Edward Collins, suspected for weapons dealing, drug smuggling, and human trafficking, looked far too smug for a man currently sitting in an interrogation room, with his hands cuffed to the table.
Captain Steve Rogers watched the man through the one way mirror with a suspicious frown on his face.
“All our evidence so far is circumstantial. It was enough to bring him in, but it won’t hold up in court. I don’t like that he waved his rights to a lawyer. He must think he has some kind of trump card. We need either a confession, or for him to incriminate himself in any way. Just get him to talk, Wilson.”
Next to the blond captain, the ex-special forces turned New York police detective, grinned sharply.
“No worries Captain America. I’ll have him singing like a bird.”
He ignored the familiar demand of “Stop calling me that!” and strode leisurely into the room.
“Eddie! Pal, Amigo, dirt under my shoes!”
He let himself fall into the chair right across from the man.
“So, what’s a scumbag like you doing in a place like this? Also, you don’t mind if I call you Shirley, right?”
Most of the precinct would describe Major Crimes unit’s detective Wade Wilson anything from ‘slightly eccentric’ to 'bat shit fucking insane’. They would also say, however, that at the end of the day, Wilson always got his shit done. So as much talk there was about his methods (and general being), it was usually accompanied with a measure of respect.
Wade reveled in it. Not just the respect, but also all the gossip about his 'crazy antics’. In fact, he liked to stir up the rumor mill every now and then, exaggerate on some tales, spice up some details.
His long time partner, Nathan Summers, had tried to reign him in during the early stages of their work relationship, but after damn near 7 years of being friends with Wade, he had given up.
It was too bad that good old Nate wasn’t down here with them to see him work his particular brand of magic on their suspect. (Someone did need to do the paperwork, after all. And Nate had lost at rock-paper-scissors)
Wade so loved aggravating his uptight partner.
Anyway, back to business. There was actually (sometimes) a method to his madness.
Sure, Collins had seemed pretty relaxed and put together so far, but how would that facade hold up when he was angry? What would the man let slip if Wade pissed him off enough?
If there was one thing that Wade liked to pride himself with (apart from his excellent taste in food and the love of his life), it was his ability to piss people off.
“You know, on second thought, you look more like that old woman in that horror game, after she was taken over by that parasite or whatever that was, and had all those cockroaches coming out of her crotch. What was her name again… Marguerite! That was it!”
The look on Collins face had darkened significantly, and his fists were clenched tightly on top of the table.
“So, Maggie-moo, let’s talk about last weeks shipment for your company.”
He pretended to rifle through the stack of notes to his side.
“You know, the one that, according to your books, should have been transporting sheep wool from Uruguay. However, it says here the ship hailed from the exotic shores of Columbia, and was carrying about twenty-five million dollars worth of cocaine.”
He affected a shocked look, complete with dramatically slapping his hands to his cheeks.
“Marguerite! What a bad, gross looking, girl you have been!”
Collins face was growing red, eyes pinched, teeth grinding together. Guy was gonna blow any second now. It was almost too easy.
“It’s because you weren’t hugged enough as a kid, isn’t it? I mean, I totally understand that your parents didn’t want to hold what must have been the ugliest baby on the planet, and I’m not blaming them one bit. But maybe it was a little much for them to chain you up outside and tell the neighbors you were just a mangy dog for all those years.”
Just as it looked like the other man would explode into an all condemning rage, Collins, surprisingly, suddenly calmed. The angry red left his face, his tense shoulders relaxed, the fisted hands intertwined their fingers together, and the man leaned back into the chair with a long exhale. Then he smiled.
“You said your name was Wilson, right? Detective Wade Wilson. I thought the name was familiar. I read about you in the newspaper the other day. An engagement announcement, wasn’t it?”
His smile turned nasty.
“And what a lovely creature your fiance is. Peter Parker, 28 years old, works in Queens 'Little Tykes’ daycare center, doesn’t he?”
Wade’s demeanor changed instantly, as a cold, foreboding feeling spread through his stomach. Collins went on, smirking as he saw the panic building up in the detective.
