Chapter Text
Freddy wakes up slowly and it takes him a moment to remember why he's not in his own bed. He stretches, feeling the pull of overworked muscles and the brush of bare skin underneath the sheets. It's only when he opens his eyes and sees that it's dark outside that the situation really hits him and he shifts so he can catch a glimpse of the clock on the bedside table. It's late. Freddy should be getting home.
He lets his gaze slide over to the man sleeping next to him and he feels his face get hot as he thinks about the way White had touched him. The way White had fucked him. God, Freddy's in over his head here. He admires the planes of White's face with a goofy little smile and a quiet, giddy laugh to himself. Who would have imagined that the best part of this job would be the sex?
He'd feel pretty shitty about sneaking out in the middle of the night so he nudges White with an elbow, telling himself to stop smiling like an idiot. He doesn't really want to leave at all but he should. He has to meet Holdaway in the morning. A responsible undercover, who would never have gotten themselves in this situation in the first place, would catch a cab home and play it like a professional.
But Freddy's finding it pretty fucking hard to be a responsible undercover around White.
He nudges the older man again. “Hey, White.”
“Mmm. What time is it?”
“Almost ten. Listen, do you want me to get outta here, man?” Freddy's voice is raspy and he can still taste White on his tongue, which is more than a little distracting.
“You could stay.” White says as he smooths a hand over Freddy's shoulder, pulling him closer. “It's up to you, but I don't wanna see you go.”
“You'll need to drop me off at my place in the morning. I got some shit to take care of.”
“I can do that.”
Freddy smiles and lets himself melt closer to White, trying not to think about how close he's going to be cutting it. The weight of an arm holding him close makes it a little easier to put off thinking about unpleasant details but the guilt is always there in the back of his mind. The knowledge that he's lying to White. He presses a kiss to the man's chest and follows it with a small sigh, allowing himself to be content. “You wanna order some Chinese food or somethin'?”
“You hungry, kid?” Freddy hums. “Chinese food sounds great.” White says with a smile before moving to sit up. The sheets covering his lap slip a bit lower as he leans away to grab the phone and Freddy lets his eyes linger, watching as White calls in their order, giving his input when necessary. He deliberately doesn't think about how much he loves this, or how short their time together really is.
“It'll be about half an hour.” White says after hanging up the phone, lighting up a cigarette. He takes an easy drag and holds it out to Freddy, tossing his lighter on the bedside table.
“We should probably put some clothes on.” Freddy muses. He blows a couple shitty smoke rings, smiling too much to get it just right. His eyes wander down White's chest but they don't get too far because the older man leans over to kiss him, threading a hand into his hair.
“If you insist.”
"Don't worry, we can take 'em off again later."
**
White pulls out a joint when they're sitting on the couch, half-empty takeout containers sitting on the coffee table in front of them, and Freddy can't think of any reason to say no. If Holdaway didn't like it then maybe he shouldn't have written the commode story for Freddy's cover. As far as White knows, he's a practiced stoner who knows when to appreciate free weed.
And he wants to.
White makes him want to break the rules, like he really could be one of these guys. He knows he's probably getting too into the role of Mr. Orange but he feels so alive and it's good. He's happy. He grins as he watches White light the end of the joint and it reminds him of college—of trying not to get caught smoking in the dorms. The element of danger is the same, only now the stakes are so much higher.
There's a black and white western playing quietly on the TV as they pass the joint back and forth, fingers brushing in a way that's probably more than a little intentional. Freddy really wouldn't mind living a live like this, a life like Mr. Orange's. He's almost envious. There's a freedom that comes with this line of work and he already craves more of the feeling. His mind wanders as he passes the joint back to White and there are alarm bells blaring in some small part of his head that tell him what a dangerous path he's treading. Bad shit happens to undercovers that get this deep into a job.
“What're you gonna do after the job?” He asks with a careful exhale, and he doesn't miss the way White's eyes linger on his lips.
“I figure I'll lay low for a while. Maybe take a vacation, someplace warm.” White says just before sealing his lips around the end of the joint.
