How Can I Trust You?
Summary: After Calloway stitches Whiteman's wound, he figures they need to deal with a few things before they can work together
Warning(s): Spanking with a belt; spoilers for the whole series Bodies; references to violence and canon character death
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Calloway stood up and took a step back, looking critically at his handiwork in stitching Whiteman's wound up. "I'm not a doctor, but it should heal well," he said quietly. "At least as long as you don't put any strain on it, or tug the stitches."
"Thank you," Whiteman muttered, beginning to pull his clothing back into place. He sighed and looked down, clasping his hands in his lap. "For listening to me. For giving me a chance to explain. Not just for stitching me up. I know you have no reason to trust me...."
"You're right." Calloway's voice came out a bit harsher than he'd intended it to. He felt a faint sense of satisfaction when Whiteman's head jerked up and the other man focused on him. He waited for a few seconds, long enough for Whiteman to sweat, before he continued ruthlessly, "I should arrest you for what you've done. Taking bribes. Tampering with evidence. Killing a little girl."
"I didn't kill her." Whiteman's eyes darkened.
"Do you think anyone will believe that?" Calloway asked quietly. "There will be a hundred witnesses who will swear they saw you with her right before she died. And even if you could somehow escape those accusations, you did kill someone."
"I thought we were in danger." Whiteman dropped his eyes to the floor. "I was trying to protect her." He hesitated and then, with a note of reluctance in his voice, said, "I should have come to you first."
"I don't know how I can trust you, after this." Calloway walked over to the sink and began to wash his hands, cleaning the blood off them. He spoke without turning round to look at Whiteman. "You tell me that you're telling the truth now, but how can I believe that? Knowing how much you've lied to me since we first met?"
"I don't know." Whiteman sounded tired. Exhausted. "I don't know how to convince you that I can be trusted. That you can trust me," he admitted. "I've been taking bribes. Money. I could tell you all the reasons why I'm doing those things, but they wouldn't be any more than excuses. I can't even say that I'm sorry for those actions...because I'm not. Not really. I've done what I had to in order to survive. In case we're invaded. Because if that happens, I'll be treated like the enemy. I'll be the enemy."
"Not to me," Calloway said.
Whiteman was quiet for a few moments, a brief flash of an unknown emotion passing across his face. Finally, he spoke. "You're a good man, Calloway. A good man and a better policeman than I am. I couldn't have asked anyone else for help." He paused and breathed slowly, in and out, his hand going to the wound that Calloway had stitched closed. "I know I deserve the noose. I just want, I just need, to get justice first. For Esther...."
Calloway had spent his entire life listening to his instincts. It was part of what made him so good at his job. The only trouble was, his instincts were now telling him that he could trust Whiteman...even while common sense told him he would be foolish, at least, to do so. How did he know the other man was being honest? He'd outright admitted that he didn't feel any remorse for what he'd done. So how could Calloway believe that he could trust the other man at his back?
"I suppose you'll arrest me now." Whiteman sounded resigned. It was like he'd given up already. "Thank you for taking care of my wound. It'll be difficult enough to face the noose without getting sick from an infection before then." He leaned forward and put his head in his hands.
"I'm not going to arrest you."
Whiteman was silent for a few seconds, as if he couldn't understand what he was hearing. Then, he raised his head and focused on Calloway's face. "What?"
Calloway shrugged, holding eye contact with Whiteman. "Call me a fool if you like. I probably am a fool. But I'm inclined to believe that you mean what you say. I'm inclined to believe that you want to make things right." He paused briefly and then added, "But I can't just trust you without some kind of proof."
A wary look came over Whiteman's face before he sighed in resignation. "What do you want from me?"
"I want to punish you." When Whiteman just stared at him, uncomprehending, Calloway continued, "You're asking me to trust you. But you need to give me something in return. I can't risk my own life to help you without being able to fully believe that you won't put a knife in my back."
"Fine." Whiteman struggled to his feet. "If you could avoid reopening my wound, I'd appreciate it. I need to be able to stay on my feet if we're going to put a stop to this."
"I'm not going to give you a beating," Calloway said, a weary tone entering his voice. "That's not what I have in mind for a punishment."
