Work Text:
He lit his cigarette, dropping the match to the ground and snuffing it out with his foot as he inhaled, before slowly exhaling the smoke, watching it curl through the night's sky as he slumped back against the wall. He kept an ear on the street, not that anyone would pass at this time. It was eerie, a 2am quiet that might once have made his skin crawl - the night was violent, and full of people like him and worse, quiet was usually a pre-empter of tragedy - but not tonight. Tonight there was... nothing. Nothing but the thoughts in his own head.
His hand dropped to his pocket, pulling out an old disposable lighter. He'd kept it all these years, his "good luck charm" he'd stolen from someone who needed it more than him, and then he'd turned her in. She might have agreed to turn herself in anyway, but if she hadn't... what did that mean for him? Abandoning a decade of trust and respect because his... well, not his anything. They'd agreed to one night at an unknown future point and to discuss it in the morning, but then everything went to hell when he caught those damn cigarettes lying outside their window when he'd gone to visit. He put the lighter back.
The hatch a few metres away opened and he listened for light, slow footsteps, a quiet sigh of relief when he heard the expected footfalls of the PI.
"Elena Earnest," he said evenly, taking another quick drag of his cigarette. He'd never paid her more attention than anyone else in the bar before, but she'd been a regular topic of conversation these last few days. Sandra had been both apprehensive of the woman and in awe.
"Peter Wagner," the woman replied, voice bored, unsurprised. He exhaled and grimaced. He supposed it was a predictable move.
"You catch the culprit then?" he asked roughly. His throat felt dry, scratchy, the words hard to force out.
"We made our report, yes. I've been advised they intend to confess though, so it was a touch unnecessary... unless they changed their mind," Elena replied.
"She hasn't. Left her confession earlier tonight," he said quietly. She had. She'd left a note on the detective's desk, not wanting to talk to him but also not wanting some other pig to take the credit. Old habits died hard it seemed, and she'd dragged him along to pick the office locks. He'd gone along to make one last attempt to make her see reason, tried one last time for her to let him take the blame. She just shook her head and smiled, the first time she'd genuinely smiled since she started staying at his flat. It was corny, but there was more than the weight of just one letter that she left behind at that office. On the walk back she'd seemed content. He wished he could feel the same.
"So?" Elena asked, interrupting his thoughts. His eyes narrowed, and he got on with what he actually stuck around for.
"You were a detective, and you're not working with the pigs again yet," he said with a frown. "So I figure you might give me a straight answer. What's the chance, do you think, that I can do it. Go straight and all that?" The words felt bitter in his mouth. He looked away as Elena pursed her lips, and he took another drag.
"That depends on you my dear. There's no route by which this is easy. You served time for some of your crimes, and that's all some people will ever see. Fresh starts are hard to come by, and not always given to those worthy of them. Do you think you are?" she asked, eyes narrowing.
He hesitated. Was he? He'd robbed, extorted, and assaulted. He didn't relish in it but he wasn't a stranger to murder either. There was no real reason, no defence, it was just all he knew and he was good at it. He was hardly winning citizen of the year and he probably never would. There was an honesty in selfishness; he'd leave piety to dangerously nosy bartenders - not that justice was allowing their praises to be sung either. He thought back. The horror but absolute disbelief on their face when he tried to convince them he was a killer who'd been taking them for a fool the entire time. Goddess knew he didn't deserve that level of faith.
"There are people who believe I am, people I trust," he said. Elena nodded curtly.
"Unexpectedly emotional, but that didn't answer the question," she observed. His eyebrows furrowed. He dropped his cigarette, twisting his foot on it to extinguish it.
"As Karla's enforcer I said I was neutral. The natural consequence to other people's choices. I still think that. I'm not looking to atone. But watching the Nightcap this past year? Maybe there's a better way to do it," he said. Elena nodded.
"Have you ever considered PI work?" she said. "You'd be outside of the system, and you've provided priceless insight to more than a couple of these cases - not all because of your background." Peter hummed lightly.
"I don't think anyone would trust me enough for that," he said.
"Your name is well known in some circles, yes, but your face less so. You could abandon a name that wasn't yours to begin with," she said. He huffed out a laugh, thinking back to when the bartender had suggested the Wagner he'd been inspired by was a spy from a book series. That had been wrong, but maybe there was something to it.
"And have no history to back it up with? Common enough among criminals, but I thought you worked with more respectable folk," he said sourly. Elena smiled.
"That's less of a problem than you might think, with our contacts," she said. "But it's late. Think about it, you know where to find me if you reach a decision." She poked her head out of the alleyway, content to see no-one else around.
