fair/unfair

19.

uhhhh heavily unedited sorry enjoy? 

       Reid knew exactly what this was the moment he descended the stairs.

       It had only taken one look at the dinner that Jay conveniently learned to cook after years of canned soups and ramen noodles, and then a glance at the gun still strapped to his hip. He stopped in his tracks. Mal, following closely on his heels, bumped into his back.

       "Move," Mal said impatiently. His breath was hot against Reid's neck. "You forget how to walk suddenly?"

       "Shut up," he snapped. He watched as his older brother moved all of the cooked food to the kitchen table. "Jay, what do you think you're doing?"

       "Dinner," he said, like it wasn't dinner at all.

       This wasn't going to be dinner—this was going to be an interrogation. His knife-crazy rival and his gun-wielding older brother, and Reid was going to be stuck in the middle of it.

       Christ, this was going to end with one of them either dead or severely injured.

       He turned abruptly, stumbling forward into Mal. He ignored how close they were, how being this close to the Fox meant he was hardwired to automatically look at the amused smirk on Mal's lips and flush under the glint in his eyes. Instead he said, "Leave your knife in the room."

       The smirk disappeared. "Not a chance."

       Mal breezed past before Reid could grab him. Fuck. He scowled after him, but knew it was a long shot anyway – Mal was still pissed off.

       When they finally all sat down for dinner, Mal and Reid sat on the same side at the table, right next to each other. Again, so close their knees knocked together underneath, and Reid wasn't entirely sure it wasn't on purpose. Mal liked to touch almost as much as he liked to look. Another thing he didn't think he would have ever learned about the enigma of a boy.

       Jay sat across from them—or, rather, he sat directly across from Mal.

       The dinner started out fine. Reid shoveled spaghetti into his mouth while Jay asked Mal simple questions like his age and what his parents did for a living, both questions Jay no doubt knew the answer to from digging around and abusing his position of power as a police officer.

       Something he clearly wasn't going to let Mal forget.

       Reid was reaching for a second helping of garlic bread, when the police badge came out. It was supposed to be an intimidation tactic but Mal didn't even blink—so next came the gun. Jay set it carefully down next to his plate.

       This time Mal turned to stone, spine rigid as he sat back in his chair.

       Reid stared at his brother. "Jordan."

       "Relax." Jay gestured to it dismissively. "Safety's on."

       "Oh," he said, voice tense. "As if that makes it better."

       Mal's hand disappeared under the table so subtly, Reid almost missed it. Almost. His hand shot out to grab Mal's wrist under the table before the Fox could reach for the knife he had hidden somewhere on his person. Mal's hand curled into a fist, and Reid caught how hard he swallowed, but he didn't try to shake off Reid. Yet.

       Carefully, Mal said, "If you're trying to intimidate me—"

       "Oh, not at all." Jay stabbed a piece of lettuce with a steak knife, of all utensils, and chewed on it thoughtfully. "I want to know what your intentions are with my brother."