12. Lucas
12
LUCAS
PSYCHIATRIC EVALUATION—CONFIDENTIAL Subject: Dr. Lucas Gautier Evaluator: Dr. M. Henderson
Patient exhibits concerning fixations on:
Chemical manipulation of human behavior
“Beautiful darkness” in test subjects
Someone referred to as “Chimera”
Recent obsession with “Saint’s evolution”
Recommendation: Immediate suspension of laboratory privileges Status: IGNORED
The toxicology results from Perkins mock me from my computer screen, but my mind keeps drifting to that first night I confronted my Chimera about her elegant poisons. The night I chose fascination over ethics, brilliant chaos over mundane order.
I giggle at the memory, the sound echoing off sterile walls. “Oh, how far we’ve come, my dear.”
The evidence of her latest work lies before me—blood samples showing traces of that exquisite compound I’ve come to know as well as my own heartbeat. Local flora, modified to mimic natural cardiac arrest. My Chimera’s signature, evolved from those first crimes I discovered months ago.
“Your technique improves every time,” I tell the empty morgue, adjusting my microscope with manic precision. “Though tonight’s work seems... rushed. Emotional, perhaps? Most unlike you, saint.”
My phone buzzes. Ethan.
“Dr. Gautier,” I answer, though formality seems ridiculous given our earlier conversation about moral evolution.
“Lucas.” Ethan’s voice carries that delicious edge of desperation I planted earlier. “The preliminary report on Perkins just came across my desk. Natural causes? Really?”
I spin in my chair, admiring how the fluorescent lights cast my shadow in multiple directions. Rather like my loyalties these days. “Science deals in facts, my friend. And the facts say cardiac arrest.”
“Bullshit.” Such passion in that word. “This is connected to the Gardenia Club deaths, to Celeste, to?—”
“To justice?” I suggest innocently, unable to resist prodding the wound I opened earlier. “To cleaning up what the law can’t touch?”
Silence crackles between us. I use it to pull up Perkins’ full tox screen, admiring my Chimera’s artistry while I wait for Ethan to wrestle with his conscience.
“What aren’t you telling me?” he finally asks, his voice rough.
“Oh, saint, I’m telling you everything. You’re just not ready to hear it yet.” I pause, considering my next move carefully. “Though I must say, your reaction to our earlier discussion about moral flexibility was fascinating. Almost as fascinating as the compound I’m currently analyzing.”
“Lucas—”
“Did you know certain plant toxins can actually enhance mental clarity before they kill?” I continue, warming to my subject. “Rather like how questioning one’s rigid ethical framework can lead to the most exquisite revelations before old beliefs die completely.”
“For God’s sake, if you know something about these deaths?—”
“I know many things,” I cut him off, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I know that monsters sometimes wear suits and carry badges. I know that justice and law aren’t always the same thing. And I know that you, my dear friend, are standing at a rather exciting precipice.”
More silence. Then, “Where are you?”
“At my lab, of course. Though I should warn you—my Chimera won’t be joining us tonight. She’s rather...indisposed. Dealing with some fascinating personal revelations of her own.”
“Your what?”
“Oh dear, did I say that out loud? How terribly indiscreet of me.” I giggle, riding the wave of brilliant chaos I feel building. “Come to the lab, Ethan. Let’s discuss evolution and ethics and all the deliciously dark possibilities lying between them.”
As I end the call, I send a quick text to Jazz.
Me: Our friend is coming to play. Keep our Chimera safe while I nurture his budding darkness.
The response is immediate.
Jazz: Don’t break him, doc. Some transformations need time.
“Spoilsport,” I mutter, but he’s right. Can’t rush a proper chemical reaction. Still, as I prepare my lab for Ethan’s visit, arranging evidence and theories like breadcrumbs leading to a beautiful trap, I can’t help but feel excited.
After all, the best experiments are the ones where you can’t quite predict the results.
The door to my lab opens exactly seventeen minutes later. I’ve counted each second, arranging and rearranging evidence like a conductor preparing for his masterpiece.
“You look terrible,” I announce cheerfully as Ethan enters. He does—all delicious dishevelment and moral crisis. “Coffee? I’ve been experimenting with some fascinating South American beans. The molecular structure of their caffeine is quite unique.”
“Lucas.” He runs a hand through his already messy hair. “What game are you playing?”
“Game? My dear friend, this is science!” I spin to my evidence wall with perhaps too much flourish. “Observation, hypothesis, experimentation. For instance, observe these toxicology reports.” I tap the screen showing Perkins’ results. “Notice anything... familiar?”
He moves closer, and oh, the hunger in his eyes when he studies the data is absolutely beautiful. “This pattern... I’ve seen it before.”
