<span style="font-family:Cairo">Even after everything had unfolded, Detective Tony Deschenes couldn’t bring himself to believe he had done anything wrong given the circumstances in which they found themselves. He had brought food and drink; he’d even managed to work within a particularly specific food request which was more than most would have managed or would have been willing to accommodate. Yes, there were things that were happening that really should not have happened. Amadan should never have been arrested in the first place given all the information the detective had been able to get his hands on; however, Tony could not actually place himself as a source of blame for any of it. It had all happened before he had even been involved. <br/>
<br/>
Part of his mind was curious as to whether or not Amadan was capable of understanding that and thinking back on it afterwards, he truly doubted the possibility. <br/>
<br/>
Doubt in Amadan’s understanding of things did not erase the fact that things had happened, though, and that Tony now had to deal with the consequences of all of them whether he felt like it or not. The question instead became exactly how investigative Tony Deschenes wanted to be, how deep he wanted to dig and whether or not his supervisors - who seemed to have completely missed the entire scene that had unfolded in the interrogation room - needed to be privy of his actions from here on out or not. <br/>
<br/>
But, wait… what exactly happened in the interrogation room? The mind of the detective in him and the mind of the empath that he was were still trying to come to a decisive conclusion on that point. <br/>
<br/>
In a world where emotions looked like colors, red was definitely the strongest of them all. That did not make it bad and it did not make it dangerous by any means at all. Rather, it just made it powerful and it led to action; there was not a single occasion in Tony’s recollection where he had seen red without seeing action resulting from that red and he’d been watching the world for as long as he’d been living in it which had to make it a pretty accurate thing. The problem with it was that there was no red in Amadan’s active emotional spectrum; there was no anger, there was no rage (which could manifest very differently than anger) and there was no primal survival instinct that seemed to be creating a life or death reaction on any level that Tony could register. It just wasn’t there. <br/>
<br/>
There was no fear, there was no hatred. The only thing that radiated around Amadan as Tony found himself pulled off of the door, suddenly focusing his eyes on the room itself rather than the way out of it, was more of a fiery orange - a primal emotion driven by survival even though there was no actual imminent threat. There was a desire there, underlying everything else, but Tony couldn’t quite tell if that part had any involvement in the actions Amadan was actually taking. <br/>
<br/>
Although they weren’t said out loud, the words that came from Amadan’s mind felt like they had been whispered, like they had been uttered with cruel intent, but that wasn’t likely by Amadan’s own intention. As far as Tony knew, at least, the suspect had no clue what Tony himself was capable of or that the desire for Tony to “feel him” for a little while was something that was actually occurring in a very literal form. There was no other adequate way to even begin to describe it and the accuracy of it scared him to such a degree where Tony was quite certain that if his own emotions manifested for him, there would be enough red to paint all the walls with it. And that wasn’t a good thing, either. <br/>
<br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:thistle">“I… I <i>do</i> feel you,”</span> Tony tried to verbalize in the second before he felt teeth sinking into his muscle. The words never quite hit the air with enough force for him to be confident that they’d be heard, though. <br/>
<br/>
If anything at all was carried in the bite, then Tony’s pounding pulse and adrenaline flooded body was doing all of that extra work for him and no added effort could possibly be required. <br/>
<br/>
There were plenty of things that Tony <i>could</i> do once he found himself free of Amadan’s embrace, free of the immediate proximity to the primal and instinctive emotions that didn’t quite seem to belong in the man sitting in front of him. However, none of them felt adequate or even important. He could have Amadan charged formally now - he’d assaulted an officer and that would be more than enough to keep him there although the legality of the circumstances were questionable. He could initiate an investigation into him as an unregistered supernatural - there had been no documentation on it in his file and that was definitely a crime. Tony probably could’ve retaliated too, if he’d wanted to, although out of all the ideas, that one was the most idiotic by far. Even with so many options, though, and so many actions he could take, Tony found none of them seemed to fit because he still could not contain his own sympathy for the suspect and the judgement he’d endured because of what he was even if nobody could officially claim to know it. <br/>
<br/>
