Chapter Text
The longer this party goes on, the more of Joonghyuk’s soul leaves his body. Everyone that knew him would agree that he wasn’t a particularly social person to begin with, but these types of formal gatherings push his interpersonal ability to the limit.
The shimmer of the expensive chandeliers as the light bounces off of them enters his peripheral vision. If Joonghyuk unfocuses for a bit, he can feel himself fade away, away from the luxury velvet lining the seat cushions, away from the patterned polar white linen covering the tabletop that his fingertips rested on.
He breathes in slowly, trying to mimic the calming breathing exercises Mia had shown him (“Oppa, look what they taught us in class today!”) after noticing his tendency for high stress and tension in practically everything he did. Joonghyuk couldn’t help it; he was a bit of a perfectionist, the slightest variation liable to cause tremors in his vision.
It had been hours at this pointless banquet, a showy display of bureaucracy that did a fine job of getting on Joonghyuk’s nerves. The host was one of Bihyung’s to-be colleagues, Poseidon, a well known American politician. Of course that made Joonghyuk trust him less, but Poseidon had just flashed that same old charming (fake) politician at him upon entering and greeting him.
The only reason he had elected to attend even had to do with Bihyung, for which the gathering was being held in the first place. Bihyung had been serving as a loyal politician for a while and as such was invited to a respectable position as the Korean Ambassador in the United States of America, the post to which he would be leaving in a few days time.
Joonghyuk’s invitation had come in the form of a fancy mailed letter, on account of him being one of the best detectives in Seoul, Bihyung choosing to work with him again and again. Even now, as Bihyung made a toast announcement before they sat down to finally eat, Joonghyuk heard his name mentioned.
“A big thanks to our Inspector Yoo Joonghyuk, who assisted in recovering very valuable, priceless Korean artifacts from an antique trafficking ring— no petty thieves.”
His keen eyes catch a twitch in Poseidon’s brow bone, but there is no otherwise effect to his stoic countenance, lips drawing up into a smile to congratulate their feat.
Joonghyuk’s ribs ache slightly in remembrance of said recovery, which had been a very complicated, drawn-out operation in which they hadn’t even been able to catch the key-perpetrator.
Asmodeus had left a vase in a precarious position before they started exchanging blows (Joonghyuk had long disarmed him, losing his own gun in the process). Joonghyuk had dived to catch it as it finally tipped over, successfully rescuing over 1000 years of history.
As he rolled onto his back after setting it carefully on the ground, though, one of Asmodeus’ henchmen had pressed his boot into Joonghyuk’s sternum, exerting pressure to prevent him from getting up. And so, he could only watch as the motor-boat sped away from the dock, devoid of any merchandise thankfully, but still a black mark on Joonghyuk’s name.
Bihyung is still talking about the planning that went into the operation and the personnel that had been required to pull it off, dutifully commemorating each one.
Joonghyuk stifles a yawn, already tired with the workplace politics. His fatigue from a full shift before dinner is also starting to catch up.
Then, finally, the speech is over and dinner begins, the other unfamiliar faces not wasting a second to dig in. At the very least, he wasn’t as unsightly as they were. Before he is even able to get a bite, though, a staff-worker comes to whisper in his ear that he is being summoned by the young master— Bihyung’s daughter.
He follows the worker and waits for her to leave before speaking to the young girl.
“What is the problem, Biyoo—”
Joonghyuk is interrupted by a tiny fist punching his gut. It was full of rage and hurt. He crouches so he is at direct eye level with her.
“You didn’t say you weren’t coming with us.”
Ah, that was the problem.
His voice is soft, much softer than anyone else has managed to make him speak, save for his sister, “I would come with you, if I could, but I need to stay here. Try and understand for me, Biyoo, please.”
His voice is almost pleading at the end. There are few people left in Joonghyuk’s life that he cares for and this incredible little girl is one of them.
She is visibly upset, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, but she reluctantly nods, ”Okay… I’ll try… for you..”
“I knew you could do it.”
Biyoo’s frown deepens, “I’ll miss you.”
Joonghyuk had no idea to comfort children, adults too, but from what he had seen, he should do something like—
Biyoo gasps slightly as she is pulled into an embrace, “I’ll miss you too, Biyoo.”
And then, he pulls a box out of his pocket, “I was going to give this to your father to give you on the plane, but I think you need it right now.”
