Chapter Text
Red and blue mesh in the night as Rodger arrives at the scene of the crime, gruffly thanking the chauffeur - he'd been on a way to an official event - as he slams the door behind him. Dirt scuffs his boots as he shoves his hands in his pockets and puffs out a breath into the cool air, watching it fog.
"Rodger!" Someone calls behind him, their voice trembling.
He turns, raising an eyebrow, and opens his arms to his niece, who sobs quietly. "I thought you were busy," she murmurs into his chest, and he shushes her, petting her curly hair.
"Boxten is in the tent," she continues, voice thick with tears. "I still can't... I can't believe it. He's in shock, too."
Rodger sighs softly, pulling back and brushing off his coat. "What happened?"
Usually, Rodger wouldn't ask this of someone, but he knows Poppy can handle it. She's a big girl, and he'd practically raised her himself - he trusted her observational skills to a pretty high degree, which is high praise for a detective.
"Connie..." Poppy starts, and Rodger's mouth goes dry.
"No."
Poppy gives him a tearful nod, and Rodger tugs her back in for another, much tighter hug. "Oh, bubble," he murmurs in her hair, and she sniffs. "Is she...?"
"Yes," she breathes, like she rues the answer, and Rodger can't blame her.
His little girl is going through what he went through so long ago.
He kisses the top of her hair and then gently releases her, only to wrap an arm around her waist. "Where's Boxten?" Rodger murmurs to Poppy, half-carrying her as he guides her down the cracked cement. "I'm gonna get you settled and then go investigate. She deserves peace."
"Blue tent," Poppy manages.
Sure enough, when they finally get to the blue tent, Boxten is sitting and staring blankly at the wall, wrapped in a blanket. He only looks up when they come in, dried tear tracks obvious on his face until he sees Rodger and quickly hurries to stand up, though Rodger gently puts a hand on him shoulder and presses him back down. Poppy manages to sit by herself, so Rodger shifts to stand in front of them, hands on his hips.
"S-Sir," Boxten starts, voice cracking. Rodger gracefully ignores it. "There was an accident, it just... is she...?"
"He doesn't know," Poppy murmurs, Rodger's niece putting her head on Boxten's shoulder. "He just got here."
Rodger sighs, getting the pair's attention. "You keep her safe," he directs at Boxten. "She needs you right now, and she may deny it, but she can't handle you shutting down. You have to stick together."
Boxten swallows thickly, and his niece doesn't respond, simply burying herself further against Boxten.
Rodger leaves them without another word, stopping outside of the tent to gather his thoughts. This reminded him, rather hauntingly, of his late wife, but it had been years.
He thinks it just hit hard because Connie always seemed so similar to her. Snarky, but elegantly so, and capable of whatever she put her mind to. It's always the people that love too hard that die too early.
Rodger shakes it off with a quick cigarette. He'd quit a long while ago, but he had a habit of smoking when he thought of Teagan. She'd thought it was hot, and it may seem silly, but Rodger always found it cheering him up.
He takes a single puff and then puts it out on the sleeve of his coat, dropping the butt on the dewy, dark grass.
The largest tent is nearly silent when he walks in, but whispers still run rampant. One of the stalls is still open, a huge sign with a strawberry painted on it hanging overhead as he walks up. The man there is handing a cupcake to a child with a smile, but he quickly turns to Rodger and shoos the child softly.
"How can I help you, detective?" the man drawls, propping an elbow against the counter of the mini shoppe. "Here for the rampage?"
Rodger nods, shoving his gloved hands back in his pockets. "I've heard things," he says, purposefully vague. "But I want your version."
"Well, detective," the man sighs, standing back up straight. "One of our trapeze artists fell, according to witnesses."
"You didn't see it yourself?" Rodger raises an eyebrow, mentally taking note of that fact.
The man scoffs, gesturing to his table with a cocky smirk. "No sirree, I've been here at my humble abode. A few lil birdies have giv'n me a bit of info, is all."
"What kind of information?" Rodger asks sharply, eyes narrowing.
With a raise of his hands, the man shrugs. "Not much. All I can say is that she's confirmed dead, and her name is Connie."
Rodger curses, a hand coming to press against his forehead as he bites back bitter tears. "Right," he grits out, voice strained, and the man gives him a concerned look.
