AN-I have almost finished the next chapter of Loose Lips, but I really wanted to try my hand at a one shot which has been in my mind for the last few months. As much as I'm enjoying the new season of RB, there are still so many things left unanswered from season two and I am left wondering. So here's my take on one of them...
RB isn't mine.
The King and His Castle.
It was fairly empty in The King and Castle pub, whose regal name was a stark contrast to its inward appearance. It was dark, dingy, smoky and stayed open till all hours. The pub didn't seem to consider the law; its patrons smoked inside, gambled and there were a few hookers that seemed to conduct business from a small table close to the female wash room. A house of disrepute; welcoming the desperate, disillusioned and disgraced.
It was almost midnight by the time he entered, having finished the last bottle of beer in his fridge. Luckily the pub was just a few blocks down from his apartment, which was advantageous as there was a definite unsteadiness in his steps. He pushed open the door, almost stumbling over his own feet and found himself in the place that was now more familiar than his own home.
Nodding in greeting to the man who sat occupying a table with a dog fast asleep underneath, Boyd walked further inside.
That was another thing about this place. Everybody was welcome.
...
"Hey Ed. Double me up tonight!" Boyd sat in his usual spot at the bar, hidden in the far corner. He had became a regular customer and looked forward to seeing Ed each night.
"Rough night, Detective?" Ed queried.
Boyd really liked his new friend, even though he sensed teasing in his voice. Ed usually called it as he saw it, never meaning any harm. He placed a double shot of scotch down in front of Boyd asking for I.D, hoping to make him laugh.
Boyd didn't smile much anymore; he had no real reason to. Ed left him to his thoughts and drink as he tended to the other customers, most of whom Boyd was beginning to recognise as regulars also.
Boyd rolled the glass back and forth in his palm and watched as the ice cubes slowly began to melt away. He found himself drinking more and more in the days, weeks and now months since he was suspended. The official letter cited an enquiry into his questionable working practices.
Questionable? He almost ripped up the letter and shoved in into the Frank's god damn smug face. Questionable? It wasn't questionable when he put away Bergen, Landry or intercepted a stash of Hill's drugs. That was called getting the job done, which he had been doing quite happily till that rookie came along, and poisoned Sam's mind just because she was easy on the eye.
He had called Sam twice since that night, but not since receiving that letter. It was stipulated clearly that no contact was allowed. Boyd had wanted to apologise for using a police seized ship without discussing it with him first. He just didn't think things through carefully. He was so concerned with getting Brennan and he overlooked a lot of things. Sam had slammed the phone down on both occasions, before Boyd got past his opening sentence. He needed Sam to hear him out, and normally he always would. It's just who they were. They were friends.
...
'Did you follow the rules of the suspension?'
That was one of the first things the pompous old member of the tribunal panel asked. Boyd nodded the affirmative. It wasn't really hard to follow; he had been shunned by most of his colleagues from guns and gangs, and fifteen division had proven where their loyalties lay. He had stopped going to the Penny, and would drink at home alone until he had discovered this little gem of a pub. As he thought about how cold and empty his life had become lately, he realised just how much his job was an important part of it.
Boyd ordered another double and sank back deeper into his chair against the wall. One of the hookers, Honey, slid out from where she was sitting and walked in his direction. Her fire engine red stiletto heels led to long smooth legs, and a short figure hugging dress which accentuated her strong yet feminine thighs. Her full breasts bounced jovially, and her long auburn hair shone as her hips swayed seductively.
"Hey Detective Donnie," she breathed as she leant against the bar.
"Honey."
"So..." she took his glass from his hand, placed her ruby red lips around the rim of the glass and drank. She sucked on an ice cube before dropping it from her mouth and back into the glass with a soft splash.
Boyd signaled for another glass. Honey brushed her hand against his as Ed placed his new drink down in front of her and him. "Keep on drinking like that and I just might have to take you home. I mean I have to make sure you get home safely... off the clock of course," she whispered.
Boyd flashed a real grin her way this time. He knew she was looking out for him, but she also knew that he knew what she did for a living very well. He had used her before, several times if the truth were to be told. He just needed a little something to take the edge off, when the beer wasn't hitting the spot and he needed another outlet. For the grand sum of one hundred dollars, Honey could make him forget everything. Boyd needed that a lot lately and it bothered him slightly that he was falling into a fairly predictable routine. He never thought he'd ever be a regular at any bar. He never thought he would have to pay for sex. He never thought Honey would stop asking for payment for sex. He never thought he would never be a detective. It would seem that Donovan Boyd was experiencing quite a few firsts.
"So what's it gonna be Donnie?" Honey purred. "Your place or mine?"
The dimness of the room allowed little visibility but he could feel her intentions clearly. As she pressed her body close he felt a comfort from her heat, but he hadn't reached that point just yet as he opened his legs to accommodate her. A few more hours, and the feeling of anger would be replaced by self loathing, and that was when he would need to forget, and boy did she make him forget. He'd feel like he was on top of the world again, when he had it all and was the envy of many. Now he was a disgrace to the profession. Not his words, but the words of the tribunal.
'Disgraceful behaviour that jeopardised the lives of two officers.'
