The (After) Life of the Party [8/?]

Title: The (After) Life of the Party [8/?]
Author: xxdance
Fandom(s): Fall Out Boy/Panic! At the Disco
Pairing: Pete/Ryan, Pete/Patrick.
Summary: Ryan's just another dead starlet. Patrick's just another overworked detective. Pete's just another shady character. Sort of.
Rating: R. [Violence, drug use, language.]
Warnings: Crack. Slash. Language. Violence. Drug use.
Author's Note: For whatchamacall1t, for renewing my faith in humankind. It's, um. Almost on time? Sorry.

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Patrick woke the next morning to find a note tacked to his door. Work, it read in Pete's thin, loopy writing. Patrick ran a hand through his hair--oh yeah, he'd been meaning to ask Pete about that.

Which, come to think of it, was not like him at all, Patrick thought, pouring himself a bowl of cereal. Normally he was all efficiency and professionalism--what, precisely, had gone wrong with this investigation?

Patrick, through the doorway, saw the rearranged furniture. Right. Pete Wentz had gone wrong.

Normally, suspects didn't mourn the death of their significant other by going out to IHOP. Normally, Patrick did not allow suspects to stay in his apartment. Normally, he thought, pausing midway through getting dressed, his cases did not involved interplanetary murder. In a distracted way, Patrick wondered what planet Ross was from and resolved to call Travis McCoy in, first thing. Patrick pushed Pete Wentz, and the whirlwind of thoughts that came with him aside. Patrick had a job to do, and he didn't plan on letting anything distract him. Much. Patrick put on his sturdy, professional shoes and resolved to try and solve this case before the week was out.

He stepped out the door feeling purposeful and intent. He had a plan, he knew where he was going with it--he even whistled a little tune with satisfaction.

Patrick checked his watch as he stepped into the elevator--8:45--giving the stranger just enough time to slip, unnoticed, into Patrick's apartment.

---

"Did you find anything?"

The stranger, tugging his gloves tighter, frowned. "Nothing. Either Wentz has gained a few brain cells or he's too absorbed in the detective to write anything down." He unfolded a stack of clothing, searching pockets. "I don't think he's figured anything out yet."

"What about the detective?"

"Clueless. I saw them out on the balcony last night--if he had any clue, I don't think he'd be as calm as he was." He folded the clothes back up neatly, placing them back in their original order. "Do you think...?"

"What?"

"Hmm." He frowned again, taking a seat on the couch. "Why don't I--"

"But what if--"

"He's not going to. He couldn't. Especially not with the detective around--fuck, can't he do anything without putting his dick first?"

"You sound more like him every day."

"Yeah, well," he said. "I am."

"I gotta go--another call. And shit, it's the detective."

The stranger smiled. "Have fun."

---

"Please state your name, for the record."

"Travis McCoy," he said, grinning. "At your service."

"Yeah," Patrick replied vaguely. "So. You knew Ross, huh?"

"Yep. Met him a couple months back--he'd just moved into the area, like, a week before, and he was already in the A-list crowd for a couple of small roles he did. Kid had some kind of charisma, let me dtell you. He could charm a room with nothing but his bitch stare." Travis laughed, easy and carefree. "Met him at a party, invited him to a few of my own."

"Did Ryan ever talk about any enemies? Jilted lovers? Anything?"

Travis shook his head. "Nah. Ryan, for all his weirdness, was really well-liked. I mean, sure, plenty of chicks were pissed when he started going out with Wentz--"

"Wentz?"

Travis quirked an eyebrow. "Pete. Wentz. Don't tell me you're on this case and you don't know who Wentz is."

"Should I?"

Travis looked momentarily flustered, before beaming. "Ryan's boyfriend. I mean, it was all very hush-hush, but everyone knew they were fucking. Especially with the girls Ryan was turning down. Of course, things calmed down when he started dating--well, being photographed with--Maja, Greta, and so on, but everyone who actually knows them knew it was more for shits and giggles than romance. They got to laugh at their pictures in the magazines, Ryan got to pretend he wasn't jeopardizing his career by fucking a guy that isn't famous."

Patrick tapped a finger thoughtfully against his chin. "So, why is it you say I should know about Wentz?"

"Now, don't get me wrong," Travis said, holding up a hand. "Pete's a great guy. Fucking genius on occasion. But he's a bit...funny."

