Archive of Our Own ^beta

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In your line of work, you were used to things not going as planned. More so due to the fact your approach was less than traditional. Though at work you played the role of dutiful investigator, documenting and processing crime scenes, you had... extracurriculars, so to speak. After the rise of the Blueblood Killer, you’d taken on the mantle of vigilantism- a lofty term to distract you from the fact that you were likely no better than those you were pursuing. While many of your colleagues took to organizing crime watches and taking similar precautions, your approach was unorthodox to say the least. To put it plainly, you were a killer yourself, as much as you hated to acknowledge it. You focused on those who had committed particularly heinous crimes and escaped the reach of the law; though you told yourself your actions were a net good, you also knew that calling your proclivity for them concerning was an understatement. All things considered, there was no way you could have expected the turn the evening would take.

You’d been filing SAR reports when a chirpy notification on your desktop informed you of two BOLOs the local crime watch had pushed. Scanning over the information on each, you glanced at the police sketches of the two prowlers. While both definitely seemed dangerous, the kidnapper didn’t concern you as much. Of the two, he seemed more cautious, calculated. He likely had a reputation and employers to protect, so you hoped you’d be fine so long as you took precautions. The younger one, seemed more of a wild card, and despite yourself, your eye lingered on his sketch. In another situation, you’d have found him cute, attractive even, though the department’s sketch artists were admittedly not the most accurate. The report made him sound slippery, and while the PD certainly had a large amount of information on him, including some of the aftermath you’d seen personally, they’d been unable to catch him so far.

His scenes were clean, sterile, fitting for a doctor, though you were sure he was only playing at being one. Running around in a lab coat wielding a syringe of giraffe tranquilizer seemed a little over the top, not to mention that the police likely could have researched his credentials otherwise. While he was vain, showing off to the police and even taunting them, he’d also been sparing with anything that could actually lead to an arrest. A part of you despised him for the acts he committed, but another part you didn’t want to acknowledge admired him for the effort and ability he clearly displayed in the staging of his scenes. Your pulse thrummed at the thought of coming face to face with him and stopping him, either in court to see him sentenced or in a less traditional sense.

You shook your head to dispel the thought. You needed to get to work and take steps to prevent either of the men from adding you to their body-count; while BOLOs from the police department itself typically encompassed a larger area, like the greater city or the counties around it, these, from the crime watch, were local.

Exiting out of the BOLO window, you stood up from your desk, checking the windows to ensure they were locked. While the doctor and the kidnapper seemed more than capable of picking a lock and you weren’t exactly in the habit of leaving your windows unlatched and open, the methodical action gave you some peace of mind. You settled back into your desk chair, getting lost in the rhythm of looking into your reports, checking the security cameras intermittently. You weren’t sure whether or not you hoped more for one of them to turn up or stay away.

It was on your return from resetting the router and peering out of the corner of your eye at the cam footage that you spied a lithe figure in a spotless coat sprinting across your lawn.

Your pulse quickened, heartbeat pounding in your ears as your hands found the knife in your desk drawer, fingers curling around the cool hilt, before placing it next to the edge of the keyboard. With the doors and windows locked, you knew you had time, limited as it may be. You decided to pretend you hadn’t seen him to try and get the jump on him. Fixing your gaze on the computer screen, you could hear the soft padding of footsteps behind you; had you really been engrossed in your reports, it was unlikely you would have heard them. You glanced at his reflection in the monitor, fixing your expression as though you were intent on the document in front of you. The sketch artist certainly did him a disservice. Though his reflection on the screen was faded and distorted, he was handsome with high cheekbones and dark eyes. Leaning in a little closer to the screen in faux enrapturement, you thought it was strange he hadn’t made a move. Was he waiting for you to turn around?

You decided to try something. Your cursor hovered for a second over the shortcut for the BOLOs before you double clicked to pull them up, hoping it wasn’t too obvious that you knew he was here. As his file appeared on screen, you heard a quiet but sharp intake of breath behind you, or was it a chuckle? You scanned it again before closing it, and pretended to start your next report, figuring he’d most expect you to stand up before starting a new report or just after filing an old one. The air was tense. As you began the rote procedure of searching the DMV’s records, you saw him lean back and settle in slightly. Though prepared and ready to spring forward with the syringe clutched in his hand and thumb on the plunger, he leaned back on his heels a little. He seemed set to wait. You took this as perhaps your best and only opening.

Gaze steady on the computer screen, you gripped the knife from earlier and steeled yourself before turning suddenly and springing forward. Though it seemed he had a clever witticism lined up for you, it was soon cut off. With his arms up in preparation to sink the syringe into your neck, you went low and tackled him from the torso, causing him to fall backwards and land flat on his back with a grunt. You straddled his waist to keep him still, a knee on either side of his body. Wresting the syringe from his (surprisingly smooth) hands, you managed to pin his arms above his head with one arm, and used the other to press the cool steel of your knife against his throat. It was less of a direct threat, and more of a show of your own force; while you wouldn’t hesitate should it be necessary, slitting his throat would certainly make an ungodly, very incriminating mess. And, as a thought at the back of your head whispered, it would be such a waste.

The "doctor" shivered against the chill of your blade, goosebumps forming on his neck as his Adam’s apple bobbed. While it was certain he understood your threat, he seemed almost unfazed by it as he split into a crooked grin, almost knowingly. "Don’t try anything," you gritted out. He said your name, your full name, almost in a purr, pupils blown. The way he held your name in his mouth almost sounded as though he’d met a celebrity or a long lost friend. He seemed almost unfazed by the entirety of events leading up to this."How rude of me. Tanner Grayton." There was a pause in which a normal person in a normal situation would offer to shake your hand.

"I know a lot about you, detective." You were sure he mistitled you on purpose. "I don’t think it’s a stretch to assume you’ve done some digging on me yourself."

"I process the scenes," you said flatly. "It’s a professional curiosity. And I’m sure the cops would love to get their hands on you."

He feigned hurt, but his grin held, and perhaps even widened. "I’m sure they’d love to hear about your little hobbies as well." Your face blanched, and you instinctively bore down harder on the knife, the blade just shy of biting into his neck.

"Don’t look so surprised, detective. The cops might be clueless, but my colleagues tend to notice when people start to drop like flies. You’ve been busy. Good work though, really, very clean. Wasn’t even sure it was you until just now." He let out a bark of laughter.

"You can lose the butter knife, by the way. Consider this a... social call."

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