Adjusting his weight, Boyd ground his lower body against hers and a soft moan escaped her lips. The noise caused his body to pulse with a desire that was still tinged with anger. Boyd clenched his eyes close and willed himself not to do what he really wanted to do. As he watched Honey breathe in aroused puffs below him, and the smell of her perfume; he was losing the battle. She draped her arms around his neck and lowered her face to his. His lips grazed hers at first and then he felt her want as she pulled him closer to her. Not one to beat around the bush, Honey kissed him hard as she dragged her long red fingernails through his hair.
Their mouths continue to meld together, all the worries of the day washing away, replaced by the sense of familiarity... and something else.
He pulled away.
"Not now Honey, I'm tired," he murmured; downing his drink in one large gulp, and signaled for another.
Ed brought the bottle closer and poured a decent amount in to the glass. He was about to walk away, and having realised the pattern as it had been every night Boyd drank there, left the nearly full bottle on the bar. Ed suspected he would be replacing it at least one more time before the night ended.
"Later?" Honey pouted, running her fingernail across the length of his bottom lip.
"Yeah, later."
"We can play detective and criminal that you like so much," she whispered into his ear. "We can use the handcuffs."
...
'Displaying tardiness, sloppiness and incompetency.'
That was the summary of their findings, and for the first time in his career, he had nothing to say. Boyd remembered drawing his weapon and following the other officers into Sam's undercover apartment, cursing the situation and his own lack of foresight. Although he could not have been expected to predict this sorry turn of events, all indications had proven Brennan to be a violent and sadistic man. That was why he had the cameras installed so he could see if there was a problem. He just wished he had them outside of the apartment too. Stupid Donnie, stupid.
'Dismissed with immediate effect.'
Boyd was asked to change out of his dress uniform, and was escorted via a back door out of the building. Not even a thank-you for ten years of service or a congratulatory handshake and it didn't seem fair. He had taken some small solace in the fact that Swarek and McNally would endure the same fate. But instead he had heard through the TPD grapevine, that they were both reinstated. What could be more sloppy and incompetent than screwing on police time? That was what they did, and more than once, yet he was the one being penalised.
The disbelief he felt was overwhelming, and for the last four weeks since his premature exodus, he had surely but slowly drunk himself into an oblivion on a daily basis. But it was never quite enough to forget.
'She's ten times the cop you'll ever be...'
That's what Sam told him with certainty on the night of his rescue. How Sam could forget so much so soon was beyond him. Boyd had done his time, worn the uniform and walked the streets. Over the years he had been shot twice and was held hostage by an escaped prisoner within his first few years in the beat. He'd been partnered with Sam a lot then, and they were a good team. Part of that reason was their drive to succeed and put the bad guys away at all costs. They were good friends; at least he thought they were.
His first year in guns and gangs was spent filling in paperwork and doing surveillance. He went undercover himself for the best part of three years. The most McNally had managed was a few hours as a hooker. And a lousy one at that!
He was a good cop, he just made a mistake. A humongous, catastrophic and ill thought out mistake. But it was a mistake, and if he knew what he did now, he would have handled things a lot differently.
The alcohol was beginning to take effect as Boyd continued to drink. The television was playing, what appeared to be a re-run of Cagney and Lacey. He used to watch that a lot when he was growing up. Although his older brother liked Cagney, he always had a thing for Lacey, she had it all. She cooked, cleaned, raised a family yet knew how to use a gun. But now Boyd hated brunettes, especially brunettes who were cops. That was another thing to thank McNally for.
Boyd grunted irritably. "Can you change the channel?"
Ed wiped the bar, with a cloth that seemed to just be moving the germs about from one part of the counter to another rather than actually cleaning it. He eyed Boyd warily, but pressed the remote to a sports channel without comment.
"What?"
Ed held his hands up in surrender and shook his head.
"I did use to be a detective you know? One of the best," Boyd admitted suddenly.
"So what made you stop?"
Ed had spent years knowing the stories behind his customers, but had yet to hear this one.
A shadow flickered across Boyd's features. "I made a mistake."
"Can't you fix it?"
"I tried...I tried," he spoke to himself softly.
Ed nodded, and refilled his glass.
...
Hours passed. Boyd was on to his second bottle.
It's 2:00 am by his watch when he slowly, carefully stood, trying not to let his swaying give him away, and placed his feet firmly down on the heavily stained carpet.
They say a person learns a lot about themselves during times of adversity. Boyd has learnt he's a quiet drunk. He doesn't scream, shout or cause mayhem; he contemplates, commiserates and drinks some more.
...
The wash room was just as dire as the rest of the pub, but he has become accustomed to the smell which summed up everything about his life. There was a small amount of comfort he felt in the newly found freedom thrust upon him. No more bravado and images to maintain. He's thankful for that, because right now on a scale of one to ten, he would rank at a big fat zero.
He unzipped his flies, and sighed as he released himself in the urinal. Some of his most profound thoughts have occurred at this very spot, and that makes him laugh miserably.
Time – Boyd thinks. How can he understand time? Knows what it means? Sometimes... Just sometimes for a split second he forgets himself and acts like a cop. On several occasions he had tried to pull out a non existent badge or make a call on a cell phone he no longer possessed. When would that stop?