"How so?"

Travis shrugged. "Just. He's very...odd. He tends to do the opposite of what you'd expect, you know? It's not bad, most of the time. Just weird. Him and Ryan--well, they were dynamic, to say the least. Ryan was always all calm and shit--not that Pete wasn't, but Pete was always out talking, flirting, doing stuff, and when he was at his loudest, he was usually fucked up. Mental-wise, I mean, not drugs or anything. Insomnia, and--shit, I don't know what else. But when it got bad, he got loud--always said a lot of stuff that he shouldn't have. Which was why I guess people were suprised when they hooked up. Pete's--a nice guy, but a bit of a weirdo."

Patrick frowned. "Was Ryan a big partier?"

Travis laughed. "Shit, yeah."

"Into drugs?"

"Yeah. Mild stuff, mostly. Coke. Thing with Ryan was, he never got totally fucked up. I mean, he liked to get pretty wasted, but I think, more than anything, he wanted to be numb, you know?"

Patrick nodded. At least their stories were consistent. "Right. Right. So you think the cause of his death was an overdose."

"Yeah, of course," Travis said, nodding. "But I think it was helped along--Ryan wasn't the type to fuck himself up that much. Someone helped."

"Who do you think that would be?"

Travis bit his lower lip, fingers tracing circles on his jeans. "Look," he said softly. "If I say this, it doesn't mean you're going to convict them, right? Shit, I'm no detective. I'm probably wrong."

"No, of course not, it's still an investigation."

Travis sighed with relief. "Ok. I just--Pete, he's been. I don't know. Weird lately. I'm just wondering if maybe he did something."

"Why would he want to kill Ryan?"

"Jealousy. Pete likes attention. With Ryan and his fake girlfriends, he wasn't getting it. If he kills Ryan, he can step back up and get the attention he wants."

"But couldn't that backfire?" Patrick asked. "If he ends up in jail--"

"He'll be in the media for murdering an A-list celebrity. But like I said, what the fuck do I know?"

"Anybody else you can think of?"

"Not really, no," Travis said after a moment. "Ryan was a nice kid. Don't know why anybody would want to kill him."

"And you? Would you have a reason?"

Travis snorted. "Yeah, right. Like I'd have the urge to kill a guy who's attracting people to my parties."

"Right," Patrick said finally. "Okay. I'll let you go then, but I'll call you back if we need anything else. Thank you."

"Yeah, no problem. Let me know," Travis said, hand closing on the door handle. "I hope this all works out," he said slowly. "I don't want anything crazy to happen, you know? Good luck," he said, the door closing behind him with a click.

Travis, Patrick thought, had made some genuinely intriguing points. He took a seat in the chair Travis had been sitting in, putting his chin in his hands. Pete did have an odd way of dealing with grief--he'd noticed it before, especially in the way he joked, sometimes almost viciously, about his relationship with Ryan. He'd never heard of a suspect doing precisely that, but it was odd enough to stick out.

And Ryan. Ryan was nowhere near Patrick's typical victim. Even aside from the alien thing, Patrick had never handled a case this high-profile before. The press lurked around the front of the building, waiting for the moment when the station would choose to do a press conference--it wouldn't, of course, but the press still held out the hope of being first on the scene. From what Travis said, it was quite strange that Pete and Ross had ended up together--volatile, arrogant Pete with the apparently quiet, calm starlet? Maybe that was the type Pete went for, but even so, what about Ross' drug habit? Cocaine wasn't known for making its users relaxed--and wasn't it the cocaine in his system that killed him? Things weren't adding up.

And Travis himself, for that matter. He was easygoing and friendly, which was fine, but Patrick had been trained to notice the subtle things--the way that, when Patrick asked who Pete was, he'd looked flustered, for one. Perhaps Travis already knew that Patrick knew him. Pete could have told him, which made sense, but what about the way Travis so insistently said he thought it was Pete, but he could be wrong? Generally speaking, the people he interrogated tended to go one way or the other--either they thought the suspect did it, or they didn't. It was a possibility that Travis was torn--in which case, why? Did he really think Pete did it, but didn't want to incriminate him? Or vice-versa?

The beginnings of a headache clustered at Patrick's temples. There were far too many questions, far too many people to ask--Patrick needed information, not roundabout opinions and theories. Which meant one thing.

He and Pete were going to be having a conversation later.