Work Text:
I. THE NOISE
If there’s one thing Cabanela can say in his own favor after these past few years, it’s that he’s gotten preeetty good at keeping his cards close to his chest. Clue a fellow in only on what he needs to know, and preferably make it so he doesn’t realize he’s not getting the full picture; however that makes Cabanela come off in the aftermath — selfish, ruthless, strange — well, so be it, baby. He’s got bigger fish to fry than trying to turn office chit-chat down to a simmer.
Of course, that doesn’t mean Cabanela never sticks around to hear the noise. Every man has his vices, after all.
One such indulgence occurs the day after Cabanela is named, finally and officially, head of the Special Investigation Unit. While he might be in favor with the top dogs, Cabanela gets the sense that he’s catching strays down in the lower ranks; confirmation of his theory isn’t hard to come by.
“I didn’t realize we based promotions off someone’s ability to twirl up the stairs,” Cabanela overhears a man say from inside the precinct break room. He sees no harm in hovering outside, right in hearing range. “I would’ve started taking dance lessons years ago, if I'd known.”
“Hey, be careful what you say,” says a second man. There’s a pause, and Cabanela can hear the shuffling of fabric — the man must be attempting to scan his surroundings. Dimwits, the door to the hallway is wide open. “...He still works here.”
“So what? We’d hear him coming from a mile away.”
Ah, watercooler talk. Cabanela has been the subject of more than his fair share of conversations over the years; he’s learned a thing or two about how to keep a cool head.
“You can’t deny he’s earned it, though. I heard the boss-man say he’s practically the top detective we’ve got. He’s good.”
Okaaay, Cabanela’s starting to like this guy.
“Sure, whatever. But everything’s a game with him, y’know? It’s all a big lark.”
This fellow, not so much.
“Is that really so bad? He works hard, I think. He probably cares a bit.”
“Yeah, well,” the first says, “Have you heard about him and Detective Jowd? ‘Cause they used to be best pals, but Cabanela hasn’t even visited him once. What does that tell you?”
Aaand, there it was. Time to make himself known. Officers were always ruining a good thing — Cabanela was just starting to enjoy himself, too. Footsteps nice and loud, Cabanela waltzes himself into the break room.
“Hey, boooys. You seen the chief around here? I’ve been lookin’ for him aaall day.”
Not true. In fact, Cabanela had just left the chief’s office. They’d just shared a lovely cup of tea.
“Inspector Cabanela!” says the first man, smacking himself in the forehead with his salute. Suck-up.
“Can’t say we have, Inspector,” says the second, giving a decent impression of a man who is suddenly very interested in the patterns on the rug.
“All-righty, then,” Cabanela says, fake smile in full force, “Carry on.” He doesn’t wait around to see their shared look of mortification.
Cabanela tries not to stew over it as he heads over to his office — yes, he has his own office, now, fresh with the promotion — but hey, baby, that just wasn’t fair. Despite what everyone says, Cabanela did visit Jowd, once. It just didn’t go so hot.
II. THE VISIT
There’s no sugar-coating it — Jowd looks rough.
Cabanela finds him laying on his cot, staring at the ceiling. His face is gaunt, expressionless, and his beard borders on unruly. He doesn’t stir as Cabanela arranges himself in a casual lean against the wall opposite, and Cabanela finds himself struck rather suddenly by just how long it’s been since Alma’s death. Too long.
Three days ago, Cabanela was finally able to pull enough strings to get Jowd transferred into the Special Investigation Unit’s facility, newly operational with the arrival of Prisoners C74 and C38. Insufferable, the two of them, and Cabanela had his reservations subjecting Jowd to that constant tirade of smacking mouths and guitar riffs, but the facility comes with enough perks that it felt justifiable. Besides, it means that Cabanela can finally keep a close eye on him. And if this ‘manipulator’ figure really does exist, like the intercepted communications seem to suggest, then that’s a non-negotiable in Cabanela’s book. That said, it was easy enough to slip into Jowd’s new cell block without catching any attention — no need for prying eyes.
When Jowd finally notices him — or, perhaps, decides to acknowledge him — it’s without a smile. No matter. Cabanela knows how to deal with a tough crowd.
“Fancy seeing you here, baby.”
“Cabanela,” Jowd says. Oh, how Cabanela has missed that voice.
“Like your new digs? I secured ‘em just for you.”
Jowd smiles, but it rings insincere; within moments, his face drops back into the same, inscrutable expression.
Cabanela has never seen him like this, like all the passion has bled out of him. He takes a sudden interest in how empty Jowd’s cell is — should he buy some decorations? Rifle through the boxes in his attic for photos Jowd could put on the wall? It must be torture, spending all day in a cell like that.