“Have you?” I perch on my desk, watching him like one of my more volatile experiments. “In the Beaumont case perhaps? Or maybe that unfortunate banker last month? It’s quite striking, isn’t it? The elegance of it. The... precision.”
“Lucas,” his voice carries a warning, but his eyes never leave the screen. “If you’re protecting someone?—”
“Protecting?” I laugh, the sound bouncing off sterile walls. “My dear Ethan, I’m illuminating. Showing you what you already know but refuse to acknowledge.” I slide a folder toward him. “Here. A gift. My private analysis of the last six natural deaths in our fair city.”
His hand hovers over the folder. “This is evidence. If you’ve been withholding?—”
“Oh, spare me the bureaucratic ethics.” I wave dismissively. “We both know the system is broken. How many monsters have you watched walk free because of legal technicalities? How many times have you wished for a more... elegant solution?”
“That’s not?—”
“Justice?” I stand, moving into his space. “But it is justice, Ethan. Pure, uncompromised by politics or procedure. Look at Perkins’ file. Look what he was involved in. The trafficking, the murders, all covered up with money and influence. Until someone decided to deliver what the law couldn’t.”
“You know who’s doing this.” It’s not a question.
“I know many things.” I tap his chest, right over his heart. “Just like I know you’re not as horrified by these deaths as you pretend to be. Your pulse races with fascination, not revulsion. Rather like mine did when I first discovered the truth.”
He grabs my wrist, but doesn’t push me away. “The truth about what?”
“About everything.” I grin, probably looking as mad as I feel. “About justice and chemistry and beautiful monsters who do terrible things for the right reasons. About how sometimes the most ethical choice is to break every rule you’ve ever followed.”
“You’re insane,” he whispers, but there’s something like wonder in his voice.
“Brilliantly so!” I agree cheerfully. “And you’re on the verge of your own magnificent break from sanity. I can see it in your eyes—that hunger for something more than paperwork and procedures. Something... darker. More satisfying.”
He doesn’t move. He doesn’t run.
Push harder.
“My dear Saint,” I purr, using the nickname I gave him months ago—back when I first recognized the holy crusader hiding a sinner’s heart. “You’re thinking too much. Always so determined to be righteous, aren’t you? Even when righteousness fails.”
His grip on my wrist tightens. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not? It suits you—the virtuous FBI agent, sacrificing everything in pursuit of justice.” I step closer, until I can feel the heat radiating off him. “But even saints can fall, saint. Often in the most... spectacular ways.”
“Lucas,” his voice holds a warning, but he still doesn’t step back. “Whatever you’re involved in?—”
“Is exactly what you wish you were involved in.” I reach up with my free hand, straightening his perpetually crooked tie. “I see it, you know. Every time we discuss a case, every time justice slips through legal loopholes. That darkness in your eyes, that hunger...” I lean closer, dropping my voice to a whisper. “It’s beautiful.”
His breath catches. Oh, he’s magnificent when he’s struggling with temptation. “You’re trying to manipulate me.”
“Obviously!” I laugh, the sound slightly manic. “And you’re letting me, which is far more interesting.” I tap the folder still lying between us. “Take it, Saint. Read it. Let yourself feel what you’ve been denying.”
“And if I arrest you instead?”
“You won’t.” My certainty makes him flinch. “Because deep down, you want to know how the story ends. Want to be part of it.” I pull away, moving to my private safe. “Would you like to see what else I’ve been working on? What we could accomplish together?”
“We?” There’s that crack in his armor I’ve been waiting for.
“Mmm.” I enter the safe’s combination with flourishing digits. “Did your mother never teach you patience, Saint? All will be revealed in time. Like a properly executed chemical reaction—every element must be introduced in perfect sequence.”
I retrieve a small vial of iridescent liquid, holding it up to the light. The way his eyes track it is positively predatory. Such potential in him, barely contained by that FBI suit.
“What is that?”
“Evolution in a bottle, saint.” I move back into his space, enjoying how he tenses but doesn’t retreat. “Or perhaps revelation would be more accurate. Depends on one’s philosophical perspective.”
“You’re completely insane,” he says, but there’s something like longing in his voice.
I reach up, trailing one finger along his jaw. “And you’re completely captivated. Shall we see which one of us breaks first?”
He doesn’t flinch.
Push harder.
“Sometimes,” I continue, circling him like a particularly excited shark, “the most fascinating chemical reactions occur when a stable compound is introduced to a catalyst. The breakdown is... exquisite.”
“Stop.” But his voice shakes.
“Why? Because I’m making too much sense? Because everything you’ve built your life around is starting to feel like a beautifully constructed lie?” I pause in front of him, close enough to share breath. “Tell me, Saint, what really keeps you up at night? The criminals you can’t catch, or the ones you let walk free?”
Something snaps behind his eyes. His hand shoots out, grabbing my lapel and shoving me against the wall. “Shut. Up.”
