatting in front of them, the impact on the already unstable floor throwing them all off balance.

“Scar!” Grian hisses, crawling towards him. “Why would you do that–!”

“I already signaled for help villian! Your jammers don't work on old fashioned SOS light signals.” Scar slurs, trying to peel himself off the ground and failing. “Now, let Grian go or else–”

“Oh for goodness sake.” She scoffs, picking up her trident and pushing another button. Almost instantly the acid walls fall uncermoniously, floor sliding back into place with a click. “How did you even get up to the ceiling from the main room?!”

“Inginui.” Scar mumbles.

“I think the word he's looking for is ingenuity.” Grian corrects, pulling Scar onto his feet. “You can arrest her now, officer Scar.”

“Wait really?” He gasps, still swaying slightly on his feet. “Hold on, I didn't bring my cuffs I–”

Gem scoffs, pinching the bridge of her noise. “I'll just walk with my hands up, how's that?”

“Oh yeah, that works uh just get into the nearest car and–”

“Gosh, you sure about this one detective?” Gem snorts, looking very amused for a person about to be arrested. “Do you want me to let you actually call in additional support? The jammers are down.”

“Hey!”

“Right now all I can get you is fifteen minutes.” Grian states as they walk down the hall. The cuffs dug into her hands but it's better than the max level security from before. A couple of days ago when she was first “arrested” and they showed up to the meeting spot and she didn't have any on, every officer there freaked out like she was wearing an active bomb strapped to her chest.

But maybe that was because the detective was also actively bleeding out.

“Fifteen minutes for what?” She questions as they stop at a door, Grian punching in numbers.

“You'll see.” He chuckles.

The door slides open and behind it appears her favourite person in the entire world pacing around the room like she wants to wear down the floorboards.

“Pearl!” She screams, taking off into a run.

Gem practically launches at her, thankful that Pearl, despite her initial surprise, catches her in her arms, spinning her in a circle before squeezing her tightly. It's hard when they’re in cuffs but neither of them care.

“Hi lovely.” She coos, kissing the top of Gem’s head. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too!” She exclaims, burying her face into Pearl's shoulder. She looks as beautiful as the day they last held each other, long before they could only see each other through bullet proof glass and even when she's dressed in an orange jumpsuit and has slightly matted hair. “I'm sorry, I tried to just live but things were falling apart so fast and I–”

“Shhh.” Pearl whispers, Gem's face in her hands. She can almost hear Cub laugh at how ‘cute’ they're being. “It's okay, I'm not mad you did so well. We'll figure things out, like we always do.”

Grian clears his throat, prompting both of them to look at him but neither of them pulling away.

“So fifteen minutes alone for now, then thirty and…if you guys are good then so long as you're supervised by me I can bring you guys out for dates.”

“You'd do that for us?” Pearl asks, suspicion laced in her voice. “What’s the catch?”

“The catch is I fulfill a promise I made and I don't die.” Grian responds, making direct eye contact with Gem before dragging his eyes over to Pearl. “You were right about her being ready for me.”

Pearl gasps, turning back to Gem. “You were supposed to scare him not–”

“I'm sorry! I just got a little carried away!”

“No wonder he has that big Band-Aid on his face–”

Neither of them notice as Grian slips out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. His notepad in hand and still hard at work on his hardest case yet, the only lead being a single word. The person who inducted Gem and if he's lucky the start of the end.

He.

Chapter Text

Four down, one more to go.

At least that's what Grian hoped for. It's what he had hoped for after each fight club, that everything would be solved right afterwards only to find another loose end; another club buried underneath this clown car of a case. A little more and then he'd be done, a little more and then he'd be free, a little more and he’d be right at the finish line…little did he know he would be walking right into a trap, a maze with no end in sight and a rope much longer than he could have ever imagined. 

It seemed funny now that he thought about it, how naive and unscathed Grian was only a couple of months ago.

“Are you sure you're okay to work G?”

Grian rolls his eyes, the motion hurting the cut on his cheek but he’s smart enough not to mention that part out loud. “Yes Skizz, I've repeated this fifteen times now.”

“Well excuse me for being worried since you’ve been taking beatings and hospital trips like you want to die young.” He retorts, using two fingers to pull the file in Grian’s hands slightly back so they can make eye contact with each other from across the desk. He looks worried, everyone does, but Skizz is the only one brave enough to barge into Grian’s office and say it to his face.

“Not intentionally.”

“Well of course not intentionally.” He scoffs, a tone close to mocking. He lets go of the file. “But I'm saying we have an entire team working on this case now, you don't have to stress as much.”

“Well ‘he’ could make a run for it at any point so I think I do need to stress Skizz.”

He’s been so busy with recovery and organizing whatever was left from Cub and Pearl's cases that this was probably the first few real days he was able to really focus on that little tidbit of information that had slipped from Gem’s lips when they had fought. Maybe it meant nothing but Grian had learned a long time ago that he couldn’t let any evidence go without thoroughly seeing it through first.

“What I mean is, you taking a day off won't cripple the case. You come back after each club worse than before and you know it.” Skizz states, standing up and coming around the desk so he can jab Grian in the arm. Making sure he keeps his attention this time.

“And I appreciate it guys, I'll take it easy.”

“Which means…” Skizz starts, making a small ‘go on’ motion with his hand.

“No more going in alone, no heavy lifting and no opening the door for strangers; I got it dad.” Grian teases, elbowing Skizz in the side and shoving him back. “Did you post the reward yet?”

“Yup. Thousand dollar reward for anyone that comes forward with info about another fight club, we've been flooded with calls all morning.”

“Any hits?”

“Not yet.”

Grian sighs, leaning back in his chair while Skizz takes a seat at the edge of his desk; everything in the room is quiet for a minute as Grian ponders his next steps. He squints up at the ceiling light, feels the dull ache in his bones...this has to end soon or he would be completely out of the running.

“I'm going to interrogate Gem.”

“Gem?” Skizz parrots, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you already had all the information you needed about her club?”

“Yeah but I need to ask her some questions about this mysterious ‘he’ she mentioned, I'll pull Pearl in right after her.”

Skizz nods, pushing off the desk. “Sure, I'll contact the prison where they're located at the minute.”