“That’s a nice coat.” Jowd gestures towards Cabanela lazily. “It suits you.”
“Thaaanks, baby.”
“It’s spotless.”
“Yeah? Well, I’ve got a great dry cleaner!” Cabanela laughs, but finds the words come out weaker than he’d expected. How can his bravado be failing him now, of all times?
Sure, Cabanela hadn’t thought the visit would be smooth. Though he may not come off that way, dancing and all, Cabanela is a practical man. Lynne had warned him that Jowd had changed, and here he was, changed. But he hadn’t expected that he would feel so… uneasy. Undeniably that is Jowd sitting in front of him, but the man harbors none of Jowd’s warmth, his vigilance, his drive.
Maybe it’s only natural, but it’s also the furthest thing from natural that Cabanela can imagine.
“Anyhoot, anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable?” Cabanela tries. When Jowd remains unimpressed, he barrels on, “I heeear from my Lynne that you’ve taken up painting. Sounds super! Want an easel?”
Jowd is suddenly on his feet, fists clenching the bars of his cell. Cabanela only just manages to appear unphased, pressing his shoe against the wall more forcefully to keep himself steady. Seriously, thaaat’s what set him off?
When Jowd speaks, it’s practically a growl. “What do you want, Cabanela?”
Cabanela furrows his brow. “Waaant? Me? Simply to see you, my old friend.”
Jowd’s eyes are piercing like no other, and Cabanela is deeply out of practice with countering the man’s scrutiny — and how good he’d gotten at it, just a few short years ago! If Cabanela has any hope of getting the two of them out of this mess, he’ll have to toughen up. Get a cooler head.
But hey, at least some of Jowd’s passion is back.
From the other side of the cell, Jowd unclenches his fists, and yet he does not seem relaxed. “Well, you’ve seen me, now,” he frowns, “Inspector.”
“Ah,” Cabanela says. Inspector. “Thaaat’s what this is all about.”
“I hear plenty from Lynne, too.” Jowd heads back towards his cot, and, as if to signal further that he has little interest in their conversation, kicks his feet up on the mattress. It strikes Cabanela as deeply wrong. “It’s all about the reputation with you, now. Getting ahead. Though, of course, Lynne doesn’t seem to see it the same way I do.”
Jowd doesn’t get it, Cabanela realizes. Jowd doesn’t get that Cabanela is doing this all for him. He’s suddenly very aware of the sweat forming above his brow. “That’s my giiirl. Always seeing the best in me.”
“But maybe she’s right,” Jowd continues.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Why not get ahead? There’s no more competition, so really, why not? You have the skills for it,” Jowd says, “And the spotless record.”
Gods in heaven, this conversation keeps getting worse. Cabanela feels a twitch in his jaw. Back in their time together on the force, gleefully trying to one up each other when searching for clues at crime scenes, did Jowd really think that Cabanela was in it for the win? That was never what their competitions were about.
Well, at least it wasn’t for Cabanela. It becomes starkly clearer that Cabanela can’t really speak to Jowd’s impression of events anymore.
“What do you want me to do, maaan?” he urges, finally. “How do you want me to act? I’m looking after Lynne, just like you asked. And I’m doing my job.”
Jowd doesn’t respond. Cabanela takes the bait.
“Don’t you think this has been tough on me, too, baby? Seeing you like this?”
At this, Jowd smiles again. “I’m sorry you had to see me.”
“No, dammit, I didn’t mean it like that,” Cabanela fumes, and suddenly he’s pacing the hall. “Jowd, obviously I—”
“You what?” Jowd asks. “Tell me.”
Cabanela stops. He can’t seem to hold on to that anger anymore — just a poignant pang of grief. There’s nothing he can do for Jowd to make his circumstances better, he realizes. No matter how Cabanela tried to finish that sentence — obviously I know you’ve been through hell, obviously I’m doing this all for you, and even, obviously I always want to see you, because don’t you know I’ve been pointlessly in love with you for years, baby? — none of it could make a difference. The only way Cabanela can make things better is by proving the existence of the manipulator, proving Jowd innocent.
No, Cabanela realizes, it doesn’t matter how Jowd sees him. All that matters is getting him out of this mess.
“Weeell, I sense that I’m not wanted here, my old friend,” Cabanela says. It’s his turn now to sport an insincere smile. “Unless you’ve got any objeeections, I’ll be taking my leave.”
Jowd frowns, but stays silent. Cabanela knows that’s his cue to mosey on out, and does so with as much gusto as he can muster. The facade comes easy now.