It’s an expensive, elegant necklace. Nothing a child would be unable to handle, but beautiful nonetheless. Her eyes sparkle seeing the pretty jewelry, a pearl necklace protected by interlacing gold lines. There are small gold leaves carved into the edges, making them look like vines wrapping around the gemstone.
“Can I really have this…? It’s so pretty...”
“It’s already yours,” Joonghyuk urges Biyoo to turn around so he can put the necklace on now, and she obliges.
She touches the valuable gem resting under her collarbone with slight reverence, a precious gift from Joonghyuk.
“I’ll protect it with my life!”
Joonghyuk startles, “There’s no need to go that far, I can always get you another one.”
Biyoo giggles and something settles in his chest, everything is right. As long as Biyoo, and Yoo Mia, are safe, everything is alright.
Her mood finally improved, Biyoo reluctantly allows Joonghyuk to return to the feast; he eats his meal quietly, contemplative, before leaving early to go home to his sister.
They watch TV on the couch together, but Joonghyuk notices Mia’s heart isn’t in it, even though it’s her favourite show.
“Is something wrong?”
“The reason we’re not going to America… It’s because of me, isn’t it?”
Joonghyuk stiffens. His sister was too smart for her own good. He had been the same at her age. That’s why he knows lying to her is pointless, the truth will be pried out of him eventually.
“Yes, we’re staying here for you. But it’s because I don’t want to move around and force you to adapt to a new environment. I want to do what’s best for you.”
“Then, does Oppa want to go?”
He tells the truth, “I don’t care as long as you’re happy. My home is wherever you are, Mia.”
“I think I want to go… America has the Knights Noir,” Joonghyuk’s eyebrow twitches slightly at the thought of moving countries solely because of a boy-band.
She continues though, “And I don’t want to miss Biyoo... she’s my best friend,” which was a more valid reason.
Joonghyuk lets a smile slip onto his face. Sure, he had no idea what he was doing in parenting; he had done this all himself because god knows where their real parents were, or why they would choose to have children 18 years apart. It seemed, though, that he wasn’t doing too bad of a job.
“Alright, we can move. It’ll take us some time though, because I have to get paperwork ready.”
Mia lets out a cheer in response, and finally her heart is back into the show.
Dokja wouldn’t admit it, but being undercover was one of the better parts of being a cop. Letting go of yourself: all the stress, the day-to-day problems, the sheer monotony of being alive as you take on the role of someone else. The role didn’t even have to have a perfect life or be devoid of issues; as long as they weren’t Dokja’s problems he could handle them.
Being someone else was invigorating. Sometimes, when the night is quiet and his mind is anything but, Dokja ponders. Maybe in another life he would be an actor, some sort of artist. Then again, in another life maybe Dokja would be living through the apocalypse and fighting monsters. It was a funny thought.
He wondered if there was a life where he wasn’t alone. If the chance was 1 in 100, even 1 in 1000, Dokja would like to take it and imagine, even pray that there was a version of him that wasn’t alone, and that it would continue to exist, somewhere, sometime.
In any case, no matter how small the role, whether it was to undercover a sex trafficking ring, or to perform a meth lab bust, he would put in his all. And that was how Dokja ended up where he was now, lazily pulling up to the gas station parking lot. He exits the car with a slouch and walks with a leisurely gait unbefitting of any respectable police officer (which Dokja wasn’t even on a normal day, but that is a different matter).
He takes a painful amount of time to reach his destination—a middle-aged man with greasy clothing, and a plaid flat cap, the kind golfers wore. The man glares at Dokja as he walks, evidently impatient and annoyed at the time he took.
“You’re late,” the man’s—Gong Pildu, Arms Dealer—gruff voice bites out.
“Hn, time is relative, no? Whether I’m late, or you were early, who’s to say?”
His dealer’s eye twitches, “We agreed to 7, it’s 8. You’re late.”
“8 on your clock,” Dokja holds up his wrist, the watch on it glinting from the large crack on its face, permanently stuck at 7 o’clock, “7 on mine.”
Dokja thinks if he concentrates, he can almost hear the blood vessels in the man's head burst, a thick vein bulging on his forehead in anger. In his head, he pats himself on the back. He’s playing the role of annoying slacker buyer exceptionally well, if he did say so himself.
Finally, he’s won. Gong Pildu huffs, “Well, don’t think I’m just going to implicate myself for a first-time buyer.”
It’s then that Dokja finds himself pressed into the hood of the car, the grill digging into him as Pildu presses harder to ensure he doesn’t escape.
