Archive of Our Own ^beta

With a click of the gas stove flames flickered into view vaguely illuminating the dimly lit kitchen with a vibrant spark of life before the pan of water was placed upon it. The shadows cast from the old oil lamp hung upon the wall seemed to dance around the countertop, mingling with the flickering shapes cast by the remaining visible sparks of the stove’s flames.  A stack of half peeled potatoes set upon the countertop.  Usually, the man would stare out at the sunset. However, work had taken him to the later hours this past night, and as the months drew colder the daylight hours themselves dwindled, he was met with the view of an unkempt garden blanketed in the embrace of the moon light as the wind tussled the brambles and old branches the way a lover would caress their partners hair.  

He used to be better at taking care of it. How the years had gotten away from him, and the time. Perhaps when the bodies stopped coming in, he would take the time to tidy it up. The coroner sighed, picking up one of the potatoes again and drawing the peeler across the edge. Maybe one day he’d fine the time, but that would be another day.  A heavy knock at the door drew his attention. He placed down the potato, and quietly moved towards the door. It was rare for anyone to come out at this time. For a moment his hand lingered over the umbrella stand, perhaps he should’ve considered a better line of defence for these days, but he was old and what good would killing him do anyway? He unlatched the lock and pulled the door ever so slightly ajar to peer out.  

The first thing he was met with was the barrel of a gun. The definite click of the safety being turned off, and he flinched back,  

“Holy Lord-” it was as he moved, he caught the face of the other, and grabbed the edge of the door to steady himself, “PETER. You cornswallop- are you trying to give me heart attack??”  

The man before him clicked the shot gun again, locking the safety back on and lowering it. “Sorry...I... thought I saw something out...never mind, you’re back late.” 

The coroner scrunched up his face, releasing his grip on the door handle before leaning against it. As he breathed to steady the racing of his heart, he took in the younger man’s tired expression. “Eh, yeah, still, what makes you think larking about with a gun at yer neighbour's house is a good idea?”  

“Wouldn’t be larking about if I saved your life, now?” Peter replied, before gesturing into the house, “I swear I heard something... you sure you’re alone, checked everything-” 

“Probably the garden foxes, or the pot of water I'm trying to boil... Unless you think I’ve got witches locked in my closet now?”  

“Oh. No....” There was a moment of hesitation before, “Did you check?”  

“Bollocks. Oh, quit lollygagging, already, since yer up. I’m making dinner. Have you eaten yet?” 

“...probably?” The man sighed, though he glanced behind himself and rested the gun upon his shoulder. 

 He was still dressed, so it wasn’t like he had just woke up to investigate. Not that the coroner thought he was above doing just that. The dog tag necklace was tangled, catching on his shirt and his jacket had failed to see an iron in perhaps a long time. He seemed to gaze across the street as though the answer to the coroner’s question was etched into some part of the street. The old lamps flickered, and the wind blew a cold kiss along the path sweeping up lost leaves in its embrace and leading them down into the darkness.  

“Eh, Come in already.  It’s cold out, no point letting in a draft, if you want you can look around yer sen.” The coroner waved his hand and pulled open the door beckoning the other inside, “You can join me for dinner.” 

“I trust you’d have picked up on those details, you have a good eye for that in your work.” Peter said, though there was another pause as he stepped into the house, “...which direction is the bedroom.”  

“Down the hall to the left, don’t blast my bed while yer there I would like a place to sleep.” The coroner sighed.  

“I wouldn’t... I won’t...it’s... Just a look.” Peter looked almost sheepish at the accusation.  

“Suit yer sen.” He sighed, as he returned to the kitchen.  

The water was starting to boil over now, and he had to take the moment to prevent it from spilling as he finished peeling the potatoes. After a moment, the sound of footsteps returned from down the hall.  Peter stepped into the kitchen, he looked both disappointed and relieved. Rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly,  

“Find anything?” The coroner asked, raising a brow.  

“Nothing.”  

“Well then. I hope yer satisfied.”  

“...You can never be too careful these days, Corey. The walls have eyes sometimes.” Peter sighed; he sat down at the table. Though he didn’t set down his gun.  