He washed his hands and braced himself against the sink as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. It is a reminder of years spent in the force. Every line that graced his strong features told a story. The faint scar under his left eye and the tiredness he carried were a testament to his battles. His hair had grown way past his shoulders and his stubble had long since turned into a fully fledged beard. Rubbing the coarse hair across his face, he was glad that his appearance no longer mattered, but it was still a relief to slide into a hot shower at the end of a long day.
Boyd returned to the bar, and for a brief moment he panicked wondering where Honey had gone. His chest ached with fear, as his eyes frantically scanned the room. Relief floods him when he shifted into the light, and saw her, and heard her laugh.
Their eyes seek one another and lock.
They don't speak, he simply pulled on his jacket and she followed. They walked out of the bar together and headed in the opposite direction retracing Boyd's earlier route in reverse. He knew that he had come to a point where no amount of alcohol would take away his pain, and he needed to forget. They walked in sync the short walk back to his apartment, and while Boyd fumbled for his key, Honey pressed her warm hot lips against his neck.
'She's ten times the cop you'll ever be... tardy... jeopardizing the lives of two officers... sloppy... questionable work practice... incompetent... dismissed immediately.'
The words buzz in his mind, but start to disintegrate as Honey pulled at his earlobe with her teeth. He was starting to forget and closed his eyes. For a short while he would be on top of the world and king of his castle once more.
...
As night falls over them, Boyd lay quietly watching Honey. She was lying asleep turned towards him, covers strewn on the floor. Her long auburn hair appeared stark against the pale of her skin and the pillow beneath her, but her expression was calm. He was envious of her simple way of accepting things and he wished he had that ability.
He quietly listened to her breathing, counting her exhales in order to allow himself to sleep, but it wasn't working. He was starting to remember again.
"Are you going to keep staring?" Her eyes remained closed, but being a lady of the night gave her an innate sixth sense when being watched.
Opening her eyes suddenly she looked over at Boyd and caught him staring at her. She noticed the redness in his eyes and the deep lines on his forehead.
"I can leave you alone if you prefer," he said defensively, his tone almost pleading with her to look at him.
Honey reached out and touched him then, a small smile played on her lips.
"I can stay a little longer, but I have to meet a client in a little while. He's a regular."
When Boyd never responded, Honey continued.
She tilted her head as she leaned in and asked, "So how's your head?"
"Fine."
"So if you want to talk you know where I am," she continued.
Her statement was simple and clear. She was giving him the go ahead to talk about what was on his mind. Not once in all the time they had known one another had she asked his story.
"How do you do it?" He spoke hoarsely, obviously recovered from his awkwardness.
"Do what?" She asked, humouring him. Of course this was a question she had answered many times before. It was strange that everyone always asked with the same hushed tone, she thought. It was a question she used to pose herself almost every day, but continued to push on and press forward.
"Do what you do and know that people are talking about you?" His voice was low and even.
"I may not have gone to university Donnie, but that sounds like two questions to me."
His stare was penetrating. "Look at it as a two part question."
There was a stunning level of empathy behind her cool blue eyes when she spoke.
"Look...the way I see it, I only have myself to answer to. I don't steal, I don't kill and it's an honest day's work."
"And the gossiping?" His voice was uncharacteristically low.
"People will always talk and have an opinion. Again the only opinion that matters is your own."
Boyd rolled on to his back and stared at the ceiling.
"I screwed up, lost my job, respect and a friend."
"So make things right."
"I can't get my job back and he won't talk to me."
Honey absorbed the bleakness of the story for a minute before speaking again. "I know I don't have to tell you that life isn't perfect. Sometimes the best way to fix something is to leave it well alone. Sometimes we are only meant to meet a person or do something for a certain period in our lives."
Boyd wondered if that was some sort of premonition. He Grabbed her possessively by the back of the head he kissed her.
When the need for air became too great, she gently pushed him away. Honey climbed out of the bed and pulled her dress over her head and down her body. Boyd's watchful eye observed her every move. She disappeared into the kitchen and emerged moments later with a cup of coffee. She stood in front of Boyd and held it out to him. When he reached up to grab it she noticed his hands shook but neither commented.
"So I'll see you at the castle tonight?" He looked at her expectantly, gripping his cup tightly.
Honey shrugged. "Sure, why not?"
Boyd cursed himself for not being prepared for the disappointment he felt at her casual response.
He watched Honey as she slipped on her shoes and ran a hand through her hair. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she pulled out a compact mirror and applied her trademark red lipstick. She grabbed her coat and purse as she slid of the bed without looking back.
Boyd watched her leave, telepathically willing her to stay and help him forget. The smell of the coffee was nauseating, and he placed the full cup on the bedside cabinet. He stared at the ceiling and watched the shadows dance, too wired up to sleep, and too hungover to care.
He's knows that tomorrow will bring the same anger, upset and anxieties. He would go to the King and Castle pub to drink, forget and wait.
"I just need this to be over," Boyd murmured to nobody in particular, as he waited for it all to end so that he would finally wake up from his nightmare.