#handkerchief code

On the way back to their own office, Perez glances curiously at Peter. 

“Have you noticed at all?” She asks eventually, no longer able to keep her interest at bay.

“Noticed what?” Strahm replies with an inquiry on his own, appearing surprised.

For a second, she simply stares, stunned. Then, allowing herself a subtle, knowing smirk, she responds. 

“Never mind, then.” 

*

If there’s one thing Detective Hoffman hates, it’s stumbling across Lawrence and Adam. And he can’t even decide which is worse; being subjected to Gordon’s condescending look, or dealing with overly friendly Stanheight. Whatever the case, both stand as infuriating.

It’s simply a matter of business with Lawrence (or at least that’s what they both choose to offer as the official version). If you were to ask Adam, though, he doesn’t believe that for a second. And he doesn’t mind, either. 

Feeling slightly hyper today, as he sometimes does, he would normally let the two older men talk and settle things between themselves, while he paces, maybe takes some pictures, probably smokes (this is one of the very few instances during which Lawrence is too busy to grace Adam with a disapproving stare). 

But then something pinpoints his attention and he can’t help but react accordingly. 

His sudden close proximity is enough to make the other two pause. 

“Dear?” Lawrence prompts, caught off guard. 

However, Adam isn’t looking at him—his focus lies purely on the detective. After another while of hesitation and turning some thoughts over in his mind, he points at the red handkerchief, hanging out of Hoffman’s front pants pocket. 

“Actually?” He glances at the older man in disbelief. 

A flicker flashes across Hoffman’s face, as the sudden realisation dawns at him. “Uh, listen,” he hisses, stuttering, visibly flustered. “Maybe I might’ve been a bit… desperate recently…” 

By this point, Lawrence is pretty much lost completely. He casts a glance at his boyfriend once more, searching for some hint that may lead him to reach some reasonable conclusion. Adam’s shit-eating grin isn’t of much help, though.

*

“I need a fresh tie,” Strahm states casually, suddenly coming to a halt in the middle of the room. 

His gaze lazily travels toward Hoffman, still resting on the bed, and his own neck attire still bound to the headboard. Involuntarily, he raises his eyebrow, briefly reflecting on his choices from the previous night. Making rational and responsible decisions is indeed definitely easier while sober. 

Hoffman tilts his head to the side, not an ounce of care present. “Try wardrobe?” 

Strahm huffs with irritation but doesn’t retort. Instead, he follows the instruction (for once), sliding the door open and taking a look. Due to the limited variety of his partner’s choice of clothing, finding a clear tie fortunately proves anything but difficult. However, something inside captures Strahm’s attention and makes him stop dead in his tracks. 

Once realising what he’s looking at, he turns back to the other man, a blank unreadable expression painted on his face. 

He’s seen a lot in this apartment by now; starting on some more subtle bindings, ending on leather accessories and muzzles. But this… This is something entirely different. And strange. 

“Why in the world would you need this many handkerchiefs?” Caught off guard, Strahm quickly motions to the drawer that appears to be overflowing with a disarray of colours and patterns. 

A knowing grin brightening his features, Hoffman spares the Agent a smug glance. “The right attire is the key to communication,” he explains eloquently as if stating the obvious to an idiot. “These help me declare my needs more clearly.” 

The detective visibly expects some response, a reaction transmitting some sort of understanding. Instead, he observes Strahm stare back at him for at least a few seconds, his brow furrowed, before shrugging it off, muttering “whatever” under his breath and, finally, leaving. 

Hoffman lets his gaze linger on the door that his partner just slammed shut right before his eyes, in a hurry. He doesn’t move for a while longer but eventually, the initial surprise passes and the detective’s mind catches on. 

He reaches for his phone, going to his contacts without as much as looking at the screen. His fingers quickly tap a combination of buttons, creating a brief but clear and direct message. 

To: Lindsey Perez  k. running out of options. do i just stick a printed hanky code to his face or sth?

A/N: Thank you for reading! This is the first "chapter" of this work, hence more may appear in the future if I come up with something more.

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