“What keeps you up this time?”  

“Mhmph.” Peter sighed, “What do you mean?”  

“It’s late and you don’t have work.” 

 Peter crossed his arms, though it looked awkward with the gun still set in his grip. “Hmph. You do. Can’t I make sure my neighbours get home safely?”  

“Ah.” The coroner sighed, smiling slightly, the sound of the crackling water as slabs of meat were tossed into it from the cutting board made the other flinch. “Y’know people get surprised when I say yer a nice fella.” 

“Hmph.” Peter grumbled, he shifted slightly at the table as though to get comfortable though still he unclenched his hand from the gun. “How was work?”  

“Same as usual, to be frank, took me longer than normal because that serial killer sure did one hell of a number on the ol’ tavern keeper.” He clicked his tongue.  

“Serial killer...hmm? Officially the same as the last murder then...did you get any leads?” 

Corey nodded, jabbing the contents of the pot with an old wooden spoon, “Indeed, I think I’ve decided a name for this one... the salt-walker murderer!” 

Peter scrunched his face up, while the name was stupid, he knew the other well enough to know it wasn’t for nothing. “Salt-walker...hmm.” 

“Yes, both bodies were stuffed with salt and thrown into the river after their death, talk about rubbing salt in the wounds. Every single cut.”  

“...almost like the killer wanted to preserve their work.” 

“Exactly.” Corey raised his hand to gesture back, clicking his fingers at the other though he didn’t look at the man, “A vanity killer who wants to preserve their ‘masterpieces’, Terrible at it. They hardly seem to understand how the process even works.” 

He shook his head, pausing in thought as he brought his hand to his face brushing his fingers across the Mustache before returning to the remaining vegetables before him, picking up the knife, “Unfortunately, even with such a creative method...I haven’t found any way to link any one to the crime...”  

 “Excuse me? Don’t tell me you’re trying to investigate this yourself!” Peter growled, he sat up straight again and hit the table in protest, the older man did not react.  “You think rocking up to a freakshows house is gonna make them reveal the whole circus?” 

“Well, maybe not.” The coroner mused, “But there’s nothing wrong with a little look around. Guess people are right about me being nosey in that sense.” 

“Corey.”  

“Yeah? That’s my name, what about it?”  

“You already know this person is dangerous, we established they’re willing to kill anyone... not just their targets but those who come in their way, what makes you think you won’t be on the receiving end if you go poking around?” 

“I don’t think I'm that worthwhile...” The coroner said, tossing the vegetables into the pot, “You think? An old man like me?”  

“Hmph. You get in over your head too much old man.” Peter replied, “Don’t go making yourself a target.”  

“Well, it’ll be what it’ll be, and god’ll be waiting.” Corey said, before turning to look at Peter, “Speaking of circus y’know, did you know that ol’ floozy, the acrobat Bellatrix has over seven restraining orders.” 

“Did you steal the sheriff’s files again?” 

 The coroner shrugged, “I like cross referencing them with my autopsy reports. It makes investigating discrepancies much easier. I should update my copies...”  

“I think you would do better to focus on getting a proper night's sleep and taking care of yourself instead. You have enough work with the bodies, let the investigator and their team take care of that.” 

“Ah, nonsense, a late night won’t kill me, besides you have no right to talk.” The coroner gave the other a pointed look.  

Peter looked down bringing his hand to rub his tired eyes and grumbling before drumming his fingers across the table. “I’m not any kind of role model. My point still stands.”  

Corey didn’t reply, shaking his head and stirring the pot again. The crackle of it almost seemed to blur into the noise of the house, the creak of floorboards, the ringing of a wind chime. The patter of tiny footsteps. Peter glanced back up.  

“...did you lock the back door?” 

“Of course.” 

“...are you sure?” Peter replied, “and the front door?” 

“If yer doubt my memory, go ahead and check yourself.” 

After a moment the man got to his feet again, his footsteps heavy as he traipsed across the house. Though thankfully there was no sound of the gun firing even as the doors slammed, and the locks clicked loudly in multiple sequences. By the time he returned the coroner was plating up the food.  

