lemons - brye

https://youtu.be/IEvXPegRBaM

there's a billion people on this planet that you could bother

but for some reason you chose me

y'know i never intended to write this fic. 

but that last episode of true crime hit me hard and then the lil ricky appearance in the post mortem had me. 

im weak and yknow what i am not sorry at all take my tinsley and goldsworth fic goddammit

Ricky Goldsworth brushed the lint from his grey suit jacket and fixed the cuffs of his sleeves before scanning the building in front of him. Pedestrians ignored the man as he took in its brick exterior. Despite what he was about to do, not a single bit of hesitation found him. Instead, he pushed the door open and entered entirely self-assured. Inside was busy with activity as people bustled around, men held their heads as they bent over desks shattered with papers. Women carried coffee and trays with lunch orders or discussed privately in corners.

The Police Station was particularly lively that afternoon. Ricky smirked at the sight, for he knew exactly why.

The man made his way to the front registration desk, where a woman sat idly, focussing on a sheet of paper in her hands. She paid him no attention as he came to stand in front of her, so he rapped sharply on the polished wood. The gold of his rings clinked together as his knuckles hit the desk til she looked up.

Her glance was irritated and uninterested. At least, until he slid his sunglasses from his face and placed them in his breast pocket. "Ricky Goldsworth," he stated simply, making direct eye contact.

The receptionist's mouth fell open. She seemed to be frozen in surprise, Goldsworth noted in amusement as she absorbed everything from his confident smile to the knowing glint in his eyes.

Slowly, her hand crept for the telephone to her left, no doubt to contact her superior. She watched Ricky carefully, almost as though he might try to stop her. He didn't of course, nor did he try to stop the men who surrounded him, rushing out from every angle. They gripped their guns tightly in shaking hands, shouting all kinds of instructions at each other and occasionally at Goldsworth himself. He didn't try to stop them as they forced him to the tiles roughly with his hands behind his back.

In fact, Ricky compiled without a single word or movement at all, and it made everyone all the more uneasy.

It was understandable. After all, it wasn't everyday the country's most famous criminal waltzed into a Police Station with the ease of an innocent.

Especially considering Ricky Goldsworth was anything but innocent.

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The police chief growled in frustration, eyeing Ricky through his knitted brows while the criminal simply smiled, enjoying how easy it was to antagonise the stubborn men.

His hands were cuffed to the table of the interrogation room they were currently situated in. The room was dark and unpleasant, a single, yellow light bulb hung from the ceiling and a mirror lined one wall. The wooden chair on which Ricky sat was slightly uneven, causing it to wobble. Still, he leant into the two back legs as he watched the police officers grow more and more annoyed.

His nose was already bloody, possibly even broken; a lovely gift from one burly officer who stood at the door. Goldsworth paid it no attention, ignoring the way the warm, thick liquid seeped along his face and down his lips. Instead, for the very first time since his dramatic entrance some hour and a half ago, he spoke.

"Maybe, rather than tryna get some answers out of me- which ain't gonna work for you pal, why don't you listen to what I have to say?"

The chief laughed gruffly, crossing his arms as he did his best to feign disinterest. To no avail, of course, for Ricky was well acquainted with mediocre acting such as this, and knew how to read people like the open books they were. The same, large officer as before took another step forward and cracked his bloody knuckles in a futile attempt to intimidate Ricky. Still, he allowed the act to continue for a while, knowing that either way, he would get what he wanted.

And, just as he anticipated, it didn't take long for them to fold. The chief breathed heavily as he ran a finger over his thick moustache, conceding bitterly. "Alright Goldsworth, what is it that you have to say?"

Ricky didn't answer immediately, pausing to take a good look at the red drops that stained the white shirt under his waistcoat. Only after the chief had growled again, did he respond. "I didn't come here for some child's play where you hit me til' I shit whatever answers you want," he said calmly despite the dangerous look in his eye. "I'm better than that, surely you've realised in all your years of chasing me."

The chief huffed, rolling his eyes, though he couldn't deny it. The criminal was right and they all knew it. "So?" He resigned pathetically.

"So, give me someone who's worth my time. Maybe then I'll talk."

"Someone worth your time?" The policeman scoffed, clearly already fed up with him. "And who might that be?"