“And could you call Cub in too?”

“Oh actually, Cub is busy.”

Grian narrows his eyes once more, sitting up in his seat. “Busy? Busy with what?”

Cub rotates his foot side to side, studying the bulky ankle monitor that acts as his personal and permanent reminder of his crime. 

But the handcuffs, the ankle monitor and the prison cell all that was all only the beginning, the shallow end of a pool. What most people didn’t know was that while science was built on collaboration, trust and hard work the scientific community could also be…cutthroat at times too, competition creating snide remakes in response papers, stolen work and desperate races to patents. This side of the community showed especially when Cub got arrested and people were quick to jump onto the remnants of his sculk research. His office was stripped away and he'd been quietly let go due to ‘personal problems’ which he all but expected, but then came entire ten page papers published denouncing his work which honestly didn't make all that much sense. 

Like come on…just because he played with fireworks sometimes didn't mean that his sculk research was null and void.

They came crawling back eventually. It was a bit funny in hindsight having a lab technician visit him in prison just to ask him how to remove the sculk out of his, now old, lab. The humour of the situation mostly came from the fact that despite everyone there reading his papers, attending his conferences and even watching him do his experiments; people were still shocked that sculk did indeed spread when there was a lot of noise. After way too many visits from colleagues and assistants that definitely annoyed the hell out of the prison warden, Cub was called back in to help in person, originally only ‘temporarily reinstated' before being allowed to continue his research so long as he was supervised the entire time.

He couldn't complain, he knew he had it better than most but it was unfortunate that it also meant he, and you'll excuse his language here, couldn't even take a shit in private anymore.

“Does anyone know I'm with you Scar?” Cub asks, looking away from the blinking light of his ankle monitor. 

Scar had been waiting for him outside the second he was finished with work, spoken to the guy supervising him briefly before gesturing towards his car. Cub had been way too excited over the prospect of Scar wanting to see him that he got in without really thinking about it, sitting in silence as the engine roared to life and waiting for Scar to start the conversation.

The silence stretched on for five minutes, then ten and then they took a left instead of a right and before Cub knew it they were driving down a rural path and Scar still hadn't so much as turned to look at Cub sitting in the passenger seat. As the miles climbed, Cub had a growing instinct that he was about to be disposed of in the woods somewhere by his best friend.

If he still had the right to call him that.

“They don't know I'm with you, do they?” Even though he tries, there's a flash of a sheepish expression on Scar’s face before it's quickly covered up again. “Scar, you’re going to–”

“No talking.” Scar interrupts, turning up the radio.

“But my ankle monitor–”

“Already accounted for.”

Cub lets out a small huff, trying his best to relax back into his seat as they drive past more trees. It’s a familiar route, the same they used to take on their monthly stargazing trips up north. Although with the lack of maintenance on the bumpy road, it’s still not well maintained or often traveled. Perfect for a quick slice and dice. 

“Back of the head, just below the ear.” Cub states, Scar finally turning to look at him with wide eyes. “If I'm allowed to make requests. It'll be the most painless I think.”

“What?! No I'm not going to ki–just…hold your questions.” Scar bristles, hand gripping the steering wheel tightly. Cub gives a small nod which gets Scar to turn back to the road and leaves Cub to his own devices. He rests his hand on the dash, fingers tapping as he searches for things to keep his mind busy.

There's no trash by his feet meaning the car was cleaned recently, the gas tank is full so that means this little escapade was planned. There are no snacks in the passenger side compartment so he hasn't done groceries in a bit and the windows are rolled down instead of just letting the AC run which means it's broken again and Scar can’t be bothered to fix it just yet. Cub notes that the car smells a bit like Grian's cologne, debates asking for an update on whatever that is before ultimately deciding to keep quiet. 

The sunset highlights a lot of Scar’s features and Cub comes to the conclusion that Scar hasn’t slept a lot recently, small bags under his eyes and he doesn’t fill out his clothes as much as he used to; a weariness to his general demeanor that only comes out on really bad days. His disposition is cloudy and his expression is muddled, Cub thinks that change probably has to do with him. 

Thinks a lot of the changes have to do with him.

Scar swings right, Cub grabbing onto the handle in the car to avoid slamming into the car door.

“We’re here.” He gruffs, unbuckling his belt. “Get out.”

“Our hiking spot?” Cub half asks, half gasps. He didn’t think Scar would remember or particularly care this month, or maybe he just wants Cub’s final resting place to be somewhere familiar. “Why–”

“Grab the telescope from the back.” Scar instructs, climbing out of the car. He stands just outside for a second, gaze resting on Cub like he’s a specimen in his lab, hand tapping nervously against the door. “You know the route.” 

The door slams shuts, Cub watching through the windows as Scar walks to the trunk of the car. Cub takes a second to process before he unbuckles his own belt and jumps out of the car, feet nearly slipping on the pavement. Scar slings a heavy bag over his shoulder before he’s shoving the telescope into Cub’s arms; already marching forward without so much as a second glance. 

“Did you bring the marshmallows for the campfire?" Cub asks, nearly running to catch up. He hears Scar scoff.

“Of course I did.” He huffs, hand tightening around the strap of his bag but not turning around. “Keep walking, we need to get there before dark.”

The rest of the hike is silent except for the moment that Scar stops to take the heavy telescope out of Cub arms and hands him the bag instead, Cub supposes some things don’t change even when Scar is furious with him. Scar keeps to himself, even when they set up the campfire and the tent. It isn’t until Cub has the telescope set up and focused, has the mats laid out does Scar finally ask what’s probably been weighing on him for weeks now.

“How long?"

Cub has a feeling he knows what he’s referring to but asks anyway. “How long, what?”

“How long has this fight club or whatever you guys call it been going on.” Cub opens his mouth to speak when Scar holds out a hand. “And remember where we are, you can’t lie to me here.”

Cub smiles, feeling his heart squeeze a bit in his chest. A promise made years ago before the world decided to be unkind to them and a promise he intends to keep. “Of course.”

“So?”

Cub looks up, seeing a puff of white from his breath. It’s a good night, low glare from the moon, no clouds…Scar did a good job planning this trip so they may as well do they things they usually do, even if a lot has changed since their last trip. Cub lays down on the mat with a small sigh, waiting for Scar to settle beside him before he speaks. 