"Look, mister," he frowns slightly, reaching under the counter to grab something as Rodger watches warily. "I don't know what your relation is to her, but I wish ya luck investigatin'. If you need anything, whatever it should be, I'm always here."
He pulls a cupcake from under the desk and slides it over, the yellow and white frosting making Rodger's heart drop.
"Detective Rodger," he says blankly, taking the offered treat.
The man winks, tipping his pink and white-striped cap. "Sprout Seedly."
-
Poppy and Boxten are still where he left them when he brings them the cupcake, placing it on the crate in front of them. Rodger swallows, taking a deep breath as he purses his hands in front of him.
"It's... it's my regret to inform you that Ms. Connie Springer has passed away."
Boxten makes a choked noise as Poppy wails, Rodger flinching at the sound before he steels himself, kneeling in front of the pair and wrapping his arms around them. He lets them cry for as long as they need before he pulls away, gently putting a hand on each of their heads and ruffling their hair.
"You're good kids," he manages out, throat closing in on itself. "I'll find out what happened."
They're too dead to the world to respond, idly clinging to each other as they shake.
Rodger understands, so he leaves them to it, closing the curtain to the medbay area with a quiet shlick.
He walks away. He passes the man's stall. He passes the big tent. He comes to an ambulance at the back of the circus, lights flashing into the night despite the only occupant being dead.
Rodger opens the doors and looks in, a woman glancing down at him, curly hair in a loose ponytail. "Rodger!" she gasps, pressing a hand to her chest. "Warn a woman, won't you?"
"Shelly," he greets curtly.
He usually plays along, but he's not in the mood right now. Thankfully, Shelly doesn't seem hurt by his crass response, immediately catching the somber tone.
"Is your girl okay?" she asks softly, reaching out to help him into the ambulance although she knows he doesn't need it. "I heard they were close."
Rodger sighs, sitting on the bench beside the woman and letting her wrap her arm around his shoulders, pulling him in for a comforting hug. The two had gotten close on the job, and despite the girl being ten or so years younger, they'd remained thick as thieves.
"They were dating," Rodger murmurs, and Shelly makes a soft noise. "Her, Boxten, and Connie. They were together."
Shelly frowns, gently squeezing him. "That's horrible..."
"Boxten had just gotten my blessing," he admits, and the weight that had been on him this whole time suddenly lifts. "He bought a ring and everything. I was in town because he was going to propose tomorrow."
"Oh," Shelly says, because that's all she can."
"Yeah." Rodger stares at the gurney in front of him, the closed bodybag. He swears he can see that cotton-candy blue hair through the thick fabric. "Oh."
-
When he leaves the ambulance, it's with a kiss to his cheek from Shelly and a goodbye wave from Vee, the two sitting together on the hedge of the ambulance as they watch him go.
Rodger finds himself back in front of the big tent, gathering his courage to go inside. He knows what he'll see. He knows he's too connected to this case to viably consider carrying on with it. But when he thinks back to his niece, the way she'd personally asked him to investigate Connie's death...
Rodger steels himself and pushes the cloth back, dipping inside. Blood, both dried and wet, is spattered over the once colorful floor and walls, dripping from a nearby bench. Bile gathers in the swell of his mouth but he swallows it back, kneeling beside the largest smattering and studying the marks.
She'd dropped from high up, he muses to himself, glancing to the bar laying in the puddle. Must've been doing some new trick for the circus when it came loose.
That's if it wasn't foul play. Something tells him it isn't, but he doesn't follow his gut. Not after what happened so long ago.
Rodger snaps on a fresh pair of gloves as he carefully avoids stepping in the puddles of blood, picking up the bar and wiping away the muck. There are scratch marks on the corners, and he narrows his eyes at it before a throat clears behind him.
Rodger stands back up, finding a man of shorter stature and vivid green eyes staring up at him, a wide smile on his lips. "Detective," the man greets, but there's something underneath that cheer that makes Rodger's skin itch. "I'll have to see your badge before I let you continue."
He pulls out the badge in one fell swoop, wallet falling open to show his police ID. "Good!" The man claps his hands together, eyes suddenly saddening as he steps to stand beside Rodger, the two staring into the vast array of blood.
"Once you finish here," the man tells him, and Rodger twists his head to catch a glimpse of his name tag. "We have a suspect in custody."
Rodger hums, not responding. The man seems to take it as a yes and walks away with a pleased dip of his head. Rodger watches on in barely hidden disdain.
What are you hiding, Dandy?