Goldsworth eyed the men in the room with a demanding gaze, enjoying the way each shifted uncomfortably while the silence grew. He commanded them all at that moment as they waited for a response. Ricky loved this game, same as he loved the way their faces contorted into confusion when he did answer.

"Detective C.C. Tinsley."

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Detective C.C. Tinsley shut his eyes for what he promised himself was only going to be a second, but in actual fact turned out to be closer to thirty minutes of seconds. His head slumped further into the crook of his elbow as he fell asleep and his breathing grew steadier. The man was exhausted, having stayed up for the better part of the last three nights fuelled on cigarettes and coffee alone, working at a case.

Papers scattered the room, covering every available surface and then some. Pictures of crime scenes and the names of potential suspects lined the walls. His tan trench coat was strewn just shy of his coat rack, and surprisingly, his hat had made its hook for once.

To most, the only way to describe the room would be absolutely chaos with no rhyme or reason to a single thing. To Tinsley, however, it was organised chaos. Everything had a place, whether that be stuffed in a cabinet or pinned to the ceiling (in some cases). His desk was filled, leaving barely enough room for his lamp and an ashtray, positioned in the corner.

The detective had begun to snore lightly when his door was thrown open loudly, striking him from his slumber. Tinsley sat up uncomfortably fast, taking a moment to calm his spinning head as he unstuck loose papers from himself.

"Yes?" He grumbled, among other obscenities under his breath.

The two men, now standing in his doorway, glanced at each other with slightly uncertain expressions before the blonde of the two stepped forward. "The boss has called for you."

Immediately, C.C. was more awake, widening his eyes as he leant forward on his elbows. "What do you mean?" He was already ahead on his cases, a lack of sleep and constant working could do that for you.

The second man scratched his head before answering, almost as though he wasn't entirely sure what they meant either. "He needs you downstairs, interrogation room C4."

"He needs me in an interrogation room?" Interrogating wasn't exactly his scene. The detective was the one who caught the criminals, not the one who got the answers from them. He disliked the usual method by which they gained intel. "Why?"

The two shared a look again before the blonde one nodded back at Tinsley. "There's been a request for you."

"From the chief?"

"No, the criminal."

C.C. had a million more questions from the few answers he had so far received, though he decided that he needed to hear what was going on straight from the horse's mouth. He sent a quizzical look at the men who had woken him from his nap some few minutes ago as he stood and made his way toward the door. Tinsley grabbed his coat and his pack of cigarettes before shutting the door behind him.

"Does this criminal have a name?" Tinsley asked as they made their way downstairs.

The blonde smiled tightly, glancing at the significantly taller detective. "Ever heard of Ricky Goldsworth?"

C.C. almost stopped short, he was impressed. Dozens of criminal charges and nothing but a name to put them to. Sketch artists had scrambled together a rough idea of his appearance, primarily from snitches who had done deals with the man. Even then, it wasn't a lot to go on. From his limited knowledge, he had robbed a place that very morning, leaving his signature gold card among the shattered glass. "They finally found the bastard?"

"More like, he found us."

"Just turned up at reception a while ago, handed himself in. It was chaos, I'm surprised you didn't hear it," the other police officer chimed in. From the look on his face, this was the most exciting thing to happen to him ever.

The gears in Tinsley's mind were turning as he tuned out the ongoing conversation between the men.

Turned himself in? When the police had nothing to go on as it was?

It made no sense.

By the time C.C. had looked up again, his feet had brought him to the front of Interrogation Room C4, where the chief stood waiting for him. The two men who were once beside him had left, making their way back down to the main office.

"Tinsley," he said gruffly, evidently not pleased with whatever had occurred thus far in the case. C.C. dipped his head in acknowledgement. "You familiar with Ricky Goldsworth?"

Tinsley raised his eyebrow in uncertainty. "I've heard of him."

His boss handed him a thick case file. "Well, get familiar fast. He's all yours." The detective had briefly reviewed it one night during overtime, so he knew it contained a hell of a lot of claims and hardly any evidence to back up said claims. The only link they had to identify the criminal was the piece of gold paper he left. As he flicked through now, he noted the lack of advancements on the case (though there were a fair few more crimes to Ricky's name).

