Monthly Bonus Content #1: ‘Unbidden Interest' (Reese/James Version) (Patreon)

[Alternate Text: An image of a judge's gavel resting on the disc they strike to demand order; it's a rich cherry wood that seems to be kept polished. The background is purple. 'Unbidden Interest' acts as the title in an Old English type of font that my be found in storybooks or on diplomas; it's beveled and golden.]

[TFS Patrons, please be sure to see this post about adding my email address to your contacts so you can enjoy the RO character portraits. I haven't heard back from some of you, and I would like to make certain you have the portraits to enjoy. 🥰]

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A gavel repetitively collides against the wooden podium in a series of heavy-handed taps that sound closer to a woodpecker with extreme anger issues than a true call to order.

Any of the conversation within the reserved ballroom of the country club starts to ebb.

You can feel the impatience radiating off of Reese despite how he sits poised with his bidding paddle in hand. He playfully rolls his eyes when your gazes meet, offering a smile to you that turns frosty when he looks to the front of the room. This auctioneer's tendency to showboat has extended what was meant to be an evening charity event into an all night one.

"We will see him soon enough," you reason.

"Our reservation begs to differ," Reese retorts while continuing to stare down the auctioneer, who is rifling through some papers. The lack of organization is irritating. "We missed it entirely."

"But Mrs. Dorran, Becca, and Silas appreciated it."

He tilts his head to give you a sideways look at your level-headed disposition, modulating his composure in the face of such soothing calm. "Very well…"

You almost crack a smile at his petulance, but wince instead when the gavel smacks against wood as if purposefully amplified by the mic.

That probably was intentional to earn silence.

"Next, we have Trent Warren, a deputy, who is said to have proficient skill in gardening along with, er, adventuring." The auctioneer pauses for a moment to cast a look at the young man off to the side before continuing with the profile. "He is a Leo star sign. His favorite things to do include hiking trails, tending to his herb garden, creating quests, and living life…?"

"I helped with that," Alex proudly whispers with a slight grin on their face. "It's more personal."

"I can certainly tell, Littlest Corvin…"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

You immediately detect the calculating edge to how Reese is regarding the stack of papers on the podium. Previously, he was staring at the gavel like he wanted to hammer something far softer than wood with it, but now you wonder why Trent's profile bothered him. Prior 'lots' have featured service workers, such as firemen or EMTs, but there was an emphasis on what skills or projects they could do rather than on personal information. This isn't a dating venue.

"Hmm, think nothing of it," Reese waves off the question. "But did you assist your brother?"

"No, he didn't want me to because—"

"Let's start the bidding at $50 dollars for our budding deputy! I see $50, but what about $75? Yes, and $125? Now, $150, let's see…"

For all of the auctioneer's dramatic tendencies, he actually does have a decent rhythm when controlling the flow of the auction. You would still prefer if he would get to the point rather than drag things out, but at least this part is efficient. Alex shifting in their seat catches your attention as they join the bidding fray with a determined glint in their eyes. "You're sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. What I'm not sure about is if everyone realizes the auction is for help around the house or, like, a car wash or cooking lesson," they reply before raising their paddle higher. "I don't want him uncomfortable around a stranger…"

You have enough sense to read between the lines, nodding your understanding of Alex's act of friendship that is protective over Trent.

"Last call for $250? Final call?" The auctioneer only pauses for a second, able to detect how the room's interest has gone stale. "Sold to the wee sundrop! Officer Warren, take your leave and go find the buyer of a portion of your time."

Trent doesn't need to be told twice. You watch as he leaves the stage with a slight skip in his step, keeping his head held high and politely waving since the attention of the audience naturally falls on him. His smile turns into a beam when he nears your table, plopping down into a chair next to Alex. "That was kind of exciting. It should be the Detective's turn next."

"I doubt he'll find it fun," Alex murmurs.

"Some people delight in the thrill of a good, old-fashioned bidding war, though I never considered how a prize on the block would feel," Reese notes in a contemplative tone. He continues to walk his bidding paddle back and forth across the linen tablecloth, creating faint taps before spinning it like a top. "[Surname], do you want me to play fair or make a scene?"

"Are you capable of playing fair?"

Reese's smile upticking slightly into a devilish smirk makes you realize your blunt question was just interpreted as a goading challenge. He turns his head away from the podium to properly lock eyes with you rather than offer snappy side commentary or fleeting glances since this auction event has preoccupied him. Instead, his once over is searing, contrasting with the gentle brush of his fingertips against your thigh since he now rests his hand on the edge of your seat, unapologetically taking up space.

"I suppose we will have to wait and see."

Reese's voice is lowered into a silken murmur, and you can feel Trent none too subtly staring at the two of you, while Alex is immune at this point.

"Focus on the auction, Verner," you dryly insist despite momentarily covering his hand with yours to soften the rebuke. "It's almost time."