<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:thistle">‘Stupid sympathy’s going to be the death of me…’</span></i> It definitely occurred to him more than once. <br/>
<br/>
Slumping against the wall, it would take a minute for the detective’s body to calm down enough for him to actually be capable of acting again and by the time his mind returned to him, he began to notice the growing, and pleasant albeit distracting, feeling of stimulation between his legs as he shifted to stand upright again. Realizing the actuality of the situation, his eyes grew wide for a moment and he knew continuing to stand in the room any longer would not be advisable. It would simply be awkward now. His eyes offered a venomous and enraged glare of his own towards the Spaniard before he turned and abruptly left the room although he had no obvious reason to be angry. As Amadan had said, he hadn’t hurt him… not really. <br/>
<br/>
The true injury laid deeper within, in damaged pride and in fear for his future because he wasn’t sure how deep into these circumstances he would find himself delving in the end. The detective did a reasonable job of concealing that, though. <br/>
<br/>
Finally outside the room, Tony was able to take a deep breath and he simply leaned back against the closed door realizing how nice it felt to be on the other side of it in the midst of emotions of fellow officers - emotions he understood and could make sense of. There was one thing that surprised him, though. No one seemed to realize anything had gone wrong. Normally if there was an attack in an interrogation room, everyone would act; this time, there was nothing. Something more was going on and Detective Deschenes was willing to bet that the supernatural he’d just encountered was far more than what he seemed. It wasn’t a nice thing to realize. <br/>
<br/>
Although Tony had long since lost track of how much time had passed, it seemed like it had been long enough because once he started making his way to a spot where he would be certain to encounter the remainder of those at the office today, he caught sight of Craig returning as well, a small folder in hand and a smile on his face as though he’d been successful at something. Whether or not success was good or bad, though, remained to be seen. <span class="fixed-color" style="color:thistle">“What did you find?”</span> he asked. There was a quiver in his voice; it wasn’t something Craig could likely hear, but Tony was aware of it in his own speech. <span class="fixed-color" style="color:thistle">“Nothing too extreme, I hope…”</span> And Tony really did hope that it wasn’t much, but he was partially prepared for it. <br/>
<br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:limegreen">“Well, we can’t do much to confirm that he was home on the night in question, but he was at Casa Marienella like he reported. They were even kind enough to give me a copy of their volunteer schedule as well as a class schedule. He’s on both lists and they report he was there, just as he says.”</span> Craig sounded surprised, but he had no intentions of arguing with the evidence. <br/>
<br/>
Detective Deschenes wasn’t sure whether to sigh in relief or in fear of what releasing a man like Amadan would do, but he also felt that it was only just that it be done. <br/>
<br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:thistle">“Very well. I’ll go start the release then. Do you know if he had anything confiscated upon arrest?”</span> <br/>
<br/>
Craig shook his head. <span class="fixed-color" style="color:limegreen">“I’m not certain.”</span> <br/>
<br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:thistle">“I’ll ask, then.”</span> Sighing, Tony shifted uncomfortably as he slipped his hands into his pockets in an attempt to conceal the nagging arousal that he now endured and then he turned to head back into the interrogation room. He could feel Craig’s eyes on him as he headed back and he knew that his fellow detective was concerned for him; the man clearly could tell that something wasn’t right. That was what happened when you worked with the same people for so long; even without supernatural abilities, they learned to read each other. <br/>
<br/>
Tony really wasn’t ready to go back into that room at all. However, he wasn’t about to send anyone else in there either. If someone had to go back in, he was going to make sure it was him and not someone who would fuck up the situation even more than it already was. When his hand laid on the door, he paused for a moment, inhaling and exhaling deeply enough to clear his own emotions so that he could hopefully acquire a reasonable grasp of Amadan Velas’s own current state once he walked inside. Then he opened the door all the way. He didn’t walk all the way in, though; instead, Tony stood in the doorway and spoke without closing the door behind him. <br/>
<br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:thistle">“Your alibi checks out, Mr. Velas, and you are cleared to leave. Did the officers who brought you in take any of your belongings this morning?”</span> His voice was fiercely regulated and his legs shifted halfway through the whole thing, unable to find a comfortable position to stand in at the moment. However, he somehow managed to maintain a professional seem through it all.</span>