“A couple of years, I don’t think you care for specifics.”

Scar swallows roughly but nods. “And how did you join?”

“When I started in sculk research, the funding…let’s just say the funding was lacking in all departments. They wouldn’t shill out an additional cent for it, basically told me it wasn’t worth it.” Cub explains, Scar’s eyes on him being the only indication that he was even listening. “I dipped into my own funds for a bit but it wasn’t enough, then I turned to making cash in any way I could, which was weapon development.”

“Did you like it?”

“Like making weapons?”

“Yeah.”

Cub pauses, mulling over his next words carefully. “They were an interesting challenge to make, I never thought I’d use my education like that. As for using them…when in a controlled setting with willing participants, I had fun.”

Scar's expression is unreadable. “Do you know what happened to the weapons you sold?”

“You learn not to ask too many questions.”

“I see.”

“The only buyer I know personally is Gem, she bought the augmented trident as you know and they personally contacted me to ask for more of them.” Cub explains, running through all the details in his mind. He can still see the overdue bills scattered around his desk. “She asked why I was so desperate for cash, I gave a vague answer and she told me that I could make all the money I wanted, test weapons on consenting participants and still have enough time for research…”

“If you joined her on the dark side.”

Cub chuckles. “Not how she phrased it but yes, it was an offer I couldn’t refuse so I didn’t…I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“Everything.” Cub settles on. “Everything that has happened up until this point, I’m sorry.”

Scar hums, turning to face him. “Was Pearl involved before or after you?”

“After.” He replies. “Me and Pearl…we have a lot in common with failed projects and lack of funding so as per the rules I offered her a loan in exchange for a fight club, it’s how Gem and Pearl met actually.”

Gem had turned bright red when Pearl had first walked into the room, couldn't stop staring even when she tried. It was strangely endearing the way that his fight club friends had found love in the strangest situation.

“Rules?”

“The big ones are no talking about the club in public settings, no death, no exposing other members and it’s customary for the previous new member to invite the next one.” Cub lists, making a show of counting using his fingers. “That last one is more like a ritual for us rather than a hard rule.”

“So who invited Gem?”

Cub pauses, the one question he hoped Scar wouldn’t ask. The words getting stuck in his throat for a second before he forces them out, barely a whisper in the wind.

“I can’t tell you.”

Scar jolts upright, staring at Cub like he just tore up a million dollars in front of him. Cub sits up too, already predicting his next words.

“You–!”

“It’s not a lie Scar, closest thing to the truth I can give you.”

“You can’t tell me!?”

“It's an oath we made.” Cub sighs, trying hard not to stare at the hurt deep in Scar’s eyes. “I can answer any other question, about my club about Pearls or even Gems…they’ve been exposed, their clubs are as good as public information now but for the ones that aren’t I can’t…its the foundation of our club, that trust we built together–”

“What about the trust we built together Cub?! What about our friendship?!”

“He’s the strongest out of all of us, the most connected.” Cub explains, shaking his head. “He’ll know if one of us talks and it’ll be a fate worse than death for you if you know, Scar. I just want to protect you, just as much as I want to keep his secret.”

Scar clenches his jaw, eyes downward. 

“Please, understand.”

“What do you mean you can’t tell me?!” Grian screams, feeling his blood pressure steadily rising.

Gem shrugs. “Its exactly what it sounds like, Pearl will say the same.”

“Gem, I thought we were okay now that I’ve done all–”

“So I owe you this information now?” She drawls, raising an eyebrow. "I want aware we were keeping tabs."

“Thats not what I mean!” Grian insists, letting out a long breath; exhaustion creeping in. “I mean…I just need a name, a location, something about this guy. You don’t have to give me everything just–”

“Can’t do that for you.” Grian almost flips the table and Gem must sense it because she continues. “He has eyes everywhere, for the longest time he was in active contact with all of us. It’s not just because I owe him more than I can even begin to explain but also because he’s not someone I want to mess with when he’s mad.”

“Death?”

“No but I would still be scared.” She gives a knowing smile. “The fighters fear for the safety of their family more than they fear the law so I doubt you’ll get much out of them either. They’re aren’t a lot of people in this world that aren’t a little afraid of him.”

“No information at all?”

“The oath I made to him is older than most of my friendships and relationships.” Gem states, folding her hands together. “You won't get anything out of any of us.”

Grian stares, trying to gauge Gem's sincerity before coming to the conclusion that it doesn't matter. Either way he's stuck.

“Fine.” Grian gasps, running a hand down his face. “I’ll let you go.”

Gem leans in, voice dropping low and face etched with sympathy. “Between me and you, Grian. I think you’ll figure it out eventually, like you did all of us.”

“Yeah well unless a miracle walks through my door I can’t imagine I will.” He leans back in his chair towards the door and by proxy the guard standing right outside of it. “We’re done here! Take her back!”

The walk back to Grian’s office is miserable.

Another dead end because apparently this guy is some omniscient God that either scared you senseless or you owed them a great debt with no exceptions. Well he wasn’t about to give up, he didn’t at the very start when everyone doubted him and he wasn’t about to start now. Maybe he just had to start from the beginning again, look into new entrepreneurs with way too much money who–

He’s pulled out of his thoughts when he bumps into someone standing right outside his office door.

“Sorry you–”

“Can I come inside?” The white haired man blurts out, looking more startled than Grian is. “I have some information.” 

He’s wringing his hands together and his voice is quiet. He’s taller than the average human but he seems to slouch down in an attempt to make himself appear smaller, like he’s uncomfortable with the amount of space he takes up. There’s a very notable scar on his face, partially covered up with a mask. Grian feels his excitement rising in his chest, a fighter maybe? One of the few people not bound to whoever ‘he’ was, someone with nothing to lose or simply just not afraid to speak up?

“You–yes, yes! Of course!” Grian stammers, nearly running into his door in an attempt to open it, ushering the man inside. “Take a seat.”

He does, still wringing his hands as he settles into the office chair. Grian is quick to rummage through his messy drawer for a notepad. “I would like to emphasize that this is anonymous and I will do my absolute best to ensure you that your identity will remain hidden so long–”

The man stands back up suddenly, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a…stick? He makes a small swinging motion and Grian can only watch in awe as as it extends out with a snap into a heavy duty fishing rod. The man slams the device onto the table, red flush peaking out from the top of his mask.