A wary look passed across Whiteman's face and he cast a glance towards Calloway's holster, that was placed on the opposite armchair.
Calloway shook his head. "I'm not going to shoot you either. Maybe I'm being a fool, but I think you can do more good without losing your life. Or getting a beating. But I still believe you deserve to be punished." He walked into his bedroom and opened one of his drawers, taking out a wide leather belt.
It was strong and supple and he folded it over in his hand, turning to walk back into his main room.
Whiteman had followed him inside the room and now stood there, staring at the belt Calloway held in his hand. "You're not serious. I'm not a child, Calloway."
"No. You're not," Calloway agreed. "You're a man who made a lot of mistakes. Who has been responsible for the deaths of more than one person...and tampered with enough evidence to allow others to go free. Even if you were trying to save your own life, you did that at the cost of others' you felt were less important than your own needs and wants."
Whiteman opened his mouth, but closed it again without saying anything. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, then nodded. "Maybe you're right. You're one of the best people I know, Calloway. If you believe I deserve to be punished, I won't argue with you." He paused and then asked, sounding resigned, "What do you want me to do?"
"It'll be hard to find a position that won't aggravate your wounds." Calloway looked towards the bed and walked over. Holding the belt in one hand, he used his other to move the bed sheets into the middle of the bed, creating a soft pile for Whiteman to bend over. "This should offer some protection for your wound."
Whiteman looked at the bed and then at Calloway, but he didn't voice a protest. He moved forward and slowly bent over the bed, stretching forward until his bottom was the highest point of his body.
Calloway walked over to stand next to Whiteman. He reached out, placing his hand on the other man's back, and lifted the belt, bringing it down in a loud snap across the fullest part of Whiteman's backside.
There was no sound from Whiteman, though he clenched his fists. and his body tensed.
Calloway brought the belt down a second and third time, each stripe landing just below the previous. He continued to bring the belt down until he reached Whiteman's thighs...at which point, the other man began to shift, letting out tiny huffs of air. Then, Calloway began bringing the belt down again from the crest of Whiteman's backside, covering skin that had already received attention. He didn't put too much force behind the strokes, but he made sure they were felt.
As the strapping continued, Whiteman's reactions became more obvious. He was quietly gasping and shifting from one foot to the other, his grip on the bed turning white-knuckled. And it didn't take long before Calloway could hear the first sob wrenched from Whiteman's throat.
Calloway didn't stop the strapping when he heard the tears, though he did pause. He reached out and he tugged Whiteman's trousers down, easing them off his bottom, leaving it clad only in his white underwear. Calloway could see the pink stripes already left by the belt, showing vividly through the white fabric over his backside.
Whiteman didn't voice a protest. He just bowed his head and clenched his fists further, taking a deep breath.
The snap of the belt against only one layer of protection sounded much louder than when Calloway had been bringing it down with Whiteman's trousers in place. The other man clearly felt it more, because he let out a sharp cry, one hand lifting as if he was going to throw it back to cover his bottom.
Calloway paused, in case Whiteman lost that control and did reach back. But the other man lowered his hand back to the bed and gripped on even tighter, bowing his head as his tears began to fall.
The sight of the tears dripping onto his bed caused a stab of empathy to go through Calloway. He lifted the belt again and brought it down, but the strike was considerably lighter than those he'd been giving out. From Whiteman's sharp intake of breath, Calloway didn't think he'd noticed the lighter stroke.
Calloway brought down the belt another ten times and then he stopped, letting the implement fall to the floor. He kept his other hand on Whiteman's back, rubbing gently as the other man's tears finally slowed and then stopped.
"Is it over?" Whiteman asked finally, his voice hoarse.
"It's finished." Calloway dropped his hand and stepped back, allowing Whiteman to stand.
Slowly, gingerly, Whiteman pulled his trousers back into place. He wiped at his eyes before turning to Calloway, looking calm despite the tears on his face. "Are you ready to help me bring down the bastards who killed Esther?"
In answer, Calloway clasped Whiteman's shoulder. "I'm ready to leave when you are."
The End