Sorry for such a delayed chapter. Thank you to those who are still giving this a go.

And even after a year, LA Noire still doesn't belong to me.

"How was your first experience with a hangover?" His eyes looked playful. "It's too bad that I missed it." But his voice sounded somewhat distant. "You were practically diving into my arms that night," Roy snorted.

"… Trust me, Roy. That's not something I'd do sober."

"Ha, well… Only the rich can afford debauchery from time to time," Roy laughed.

Cole turned his head to the side in disdain. To say he disliked the other's constant showboating was an understatement – what with the car, the suits, and the fancy invites. "Keep treating me to such places, and I'll have amassed a million dollar debt to you by the time I hit forty."

"That's the plan anyway," Roy smiled, cocking his head to the side to stare at him. "Speaking of a treat… You look like you could use a caffeine boost."

"You don't." Roy seemed unfazed from last night's heavy drinking. He often saw him smoking heavily, so adding alcohol to the corrupt cop's never-ending list of depravities didn't seem so far-fetched.

Cole's aside went fully ignored by the other detective. "How about a notch down from yesterday; maybe a nice café?" He added condescendingly while pointing to Cole's faded waistcoat, "You can wear that dusty number there." He leaned in to inspect Cole's fatigued face, where dark bags were developing. When Cole turned to the side to draw away from his probing stare, Roy wrenched his face back forward by the jaw.

"What the hell, Roy!?"

"You're looking like you crawled out of a casket." Roy's hand reached out to touch the other's face, but stopped mid-air and withdrew as if burnt. Cole's eyes closed, a small moment of susceptibility that shamed him.

Paying no heed to his jibe and massaging his jaw, Cole asked with valid provocation, "Where were you yesterday, Roy?" He hadn't missed any dates before. Colmyer and Roy didn't seem to be on the best terms, but even then the lieutenant was suspiciously easygoing on the other's schedule. "Got sick laughing too hard at me?"

That served to stridently shake the other out of his ease. "The world doesn't revolve around you," he muttered.

Cole felt a stab. He was unsure of where and why though. "Why did you take sick leave?"

He proceeded to walk back toward the building. "I was off minding my own business." He didn't venture past the shadowed frame of the structure, instead turning around and choosing to lean against the wall coolly. "How long have you known me, Cole?"

Momentarily stunned by the other's enmity, Cole faltered before regaining composure just as quickly. "Clearly long enough."

"How cute," he casted aside the previous biting tone of his voice and smirked half-knowingly. "I was just teasing you. Look, I had a small errand to run." The word was spoken innocuously and nonchalantly over his tongue, but Cole knew better than to believe any second of it. Discomforting silence lingered in the air. Roy approached the other, walking around him to drape a hand over the supportive frame of the metal railing. He reappeared to the blurred left of Cole's peripheral vision. Cole had yet to really observe him. "So, my offer still stands," he half turned to look at him.

He hadn't anticipated a repeat of the invite, "You've been strangely cordial the last few days, Roy."

The smile dropped. "And you don't like that?"

"… Quite out of character of you to be so generous; do you feel you can gain something in the long run with my trust?"

Roy's eyes revealed malice. "Garnering the trust of the department Golden Boy whose lovable face is flooding the newspapers all around town? – No, I don't feel I can gain anything in particular," he muttered, quickly moving past the sensitive subject. "Are you up for a non-alcoholic beverage or not? God, you're really dancing around a simple yes or no."

He narrowed his eyes to stare warily before relaxing the pressure exerted on his eyelids. He answered honestly, most of his boiling hostility having cooled to a dismissive lukewarm. "I actually have some paperwork to do."

"Always the excuses on paperwork," he said smoothly, a hint of aggression tainting the otherwise friendly tease. "Just what do you do behind closed doors, Detective?"

Those words rang inside his head. Roy always pried into his private life, even when it was evident that he already knew every dirty secret there was to know. Cole rocked back and forth a bit on the soles of his feet, "Are you… Are you threatening me, Roy?" Cole felt his face draining color as he spoke.

Roy's eyes darkened, "What could I possibly threaten you with? You're cleaner than a doorknob."

The irony wasn't lost on him.

He playfully hit Cole's arm with the back of his hand. "Isn't that right, Phelps?"