“Pulling force of over two tons, adjustable string and customizable hook.” He explains pointing to each part as he does before his hand rests near a pair of initials carved into the handle. “...also my personal invention.”

"Holy shit.”

Chapter Text

This was it, the big break.

Not just any witness or fighter, not someone who needed the information tortured out of them or someone who wanted something out of a story but a real confession. A real confession from one of the founders, the man that jumped out of a window to escape him. 

It felt too good to be true. Maybe it was.

“Okay…I think I have everything I need about you ‘Shade.’” Grian hums, as he glances back at the nervous man sitting uncomfortably in his chair. He looks just about ready to make a run for it but there's also a very real possibility that he's always like this. “I need you to tell me about him now.”

“This is a confession.” Etho states plainly, words more so forced out rather than spoken. Grian notes that he's staring through him rather than at him. 

Grian narrows his eyes in confusion. “Yes…?”

“Which means it'll be better for us in court.”

Ah.

“Yes. I will do whatever I can in my power to help you–”

“Both of us.” He interrupts, sitting up straighter. “You'll help both of us, right?”

Grian remembers Gem's words, Pearl's statement playing into it as well. He remembers what he heard from Scar about Cub’s stance as well. Loyalty above all else, knowing but never saying. It was admirable if not for the fact that it was also illegal.

“I promise.”

Etho exhales slowly after what looks like a split second of deliberation in his head. He doesn't relax but he stops eyeing the door from the corner of his eye. “What do you want to know?”

“Well for starters a name would help.”

“Joel Beans. He uh, has brown eyes and freckles, he says he’s 5’9 but he’s closer to 5’8 and he has a green streak in his hair.”

“Any past criminal history?”

Etho shakes his head. “He’s never been tried for anything so no record.”

“The address he currently resides at?”

“We live together so uh…I already gave it to you.”

Interesting, roommates or…something like that. Grian picks up Ethos’ ID for the second time, holding it under the light again like it was the Holy Grail. He could hardly believe any of this was real, couldn’t believe that for once something in this case was easy. No disguises, no fighting…it sounded like another trap. 

“Why now?”

Etho blinks at him, chewing on his lip for a second. “It’s…personal. Does it matter?”

“I guess not.” Grian shrugs, sliding his ID back towards him. “You know–off the record–I would be a lot angrier at you right now if it wasn’t for the fact you’re providing a lot of key information.”

Etho chuckles, a bit pained. “Yeah I know…sorry about the–”

“It’s fine. Left a bad scar on my ankle but considering every other club I was at…I got off easy with you.” Grian states, vaguely gesturing to the large bandaid on his cheek. “What’s the address of the flight club he manages?”

“I don’t know the exact address off the top of my head but do you know ‘The Relation?’”

“The bar?”

“Yeah.”

Scar bursts through the door before Grian can say another word, panting and winded. His tie is thrown over his shoulder and he's leaning against the doorframe as he tries to catch his breath from running from…wherever he was originally.

“Grian!” He gasps, still catching his breath. “I got your text, what do you need?”

“Scar, how would you like to go get a drink with me?”

The car ride over to their bar is painfully awkward. 

Etho squirms in the backseat, fidgeting with the end of his seatbelt as he tries to will himself to relax. He can hear the sirens and see the flashing lights behind them, a whole squad of people ready to tear down the place Etho has called home for years and then put him in cuffs. Yes, every officer in those cars probably has a reason to dislike him too and yet he'd rather be in one of those cars than stuck in this one with Scar as he stares daggers at him through the passenger rearview mirror. 

“You know, when you asked me to get a drink with you; this isn't what I had in mind.” Scar mutters out loud, crossing his arms. Etho swallows a chuckle at the way he pouts just a little bit, it reminds him of Joel.

God Joel…he was going to kill him for this. He was going to stick his body into a barrel and turn him into a fancy wine or worse…Joel was going to leave him. Etho swallows heavily, clenching his fists tightly at his side. He should've done this when Pearl got caught, he should've put his foot down more, he should've done a lot of things that would've resulted in better things for him and his friends if he had just spoken up years ago when Joel first brought up the idea of fight club to him on a drunken night.

Now he was just a snitch.

But it was too late for regrets. For once in his life he wasn't going to run away scared and if that meant he was a rat; if that meant Joel would never talk to him ever again…so be it.

Grian's laugh pulls Etho out of his mind. “Sorry, did you expect me to whisk you away to a night of music, dancing and drinks?”

“Actually yes, I did.” Scar huffs.

“Really?!”

Etho is a bit shocked by Grian's shock. Did he interrupt a date night or something? 

“It's whatever.” Scar insists like he just realized what he said, hands flailing around and slightly flushed. “Forget I said anything.”

“I owe you a drink Scar.”

Scar scoffs. “Don't say that just because you feel bad, you don’t owe me anything.”

“It's not really a pity date or a favour if it's something I want to do as well.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” Grian replies, smiling at Scar from over his shoulder while Scar looks at Grian like he just offered him a million dollars. Etho resists the urge to roll his eyes, is this how Cub felt when it was the five of them in a room?

Speaking of Cub…

“Sorry to interrupt.” Etho coughs, shrinking in his seat when Scar whips his head around to glare at him. “Are you two not already dating? I swear Cub said–”

“Listen here mister.” Scar hisses, twisting awkwardly in his seat to fully face Etho; seatbelt the only thing keeping him in the front of the car as he points at Etho with a finger. “Grian might be okay with you now but I'm still mad about it. It was very painful when you attacked me with that…that fishing rod of yours!”

“Sorry.”

“No you're not.” He huffs. “Gosh, some people think that they can throw people around willy-nilly and then lay on the charm and suddenly everything is okay.”

Etho has to take a minute to digest that. No one has called him charming since…well never. Grian pulls Scar back with one hand, forcing Scar back into his seat.

“Scar sit properly.”

“But–”

“Scar.”

“This isn't over!”