Of course he had seen it coming a mile away, would even have used one of the manoeuvres taught to them in training and reverse their situation if this were a regular cop interaction, but it wasn’t. So Dokja let himself be man-handled, although the rough treatment did irk him a bit.
‘Does he even know how much money I had to drop on this cringey clothing, who in their right mind would wear this of their own free will?’
He feels the press of cool metal to his back through the thin cotton of the tee, of course Pildu would have a gun. It would be a bit ridiculous if he didn’t. Still, he remains calm, ‘Stay in character, don’t get shot.’
Dokja smiles haughtily, even though Pildu can’t see his face from how the back of his head has been pressed into the metal.
He lets the smugness seep into his tone, “Hey, don’t ya think this is a little extra .”
“You have nothing to lose if you’re who you say you are.”
“Well sure, but don’t you think this is a little familiar, I mean, you haven’t even bought me dinner yet.”
Pildu clicks his tongue and Dokja can tell he’s getting to him.
“As if I would waste time with the likes of you.”
Dokja grunts, the strain on his back is getting a little uncomfortable, “Go ahead. Pat me down if you want, just don’t spend too much time on my ass or I might think you’re into me.”
At that he’s roughly yanked back by the back of his shirt. Finally.
Pildu looks even older and more stressed than before they had spoken, if possible.
“Pay first.”
“What, you don’t trust me?” he sounds hurt, almost. Even though it makes sense, C-4 is harder to find a supplier for, so verifying payment before he gives any away is a good idea.
The question isn’t even dignified with a response.
Dokja moves to pull out his wallet from his pocket, speaking as he does so, “How much harm could one man even do with a little C-4?”
Before Pildu can urge him to hurry up so he doesn’t have to deal with this annoying existence anymore, they’re interrupted by a shout.
“Hands up where you are! Don’t move!”
Of course, this is just Dokja’s luck. It’s two rookies, by the looks of how young they were, definitely not a day over 21. The one who had spoken, a young man with red eyes (and was that white hair?), had his gun held up and pointed in their direction.
His partner, another youth, who had a long pony-tail and sharp eyes, was speaking into her radio and also had her gun up.
‘These god-damn fools.’
Of course, as Dokja expected, Pildu had put Dokja in front of him like a meat shield, one arm around his neck and the other with a gun pressed against his temple.
Now Dokja likes to think he is a good cop, a great cop even, but even he couldn’t possibly extract himself from the man’s grasp without anyone (including Gong Pildu, he was still an American citizen after all) getting hurt.
So, instead he tries to diffuse the situation.
“Hey now, we don’t mean any trouble, right?”
Pildu grunts, ignoring him, “Put the guns down and let me leave—or this annoying motherfucker dies.”
If he were to stay true to his role, he would let out a complaint at the harsh name, but as a civil servant he could recognize it would only escalate the situation so he stayed quiet, trying to find a way to get rid of the cops.
The girl, annoyed, bites out a, “No one’s shooting anything, let him go.”
Dokja nervously utters, “Hey, officers, there’s really nothing unlawful going on here, so why don’t you leave us to it?”
Even with his increased emphasis, it seemed the message hadn’t gotten across, because the white-haired idiot (‘Dumb as a rock’ he snaps in his head) shakes his gun, “I don’t think so.”
“Because you don’t think,” she insults her partner. It seems that the smarter of the two has finally sensed something in his gaze. Too late though, because Dokja can feel the man tense behind him, ready to act.
The time for peaceful conflict resolution is over. He grips at the arm with the gun and wrenches it away from his head, easily switching their positions due to the fact that Gong Pildu had not been anticipating his strength from the way he had easily overpowered him earlier.
Of course, Pildu still has the gun in his grasp, so he fires a bullet, unfortunately hitting the male cop, who lets out a yelp. Fortunately, Dokja had been restricting his range of motion, so there was a good chance it hit the vest or a non-vital area. He lets out another round before harshly shoving backwards, causing Dokja to loosen his grip enough that he can escape.
“Get in the car!” Dokja yells to the remaining uninjured cop, who just stares at him incredulously (‘Wasn’t this man much more pathetic a moment ago?’ was flashing through Jihye’s mind). He groans, it seems he is quite possibly the only competent law enforcement officer in Los Angeles.
The engine of the vehicle he had been pressed against not too long ago revs and he can already feel the headache that is starting to build. Dokja just barely rolls moves out of the way before the car backs up, tires screeching at the extreme speed. He urgently harasses the officer on the ground, pulling the gun from his grasp.
