The (After) Life of the Party [9/?]

Title: The (After) Life of the Party [9/?]
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: ALL THE GOOD BITS ARE BY whatchamacall1t. AIIEE, THANK YOU SO MUCH!

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"So how did it go?"

Patrick shrugged, practically throwing himself into his chair. "Do you ever feel like you're in over your head, Joe?"

"No," Joe said. "But then again, I'm not as intense as you are. Probably due in large part to the fact that I have a life."

"Joe," Patrick said. "Not helping."

"I'm serious. You look like you could use a good--"

"McCoy thinks Wentz did it."

"Do you think Wentz did it?"

Patrick frowned in thought, tracing circles with his fingers on the top of his desk. He could have, Patrick thought. It was a possibility. Certainly, some things pointed that way--but then again, some things pointed firmly in the opposite direction. He didn't want to believe that Pete was capable of murder (for reasons he refused to dwell on), and sometimes he really didn't, but sometimes, he wasn't so sure. "I don't know," he sighed, "I really don't."

"In that case, you need to get him the hell out of your apartment," Joe said matter-of-factly.

"But I don't know--"

"It's the uncertainty," Joe said. "You can't live with someone thinking they could be a murderer, Patrick. You can't do it."

"So what do I--"

"Ask him. Strike it from the record. Ask about Ryan."

"But--"

"Look," Joe said, the most serious Patrick had seen him in as long as he could remember. "In all honesty, you and Wentz, you have something. Or you might in the future. Don't argue with me yet, Patrick. I don't want to see you get involved and then have to put the guy in cuffs."

"Nothing is happening," Patrick said stubbornly. "Nothing is going to happen."

Joe leaned back in his chair with a little smile. "Okay Patrick, sure. I'm a pretty literal guy, you know? I go by what I see. And what I see is you getting more worked up about this case, about this guy than I've ever seen from you before. But whatever you say."

"I'm telling you that I won't--"

"Okay, maybe you won't. But promise me you're not going to let anything happen until you know."

"Yeah, okay, promise."

Joe glared at him. "This is me, Joseph Trohman, talking here, Patrick. You know I wouldn't ask this of you unless I really meant it. You can't. It's bad for business and worse for you. Promise me."

Patrick stared at him for a minute, thinking what he was saying through. He didn't really think about what Joe had to say often, but when he did, it made an uncomfortable amount of sense, which was one of the reasons why he was such a good detective."All right, Joe, I fucking promise."

"Good. Now, what did McCoy say?"

---

"Pete?"

Pete appeared from the kitchen, grinning widely. For once, he'd managed to dress in something not entirely obnoxious--a black hoodie and dark jeans, hair perfectly style. Patrick wondered, briefly, where Pete could possibly work that would allow him to stick his hair up at odd angles like he did. "Hey, 'Trick. What up?"

"Not much. Look, I--"

"How did the interrogation go?"

Patrick frowned. "How did you know about that?"

Pete shrugged. "Lucky guess. What'd Travie say?"

"I'm really not supposed to talk about it."

"Oh." Pete looked hurt for a moment. "Yeah. I understand."

"Good, 'cause--"

Pete's phone range, cutting Patrick off. "One second," he said, answering it. "Hey, it's Pete."

Patrick looked sideways at the phone--hadn't Pete said it wasn't working? He could have gotten it fixed, but--

"Hey, I gotta run back to work real quick. I'll be back in like, ten, okay?"

Patrick nodded, about to ask about the phone, but Pete was out of the door too quickly.

It wasn't anything major, Patrick thought. It wasn't a sign of being a murderer. It wasn't anything, really. He went to the kitchen and started fixing a sandwich, convincing himself it was nothing. The company could have changed his number. It made sense. It could happen. It wasn't entirely impossible. Goddamn Joe, he thought, putting doubt into his head. He was right; Patrick couldn't live like this. He wasn't the type to stand at the kitchen counter, staring at sandwich fixings as though they held the answers to his problems. At least, he hadn't been until he met Pete Wentz.

Ten minutes later, still clutching a bag of bread, Patrick jumped as the door flew open. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "Pete. You're back. You startled me."

"Yeah, work was a nightmare," Pete said, dropping a bag of groceries on the kitchen table. "Picked up some stuff for dinner, you know, Top Ramen and shit."

"You had time?"

Pete looked confused. "Yeah, it was no--are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm--" Patrick cut himself off, putting a hand to his temple. "Pete. We need to talk."

"About what?"

"You. And me. The case," Patrick said, not really sure of where he was going with this.

Pete, looking concerned, took a seat at the kitchen table. "Okay."

"I need to ask you a couple questions about--um, they can be off the record, I just need to--Ross. Did you--was he ever--did he ever strike you as odd?"