“Could you ask them to turn off their sirens?” Etho asks, ignoring Scar's words. “It might be better if he doesn't hear–”

“Got it. Scar?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He grumbles, picking up the radio on the dash and mumbling a command into it. The sirens are quick to shut just as they turn the corner into a familiar street.

Etho's heart rate spikes. He couldn't do this. He couldn't and he had to.

The car lurches to a stop as they pull right up to the address of their bar, followed by all the other officers who park wherever they can along the already narrow road. People nearby and across the street whisper amongst themselves as officers pile out and begin to chase people away; brief explanations and pylons drop as panicked people begin turning away.

Was his last moment of real freedom supposed to feel this hopeless?

“Lead the way Etho.” Grian says, hand rested on Etho's shoulder. Scar squints at him suspiciously.

“And if this is a trap I'm going to–”

“It's not a trap.” Etho interrupts, fishing out his front door key. There's a sign at the door written in Joel's handwriting, something about an early close. He saw this coming. “It’s not a trap on my end at least. I think he already knows we're here.”

“What?!”

“That's fine.” Grian states, looking like he's tampering down nerves himself as he gestures to the other officers to quiet down. “We're ready for him.”

Etho pushes open the door, lights still on and soft music playing in the back as he walks into the bar. The chairs to tables are pulled out, dirty napkins and plates are left out on tables while there are half drunken drinks still on the bar counter like everyone left in a rush. Nobody around to sweep the floor or clear things away.

Grian seems to come to the same conclusion, nose wrinkling. “Where is the club?”

Etho hops over the bar counter, hand running over the surfaces of the wine barrels until he finds the one whose date is marked with red instead of white. He knocks on the wood, watching as Scar jumps a little when the fridge begins sliding to the side; grinding against the floor and revealing a dark hallway.

“This way.”

He's walked down this hallway a million times, sometimes for cleaning or general maintenance and sometimes to fight himself. But most of the time he sat in the audience as he watched Joel and the others fight, big smiles and sweat dripping from their foreheads. He's watched fighters old and new walk into the arena for many reasons, fame, money, success and seen people leave with nothing but the clothes on their back. It's romanticized in movies; people winning thousands in fights and becoming local legends but all this life has taught Etho is how to scrub tough bloodstains out and how to lie without breaking eye contact.

Joel's arena was always the simplest, ‘by design’ the brunet would claim with his chest puffed out and a wild grin on his face. No fancy mechanisms or theme, just a boxing ring in the middle with some space to stand around it. Fighters literally would have to throw their stuff to the side somewhere while they fought and pray it was still there when they finished. It was rough around the edges and still beautiful all the same, just like its creator.

Etho looks around to the officers next to him, dropped down low and shuffling close to the ground with their guns drawn. He knew one day this place would be raided, maybe not so soon but he never thought he'd be the one leading it. 

It probably makes him the worst person in the world but he'll just have to learn to live with that.

Etho claps to turn the lights on and he hears the slight gasp of the officers next to him–and even Grian–when they see Joel and a group of fighters standing in the middle of the arena. He's in his fight club outfit, cropped green vest with a deconstructed sweater hanging loose around his shoulder and arm. He can't see his expression through his mask, fake teeth over his mouth but he sees the fury in his eyes; feels his presence looming over him like a hawk about to snatch its prey. 

“Fighters!” Joel announces, voice crackling a little. Etho promised he would get around to fixing the mic attached to his mask, making the radio not so finicky to use…another lie he'll have to atone for eventually. “Take a look at the available prizes, all nice and coordinated in blue clothes!”

The fighters next to him stand up straighter, Etho recognizes most of them as regulars by their personal masks. The tall officer begin barking commands, no one listens. Etho's too focused on Joel to really pay attention to the words flowing around him.

“Remember, no deaths, mark their arms with your cloth if you want to claim the prize money and most importantly…” He trails off, eyes leaving Etho for a second to stare over his shoulder, over towards Grian. “The detective is mine.”

The fighters immediately take off, leaving Joel standing alone in the arena as they jump the ropes and run at the officers with swords and shields; one fighter in particular managing to tackle an officer to the ground with the sheer speed in which they fly towards them.

It's chaos, screams and cries of anguish. Guns are ripped from hands and chucked away, batons are sliced into and people are kicked around like ragdolls. He sees officers being dragged across the floor like bags of flour, bloodied with their hands out in front of them and he sees others holding their own despite bruises. They all seem to be ignoring Etho, fighters weaving around him like he was invisible and letting him push through the crowd. He needs to find Grian before Joel gets to him first.

He's too late.

They've been together for so long that Joel, ever the dramatic, has gotten predictable. He finds them on the walkway for the lighting bridge, Scar's gun pointed straight at Joel as Joel keeps Grian’s head pushed against the railing; body weight and a knife keeping him pressed there and nearly dangling off the edge.

“Joel!” Etho finally shouts, finding his voice.

“Etho stay out of this.” Joel snaps, Grian wincing as Joel's grip tightens around his neck. “I'll deal with you later!”

He needed to deescalate…somehow.

“Scar, lower your gun–”

“What?!” The man shouts, only taking his eyes off Joel and Grian for a second to glare at Etho. “He has Grian at knifepoint, tell your…whatever he is to let go of Grian first!”

“He's nothing to me.” Joel growls, with enough venom it strikes Etho harder than if Joel were to take an actual swing at him; a tightness in his chest.

Nothing. A fate worse than hate.

“You don't mean that Joel.” He whispers and for a second, Joel's face softens.

For a second he sees the boy who made dinner for him every night with a smile on his face, for a second he sees the boy who gave him his blanket when the orphanage was too poor to afford thicker ones for everyone. And then that boy is gone, replaced by the man who was seconds away from taking a life.

“Shut up Etho just…shut up! You've done enough, just leave.”

“No. I made a promise to you.”

“You broke oath!” Joel fumes. “You clearly don't care about promises with everything that's happening.”

“The first promise I made to you, that I would stop you from destroying yourself!” Etho shouts, trying hard to keep his voice steady. “That I would hold you accountable for your mistakes.”

“So you think me working to make sure we were housed was a mistake?!” He shrieks, hand trembling on the knife. Grian's eyes squeeze shut. “Fighting put you through school Etho, it made sure you had clothes that fit and a roof over your head.”