"As you well know, I can multitask, but fine…"

Another excessive impact of the gavel against the podium signals that the room should fall silent, although this time the auctioneer seems to savor it. He affects a conspiratorial glance, taking time to peer at his notes and then look out at those gathered with a satisfied smile. It is taken a step further when he slips on his glasses as if needing to verify what is typed on the sheet of paper. "Well, don't I have a treat for you all," he starts. "Fernweh's one and only Detective!"

After a booming introduction like that, you can feel the crowd's anticipation heighten, except James doesn't stride out or command the stage to play into the fanfare. He drags his feet as he walks out, coming to a stop on the marked line. His arms cross loosely in front of himself, which inadvertently draws attention to his stiff bearing that projects an unspoken strength. His white button-down shirt has been replaced by a deep crimson one that has a faint sheen to it. It's perfectly tucked into his black formal pants as usual, though a shiny, hip badge and handcuffs being on display are also new.

James's expression is what you notice most.

He is in Detective mode; a polite yet distant look is present on his handsome features.

"…I did not realize he owns red," Reese admits, lightly clearing his throat because his voice came out a little hushed. "It's fitting for today."

"Momma made him," Alex explains. "'A pop of color will do you some good' is what she said."

The auctioneer lightly taps his gavel twice to disperse the snatches of conversation arising from James's entrance. High profile lots will generate more gossip and interest, which means more money for charity and a higher commission for himself. "Detective Corvin," he begins, seeking out the prewritten profile to select juicy talking points, but freezing with an awkward smile at what he sees. "Detective, you most certainly aren't a blank page kind of guy, are you…? I'm sure the public is curious."

You can't hear what James says since he lacks a microphone, but it looked brief, possibly curt.

"How very modest to let your character speak for itself," the auctioneer gushes. "We all know our Detective, though someone might get a chance to know him better. Let's start at 100 dollars? $125, $175, $200? Do I have $250? Yes, I do from a fellow lady in blue. Let's see…"

Narrowing your eyes at Tabitha fails to faze her because she snaps her hand up to place a higher bid within seconds of the last one. You have had a few tense encounters with her while visiting the station. She tends to be the type to cultivate gossip. "James is like her boss. That's a foul," you point out with a sharp sigh. "Isn't it?"

"Most of us volunteered for this, but the Detective had to because of his rank," Trent replies. "Tabitha is off-duty tonight, but it's kinda odd."

"$350? $400. My goodness, $500 from the man in the tiny hat! Let's go higher; think of all the good your money will do. Yes, good. $550."

When you look back at the stage, you see that James's commitment to staring at the far wall is starting to waver as the bid rises. His focus has incrementally shifted to the right with each passing second, slowly drifting to your table. To everyone else he may seem as reserved as ever, but there are hairline cracks of discomfort fissuring through that facade. He has always preferred sticking to the outside edges to avoid being the center of attention. It's a learned habit. One that you managed to be an exception to as a child, though that's now true as adults too.

"Reese?" He glances over at you after placing another bid, lifting an eyebrow in question and clearly waiting for something. "Make a scene."

He smiles following your request.

"As you say."

Reese's sharp, wolf whistle cuts through the brewing bidding war with such decisiveness that even the auctioneer seems confused. Its high pitch is drawn-out, forcing the bidding to come to a halt as people become distracted by such a specific noise. He lowers his fingers from his lips once the room's focus is securely on him and off of James, picking up the paddle like it's a tennis racket and he is about to serve.

"$5,000."

Alex muffles their laughter, while Trent gapes, which mirrors the reactions of most of those gathered considering the bid was $950.

"…$5,000?" The auctioneer slowly repeats the bid. "Do I hear, uh, $5,050? Going once, twice…"

You lightly smack Reese's leg when he goes to raise the paddle again out of spite even if it would mean bidding against himself. Yes, this is a charity event, but you know he disliked the idea behind it, or specifically, James ever being a 'lot' for sale. Conveying that he never will be is why Reese continues to stare at the auctioneer and likely why he made an untouchable bid.

"Sold to the vision in black, Mister Verner." A gavel strike seals the sale. "Detective, make your way to—"

"That will not be necessary," Reese coldly dismisses the man and his instructions with ease thanks to the quiet in the room. He softens his tone when addressing you, setting down the paddle before extending his hand in the offer of a handhold. "Let's go collect our treasure."

The use of ‘treasure' rather than ‘prize' or ‘reward' stands out to you, but you're not about to make Reese wait any longer for this reunion, completing the hold so you can walk hand in hand to the stage. You can feel the curious eyes of the audience on you, prying and probing, but Reese doesn't falter for a second, accepting his role as the focal point of the room without any issue. It's a learned habit; he knows how to operate under their stares unlike James who endures them.

Where you fall on the spectrum of public attention doesn't matter, not when James is waiting.

He smiles for the first time tonight when you and Reese extend a hand to help him off the stage.