The car has made some progress onto the road after managing an exit from the tricky layout of the gas station parking lot, but Dokja is already lowering a knee to the ground for stability, arm raised so the barrel of his revolver follows his line of sight.
Dokja’s physical prowess and skills may be slightly (considerably) lacking, something that has been pointed out by his precinct again and again, but his accuracy in shooting makes up for it. His information network and detective skills are also nothing to scoff at, but they aren’t particularly useful at the moment.
BANG
His first shot is true and the bullet punctures the tire; the mundane grey sedan skews slightly off course and Dokja continues shooting, causing the driver to panic.
“Are you insane?!” he yells through the open window, and Dokja might be. Just a little bit. You have to have at least one screw loose to be able to shoot at a car with known explosives in the trunk.
Dokja ignores him and the sound of more bullets firing can be heard. Gong Pildu, wise man that he is, quickly opens the car door to jump out and the car continues to shoot forward without him.
Just in time, because the C-4 gets hit and ignites, causing destruction all over the block. Pildu is still on the ground after getting hit by some debris and Dokja takes the opportunity to get some handcuffs from the officers, who have been watching with slightly starry expressions. It seems that the boy had been hit in the vest, if his unhurried expression is anything to go by.
Pildu doesn’t have any time to react as Dokja swiftly arrives to arrest him before he can recover, reading him his Miranda Rights.
“You have the right to remain silent—”
He doesn’t pay attention to the words, already well acquainted with his rights should he get arrested; grumpily, the tired man can’t help but think he should have never gotten involved with this menace in the first place.
“Of all the idiotic, irresponsible, asinine things you had planned for this weekend,” Dokja’s supervisor huffs, “did blowing up an LA block have to be one of them?”
At the very least, he was able to get back into his more comfortable and respectable uniform before getting told off. It had come to feel like a suit of armour, and the thin, black leather gloves he always kept over his hands kept them warm and nice. It also prevented him from having to make direct contact with anyone’s skin. He only had to shed them for undercover operations, which was only possible after years of training himself to be alright with it.
Even then, he would never willingly touch someone. The mere thought of making skin contact brought up hives.
Vaguely, at the back of his mind, Kim Dokja can only imagine Sooyoung’s smug expression that was sure to haunt him for the rest of the month. If he focuses hard enough, he might even be able to hear the jeering lilt of her voice, dragging out an, ‘I told you so~’
To her defense, she had indeed told him so. Right before he had been called into his supervisor’s office, he had been sitting at his desk and speaking to Han Sooyoung, who was slightly leaning, slightly sitting on his desk.
“Ya know,” she had drawled, speaking around the lollipop (lemon-flavoured, if he knew her) “if you had a partner, that would have gone much smoother.”
“Smoother. What, smoother? You say that like it didn’t go great.”
She sighed, “Because it didn’t. You can bet your ass, my ass if you’re chicken, that you'll get reprimanded as soon as Captain Hades hears the report.”
“Ah, we’ll see,” he snorted, before paying attention to her other comment, “and I don’t need a partner. I work better without one.”
“Partners aren’t about what you like, they’re about having someone who you can trust to pick up your slack and watch your back.”
He narrowed his eyes, “That’s exactly the problem, I can’t trust anyone to do that. Any partner I’ve had has been incompetent at best and a danger to society at worst.”
Sooyoung narrows her eyes; his complete autonomy, although useful, was self-destructive and would get him killed. In his entire time as detective, the only person Dokja had willingly agreed to partner with was Sooyoung herself, who had rejected him.
She had been with him through-out their Police Academy years and noticed how he would never rely on others. Sooyoung was fine working with Dokja, they were both exceptional cops, but working with someone who doesn’t trust you, or vice-versa, would get you killed in the field.
Dokja had always been a bit of a pariah, only of his own accord.
That was a deeper conversation, though, and one Han Sooyoung had no interest in getting into. So she just engages in further bickering, taunting Dokja with the scolding he was due for.
And that was how he ended up where he is now, sitting in front of the Captain’s desk while his entire conduct gets teared into.
“And a cop got shot too, really this is the biggest disgrace for our department since our last incident, which was also caused by you.”
The captain goes on to say stuff Dokja has heard before, that the city deserves better, that he knows Dokja is capable of better. It would be hot air from anyone else’s mouth, but Dokja could sense his words were genuine.
This was the man he had met for the first time at age 8, while Hades was performing a routine visit at their household after one of their neighbours made a domestic abuse report call.