“There were other ways!” Etho cries, taking a tentative step forward. “Ways that didn't involve me needing to learn how to do stitches, or hearing you cry in pain as I helped you walk or driving you to the hospital while you bled out in the backseat!”

“Like what?!”

“Anything! Like that cafe you wanted or that architecture degree you wanted to get on a government scholarship!” Etho rambles, hating the way his voice cracks. “We didn't have to resort to this. We would've figured something better out, we would’ve been okay so long as we were doing it together. You told me that when we were younger.”

“Younger.” Joel scoffs, looking close to spitting on the floor. “We were stupid and naive when we were younger. Too stuck in dreams and fantasies…”

He hears the way Joel's voice waivers, the way his eyes drift for a minute to a time of graffiti on walls and drinking out of the same bottle of shitty beer. Watching the sun set while Etho rested his head on Joel's shoulder, stiff fingers shoved into pockets as they delayed going back as long as they could.

“Love doesn't pay the bills Etho! Starving isn't romantic Etho, it's not fun!” Joel finishes with a harsh stare, pushing Grian harder against the rail.

“And what? Running from the law for the rest of our lives, never having safety or peace of mind ever again is!?” Etho counters, stomping his foot. “The club was a ticking time bomb Joel–”

“It wouldn’t have been if you kept oath, but no! You decided to be selfish instead and drag me under–!”

“One mistake Joel.” Etho shouts, clenching his fists. “Call me names all you want but that's all it took for Gem and Cub and Pearl to fall, one mistake. Did you really think we were going to succeed forever…?”

There's a pause, Joel faltering for only a moment that creates a gap just narrow enough for Etho to squeeze through.

“Please Joel, if you love me..."

Joel's eyes harden once more. "Don't even think of talking to me about love."

"I can't lose you.” Etho cries, loud enough that he feels eyes from the ground floor look up. Loud enough that he thinks it breaks through. “I don't want the only time I ever see you to be in alleyways or back corners, I don't want to learn how to smuggle food to you, I don't want to find out you were gunned down by police from the news one day.”

He gasps, finally feeling tears at the corner of his eyes. Finally feeling the flood of emotions, the worries and all the things he was too scared of saying pouring out all at once.

“I love you, I love you more than anything else in the world!” He manages through a broken sob. “I'm sorry it had to come to this but you weren't listening to me! You haven't listened to what I wanted for so long now.”

“I–”

“I don't want to hide anymore, I don't want to spend the rest of my days running.” He explains, taking another shaky step forward. “And I don't want someone else to lose someone they love.”

Scar hasn't dropped his gun the entire time despite how hard he’s shaking. Grian hasn't stopped staring at Scar, eyes wide and pleading.

“Please, don't let your pride destroy you.” Etho pleads, nearly close enough to reach out and touch Joel now. “We don't need the money this desperately anymore, we haven't needed the money this desperately in years and you know it. Don't let your ego tell you everything will be okay if you keep fighting, don't let it poison your mind and tell you what you're doing is right.”

Joel looks over Grian to the fight happening below, bodies unconscious on the floor and fighters in cuffs. Familiar screams of desperation and pain.

“It's over Joel.” Etho sighs, placing a gentle hand on Joel's arm; the one not holding a knife. “It's been over since it started, let's accept what'll happen next together.”

“I hate you.” He growls, teeth clenched together.

A lie.

“I know.”

“...but you promise?” He whispers in the smallest sounding voice, looking back up at Etho. Now there was his Joel. “Together?”

“You're never getting rid of me.”

Joel holds Etho's gaze for a moment longer before finally, and hesitantly, he steps back; letting the knife and Grian drop to the floor. He rips off his mask as Grian scrambles away on his hands and knees towards Scar's awaiting arms. Etho only manages a tiny step forward before Joel is suddenly closing the distance by taking a swing at him; fist colliding with his jaw.

“Ow! Joel–!”

“What? Couldn't let you get off easy for betraying the club.” He smirks before he's pulling Etho back in by his shirt for a kiss. Etho's fingers tangle into his hair, lips moving aggressively and all Etho can do is take it. It's not a ‘I forgive you’ kiss nor is it one for comfort, just a kiss because he can; because he wants to.

"You owe me one babe." He grins as he pulls away, he strolls past Etho and towards Grian and Scar who are still tangled together in a tight hug.

Grian turns when Joel approaches, raising an eyebrow at Joel as he holds his hands out. 

"Detective, I’d–we’d like to surrender."

On the night of September 20th, Joel Beans also known as Raijin along with several other notorious underground fighters were arrested at ‘The Relation’ on several charges of assault and battery, laundering, evading the law and illegal gambling. Beans is well known for having created and hosted an underground fighting ring alongside four other members; whom are all serving their sentences or awaiting trial. Lead detective of the case, Grian Xequla, responsible for shutting down all other clubs has refused to be interviewed saying this at the time of the arrests:

“They have a lot to atone for. They've hurt a lot of people intentionally and unintentionally but I believe they will speak for themselves in time. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go sleep for twenty hours straight. Thank you.”

Chapter Text

There's a melancholy feeling that comes with the end.

There's the instant feeling of relief, freedom and completion. It followed closely with pride, congratulations and knowing that you can rest easy now that it's everyone else's problem. And yet, as Grian lay in bed at night, staring up at the familiar ceiling and exhausted beyond belief; he couldn’t sleep. Because at the end there was another feeling that gnawed at the confines of his chest.

Emptiness.

Maybe that was a sign that Grian put too much emphasis on his work, too much of himself into his cases that every time he finished one he always found himself asking one question; what now? Closing a case always came with the crippling realization that there was nothing more that he could do than find another mountain to climb. That he’d gotten to the end and there was nowhere left to run, achieved the goal he’d worked for and now he had no idea what to do next. 

The feeling doesn't last.

Time moves forward, the world spins and Grian moves on. He finds time for his hobbies again– adding to his ever growing pottery collection–and time to spend time with friends. He takes vacation days to visit family and go travelling. He picks up new cases, ones that don't end with him in near death scenarios, and keeps small tabs on old ones in the back of his mind just in case. He was half a relationship now, given the title of boyfriend in the most awkwardly endearing way possible and now he had Scar’s hand, warm wrapped in his, as they strolled through the park; Grian's scarf pulled up to his mouth to keep the chill out.

