Chapter Text
This little fucker is smirking and all Numbers wants to do is rip his shit-brown goddamn eyes out.
“I mean really. Even with the whole deaf thing, he’s in his prime. Bet he’s got a knot like a fucking stallion, big boy like him… not that you’d know. Dried up little omega like you, over the hill and bearded? Thought you were a beta-bitch that first time at the restaurant. It wasn’t until I smelled how wet you got when he sat at the table that I even-”
Numbers has had enough. He raises his gun and shoots their informant point blank between his ugly eyes, small spats of blood fanning across Numbers’ nose and cheeks. At the door Wrench’s eyes widen, hands flex on his own gun as he takes an aborted step forward. Numbers shakes his head, wipes an absent hand over his face before looking at his soiled hand in mild disgust. Wrench holsters his gun and his hands start flying.
[What the hell was that?? We were supposed to keep him alive until we had the hit!]
Numbers shrugs, holsters his own gun and goes for the handkerchief in his breast pocket. He wipes his hand, turning away from his partner and breathing deeply before turning back and offering up an unabashed smirk.
[Ooops?]
He spells it out, knows how ridiculous that is and laughs a little even as he notices the slight tremor in his hands. Before he can get them under control Wrench has stepped into his space and wrapped his own hands around them protectively, and it makes Numbers both angry and grateful that the touch is so calming. He pulls away after a lingering moment. Knowledge sparks in his partner’s eyes.
[He said something. What did he say?]
And Numbers just shakes his head.
[What do they always say?]
The look on the alpha’s face is enough to tell him he’s looking at an interrogation after the unexpected cleanup they now have to perform.
Numbers is really not looking forward to it.