The chief turned to leave C.C. right then and there, apparently sick of it all already. Before he could go, Tinsley stopped him. "May I just ask sir- Why me?"

The policeman shrugged half-heartedly. "Ask him yourself," he said, gesturing to the door of the interrogation room.

Tinsley sighed as he was left standing by himself in the hallway, staring at the entrance with a mixture of exhaustion and frustration. Though, there was a small part of his brain that ticked curiously, desperate to find out what was actually going on as, so far, the most people could provide were stupidly vague answers. So when Tinsley pushed open the door, it was that part of his brain encouraging him to do so.

"I need a drink," he muttered to himself, completely unprepared for whatever headache this was going to give him.

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"Ah, Tinsley, finally."

The person to greet the detective upon entry was none other than Ricky Goldsworth, flesh and bone. The man was currently rocking back in his chair, feet up on the table in the centre of the room with his hands resting casually behind his head. The cuffs Tinsley assumed once kept Ricky to said table were placed neatly on the corner. His shirt was bloody, as was his nose, though he seemed to have cleaned up a bit since whatever beating they inflicted on him after arrival. It looked to have been broken, though Goldsworth had apparently reset it.

The criminal must have noticed him staring, as he said, "Oh, please excuse my appearance." He waved his hand airily, almost as though he was discussing the weather and not his clearly broken nose. But it wasn't his face Tinsley was concerned about, rather, the room was entirely empty. Not one guard stood at the door, nor was there anyone else in sight. He opened his mouth to comment, but Ricky beat him to it once again. "I requested privacy." C.C. glanced to the mirror, which was two-way. He raised his eyebrows at Goldsworth, who waved him off once again. "No one is behind it. I made it perfectly clear they weren't to try anything. After all, I would know immediately."

Tinsley almost rolled his eyes at such arrogance, though elected to take a seat in the opposite chair instead. Still, he couldn't help saying, "You might be one of the most famous criminals in America, but you don't have to be such a dick about it."

Goldsworth grinned, not commenting further. Instead, he placed his feet back on the ground and drew his chair closer to the table, staring intensely at Tinsley, almost as though he was trying to figure him out (which he probably was). C.C. stared back tiredly until Ricky eventually broke eye contact with a firm nod.

"I knew I liked you," he concluded simply.

Tinsley tilted his head to the side, unamused. "How do I know you again?"

Ricky held his arms up in a half-shrug. "You don't," he said with a click of his tongue.

C.C. could already feel a headache coming on. "Let me rephrase," he began, rubbing his temples, "how do you know me then?"

Goldsworth considered his answer momentarily, flexing his fingers against the table as he thought. Faintly, the sound of someone shouting could be heard next door. Tinsley hated it, hated the sound of fist connecting with bone. He grimaced slightly, which Ricky undoubtedly picked up on. "Not a fan of violence?"

Tinsley ignored him. "You didn't answer my question."

"I don't know what to tell you," he said, shaking his head.

"You came to my precinct and specifically requested for me, an entirely not well-known detective. You sure as hell can say something."

Ricky shrugged again. "Look, I just did some digging to find someone who was good enough."

"Good enough for what?"

Goldsworth sighed and, if Tinsley wasn't mistaken, he seemed almost, uncomfortable. It was rather unsettling to see a lack of conviction upon the criminal's face. "You're smart, tell me."

C.C. wasn't amused with the games. He was sleep deprived and strongly disliked the way this situation felt as though it was going. He considered it anyway. Possibly he could get the bastard to shut up sooner and get out of there.

Why was Ricky here?

He was a hardened criminal with more connections in the world than any other known to the police.

He was impossible to catch, hence, coming to the station was a massive, unnecessary risk. He was an asshole sure, but he wasn't stupid.

Unless...

"You're in danger."

Goldsworth sat back in his chair. "There you go, long legs, now you're using that big brain of yours." Tinsley rolled his eyes as he continued. "I've gotten myself into a situation I'm—as much as I hate to admit it—struggling to get out of."

"And you came to the police for help," the detective finished.

"I don't need the police." Ricky shook his head as he laughed at what was apparently an absurd suggestion. "These idiots don't know shit about how to do their jobs. I came here for you, Detective Tinsley."