The feeling never lasts.

The void is always filled by something or other and in all honesty he can barely remember his most recent case (something about horses mysteriously dying). But every now and again when his mind isn't busy, when his hands are still and when the space is quiet; he finds himself thinking about the members of Fight Club.

The group of people who singlehandedly took twenty years off his life and he still wonders if they're doing well. Still thinks about their last words to him before he had put them in cuffs. Still finds himself searching up their names in criminal registrars.

“...hello? Are you listening to me?”

Grian blinks himself back into the conversation, Scar staring at him with a knowing smile. “Hey, don't tell me you're thinking of work again? Gosh, can't leave it behind for a second can you…”

According to Joel's testimony from all that time ago there were no more clubs, he was the very start and it was only fitting that he was the very end. It was followed by a sad story about lack of food, shelter and money that involved participating in drug experiments, odd jobs and eventually underground fighting until it became all he knew; all he thought he was capable of. Violence being the only answer and the one solution.

And Grian realizes with quick embarrassment that he was proving Scar's point right now.

“No…well not technically.” He stresses only getting a click of Scar's tongue as a response.

“We're on a date right now mister, you're supposed to be thinking of me right now.”

“I am!” Grian insists, squeezing Scar's hand tightly. 

“Promise?” Scar pouts, giving Grian very big–and what Grian learned later on, also very deceiving at times–wet eyes. 

“I promise.” He states, pulling down his scarf with a finger, just enough to give Scar a peak on the cheek; something that warms both of them up just a little bit. “It's just…”

“Yeah?”

“Anything new with Cub?”

Scar and Cub’s relationship for the longest time was a tough topic to encroach, something that dampened the mood of a conversation and had Scar giving a tight lipped smile and a ‘we're working on things’ at best. Things were rocky, tentative and fragile at best but Cub tried really hard and Scar gave him the time of day and before Grian could truly process the fact that he was gone, Cub was back at the office with terrible coffee in hand–no ankle monitor needed–laughing at whatever joke Scar made like no time had passed at all. It wasn't easy, there were a lot of days when Grian found himself comforting Scar through spirals but they were best friends and Grian had a feeling they were always going to choose each other.

Platonic soulmates he once told them, he thinks they both believe it.

“Cub? I mean…he's still doing his research!” Scar exclaims, eyebrows furrowed in thought. “Other than the usual stuff, he's apparently starting to work with Pearl on combining sculk power with her tech or something like that.”

“Pearl? Fight Club Pearl?”

“Yeah?” Scar smiles, looking at Grian from the corner of his eye. “Do you know any other Pearl's?”

“And Gem? How's Gem doing?”

“I didn't know you cared about them so much G.” Scar chuckles, letting go of Grian's hand to instead bring an arm around his shoulders. “Where is this coming from?”

“I don't know, I was bored the other day and I started browsing old news articles for some reason and I saw that Joel was released a few months ago and I just…I was wondering about them.” Grian rambles, feeling heat in his cheeks as Scar only laughs.

“We can go visit if you want.”

“Visit?” Grian repeats incredulously before shaking his head roughly. “I'm not sure they'd like that…”

“Well I don’t mean at their house or something like that for Pete’s sake!” Scar laughs like Grian is even silly for even thinking that. “What I mean is…well come on, I’ll show you. It's not that far!”

Scar drags Grian along a few familiar streets, only tugging him more insistently whenever Grian asked where they were going. They pass by the bakery that's already sold out, someone sweeping the floor inside. They cross the road at the pedestrian crossing that used to have a large pothole–thankfully now filled after many complaints–before taking a right at the overpass, stopping, at Scar's insistence, at the rundown convenience store to buy a pack of gum. They walk towards the late night ramen shop and a vintage clothes shop, between them a building that used to be a “bar” known as “The Relation” which then foreclosed and is now a small bookstore run by an odd couple who played old records at the door.

Scar doesn't let him linger.

Instead they walk along the cracked pavement all the way down to the end of the street where a newer building that Grian has never seen before sits. It's a Japanese café and bar with a small chalkboard outside that stated they had a special on Kanzake accompanied by a cute drawing underneath. Scar ushers him inside, still no explanation but a wide enough smile on his face that Grian follows anyway.

Grian's is quickly greeted by the scent of cake and coffee, gentle conversation and a warm atmosphere. People sit in small cherry blossom themed booths or at colourful steel tables with smiles on their faces, enjoying cute pastries or drinking out of large cups. The place bathes in soft lighting, murals of Japanese forests and architecture painted on the wall. Despite all the decor, what draws Grian’s eyes first is a white haired man standing behind the counter wearing a large apron, a familiar red head sitting on a bar stool ahead of him and laughing at whatever he just said.

“Etho? Gem?” Grian gasps out of sheer shock.

The man turns to him first, eyebrows raised for a second before his face settles into something neutral. “Detective, here to do a health inspection or something?”

It's teasing but there's a hint of hesitation behind his voice, Gem raises her eyebrows at them, a half smile on her face. They both look better than Grian last saw them, fuller cheeks and shinier hair.

“No he's here to look for hidden buttons and levers he can activate without a second thought.” Gem teases with a laugh.

Grian turns to Scar, dropping his voice. “How did you–”

“I come here with Cub sometimes.”

Gem beckons them both over with a wave. “Come on, you two are already here, you may as well sit down.”

Grian hesitantly walks over at Scar's signal, taking a seat at the counter near Gem. Etho drops two laminated menus in front of them, cherry blossom pink.

“I'm afraid you're going to have to come back with a warrant if you two want to search the premises.” Etho adds, leaning on the counter as they settle. Again teasing but the same nervous twitch to his hand.

“No I'm just here to…” Grian trails off, realizing only then how weird it sounds to want to check up on someone he arrested. “I'm just here to get a drink, Scar wanted me to see this place.”

Scar looks surprised for a split second but he nods enthusiastically anyway. “What was that drink on the chalkboard? Started with a k?”

“Is that all?”

“Yeah.”

“Be right back.” Etho responds, jotting something down quickly on a notepad before walking into the back.

