Mercer is less eating the chips and more using them as a convenient vessel for the dip. He didn’t eat lunch – neither did Garcia, and she was incredibly vocal over how unhappy she was about that – and he’s God damn starving.

wow i want chips and dip

It was the kind of small close roomed family run restaurant that hand fries the tortilla chips and doesn’t care if you do lines of coke in the bathroom. The little white paper bowl of queso is so piled full they barely got the lid on, and he picked up something with chicken in it for Sommers because he saw the guy eat it twice for lunch and had no fucking idea what else to go for.

The little paper take-out clam shell of flan is also for him, because the man eats more sugar than a kindergartner.

Observations being made <3 also i want Mexican food T.T

Silverbrooke Apartments is a moderately decent apartment complex across the street from a strip mall and the kind of gas station that sells more cheap beer and even cheaper cigarettes than it does actual petrol. Mercer spent almost two solid weeks staking the building out when he first tagged Sommers as a suspect, though this is the first time that he’s actually made it into the parking lot, let alone the front lobby.

this is normal behavior right, mercer’s being normal here?

“Have you already made plans for him to give you more?” She questions, standing up and gathering her things. “Something that will let you work more closely with him? Really, really closely?”

He breathes out hard through his nose and resolutely does not tell her about his dinner plans for the night. 

i just love Garcia and Mercer being pals <3

There’s that stupidly amused look again, almost smug. “Were you asking about something specific, honey?”

“No shit.” Mercer chews on the inside of his lip, rolls his eyes. “I meant that it’s got to be a pain in the God damned ass, dealing with dinner.” Before Sommers can respond with another half-assed joke, Mercer tells him, “I could bring something by when I’m off this evening.”

Sommers lets out a huff of disbelieving laughter and shakes his head, finally turning the chair enough so that he’s fully facing Mercer, one leg kicked out so it’s bracketed on the outside of Mercer’s outer ankle. “That right, honey? You planning on leaving before midnight?”

hey.

hey.

i know that i accused you of being a serial killer.

but do you wanna go out.

Mercer sits the coffee down next to the keyboard. “For you.”

Sommers looks amused. “That so?”

“What do you have?” Mercer asks, stepping around the desk – a hitch, a slight pause – and then he slides in behind Sommers, leaning half over his shoulder, a hand settling on the outside of the man’s left upper arm.

The light in the office is LED, glaringly bright; LED front-lit from the monitor, casing his face in an odd sort of washed out white. Sommers is silent for a moment. He’s warm through the shirt. Mercer’s careful not to lean on his back, braces the other hand on the desk just beside where Sommers arm is braced.

Mercer’s got the old slide and grab mastered <3

He can practically feel Garcia’s eyes boring into his back the whole way over, but Mercer ignores it the same way that he always ignores it. Garcia is a master of the disappointed head shake.

She is constantly disappointed but seldom surprised 

Mercer says, “I did a case in a butcher shop a few years back.”

Body hung up from the ceilings when they got there, ribs carefully cut away, one of them still on the scale to be packaged, limbs split up like someone was trying to butcher out a cow. Big hooks. Clean, not rusted; can’t contaminate the actual hogs like that. But dull from going through muscle and fat. 

 Sommers hooks had been filed to a point, so they would go through muscle smooth as butter.

gross <3

Mercer’s paused in the middle of grabbing up a few papers he needs to double check, gaze locking onto Mark Sommers, who’s walking, rather gingerly, towards the office opposite them.

“Oh. I… Didn’t think he would be back in here so soon.” She turns to squint at Mercer. “Don’t be a dick, Eric. There’s no reason for it.”

“I’m not going to be a dick. Have more faith in me than that.”

“You’ve had it out for the man since we got here. I’m just taking precautions. What are – Eric, no, don’t go bother him,” Garcia says, her shoulders drooping as Mercer steps around her and heads for the door, loose stack of papers still clutched in one hand.

Over his shoulder, he tells her, “When I’m done here, I’m heading to check out that scene on seventh again. Make sure you let our little babysitter know. If I have to speak to him again today, I’m going to end up breaking his nose.”

longer excerpt this time, because i think it’s really funny

The problem is, Mercer’s still got no idea how to start trying to find either of the Butcher killers. He’s going to assume that one of them is the nurse, Hart, and the other – that would be the muscle. Not Sommers.

Hart has such a bit part in this but she’s also so damn pretty T.T

Might be more of a shame that Garcia is right about the guy.

Smart and nice eyes, indeed.

MERCER STOP

it’s worth noting this is literally a WEEK after he tries to accuse Sommers of murdering everyone <3

“Worried about me, honey? Nice turn of events,” Sommers tells him, sounding about as amused by the turn-coat as Mercer figured he’d be. Jackass.

Mercer leans a little further back in his chair, crosses his arms over his chest. “I think it might have been a better turn of events if you didn’t get yourself strung up like a pig.”

“I’ve had better Friday nights.”

“Oh, the meat hooks weren’t fun for you? What a God damn shame. Maybe next time you can lose the pants instead of the shirt, and get more of a laugh about it.” Mercer worries at the welt on the inside of his lower lip, thumps fingers against his own arm. “About that circumstantial.”

it’s all just business <3

Mercer makes a face. He can’t stand working with the locals. They’re always so up in the air about someone coming in to clean up their mess. But – Sommers is smart.

If you ask Garcia, he’s smart with nice eyes, and he’s built like a brick house.

Mercer’s focusing on the smart part of that. Mostly.

mostly <3

Mercer’s been a jackass this whole time, for no fucking reason.

It makes him want to chew straight through his own tongue.

that’s not healthy hon

They’re nothing more than vultures; the Butcher case is their desert buried corpse to circle.

on reporters

Mercer shoves the gun back into his shoulder holster and jabs a finger at Jackson. “Call Garcia back and tell her I want her here in four.” Jackson snorts. “Call her!”

Four minutes.

There are bolt cutters in Mercer’s trunk. Rough hewn blankets folded up small. A little cardboard box of protein bars and pressure bandages. Sometimes you can’t wait for the paramedics to show up, no matter what protocol says. And Garcia knows she needs to make other calls when there’s a time limit, get people out here a little faster, come here prepared to deal with the sort of back lash that the brass hates showing up on their desk.

hi yes they’re such good partners T.T

Mercer circles Colin first, stays well away from the dunk tank, taking in the noose tied around the man’s neck, and then moves to do the same with Sommers. There’s a metal hook shoved into the fatty flesh beneath each of Sommers shoulder blades, blood running down over dark, bruise mottled skin. They’re just high enough up that Sommers can keep his feet on the ground if he stands on his toes, the balls of his feet wobbling in the filthy red tinged water.

Tank. Cords. Water. “It’ll electrocute Sommers the moment that water gets too high.”

oh i guess it wasn’t Sommers after all, oops <3 good thing he figures this out early on. maybe they can catch the actual killer now sfbgsdfgsd