Annoyed as he might be, C.C. was intrigued. Still, he wasn't head-over-heels excited. "Why?"

"Because you're good at your job. Hell, you're better than good. I got all the protection I need in myself. But what I don't have is someone to help me get rid of this threat."

Tinsley considered him. Ricky was leant forward only just and his eyes were wider than usual. He was desperate. Even so, the detective wasn't totally convinced. "What do I get in return?"

Goldsworth dipped his head slightly. "The biggest names in the country, people so good you haven't even heard of them."

C.C. shook his head. "I don't give a shit about that," he said shortly.

Ricky seemed genuinely taken aback. "Bringing down these people will save hundreds of lives, and, get you in with the fucking commissioner as well all the media a man could want. You'd be famous," he reasoned, speeding up his words slightly.

"If you've done your research, you'd have realised I've kept myself unknown intentionally," Tinsley countered. "Like I said, I don't want any of that. So I'll ask again, what's in it for me?"

His tone was sharp, something Goldsworth apparently wasn't anticipating. Even so, Ricky was smiling. He appeared to be enjoying the conversation greatly. "You could save a lot of lives, detective," he said slowly, drawing out the words in a borderline sing-song voice.

"I don't want that as badly as you might think."

He clapped his hands together. "Well fuck, we got ourselves stuck then, don't we?"

"Really, you're stuck," Tinsley pointed out, sucking his teeth. "I can exit this room right now and have them do whatever they bloody well want to you," he said, gesturing to the door on his right. "You've angered a lot of men out there. And you can be as strong as you want, but you're not invincible. But men with hurt pride like theirs? They sure as hell think they are."

Ricky eyed him with an amused grin and leant back in his chair again. "You wouldn't do that, would you, detective? Imagine the people that could get hurt."

"You overestimate me, Goldsworth."

"Forgive me for seeing the best in people," Ricky said, narrowing his eyes slightly.

Tinsley snorted, fairly certain he was joking but then again, he could never be entirely sure. "Besides," he carried on, "even if I were to agree to this, there's no saying the chief would let it happen. Remember, you are kinda a country-wide renowned criminal. This "arrest" in itself would be more than enough for the higher ups. I can see it already," Tinsley held his arms up in the air, circling an imaginary title, "'Police put an end to the merciless strike of Ricky Goldsworth'."

"Give me immunity then," Ricky shrugged, saying the words with such an air of simplicity, it made C.C. laugh.

"Never gonna happen," the detective scoffed, not even considering it.

"I have the biggest names in the country," Goldsworth attempted to justify.

"Sure, okay. But you would be serving multiple life sentences on the stuff we have you for alone," Tinsley refuted, pressing a finger into the cover of the thick case file between them.

Goldsworth rolled his eyes. "Semantics," he said, waving the reasoning off.

"You say that like you have the upper hand in this situation," Tinsley noted as he crossed his arms, unimpressed.

"Do I not?"

"You very much do not." C.C. was surprised he might even begin to think otherwise.

"How come?" Ricky questioned with a tilt of his head. He didn't look stressed, not anymore. He was calm as ever. By his attitude alone, one might guess that he did have the upper hand.

"I'm yet to be convinced as to why I should even participate in whatever game you're undoubtedly playing. At the moment it seems like far more effort than it's worth."

Goldsworth stared at the detective with his now intense consideration. Some small part of Tinsley felt triumphant for making Ricky have to think properly. Especially when he was clearly more comfortable always being ten steps ahead of everyone. It seemed, this time he wasn't, no matter how much he attempted to play it off. Eventually, he broke the silence that had fallen over them.

"I can offer you one more thing."

"And what's that?" C.C. inquired with a raised eyebrow.

Ricky's smirk was back, lighting up his eyes with an unreadable spark. "A damn fucking good case."

Tinsley furrowed his brow as he surveyed the criminal opposite him carefully before his eyes found the case file plonked between them. He picked it up and weighed it in his hands, feeling its size once more. As much as he hated to admit it, the detective could already feel the weight of that case file pressing on his shoulders and worse than that, his mind. Maybe Ricky Goldsworth did know him as well as he claimed, because--for reasons yet to be exactly clear--Detective C.C. Tinsley found himself saying:

"I'll do it."