“So what are you really here for detective?” Gem starts as soon as Etho disappears behind the curtain, pushing a plate with nothing but crumbs on it to the side. “Got a random tip about this place? Here to interrogate some people?”

“No, just getting a drink.” He promises, spinning in his chair, questions resting heavy on his tongue. “How are you and Pearl?”

“Engaged.”

“Congrats.” He replies as Gem flashes the Emerald coloured ring on her finger, looking as though she's trying hard to dampen her excitement. “And the dockyard?”

“Had to step down, I'm sure you already know, but I still go on trips and help with the place, it's running fine.”

“That's good.”

Conversation dries up, both of them sitting in a sort of stalemate as Gem eyes him suspiciously and Grian tries not to shrink. He doesn't blame them for their mistrust, even if he helped them he knows it's hard not to think the worse with everything that's happened. Grian's saved from a half pieced together apology when another pair of people walk through the front entrance. 

“Well, look what the cat dragged in.” Pearl grins, Cub at her side with a familiar lab coat on. “I thought it was about time that Scar brought you over here.”

“I–”

“Cub said you keep tabs on us.” She adds, slipping into the seat beside Gem.

“You noticed?!” He gasps, Pearl only smiling as a response.

“Not hard too.” Cub shrugs as he slumps into the seat on the other side of Scar. “I see the stuff you look up on your laptop.”

“Aww, were you worried about us Grian?” Gem coos, swatting Grian on the arm roughly. He doesn't know if that's intentional or if he's just weak just yet. “That's so cute.”

“I was just wondering if you were doing well after your releases, that's all.”

“We're alright, not much thanks to you.” 

The tone of the room shifts ever so slightly at the intruding voice. Joel popping out from the back with Etho in tow, curtain swinging behind them. Etho shoots him an apologetic glance, like he tried to stop this from happening. 

“Joel.”

“Grian.”

“I–”

“I suppose I owe you an apology.” Joel states, placing down a white bottle, which Grian assumes is his sake, onto the counter. “I did try to kill you last time we saw each other.”

The tension in the room dissipates ever so slightly, Cub chuckling under his breath while Gem leans into Pearl.

“And I'm sorry for arresting you.”

Joel snorts. “Are you?”

“Kinda.”

“Yeah and I'm only kinda sorry too.”

Grian doesn't like that he laughs, feeling a bit of stress melt out of him. “Staying out of trouble I hope, Joel?”

“Been a saint.” Joel winks.

“Then I trust that the drink you're about to serve me isn't poison.”

“No…too obvious.”

Another unexpected laugh is pulled out of him. Grian doubts they'll ever be close but maybe in another universe, he and Joel are close friends. 

“What about the food?”

Joel shakes his head with a grin. “I respect the food too much for that.”

Grian takes a look at the menu. At the corner of his eye he can see Joel sneaking a glance at Gem with a knowing look on his face, a look that says to stand down. She smiles, only shrugging half heartedly before her attention is back on Pearl; nuzzling into her neck as they start their own personal conversation. 

In the time it takes Grian to decide on a pastry, Etho finds himself called on by another customer at the end of the counter and Cub pulled into another common ramble from Scar. Which only leaves Grian and Joel left without something to do.

“Just a chocolate croissant.”

“Good choice.” Joel responds, scribbling something down into a notepad quickly before pouring a bit of sake into Grian's glass. Joel seems to come to the same conclusion that they're both stuck with each other for a bit–as shown by him raising a questioning eyebrow at Grian as he pours–but he also seems to be leaving it for Grian to make the first move.

So he does.

“So…” Grian starts, tapping his fingers against the menu. “This is new I'm assuming.”

“Yeah, Etho's idea really.” Joel hums, placing the bottle back down. “He did all the paperwork and funding, started it when I was still locked up and now I just help with the baking and the behind the counter stuff…no idea why he'd want to keep me in the back honestly.”

Grian snorts. “Yes I'm sure you're a sweetheart Joel.”

“Probably because I'm too handsome.” Joel chuckles, pausing for a second at the end of the sentence. Like what comes next is hard for him to say. “You know…”

“Yeah?”

“I expected to be a lot madder at you honestly, I think we all did.”

Grian's eyes go wide. “You're not?”

“Well I wouldn't go as far as to say we're not mad." He deflects, stressing the word at the end. "You can't arrest a guy and expect to be best friends but I know you helped out Gem and Pearl and all things considered…it's whatever mate.”

“Whatever?” Grian repeats, almost incredulously. Not that he isn't grateful but it seems a bit too good to be true.

“I mean realistically, if it wasn't you it would've been someone else eventually. Not to say it's the way I wanted to go out but what happened was probably the best case scenario. For the best or whatever.” Joel explains, gesturing to Etho who's now moved into a deep conversation with Cub. “He smiles a lot more now, so maybe I owe a little bit of that to you.”

“That's all you Joel…all of this really.”

“Maybe.” He grins before he's pulling away just as fast, rapping on the counter to get everyone's attention. “Well it's been a while since we've had all of us together…with some unexpected guests, I think this calls for a toast.”

“And who's paying for the bottle?” Etho asks, eyes lifted up in a smile but still pulling out more glasses and another larger bottle from under the counter.

“The detective graciously offered.” Joel’s grin only grows wider, Grian can only roll his eyes. “So let's get a cheers going.”

“What are we cheering for?” Scar asks, clapping his hands together in excitement.

“Same as always.” Joel shrugs as he lazily pours sake into everyone else's cup. “Don't see why we need to change it. We're still members of the fight club, whether or not our fight club is underground or at the gym.”

“The detective in particular has technically fought in all of them–” Pearl giggles.

“Do I get a prize?” Grian jokes.

“You already got your prize.” Joel scoffs, dropping the bottle onto the counter beside the other one.

"And with the way he fought...I wouldn't say he exactly earned one either." Gem adds with a laugh.

"Hey!"

“I mean if you want to get super technical with it, some elements of the case are private to the public so the phrase does still work in a way.” Cub cuts in, still as rational as always.

Scar looks around confused. “Wait, I'm lost. What am I supposed to say? What's the toast?”

“Just follow my lead.” Joel smirks, raising his glass up high and everyone else close behind.  “Ladies and gentlemen, a toast…to what we can't talk about.”

“To what we can't talk about!”