Archive of Our Own

 The sun slants just so, reaching scorching fingers in through the window, and I feel a burning sensation on my shoulder.  That goddamn birthmark. Better not be turning into skin cancer. My stomach rolls with nausea at the thought; I don't want to go out like mom did. That'd been really terrible. An instant after I register foot-steps, there's a knock on the window.  It's a cop, and fuck are his eyes blue. His stare is so intense I'm gulping nervously. What could I have done to piss him off? I roll the window down in a hurry, flashing my best "just us chickens" smile.

 "Hello, officer."

 "Good afternoon," he says as the stereo spits out, "your pain is a hea—" I snap off the volume and finger my collar; the officer's hand is now resting on his gun. He blinks owlishly and puts his hands on the window sill.

 "There was a robbery nearby, have you heard or seen anything unusual?"

 Oh. Oh. No wonder this guy is twitchy. Come to think of it—

"Well there was this douche-bag that peeled out of here in a Toyota. Guess that was ten minutes ago. No idea what his deal was."

 The cop swipes his tongue across his lips as he gets out a notepad. His hands and gaze are steady. He flips a new page open. "Make, model?"

 "Black. Probably early 2000's. Two-door piece of crap, probably a Civic." I swallow thickly as his creeper stare intensifies.

 "What were you doing out here at this time, Mr...?"

 "Winchester. Just eating lunch and listening to a dumb tape on my break. Where'd this guy hit, anyway?" We're in the middle of an industrial park.

 Officer Death-Stare's lips thinned into a pink line. "Would you be available in case your assistance in identifying the vehicle is required?"

 "I guess. I mean, for what it's worth." I roll my shoulders and open the glove-box, noticing the cop's shoulders bunching up out of the corner of my eye. Paranoid son of a bitch. I hand over my business card. His fingertips are dry but I sweat right onto him, as I pass the card over. Crap. Guess cops still give me the jeebies since I got busted for joy-riding as a teenager.

 He accepts the card, flipping his notepad closed. "Thank-you, Mr. Winchester. Your co-operation is appreciated."

 I give him a two-finger salute. "Anyone would do the same, officer...?"

 "Novak." He hands me a card of his own. "Call me if you can think of any other details. Good-day."

 Weird dude. His card goes in my pocket. I blink and he's already five paces away from the car. Huh. Fast. I note the crisp seams straight down his navy trousers. He doesn't fit the stereotypes about cops and doughnuts, that's for sure. I roll my shoulders and sigh, glad it's over. The sour cream and onion potato chips and left-over jerk chicken I had for lunch sit uneasily in my stomach. The shoulders on my shirt feel too tight, my collar too. Guess I've been cooped up in here for too long. Only got another five minutes on break, anyway. I get out of my car, lock with the push of a button and pat baby's roof fondly before heading back to work.

 Walking over to the other side of the building, my phone rings. I pause in the shadow of an over-hang, and pull it out. It's my brother. "Yeah?"

 "So get this: The place next door to your work got robbed! The whole thing's on Youtube, dude."

 "Chill out there, Samantha. Yeah I just got squeezed by officer friendly in the parking lot. Didn't know it was so close, though. What the fuck happened? Guy played it tighter than a juvie kid's asshole."

 "Some mobile games developer got their pricey shit fleeced. Total bummer."

 "What, you're telling me angry birds needs 1000$ computers now?"

 Sam snorts. "You'd be surprised."

 "You'd know, Mr.Skeezy porn guy."

 "Whatever. I'm not the one keeps harassing those "It's not Star Trek" porn guys asking when they're going to get a Riker look-alike because of your super obvious crush!"

 "Hey! Riker is so manly it's more gay to not have a crush on him. Shut your whore mouth!"

 "Yeah, yeah. Well, whatever. Here, I've sent you the Youtube link."

 "Thanks. I'll check it out in a bit. Later."

 "Later."

 It seems a bit livelier than usual as I cross the offensively beige lobby. Between the grey-speckled ceiling panels, paint, and fluorescent lights it's like the 80s barfed in here. "Hey guys." a few of my buddies are engaged in speculation about the flashing red and blue lights in the distance, but my break's about up and I don't want to get into shit with my boss, Ellen. This close to a new release, everyone's on a short leash.

 My desk is about how I left it—pretty clean and with the screen turned off. I push the power button and see the wallpaper's been fucked with. Again. It's a screenshot of the Rocky Horror Picture Show with my head pasted onto Rocky's body.  

 "Fucking Gabriel," I swear under my breath. He has been goddamn relentless in insisting we go to "Beers for Queers" the gay karaoke night held the last Thursday of the month at the dive punk bar downtown. Only the west coast, I swear to Christ. The icing on the cake? A speech balloon that says "I'm a Frankie fan" coming out of Rocky's mouth, despite that being Janet's line and Rocky being a mute. I sniff indignantly, then pull up a stock photo of the horsehead nebula on google to replace the cheesy wallpaper and resume work. My job's not super-exciting, but I can't really talk about it. I do system security programming, develop crypto-key generators and stuff like that. I like fixing things so people find them impossible to take apart. I might even kind of get off on the idea that once I put something together nobody else can break it. When I was in my teens, I got into some really shady stuff, and if I hadn't ended up in jail for something else entirely I probably would've ended up in way more serious trouble.

I open the remote desktop program and amuse myself for a couple minutes clicking random shit open on Gabe's computer while he's ass-deep on bug fixes for the new release. I hear swearing from across the room. Chuckling, I settle into finishing out the day, finding my place and continuing to tweak shit. A few hours later, a message pops up on Mumble.

 Godgiven: Hey bra you know Charlie'd luv to go too. Her ginger-ass would be all over it. ;)

 I groan and scrub my hands through my hair.

Winbester: Maybe.

I have a hopeless crush on Charlie. She's like the little sister I never had and it gets me going. I want to bend over backwards for her and have her order me around, make me eat her under her desk and deny me any kind of release. Yank me around by a collar. I know it's sick and wrong but that just makes it hotter. Watching all that Japanese porn anime from a young age probably wasn't good for me. Except for where, oh yeah it totally was.

 Godgiven: Definitely. Idk why you're fighting me on this. I know how much you love karaoke!

 Winbester: You just want to see me make an ass of myself.

 Godgiven: And what an ass! .:smirk:.

 Winbester: Get out of here. Aren't you on company time?

 Godgiven: Point?

 With a sigh I check the clock. Two minutes. Ok, whatever. Guess I spent a couple minutes zoned out thinking about Charlie in thigh-highs, a criminally short mini-skirt, twin pony-tails and a leash in hand. Oops, there I go again. I'm a grown man, dammit! My cheeks are burning. Jesus. Yeah getting drunk around Charlie who I know is so gay and whining out my feelings by butchering a song by Muse is a great idea. Fucking Gabriel.

 Winbester: .... so I guess this is happening.