“Make me,” I challenge, grinning manically. “Show me what’s really hiding behind all that virtue, Saint. Show me the monster you’re so afraid of becoming.”
His hand grips my neck deliciously. “I’m nothing like?—”
“Like what? Like me? Like her?” I press harder, watching his control fragment. “Tell me you haven’t dreamed of it. Tell me you haven’t imagined taking justice into your own hands. Tell me Celeste’s work didn’t thrill you even as you hunted her.”
“You know,” he growls, his grip tightening. “You know who she is.”
“I know many things, saint. I know how badly you want to cross that line. I know how tired you are of playing by rules that protect the guilty. I know?—”
His mouth crashes into mine, violent and desperate. Oh, what beautiful chaos. I kiss him back just as fiercely, tasting his surrender, his rage, his liberation.
The hands that had been gripping my lapel now move to tangle in my hair, pulling me closer as if he wants to consume me. I let him, eager for the collision of our primal desires.
Our mouths move hungrily against each other, tongues dueling for dominance. I can feel his body pressed against mine, every muscle taut with tension and need. And I revel in it, revel in the fact that I have pushed him to this point.
When he finally pulls back, his eyes are wild. “What have you done to me?”
“Nothing you didn’t want, Saint.” I straighten my coat, feeling wonderfully disheveled. “I simply showed you what you already knew—that sometimes the brightest souls cast the darkest shadows.”
He steps back, running shaking hands through his hair. “The evidence, the deaths, Celeste... you’ve been protecting her. Working with her.”
“With? For? The prepositions become rather blurry when dealing with forces of nature.” I move to my desk, picking up the vial I’d shown him earlier. “The question isn’t what I’ve been doing, saint. It’s what you’re going to do now.”
“I should arrest you. Both of you.”
“Should,” I echo, rolling the vial between my fingers. “Such a tedious word. Laden with all those moral imperatives that have never quite satisfied you.” I hold out the vial. “Want to try something more... liberating?”
For a long moment, Ethan just stares at the vial in my hand. I can practically see the war behind his eyes—duty versus desire, law versus justice, saint versus sinner. Beautiful.
“What’s in it?” he finally asks, voice rough.
“Truth,” I purr. “Or maybe madness. They’re really quite similar at the molecular level.”
His laugh sounds half-broken. “You’re actually insane.”
“Brilliantly so. And you, my dear Saint...” I step closer, pressing the vial into his hand, “are finally ready to fall from grace.”
He looks down at the vial, then back to me. The hunger in his eyes makes my pulse race with scientific excitement. “If I take this...”
“Then there’s no going back,” I finish. “Rather like that kiss. Though I must say, ethical crisis is a stunning look on you.”
His free hand catches my jaw, thumb brushing over my bottom lip. The touch carries equal parts threat and promise. “I hate you,” he whispers.
“No, saint.” I grin against his thumb. “You hate that I’m right.”
When he kisses me again, it tastes like surrender and chemicals and the death of everything he used to believe in. Perfect.
The kiss is wilder this time, a desperate blend of passion and frustration. I can feel Ethan’s resolve wavering with each sweep of my tongue against his, with every brush of our bodies as we press closer together. He tastes like surrender and chemicals and the death of everything he used to believe in. It’s perfect.
“I can’t do this,” he mutters against my lips, even as his hands tighten on my waist.
“Can’t or won’t?” I tease, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes. They’re dark with conflicting emotions, but there’s no denying the desire burning in them.
He shakes his head, trying to regain control. “I’m an agent. It’s my job to uphold the law.”
“And yet here you are, standing in the office of a known criminal mastermind.” I raise an eyebrow mockingly.
“Don’t toy with me, Lucas,” he growls, his grip tightening almost painfully.
I chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “Oh Saint, you’re so adorable when you try to resist me.”
He scowls at me half-heartedly before leaning in for another kiss. This time it’s slower, more intense as our tongues dance together in a battle for dominance. My hands roam over his body freely now, feeling every muscle twitch beneath my touch.
One hand snakes down to rest on his prominent bulge and he moans into the kiss. “This is wrong,” he pants between kisses.
“But it feels oh so right,” I purr seductively before releasing him.
I send him away shortly after, the vial tucked safely in his pocket like a seed of beautiful corruption. On my phone, I type out two messages:
To Jazz : The Saint is falling. Rather spectacularly.
To my Chimera : You should see what fascinating experiments I’ve been conducting. Though I do hope you don’t mind sharing. Some test subjects are too delicious to resist.
As I turn back to Perkins’ autopsy report, humming a slightly manic tune, I can’t help but feel pleased with the night’s work. After all, the most interesting chemical reactions are the ones that change all the elements involved.
And oh, what beautiful chaos we’re about to create together.