Title: A Visit from Mayhem

Author: Jedi Buttercup

Disclaimer: The words are mine; the worlds are not

Rating: PG/K+

Summary: The detective was wearing a rumpled black suit that Milt didn't think he'd seen him in before; his hair was disheveled and looked longer than usual, and he sported a white butterfly bandage above one brow. 1300 words.

Spoilers: Battle Creek post-series; Allstate "Mayhem" Commercials

Notes: Written for debirlfan for Round 1 of the Chocolate Box Exchange; originally posted to AO3 on February 7. Also: yes, Russ gets the movie's name wrong. You can probably guess which one he means.

FBI Agent Milt Chamberlain walked swiftly across the hall to the Battle Creek Detective Squad office, absently opening the doors with one hand while carefully scanning the printout clutched in the other. He'd already read it over once, but he wanted to be absolutely certain that it implied exactly what he thought it had. If his first impression had been accurate, the FBI lab had just uncovered a vital clue to solving a rather thorny murder investigation that had kept he and his partner chasing their tails for days.

He glanced automatically toward the office manager's desk as he walked in, nodding politely to Holly. She didn't smile back this morning, though; she looked unusually alarmed to see him, shooting up from her chair. "Uh, Milt..." she said, then hesitated, glancing toward a desk near the back.

Milt followed her gaze; but he didn't see anything unusual there, just Detective Russ Agnew... though the other man did look a little rougher around the edges than was typical. Well, he'd worked with Russ in a terrible mood before; he appreciated Holly's attempt to warn him, though he was pretty sure this one would clear right up as soon as Russ got a glimpse of the report. He glanced down at the page again, automatically heading Russ' way to show it to him.

"Hey, Russ, take a look at this..."

Russ made a scoffing noise, cutting him off before he could finish the sentence; not that that was particularly unusual, either. What was unusual, though, was the malevolent smirk that tugged at the corner of Russ' mouth.

"I'm the breakfast sandwich wrapper some genius wannabe basketball player threw toward a trash can and missed," he said, his voice a little rougher than the norm.

"You're... what?" Milt stopped short, finally focusing fully on his partner, and blinked at the sight Russ presented. The detective was wearing a rumpled black suit that Milt didn't think he'd seen him in before; his hair was disheveled and looked longer than usual, and he sported a white butterfly bandage above one brow.

"Laying there, just waiting for your unwary foot," Russ continued as though Milt hadn't interrupted.

Milt looked down at his feet, then blinked again as he tried to unravel the meaning behind the remark. Russ had been raised by a consummate con artist; Milt had discovered over the last few months that there was often a lot more depth to the man than appeared on the surface.

"...I didn't think I was that distracted," he finally said, unable to spot whatever had drawn Russ' attention. Never mind; the quicker they tracked down their killer, the better, before he finished his spree and fled town. "Look, you can get as weirdly safety-conscious on me as you want later; the lab results came in. I really think you'll want to see these first," he said, holding the sheet of paper out toward Russ.

"Or maybe I'm the former co-worker with a petty grudge," Russ tilted his head consideringly, "who spotted your car and broke one of your rear turn indicators in a fit of indignation. Shame about the distracted soccer mom in the next lane who won't see you coming."

"Russ, are you alright?" Milt asked, a frown forming between his brows. Did the man have a concussion or something? Or had he actually seen another FBI agent defacing federal property in the municipal building's parking lot? He'd have thought Russ would have chosen a less... elliptical method of letting him know, if so.

Naturally, before Russ could reply to that question, another voice spoke up behind him. Not Holly, though; one as like that of the man standing in front of him as if it had been an echo. "There you are!" it said... and Milt turned to find himself looking at another Russ, this one wearing his usual grey suit.

"Russ?" he said, staring at... Russ; then turned back toward the Russ still at Russ's desk, who in hindsight Holly had obviously been trying to warn him wasn't actually Russ.

"Hey, Milt," the new Russ grinned at him, then nodded toward his double. "I see you've met Mayhem?"

"Your... identical twin brother that you have, for some reason, never mentioned?" Milt hazarded a reply, glancing between them again as if one of them would vanish. But no, they were still there, like the before and after pictures of Russ after a late night out mixed with a petty case that just wouldn't quit.

"Yeah, well, would you mention it if you had a twin brother who insisted on being called Mayhem?" Russ snorted. "Especially since I didn't even grow up with him. You've met my mother, right? Suffice it to say, she struck a deal with our dad. Some kind of Freaky Friday bullshit. He looked us up when we turned eighteen, and as far as she was concerned, instantly became the good son. Trust me; there's a reason the nickname stuck."

"Or maybe I'm the brotherly pat on the back that accidentally knocks you through the wall," Mayhem nodded to Russ, still smirking, not bothering to step away from Russ's desk.

"Love you too, bro," Russ scoffed, "but would you mind doing your shtick somewhere else until I'm off shift? You know it bugs the crap out of Guz, and I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to go with you to see Ma until tomorrow anyway. Though I guess I should just be glad you actually made it. Your GPS still on the fritz?'

"Do you really want me to answer that question?" Mayhem's smirk widened into a toothy grin.

Russ rolled his eyes, then strolled over, reaching out to lay a hand on Mayhem's arm and tug him upright. "He's an insurance agent," he said, in a loud, conspiratorial faux whisper to Milt. "Specializes in getting people to upgrade their coverage for more protection than they really thought they needed. Makes more money than I'll ever see- and yet he dresses like this. Go figure."

"I... see," Milt said, glancing over to see most of the rest of Battle Creek's detectives now gathered around Holly's desk, looking as if they wished they had a bag of popcorn to pass around. Apparently, most of them hadn't known about this, either; that made him feel a little better.

"Mayhem is everywhere," Russ' twin said, playing to the crowd by spreading his hands wide in a who-me? gesture. "Are you in good hands?"

Well. Apparently the ability to work a skilled con bred true. Milt imagined what Russ would be like without the aggrieved desire to do what was best for his community... and was immediately grateful that wherever Mayhem lived, it apparently wasn't in Battle Creek. "Considering Russ is my partner, I'd think you'd know the answer to that question better than I would," he fired back.

"Good answer," Mayhem said, narrowing his eyes at him. "You'd better hope yours are just as good, though, or you'll find out just how capable I am of living up to my name."

"Are you seriously pulling the shovel card?" Russ interrupted in exasperation, shoving Mayhem unceremoniously toward the doors. "What's next, are you planning on threatening my girlfriend, too? Please tell me Constance didn't put you up to this."

"You have a girlfriend?" Mayhem perked up further, an unholy degree of amusement in his tone as he glanced back over his shoulder, scanning the others' faces. "Is she here? Does she know about the time that..."

"Out!" Russ shouted, suiting actions to words.

Milt glanced between their receding forms and the printout still clutched in his hands and shook his head. Another day in Battle Creek; another bizarre twist he'd never seen coming. He shouldn't be surprised.

Forward, positive, he told himself, then sighed and followed.

-x-