The room is silent save for Gary Cooper's drawl coming from the television screen but Freddy doesn't really hear it. He already feels dazed, THC creeping through his veins slow and thick. “I hear Mexico is pretty warm.” He muses.
“Would you wanna go there?”
“What, who said anything about me?”
“Well? Would you? You could stick with me for a while, you know. .”
Freddy feels his stomach swoop. “What like, together? Like a couple or somethin'?”
“Not necessarily. You would benefit from having a partner who knows what he's doing, you'll gain a reputation. It doesn't have to be anything but professional.” White sounds so sincere about it and it's such an appealing offer.
“I dunno I kinda have this uh...obligation after this job. I mean yeah, I would totally wanna go to Mexico with you but I'm just—I can't, y'know?” Freddy can imagine it. Going to Mexico with White, pockets full of cash. He has such a vivid image of it in his head but he still knows that it's impossible. He'd never get away with it. He's a cop, and that's not going to magically change just because he has the hots for White. “I would want that, though. A lot.”
**
“So, you got anything new to tell me?”
Freddy shrugs casually as he takes a sip of his soda. He's been thinking about this since White dropped him off at his apartment, carefully mapping out what he can and can't tell Holdaway. “Plan's still the same. Joe doesn't suspect anything but he's not very forthcoming with information, either, I don't think he fully trusts me. Not like he does with his regulars, anyway.”
“And what about Cabot's guy? What's his name, Mr. White? Fella from Milwaukee.”
Freddy keeps his expression neutral but he's terrified that the truth is gonna show on his face. “What about 'im?”
Holdaway brings his drink to his mouth, raising an eyebrow at Freddy. “He say much? Give you anything to work with?”
“No,” Freddy says maybe too quickly. He feels like Holdaway's gonna be able to tell just by looking at him that his cover's been pretty fuckin' compromised, but there's no way the guy could know. Truthfully, undercovers had done a lot worse for the sake of a job but this is different. Freddy's emotionally involved. He rushes to amend his statement. “Nah, I mean, Cabot has all these rules, y'know? We're not really supposed to talk to each other.”
Holdaway finishes his burger, wiping his hands on a napkin before reaching beside him. He sets a large book on the table, sliding it to the center with a smirk at Freddy. “Well maybe this'll help you out a little bit. This...Mr. White should be in here somewhere. Look through it, figure out who he is. You're doin' good work Newendyke, keep it up.”
Freddy stares at the book with a looming sense of dread. He'd been expecting this, sure, but a part of him was hoping Holdaway would never get around to it. It's not like it'll be hard to get everyone's names once the heist is over with and they're all booked. “Yeah. I'll try my best, man.” He says after a beat. “I'll look at this as soon as I can.”
It's not a lie, not necessarily. Even though Freddy doesn't so much as touch it once he's back home with the book on his table. It's a painful reminder of why he's here, of who White really is. He stares at it for a long time, trying to puzzle out his options and keep the fear at bay.
He avoids it for almost a week.
The book migrates from his table to the floor to the shelf in his closet but even out of sight it's a persistent thought in the back of Freddy's mind, and time is getting short. It doesn't make things any easier, either, because he's caught in a downward spiral that draws ever nearer to the end, and with every moment he spends with White he falls a little further.
**
The book is still in his closet when he wakes up on the morning of the heist, in White's motel room pressed close to the man himself, with only hours left to go. He never even looked at it, and it's not going to make a single difference because this is it, anyway. The End. He can't keep putting off the inevitable. He spends a few quiet minutes deep in thought, imagining running away together and waking up like this every morning, escaping away to Mexico. White treats him so good and he wishes so goddamn much that he didn't have to give it all up.
He inhales deeply, savoring the feeling of waking up next to someone. The feeling of skin touching skin and warmth and the sunlight just barely peeking through the curtains. He wants to hold on to at least some part of this while the rest is slipping from his fingers. He can feel the lump forming in his throat, a feeling of loss already seeping into his bones, and he carefully pulls out of Larry's arms and gets to his feet, untangling himself from the bedsheets with an uneasy restlessness.