He glanced back at the man, “Anything?” 

“...Nothing.” Peter muttered.  

“Good. Then sit and eat.”  

Peter scrunched his face up for a moment but complied, sitting back down at the table. “...did you actually season it this time?”  

“It’s properly cooked. I always season it.”  

“You think salt is the epitome of spice.”  

The coroner waved his hand as though he could bat away the comment like a foul smell, “Eh, it’s food. It’ll do you good.”  

The veteran shook his head but didn’t complain further as the cutlery was placed next to him, it was kind of pathetic to say he still clung to the gun with one hand, it clearly served no current purpose beyond hindering his ability.  

“Come on, Peter. You look like a clown.” Corey sighed, sitting down. “Surely it won’t kill you to put it down for two minutes to eat.”  

“Sorry. Some habits die hard.” The man said softly, after a moment and almost reluctantly he set the gun down upon the table, though his fingers barely left the hilt. “Mistakes have a lasting impression to me.”  

“...You know it wasn’t your fault.” 

“Mhmm. Saying it doesn’t make it easier to believe.” He replied, there was a long pause before he shook his head, sighing, “I’m better. I don’t dream about it as much... about what I should have done.” 

“Is that because you looked into managing your issues or because you decided to avoid sleep all together?” The coroner frowned, “The cleric did prescribe you something, didn’t he?” 

“... No comment.” 

“Peter.” Corey shook his head, “Yer a complete hypocrite, y’know? Come on, you can’t be out here telling me off, you need to take care of yer sen too, for yer sake, for our peace of mind... and for yer kid.”  

“Hmph. Gia is not my kid. She’s my niece.” Peter sighed, “I’d be a failure as a father.” 

“Well same thing really, the sake of family. You take good care of her.” Corey sighed, “She’s a smart kid. Though was you the one to teach her to put salt on her windows to keep the fae away.”  

“Hey, the deputy said I wasn’t allowed to give her a firearm.”  

Corey shook his head and laughed, “She’s just a kid, Peter. Let her be a kid.”  

“I know. My sister would say the same...” Peter sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She still needs to know how to defend herself, even if it’s with salt lines. Gods... I don’t know what I'm doing. Really, I’m lucky Deodat is willing to babysit. I’m not... good at this kind of thing.”  

“Yeah. That’s one of life’s greatest challenges, y’know. Raising a kid, I’m sure she’s glad to have you, Peter. Really. You’re too hard on yourself. ” 

The man was quiet for a moment, his grip on the cutlery almost forgotten allowing it to fall against his plate, an almost vacant stare across the table, “Every time I pick her up, she asks.... if her mother’s going to come home. I never know how to answer. I don’t know myself... if she’s even going to wake up.” 

“Hey, Peter. It’s alright.” The coroner leaned across the table to caress the man’s arm. 

Peter flinched a little, his gaze flicking back to the coroner’s face and he sighed, “I just want her to be happy, she deserves a more normal life than this. I can’t even have her stay the nights...if something goes wrong. If... I messed up... again, I can’t.”  

“You do your best. That’s all you can do, that’s all you need.” 

“And if my best isn’t good enough... what if-” 

They both paused. The echo of something falling over catching their attention, the snapping of twigs and frantic array of footsteps. Perhaps the overgrown garden had some use.  

“Mhm, those darn foxes.” Corey muttered. 

“That’s too heavy for foxes...somethings outside...” 

“And it’ll stay outside. Finish your dinner.” The coroner gave him a pointed look as the man had already gripped the gun and began to raise from his seat. “I thought you gave up beast hunting...” 

For a long moment the two men stared at each other before Peter sank back into the chair and mumbled something before poking the remains of his food with his fork. The coroner stood up, picking up his empty plate and heading to scrongue some of the leftovers from the pot.  

“It’s foxes. The wildlife love my garden these days.” 

Peter shook his head, letting the fork scrap across the plate as he ate, “I’m sure a lot of things love your garden... you probably get some mites. You should trim down those bushes. Unless you plan on opening a love hotel for rabbits and fae out there.”  