He sensed something was off through their façade, and although the law didn’t allow him to arrest Dokja’s father, having no proof, he made routine visits to check in.
And kept in touch with him to guide him onto the right path after Dokja’s life went to shit and his story was sensationalized.
If he closes his eyes, he can picture the intrusive headline even now, years later: ‘Star cop murders her husband, also a cop!’, ‘Partners to lovers to a murder; a love story gone wrong,’ ‘Heroic cop ends her husband, writing a book on the matter,’ ‘Superstar officer Lee Sookyung’s new book, “The Underground Killer” and everything you need to know about it.’
Funnily enough, the headlines never managed to mention the domestic abuse, always focusing on the book and the murder. Dokja had been in a dark place for a long, long time. Then Captain had encouraged him to become law enforcement to protect people like himself. He had initially been incredibly averse to the idea, but it grew on him over time.
He read and he read to cope, but his attention would always be drawn to the cop stories, where the servant of justice stands out like a protagonist, he shines.
He zones his attention back to the reprimand.
“You do know I have to punish you, right? I can’t reward reckless endangerment of lives, no matter how commendable your other actions were.”
Dokja sighs, of course he knows. He doesn’t mind any punishment; a demotion can be worked around, temporary or not.
“I also know,” Hades pauses and a foreboding feeling settles in Dokja’s gut, “that normal punishments won’t work on you. I’m going to make sure you understand the severity of your actions. People were liable to get very hurt.”
Suddenly nervous at what his supervisor could have in store for him, he grumbles “... Wasn’t a good looking street block anyways. We’re better off without it.”
The captain doesn’t even have to say anything for Dokja to feel reprimanded, shame heating the back of his neck, “Sorry.”
“Are you aware of the new Korean Ambassador?”
Dokja nods.
“Consul Bihyung personally requested for a transfer of one of Seoul’s best detectives, Yoo Joonghyuk. He’ll be working with the LAPD and handle any specific cases from the consul himself.”
He listens patiently, following along so far. It didn’t seem like he had a particular role to play.
“It will take several weeks for them to grant him citizenship status and he will need to pass a few examinations in order to gain the detective title to work in our precinct. That is where you come in; your responsibility is to show Joonghyuk around LA and get him acquainted. You will also be his partner until we are able to find another one for him.”
Dokja’s gut was never wrong, it had roiled with bad omen and here was the result. His face fell and Hades chuckled slightly upon noting his expression.
“Fitting punishment, isn’t it?”
“It sucks.”
His tone was amused, “Need I remind you the definition of punishment? You should start making your way towards the LAX, his flight is set to arrive in under an hour and traffic is exceptionally heavy right now.”
“Alright...”
He gives Dokja a few more details, explaining that originally the FBI was going to assign one of their lower-level personnel to the duty, but Hades volunteered specifically with Dokja in his mind. Eventually, half an hour has gone by and Dokja is thoroughly briefed on his assignment.
“You’re dismissed.”
Dokja drags his feet as he exits the office, suddenly dreading the next few weeks, maybe even months, however long it took to get this Yoo Joonghyuk a new partner. Really, who did he think he was, barging into Dokja’s precinct and demanding a babysitter.
Realistically he knows that Joonghyuk wouldn’t want to be shown around by someone either and would also hate their time together.
When Dokja exits the captain’s office, he sees everyone staring at him with bated breaths, excited to see how the supervisor’s favourite fared after pulling a stunt too reckless for even Hades to overlook. Better give the people their show.
He flashes a wide grin, though on Dokja’s face it came across less as cheerful and more as scummy, “Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer.”
“Hey, golden-boy, what’s the verdict? Life sentence, or even, death row?” Heewon teases, one of the only people in the precinct he can tolerate.
There are three others (not including Captain Hades) and Han Sooyoung just barely makes that list.
“Wouldn’t you like to know? Too bad I’m not saying!” There's groans of disappointment and the crowd disperses, allowing Dokja to make his way towards his desk.
He sighs, pulling out his laptop from the briefcase he keeps in the office, and gets to work compiling a short summary of everything he had to keep in mind.
“Must be really bad, if you’ve got that sullen look on your face,” he glances up to see Heewon and Sooyoung standing over his desk with their arms crossed.
“I have a partner now,” the despair is evident on his face.
Sooyoung cackles, multiple officers turning around at the noise. Before she can get any more bullying in, however, he says he has to go pick said partner up from the airport and takes his leave, well aware of the jokes directed at his back.