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ᴡɪʟʟ ɢʀᴀʜᴀᴍ; ᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀʟ p̶r̶o̶f̶i̶l̶e̶r̶ (
2017-03-01 12:19 am (UTC)
"Probably should." Looks like they're on the same page about the amount of time that's about to get wasted, typing up something that's only going to appear in most digital files as a lot of fucking blacked-out boxes.
Will's never dealt with anyone going undercover to this extent. Outside of Cohle's own state? It's practically unheard of, usually would suggest a lot of shuffling panic as a cover gathered enough waves to carry the officer's lies too far - the fact that Hill hasn't called
office already, looking for her detective, is bizarre enough. It sends up red flags, enough to distract Will out of the protocol
probably going to be meant to follow for this.
And Cohle himself. He's clearly high, been high for a while, eyes red-rimmed and attention crackling and then fizzling out. How long has he been awake? Will remembers a few particularly shitty nights of his own, knows that brand of wide-eyed focus, but he's never done drugs. This is another level, and it's distracting being in the room with it.
"Amelia Hill speaking." That snaps Will out of it. The voice is deeper than he was expecting. "You actually got him locked up right now?"
"He told me what was going on as soon as he wasn't around his cohort we brought him in with. He's fine, not even processed yet." Will hears concern in her voice and, reasonably, assumes it's for Cohle.
Her voice when she continues is chilly enough that he's not really sure anymore, though. "This is gonna be a pain in the ass for everybody, but for the most part it's just gonna be forgetting you saw anything. I'll fax your senior officer over Cohle's files so you can confirm ID on him." Her voice is clipped, someone used to people underneath her fucking up but no more patient for it. "I'm gonna need their name, and yours, Officer...?"
"Detective Will Graham." Will's starting to reanimate, no longer needing to watch his back or his gun, now that it's all but confirmed that this is indeed Rustin Cohle, (very deeply) undercover narcotics officer. He glances back up at Cohle, holds up his free forefinger in a
just a sec
gesture, and then edges out of the room while relaying all the incredibly exciting information of his boss's name and fax machine number.
The door cracks back open, Will's phone back in his pocket and the sergeant too busy on the phone with Hill to be giving out many further orders.
He's got a little plastic cup from the cooler in one hand, filled high enough that he's got to be careful not to spill it when he holds it out. "I'm pretty sure that it's fine for you to come out of the cell now, but I'm equally sure that Landon will have an aneurysm if he sees you sitting in the break room before I've had a chance to tell him what happened." He says, by way of avoiding commenting on the fact that he's just gone and brought Cohle water.
Will's mouth has been dry in mirrored sympathy for the whole ten minutes he was gone - Cohle
dry, from his lips to his hands, and the image had been burnt into Will's head as clearly as the dusty leather jacket.
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