"I have no idea where to find you," he said. "I don't think you'll be back here again until the next case." Because there would be another, they both knew it, but when was another question. She shrugged.
"Then you have a first task. Good night, Peter," she said, walking down the street. He looked after her, quizzically. He could follow her. The information might be useful whichever way he decided. But tonight? He was exhausted, even the coffee in his usual Cold Winter having little effect today. He looked at the hatch, surprised neither the detective or the bartender had come up yet. He definitely wasn't ready for the conversation when they did. It was time to go. Home. To his dog Rudiger and the last few days of having his oldest friend around.
---
The lock clicked and he pushed the door open gently, wincing as it past the point where it creaked and hoping Sandra wasn't woken as Rudiger's head perked up from the sofa. He frowned, noticing the room was brighter than it should be, a flickering yellow emitting from the doorframe of the kitchen. He walked across the room, spotting a familiar figure sat at the table in the other room, coffee in hand.
"So, did you get what you needed?" Sandra asked, a small, knowing smile on her face. Peter leant on the doorframe, arms crossed.
"They're making their report now, it's not too late, you could still run," he said. She scowled.
"Not this again. I'm tired of running, if I can do my time and have something to come back to this time, it's worth it," she said. He looked away, hoping history wouldn't repeat itself. When she got out last time he knew she had nowhere to go. He'd tried to help her, but he worked for Karla and Sandra was an old employee of King's pretending not to be. Bringing her to Karla's notice would have been problematic, a four-year loose end Karla hadn't accounted for before. Karla was gone now, but who knew where he'd be and what he'd be doing when Sandra got out. If he'd fallen back in with the gangs he still wouldn't be able to help her, even if he wasn't dead or in prison himself by then.
"That's a lot of ifs. You're counting on me staying on the straight and narrow and Blue not changing his mind and throwing our bartender in prison anyway - or worse, stabbing you in the back again and not coming through with that lawyer. You should have let me take the blame," he said. She laughed, and he looked back towards her.
"I'm not letting you take the fall for something I did Peter, and you just made every argument I needed to trust Hugo," she said, eyes glimmering as she smirked.
"What?" he asked.
"Seriously Peter? 'Blue'? Seems you made friends while I was gone," she said teasingly. He clenched his fists.
"He's going to take my begrudging respect and play us all for fools, again," Peter said. There was a silence. The seconds stretched out towards a minute as the suffocating acknowledgement Peter was probably right settled.
"We can't distrust everyone forever," Sandra said quietly. "The new kid's lasted what? A year so far? They might be right, maybe he has changed."
"It's different. We're criminals, they're not. Things don't work the same between us," he said. Sandra blanched.
"We're all criminals in a speakeasy, Peter," she said frostily. "Don't put your fear of relationships on me." He raised an eyebrow.
"Love, if you think I'm about to start shacking up with a pig..." he started. She rolled her eyes.
"The bartender," Sandra groaned. "You'd rather go to prison than risk commitment "
"What the hell, Sandra. That's not why-"
"I know. I know. But it was convenient for you, wasn't it?" He stomped through the kitchen, rifling through the cupboards. He knew there was a bottle of moonshine somewhere around here...
"Do you really think I'm that pathetic?" he asked.
"I don't think it's pathetic at all," she said, watching him for a moment before continuing. "I tipped the moonshine by the way, they'll probably come here to arrest me and we don't need them finding that." Peter sighed.
"Good point," he said. "Smoke?" She nodded and he pulled the pack out, nodding his head outside. They didn't smoke in his apartment. He was well aware smoking was a nasty habit and he didn't care, but the smell he'd prefer was around as little as possible.
He lit their cigarettes and they stood outside in a more comfortable silence before he reached down to his pocket and grabbed the lighter, pulling it out and staring at it. She snorted.
"You know if you'd have given me my lighter back I could have lit my own, right?" she asked. He stared at it a moment more before holding it out to her. She frowned at him and gestured at her cigarette. "It's already lit."
"I'm giving it back. I've had more luck than I'd have deserved in a lifetime. Whatever happens from here, happens," he said.
"You know I don't believe in all that, right? I'll probably lose it before I'm arrested," she said. He shrugged. She took the lighter and pocketed it before hesitating. "You know, you've got something great, don't fuck it up." Peter snorted. He didn't need to ask what - who - she was talking about.
"Thanks," he grunted, before his face softened. "I know. I'll try." She nodded as Rudiger padded outside, nudging Peter's hand with his head. Peter gave the dog a scratch, as him and Sandra looked out into the night.