There’s no point in trying to visit Jowd again — security footage serves Cabanela’s need to keep tabs on him just fiiine. Still, he sees no harm in putting in a request for a smock and easel to be delivered to Prisoner D99 at the nearest convenience.
And, when, a few months later, Prisoner D99 first puts in his own request for execution, he tries not to act too hurt.
III. THE FACADE
Cabanela’s face is already starting to feel hot, but he lets Jowd order a new round of drinks all the same. Why hold back? It’s a celebraaation, baby! The bartender slides two more whiskeys their way, and soon enough Cabanela and Jowd’s glasses join together with a satisfying clink.
“Here’s to the newest detectives in the SIU,” Jowd says. He practically emanates warmth; when their knees knock together underneath the bartop, Cabanela swears he can feel that warmth transferring over to him. It’s driving him mad in the very best way.
Cabanela takes a long swig, and then slams his glass down a little too loudly. It’s no big deal that some of it spills onto the counter; he can’t find it in him to feel embarrassed. “Here’s to the best detectives in the SIU,” he corrects. “We’re gonna blow ‘em riiight on out of the water, my friend.”
Jowd’s laugh — there’s nothing like it, baby! Cabanela hopes it’ll never end. Life can’t get much better than this.
Today’s the day that he and Jowd made it onto the Special Investigation Unit. It was only natural they got recruited on the same day; when you start together, you might as well get promoted together! And thank the gods, too, because now that Cabanela’s got Jowd, he doesn’t think he could ever let the man go. What they’ve got is too special.
Cabanela and friendship had never quite gone hand in hand before Jowd, there’s no denying it. Just look at him — he’s particular, he’s singular, he’s strange, he’s whatever you want to call the way he is, and most of all, he’s unapologetic about it. For as long as Cabanela can remember, people have found him off-putting.
But not Jowd. With Jowd, it’s different.
When they first started working, Cabanela had the sense that Jowd was unimpressed with the way he’d slide his way through a crime scene, singling out evidence and speeding through statements before the rest of the detectives could get a foot in. Hey, could Cabanela help it if he had a knack for these things? Investigating came naturally to him, so naturally, he was going to investigate how he wanted.
Jowd, on the other hand, took things slow but steady. Cabanela’s first impression of him was nothing to write home about, either; it was only when Jowd started consistently swooping in at the last minute with the final piece to the puzzle that Cabanela had somehow managed to miss that the tide on their relationship began to change.
There was no specific moment Cabanela could pin it down to, but friendship came easy enough after that — good-spirited jabs, bets on who would solve the case first, tabs at the bar after a long shift. They were close, closer than Cabanela had known he could be with another person. Kept no secrets, except for what they could use to get a leg up on the other in an investigation. It was invigorating.
And then, before he knew it, Cabanela was head over heels. Whoops.
Could you blame him? Jowd was kind, strong, reliable, the kind of guy it’s damn near impossible not to like. On top of that, Jowd got Cabanela — or, at the very least, he got the closest to getting him. He could see Cabanela’s smooth-talk for what it is.
But of course, Cabanela harbored no illusions that anything would ever come of it. At least not now, after Jowd met Alma.
“I wonder how much things will change,” Jowd says.
Cabanela turns his head to look over at him a little too quickly. “What’s that, baby?”
“Dealing with national secrets, and all,” the man clarifies, taking a sip from his drink. Cabanela’s eyes track the movement of Jowd’s glass to his lips, and then move to the gold engagement ring on his finger. He doesn’t seem to notice. “You think it’ll be less field work, or what?”
Cabanela hums. “That I cannot tell ya, my friend.”
“No matter. We’ve got plenty of time to find out for ourselves,” Jowd laughs, and claps a hand on Cabanela’s back. It’s warm, of course. It’s scalding.
And if Cabanela just so happens to lean into the touch, whaaat of it? It doesn’t say anything one way or the other. It’s just bodies doing what bodies do.
IV. THE EXPLOSION
Damn it, everything hurts. Cabanela’s ribs feel downright shattered; his wrist isn’t moving the way a wrist should move; and, on top of it all, there’s an odd, phantasmic sense of a bullet piercing his skull that he can’t quite shake, even if he knows that past has been undone. Sure, Cabanela had known this would be a big night, but he never would have thought it would turn out like this.
Jowd has run off already, and so have Lynne and that mysterious Sissel character; Cabanela, useless now, really, has no role left to play. Everything he has been working towards for the past five years has been passed off to different, still-functional hands. Well, he supposes the spirit doesn’t have functional hands, either, but Sissel’s been doing just fiiine without them.
