(no subject)

[iniquiticity]

later he was sure washington knew, somehow, that the kids were out. phillip in school, angelica too cool to be around, alex jr at a baseball game, eliza with him. alex himself putting in the the final touches on the presentation in support of the non-police community task force to de-escalate mental health emergencies. jesus, if he’d had such a thing…

the knock startled him. another, and this time he stood up, opened the door without thinking.

the face was leaner now, visible older. a new scar at the line of his cheek that he would have paid a lot of money to have removed at the time, if such a service had been accessible to him. thinner shoulders, and yet still impeccably dressed, dark head gleaming, eyes like stones.

alex breath died in his throat.

“seven years already, huh,” he offered, weak.

“the same amount as any other seven years,” washington said, as calm as ever. seven years in prison and all his aging seemed graceful.

he meant to close the door only his hand did not listen. fear, hot and twisted, surged through him, making his blood pound. seven years was nothing for a grudge Washington could hold. and he had testified. and he was alone. and Washington wouldn’t—


(he heard mopsey come downstairs, growl, bear her teeth.)


“thinking too highly as yourself, as usual,” washington said, calmly, stepping inside his house - this monster in his house - where his kids lived - ”i was almost certainly guilty with or without your testimony.”

“how did you find me?” he croaked.

Washington gave him a long look, that he knew meant you fucking moron, you didn’t know? then he tilted his head - i’ll humor you though, because i want to.

“your website’s WHOIS address is your home address,” he said, like a two year old could find it.

he would have never made such a mistake when they had been partners. “what do you want?” he managed, barely. he locked his knees. they shook.

“i wanted to know if you wanted to see me,” washington said. see me. “it has been a long time.”

see me. have me hold you and beat you until you bleed. punish your dick. pummel you so hard you can’t walk for days. call you horrible things.

his forearms burned. an old ache flared in his back. the line of his shoulders, and the circle of his throat, seemed to twitch against him.

“I hope you die,” he said, finally forcing his voice even and cool and angry. “i don’t ever want to see you ever again.”

“you know,” washington said, as if he hadn’t spoken, as if they were still partners, and no time had passed, “i did think about hurting you. but i realized that nothing i could do now would be as whole as the exciting lifestyle you drew us into with your typical fervor.” the man studied his foyer, taking in the hanging coats and rainshoes and family photographs. “i just wanted to tell you that all things considered, i am doing quite well, and i hope you are too.”

mopsey snarled, bent her forelegs. washington seemed not notice.

“fine,” alex snapped, “thanks.”

“wonderful,” washington said, and he reached out, too quick to pull away, and gave alex a pat on the cheek, like an endearing father. hand rougher than washington would have ever permitted. “tell your family i said hello, especially your wife.”

then he turned on his heel, put his hands in pockets and walked away, closing the door behind him. he left alex crumpled in the foyer. mopsey put her nose in his neck and whimpered.