“It would be such a shame, wouldn’t it, if something were to happen to that pretty little fiance of yours. While you are in here, wasting your and your departments time and resources by accusing a good, honorable citizen of crimes he didn’t commit.”
Wade pressed his hands down on the table before him hard, and leaned over to be as much in the slime-bag’s face as possible, and spat out through clenched teeth.
“What did you do?”
He knew that his captain, who had been watching and listening to everything from the other side of the mirror, was likely sending people to his house right now to check up on Peter, as well as calling him on his mobile. It was the only reason why he remained calm enough to not break Collins bones one by one right then.
But Collins remained seemingly unintimidated.
“Why, Detective Wilson, I didn’t do anything. I have been in this room ever since you and your friends in blue so rudely interrupted my meeting, waving these false arrest charges about. I can hardly be held accountable for any accidentthat might befall the man you love, because you happen to be bad at your job. Did you know that most accidents happen at home?”
The gears in his head turned as fast as his rage grew.
“You sent someone to my fucking house, didn’t you?! Who did you sent? How many?!”
He was becoming frantic, his muscles shaking with the effort to keep himself from lunging right at the smug mother fucker.
“You wouldn’t have sent a lot, right? You have neither the brains to plan accordingly, nor enough underlings to organize something like this on such short notice. You would have sent only one, right? Two at the most! Two couldn’t cause too much damage, right? Tell me you didn’t send more than two!”
The man was far too satisfied with having rattled the detective so much, it didn’t occur to him to wonder about the strange nature of the questions. He was just about to taunt him more, when a new voice cut into the room.
Both heads whipped around to look at the person standing in the now open door.
Peter Parker’s brown hair was slightly ruffled (but still looked ridiculously fluffy if anyone were to ask Wade), his jeans had a few unidentified stains on them, and the too big flannel shirt (Wade’s) that he wore over his science pun t-shirt, was ripped all the way up his left arm. Other than that, however, the younger man looked completely fine.
If you didn’t count the scowl on his face.
“He sent four guys. They trampled their muddy shoes over the new rug in the living room, bled all over the furniture, and broke the vase Aunt May gave us last Christmas.”
Wade had just straightened up and slapped a mollifying smile on his face. “Baby boy-”
Peter’s pointing finger stopped him right in his tracks.
“Don’t you 'Baby boy’ me! I told you not to buy the white rug, because it’ll be a literal dirt magnet. Did you listen? No. You were also the one who insisted on the hard-to-clean couch, because 'But Petey! It’s so soft.’ “
Behind Peter stood one astonished looking Steve Rogers, and a snickering (SNICKERING! The traitor!) Nathan Summers, who had undoubtedly followed Peter down here.
Then his fiance pinned Wade with another withering glare.
“Since our house is now a 'crime scene’, and I will probably have to wait several hours to get back to reading my book in some semblance of peace, until the CSI has found all of the missing teeth from your suspects amateur cronies, I’ll be spending the rest of my day off at Gwen’s place. And who knows, maybe we will go on a little trip down the street, to the shelter on the next block and get a dog.”
With that, the younger man turned on his heel and left a gaping Wade, his full out laughing partner, and their gobsmacked captain in his wake.
“But Babe! We were supposed to pick out the dog together!”
If Peter heard him, it went ignored.
The captain still didn’t know how to react to what had just transpired, it seemed, as he questioningly turned to face one of his best detectives.
“Say, Wilson, how did you two meet again?”
Summers just laughed harder for some reason, and Wade, instead of answering his captain, turned to (the up to that point forgotten) Collins.
Clearly having not anticipated that the detectives twink-looking fiance would be capable of defending himself against the men he had sent out, Collins’ previous bravado melted away faster than ice cream in a microwave. Add to that the now absolutely murderous expression on Wilson’s face, and he was seconds away from wetting himself.
Wade stalked over slowly to his suspect.
“Do you have any idea, how much sex my baby boy is going to withhold from me for this?”
It took both his partner and the captain to restrain the detective long enough for Collins to confess.