“Eh. I'll get it to at some point.” 

“Mhmm.  Of course, you will. How many things happen ‘later’ with you?”  

The coroner shrugged, “It’ll happen when it happens. You can feel free to help if you want.” 

“Maybe. I promised Gia, I’d take her to the theatre to watch the magic show tomorrow...” Peter sighed, though he paused for a moment letting his fork rest against the edge of a stubborn carrot before asking, “What about you, your family? Haven’t seen you talk about them much. You don’t really...get visitors.” 

“Yeah. Well, that’s life sometimes. Work'll have ya. The years pass...sometimes distance just grows. My son’s made some friends overseas. Think he got a girlfriend, Jannet or something... course that was several years ago...now... I still have the letter.”  

“You haven’t spoken with him recently?” 

“No. He was always closer with his ma anyway.” Corey sighed, he glanced out of the window into the garden, “I suppose... the letters just became less... and the replies shorter...longer gaps...time just got away. It seems to evade me nowadays...Since... Ah... She really was special.” 

There was a long pause and almost habitually the man began to fiddle with the old ring upon his finger. Peter frowned, placing the cutlery down on the plate and clearing his throat.  

“Sorry.” 

“No.... no you’re right, I should send him a letter...I should fix that.” Corey sighed, turning back to face him, “Ah don’t look so sad, my wife’s been dead for o'er twelve years, what’s looking sad gonna do about it...”  

“You say that but, you still wear the ring every day, there’s marks on it... do you even take it off for work? Or does the idea of parting with it even for a moment...make you decide all other consequences are worth it.” 

“Yeah, well, we all have our ways of remembering people, you know that.” Corey shrugged, He brought his hand up through his own wiry hair. “don’t ye still have yer old engagement ring?”  

“Maybe.” Peter replied and for a moment he shifted almost bringing his hand to the chain around his neck but stopping himself.  

“Do you want any more?” Corey gestured at the pot, “There’s still some left.” 

“No. Thank you.” Peter sighed, glancing briefly at the place before shoving it away from himself.  

“Alright.” Corey picked up the plate, dropping it into the sink as the water splashed around it.  

For a moment Peter idled in the seat, fiddling with the gun as he drummed his fingers across the barrel before standing up, “I’m... going to... check on those foxes.”  

Corey raised a brow at him but nodded, “If you must.” 

He picked up the gun and moves towards the back door. The coroner watched through the window as he scrubbed the remaining grease off the pots. It was about ten minutes later that peter returned to the kitchen, looking once again both relieved and disappointed as he locked the door behind himself and rested the gun against his shoulder once more.  Corey looked at him as he finished drying his hands off.  

“Anything?” 

“No.” He replied, “Just... They dug up your dahlias... and knocked over the bins.”  

“Oh. Well, they needed weeding anyway.” Corey sighed, as he moved to stand next to him and reached his hand out to touch his arm. “Will that be all tonight? I’m pretty tired out...” 

Peter flinched but didn’t pull away from the touch his expression softening as he met the other man’s gaze.  

“Oh...yeah. I should let you get some sleep. And... I’ll just...” There was an awkward pause, trying to decide what to say though he was floundering with his words, “yeah. Good to see you. Take care. Thanks...uhm...for the dinner.”  

“Peter.”  

“Hmm.”  

“Did you want to stay over?”  

“No.” Peter pulled back, “No. I wouldn’t sleep, I’d just keep you at night. There’s... too many problems. I should...”  

“Take your meds and get to bed.”  

He scrunched up his face in disgust, “Hmmph. No.” 

“...Peter.” Corey sighed, though the other man cut him off.  

“Good night, Corey.” Peter shook his head, he didn’t want to hear it, “You keep yourself safe... I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Corey was quiet for a moment, he didn’t bother arguing. Perhaps it was because they both knew how stubborn Peter could be that it seemed all too pointless at this hour. Still he followed him to the door, the cool air of the street contrasted with the warmth of the kitchen from all the cooking, still he leaned against the door as the veteran stepped out onto the street.  “God be with ye, Peter.”