As for Cabanela, he isn’t sure if he’ll so much as walk again after this. Or even manage to get up from this damn chair. Oh, body of mine, body of mine.
The professor, previously busy doing gods-know-what downstairs, shuffles back into the office with his pigeon in tow. “Cabanela,” he says, as if to check that the Inspector is still all there. Cabanela gives him a weak wave. “I’ve just called an ambulance for you. It should be here in ten minutes, give or take.”
“Sounds greeeat, baby,” Cabanela says, and then winces. Even talking is starting to hurt.
At this the professor gives him a sympathetic look, but Cabanela doesn’t find it particularly comforting. “Seems like my medical kit got wiped out in the explosion. Not much I can do for you now, I’m afraid.”
Cabanela huffs out a laugh without humor. “Don’t worry your sweet old head about it, Prof. I’ve got a little life left in me, yet.”
Whether or not that’s a good thing remains to be seen.
No, Sissel was right, there’s no use thinking like that, Cabanela reminds himself. And besides, despite it all, there’s been some good to come out of this night — Jowd has been freed for the night, chasing the man behind the very incident which marked their careers so many years ago. But, above all, he’s alive. It was just a few short hours ago when Cabanela was locked out of the execution chamber, stricken by that cruel, cruel realization he would truly never get to see the man again — and then Cabanela caught him trying to escape, and soon enough there was the new fear that he would be the man responsible for sending Jowd back to the chopping block. Really, this was all no less than a miracle.
Cabanela had trusted that Jowd would make it out, of course. But there were no guarantees, not on a night like this, where the very world was turning on its head.
What a confrontation that had been, catching Jowd. Cabanela’s smile had been cool, but his hands were trembling ever-so-slightly around the gun. He wonders if Jowd had noticed. He had certainly noticed Jowd — how couldn’t he have? Wearing the very painter’s smock Cabanela had ordered for him, standing tall, collected, and thank the gods, with life in his eyes. Jowd spoke of some sort of game, which Cabanela couldn’t make heads nor tails of, but Jowd was alive, and really, wasn’t that all he could ask for?
But they weren’t out of the woods yet, not even close. So Cabanela kept the gun pointed, and Jowd kept his hands in the air.
The ride over to the Minister’s was tense, to say the least. Cabanela had chartered a ride, and watched through the rear-view mirror as Jowd sat stoically in the backseat cell. He made no effort to speak with Cabanela further, and Cabanela felt no urge to speak, either — instead, he watched Jowd ponder the pocketwatch in silence, turning it over in his hands. It would mean nothing to him now, but if the night went the way Cabanela hoped it might, soon enough Jowd would figure it out.
Maybe they could track the manipulator together, Cabanela remembers thinking. Like the good ol’ days.
Of course, that never came to pass — but Jowd did figure it out, just like Cabanela knew he would. Thaaat’s a good man.
But now… there’s nothing left for Cabanela to do. Well, aside from waiting for that ambulance.
The broken bones sure do smart, but it’s the grays in his hair which Cabanela finds himself most conscious of, staring at his reflection through the darkened window pane. He’s getting old, and it seems like his dancing days are over. Bleakly, Cabanela wonders if there really is a future left for him — if he had to give that up just for Jowd, Lynne, and poor, poor Kamila to have a chance, then so be it. It was worth it, just to have them. His people.
Selfishly, he’s glad that Jowd and Lynne came back around on him, too. He can take a little misunderstanding, of course, but in truth, he’s starting to get sick of it.
The sound of the phone ringing snaps Cabanela out of his reverie, and sends a shock of pain throughout his system. With a grunt, he reaches over and picks up the receiver.
“Evening,” Cabanela croaks out, “Super’s office.”
“It’s Jowd,” he hears from the other end of the line. Cabanela’s breath hitches, and he tries to sit up, but can’t quite manage it. When Cabanela doesn’t conjure up an answer, Jowd continues, “Did Sissel make it out, yet?”
Right, Sissel. “Seeeems that way,” Cabanela says.
“Good. That’s good.”
Silence on both ends of the line. Cabanela picks up on the faint sound of a gull calling out through the receiver, and what might also be the repetitive beeping of a truck driving in reverse. Jowd must be near the port, then.
“Cabanela—” Jowd says, and then cuts himself off. It’s no matter. It’s not like Cabanela has anywhere to be, really. “I’ve, uh, I’ve got a moment here. The target is waiting to be picked up, it seems. And I figured, if Sissel needed another way over…”
Cabanela nods, and doesn’t realize until Jowd has begun speaking again that it’s not exactly a response that translates well over the phone.