The tile in the bathroom is cold against his bare feet and he shuts the door behind him quietly, padding over to the small sink and frowning at his reflection in the mirror. He got himself into this mess and he's going to have to deal with the consequences, there's no getting out of the situation.
The time to get out was before he got involved with White. Now he just has to face it.
White is awake when Freddy finally does come out of the bathroom, pack of cigarettes and a lighter sitting on the bed next to him. “Mornin'.” Freddy says, ignoring the lump in his throat as he crawls back into bed and lights up a cigarette.
“You been up long?” White asks, pulling Freddy close and pressing a kiss to his hair.
“Nah. Just for a little while.”
“Are you nervous?”
Freddy bites his lip and shrugs as best he can. Nervous isn't really the word for it but it's close enough, the semantics don't really matter. White can read him too well. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Well don't worry about it, kiddo. I'm gonna take care of you. It'll be over sooner than you know it, you're gonna do fine.”
Freddy nods but there's so much that White doesn't know. It's easy to talk so confidently when he has no idea what going through with this job will entail. “How much time do we have before we have to head out?” Freddy asks.
“Little under an hour.” White says, craning his neck to get a look at the clock. It's not a lot of time at all—especially when these are probably their final few moments together—but Freddy'd never have enough time with White, anyway.
He barely hesitates before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to White's lips, pouring everything he's got into it and trying so goddamn hard not to cry. Their cigarettes end up forgotten in the ashtray as White eases him back on the mattress and he savors every little whisper, every little caress, storing them away in a file in his head so he'll remember, even after he's lost this. “I want you to fuck me,” he pleads, and he doesn't care how desperate he sounds. He is desperate. This is his last chance to be with White and he's not gonna waste it.
It's hurried and frantic but White is still so gentle, so goddamn caring, unraveling Freddy piece by piece with his hands and fucking him like he loves him. Freddy wants to say “I love you,” or something damn near it, but the words are stuck in his throat. All can manage to do is cling desperately to White as he's driven over the edge, and it's probably for the best.
They're almost late. Everyone else is already there, flashing not so subtle smirks in their direction as they take their seats. Or maybe it's just in Freddy's head. But it doesn't matter either way because this is it.
**
Freddy knows he's going to die. There's no doubt about in his mind, he's already lost too much blood. He's floating in a state just above unconsciousness when Larry finally gets back with Eddie and Pink, and it takes everything he's got in him to lie through his teeth to Nice Guy. Eddie doesn't give a fuck about the cop but it's not too much of a stretch to think that Blonde would pull a burn, the guy was a psycho. He probably would have killed Freddy too, if he'd had the chance.
But Eddie doesn't buy it, and then Joe shows up and Freddy loses all control of the situation. Accusations, gunshots, it all goes by too fast for him to process and then Larry's bleeding on the floor right next to him. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen, and he hates White for trusting him so much.
“I'm sorry, kid. Looks like we're gonna do a little time.”
Freddy can feel his heart breaking, even through the chilling numbness from the blood loss and he reaches for Larry even as the truth spills from his lips. “I'm a cop. Larry, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I'm a cop.” It's hard to get the words out but he needs to say it, and once he starts he can't stop. The sound wrenched from Larry's mouth at the confession almost breaks him, makes him feel like the shittiest person ever, but he never releases his grip on Larry's arms.
When he hears the click of a gun being cocked he's almost glad. He can hear the sirens getting closer and the kiss of metal against his cheek is cold, but it's also comforting. He leans into it, braces himself for the moment when Larry's finger tightens around the trigger.
Maybe he should, but Freddy doesn't regret any of it. He'd do it all again if he had to, just as long as it meant he wouldn't lose this time with Larry. The cops that storm into the warehouse are too late to do anything and Freddy shuts his eyes, listens to the shouting for a few brief seconds before the shot rings out.
When it came to a man like Larry, Freddy Newendyke never stood a chance.