He dared not retaliate; being drawn into another debate was the last thing on Cole's mind. He instead shrugged his shoulders indifferently, purposefully evading the wearisome subject. Roy had this dangerous way of subtly inciting a person to follow through on his requests, whether it was through the usage of charm or the more frequent act of aggravating a person into drained submission. There were rare occurrences when he didn't get his way, and Cole was deeply troubled by just how easily he dangled others on a thin piece of string.

Roy scowled at the lack of impact his slur had on the other, and instead looked off into the distance. He said with faint ire, "Don't worry – I couldn't care less about your petty fling."

Cole didn't want reassurance from a crook. "… You have more dirt on you than all the other cops here combined." His lips twitched. "Don't think you have the upper hand." Cole whispered, sounding somewhat unsure and bashful. His heart was running a mile a minute, and he could only think about how foolish he looked, provoking the wrath of a man with the affair to hang over him.

"I see…" He trailed off silently, before anger dawning on his usually resistant face. "So Cole here isn't without teeth himself…" His voice sounded gravelly, "Don't go on making enemies now."

"Making? I believe it's made."

He didn't sport a charming face at the moment, instead snarling, "Get off from your high horse. I said: Don't worry."

Cole turned on his heel to look straight at him. "What do you feel you can gain from this?"

Roy let out a guttural laugh, built up from the recess of his stomach to up his cigar-stained throat. It travelled out in all directions, overwhelming Cole's already ringing ears. "... Only time will tell," he said with ambiguity. "Are you someone I should be pushing off their pedestal? Or, are you more useful to me as a king? Do you even deserve that medal?"

Cole's eyes opened so far wide that every muscle about his face exerted immense pressure. Despite being abstract phrases that could apply to generally anything, Roy's words often hit the nail on its head. Breathing regularly was all of a sudden impossible. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His throat was drier than the deserts. He's alluding to the war. His thoughts snapped to every firefight he underwent in Vice.

Many things about Roy bothered him – bothered him immensely. But, a small, little thing – one that no one cared about in Roy, bothered him the most out of anything else: Roy Earle had the same military issued .45-caliber Colt that Cole carried in his holster. It was a small detail that he always noticed from their first firefight together. There was a long pause before he mustered up enough moisture in his throat to form the next words, "… Were you in the war?" … Is he here to hang the shame over my head?

The naked eye could not have possibly caught the momentary slip in Roy's perpetual smile, but Cole detected it with eyes unrivaled. Roy was already sneering as he said: "What nonsense are you spouting now, Phelps?"

"Were you in the war?" He repeated with more aggression. Cole was trained to read faces for irregularities, but he quickly realized Roy's was harder to study than most.

"Jobs don't just wait around; I've been Senior Detective of the Vice Desk for quite a while. … That's enough of a hint, isn't it?" He paused. "Why the war all of a sudden?"

Cole turned around, away from him in frustration. He doesn't know. Not that much. Roy's attention suddenly peaked, boring a hole into the back of Cole's head. Cole could feel him walking forward. First, a mere foot away. Then, a step. Now, he felt only inches away from his own skin.

In a hushed tone, Roy whispered in his ear: "Did you fuck up, Lieutenant?"

Cole heard it loud and clear, the loudest and the clearest he's heard in a long while. No one outside of his squadron knew about his failures. To everyone, he was still the shining beacon of a marine, an officer, and a detective. He never underwent catharsis, never gave himself the chance to. All the spite he deserved from the city's people had come from only a single source previously: from Roy.

Roy simply waited.

Cole tried to get a word in, "I –"

A passerby carelessly rapped at the glass door that led out to the terrace, "Hey! You're missing the briefing!" He glanced over curiously at the unusually close proximity that Roy and Cole stood from each other – their faces were only inches away from each other. Cole glanced over to recognize him as a fellow detective of Vice Desk. The man furrowed his brow before turning to leave wordlessly.

Any trace of Cole's second long slip was gone. The two met eyes fiercely, Cole's light green eyes corresponding with Roy's light blue ones. Breaking into a scornful laugh, Roy placed a hand over his back, "… You take me too seriously." He pointed a thumb over to the briefing room, "Let's go."

Cole's bottom lip quivered, holding in his anger, brusquely shoving past a calm Roy to stomp off to the room.

Another triumphant sneer before he too entered into the building, "Like a kid with a tantrum."

Next chapter to come... Uhh, hopefully quicker than this one had.