“...But, at any rate. I’m glad you’re still there.”
“I think I’d rather be at the hospital, baby.”
“Well, I can hardly blame you for that,” Jowd laughs, and Cabanela cradles the receiver a little closer to his ear. “But, Cabanela, I just wanted to… well, I wanted to say thank you. And, I’m sorry.”
From across the room, the professor watches Cabanela’s reactions with mild interest. Cabanela half-heartedly swats him away, and burrows deeper into the chair.
“I wouldn’t have gotten nearly this far without you,” Jowd continues, “and I — well, I shouldn’t have ever doubted you. You didn’t deserve that.”
“Forget about it,” Cabanela frowns, feels his breath turn shallow. It’s all too much for him, right now. “I was only doing what I haaad to.”
“That’s not true, and we both know it,” Jowd insists. “Listen, I really owe you. When this all over—”
Somewhere in the distance, Cabanela can hear Lynne’s hushed call, “Detective Jowd!”
The detective lets out a quick sigh. “I’m out of time. But you look after yourself, Cabanela.”
“Right back at ya, baby,” Cabanela says, voice reduced to a whisper. He starts to worry that his ribs are caving in on him, and his heart doesn’t feel quite right.
There’s one more, glorious second where Cabanela can hear Jowd breathe on the other side of the line, and then the call is over. Cabanela doesn’t bother to put the receiver back in its proper place — his energy has left him.
A siren’s wail begins to sound through the window, and soon enough Cabanela can make out the flashing lights through his half-closed eyes. He’s crying when they place him on a stretcher, but really, baby, can you judge him for that? He’s broken all over, and it’s been a long night. No — it’s been a long five years.
Cabanela doesn’t know if there’s still a future. With Jowd off after the most dangerous man (un)alive, and Cabanela himself off to the hospital, he knows his world could end tonight, in more ways than one. But he holds on to the sound of Jowd’s laugh, Jowd’s voice, the sound of Jowd’s voice saying, after this is all over… before fading off to nothing at all.
V. THE NOISE
It’s Cabanela’s turn to order the new round of drinks, and Jowd thanks him with a clap on the shoulder. Somehow, Cabanela swears he can feel the outline of the ring on Jowd’s finger through the fabric of his signature black coat.
“Here’s to the new directors of the SIU,” Jowd says, lifting up his glass. Wordlessly, Cabanela clinks their glasses together and takes a nice, looong drink.
Cabanela lives a good life; he knows this to be true. He’s lucky to have moments like this, with him and Jowd together, content with the lives they have built for themselves; Jowd with his family and career, Cabanela with his — well, career, also. And yet, some undercurrent of a time Cabanela can’t recall hangs in the air around them, settles in Cabanela’s gut, makes him uneasy.
Jowd had tried to tell him, once, years ago, of some crazy bygone past — Alma shot, Kamila kidnapped, Jowd jailed, Cabanela blown to bits. Cabanela had laughed it off, telling Jowd that the demands of fatherhood must be reeeally getting to him, old friend! But in truth, Cabanela doesn’t find it hard to believe. Rather, it affirms some hazy memory of himself, of a singularly-focused, isolated Cabenela, that he still hasn’t been quite able to shake. But why dwell on it? Clearly, it all worked out well enough.
If, late at night, in the emptiness of his apartment, Cabanela finds himself replaying a phone call that never happened over and over in his mind — well, nevermind that. How Cabanela feels on his own time is of little importance.
And, besides. It’s not like there’s an “after.” Not here, not now.
Before he realizes it, Cabanela has finished his drink, and Jowd isn’t far behind. He falls back into an easy smile, bumps Jowd’s knee with his own. “Alma won’t mind if I keep you for ooone more round, will she, my old friend?”
“I think we can risk one more drink,” Jowd laughs, and everything’s just fiiine. How could Cabanela ask for more?
Later, back at the precinct, Cabanela overhears two officers speak his name in the break room, failing to keep their voices in check. They never learn, these types. He listens in.
“Can you believe they got promoted on the same day, again? Seriously, what are the odds of that!” says one man.
“It’s really something,” says the other, with what sounds to Cabanela like a wistful sigh tacked on at the end. “They’re such good friends, they even get to share the same position! I wish I had a friend like that…”
The first man sputters something like What about our friendship?, but Cabanela doesn’t stick around to hear the resulting squabble. Instead, he slides on over to his office, thinking about the phantom feeling of Jowd’s hand on his back from the night before.
There’s nothing else like it — really, there’s not. But Cabanela has learned how to keep his cards close to his chest, and however that makes him come off in the aftermath… so be it, baby.