"Sure. He was a weird kid, you know--"

"Physically speaking," Patrick said, sitting down at the table.

"No," Pete said, slowly. "We've had this conversation already. Why?"

"Nothing? Ever?"

"What's going on?"

"The coroner--autopsy, Ryan, he--shit, Wentz, you really didn't know?"

Pete didn't respond for a moment. He frowned, open his mouth to say something, and stopped himself. "That depends," he said gravely, "on what exactly you're referencing."

"Pete, Ross was an al--"

"I know, I know, shit." Pete banged a fist on the table in frustration. "Godammit, I hoped you wouldn't--we're in loads of shit now, do you understand?"

"You--you knew? You knew Ross was--"

"Yes, godammit, I was supposed to kill him!"

Patrick gaped. He couldn't--no, it wasn't possible--

"I--I couldn't do it. I didn't--we weren't in love, but whatever we were in was a lot more important than orders--"

"Whose orders?" Patrick demanded, surprised at the ferocity in his voice. He was beginning to think Joe was right about how invested he was in this case.

"You like movies, right?"

"Yes, I like--what the fuck does that have to do with--"

"Did you ever see that one, long time ago, about the aliens--Men In Black?"

Patrick stared, mouth open. "Not even funny, Pete."

"I'll pull out my badge," Pete said, sliding his wallet towards Patrick. "And look, I'll explain."

Patrick barely glanced at the, (very official looking, but Patrick knew how well that could be faked), I.D. before flinging it back across the table at Pete. "Do you see me laughing? I'm not fucking laughing, so cut the shit."

"Think about it," Pete said. "It makes so much more sense now."

"No," Patrick said, paling. "No, it really doesn't."

"Ross--Ryan, I can't pronounce his real name, was the leader of a very anti-Earth movement--"

"Ross was a drugged-up starlet," Patrick told Pete, (and himself).

"--until he came here and realized it wasn't as bad as all the stories. He said he was supposed to come here, make friends, then call his buddies down and vaporize our asses--"

"No," Patrick said. "No, no, no--"

"--but once he got here, he changed his mind. Before that, I was assigned to take him out--"

"Cut the shit, Pete."

"--but instead, we started screwing around, and we--we hit it off. He liked it here. I told my superiors that, but they didn't believe me, and told me to kill him anyway--"

"So you did--"

"--but I ignored them and tried to set up a flight out for him, which was supposed to leave the next day. But that night we got into it and--"

"Oh God," Patrick said. "I am not hearing this."

"--I left him alone. I fucking left him--and in the morning, I woke up, and he was dead."

Patrick was beyond staring in shock. Of all the impossible things he'd heard so far, this blew the rest out of the water. It blew them out of the fucking atmosphere. In a kind of shocked hysteria, Patrick visualized the whole case flying into space--oh, God, space, aliens, fucking men in black. It wasn't possible. It couldn't be. Things like this didn't happen inside of Patrick's neat, defined, ordinary mental box. It was boring there, and sometimes a little lonely, but he could deal with that. Government agents in his kitchen, telling him about their relationship with an Earth-hating alien? That, not so much.

"Even," Patrick said finally, pointing a shaking finger at Pete. "Even if that bullshit story were true, you didn't say who killed him."

"Because I don't know," Pete said, voice almost pleading. "Ryan wouldn't have let anyone into his apartment after I left, I don't know what happened, but I would never have killed Ryan. Ever. We were--we just, it wasn't me. I couldn't do it to him, Patrick. It was my mission, I failed, and my superiors sent someone in to do it for me. And now that someone is after me."

"Do you really, truly expect me to believe that?"

"I need you to. I don't have much time. I need to figure out who killed Ryan before they get me, too."

Patrick stood up and walked back to the counter where he'd abandoned his sandwich. He picked it up, but couldn't bring himself to take a bite."I can't believe this. It's one thing to lie--"

"I'm not lying," Pete said, following him. "Why would I invent such an unbelievable story?"

"Because you're Pete Wentz," Patrick shouted suddenly. "Everything you do is over the top! You don't know the meaning of 'normal'! You don't make sense, everything is overdone with you, you can't--"

Pete kissed him.

Patrick stared, wide-eyed, at the blurry shape in front of him that he was reasonably sure was Pete Wentz's face. Several things shot through his mind at once--his promise to Joe, the complete bullshit that was Pete's story, the fact that he was breaking ten kinds of protocol--but then Pete slid a hand up his neck to weave his fingers in Patrick's hair, and Patrick's rationality gave up.

A minute or so later, it came back with a vengeance. He pulled away, demanding, "Are we kissing?"

"No," Pete said, leaning closer to press Patrick harder against the counter, "because you won't shut up."

Patrick, shocked, shut up.