A/N: Enjoy this little one shot I wrote a million years ago. These aren't my characters, and I am not claiming ownership to them in any way.
When I walked into the office we shared, I knew something was off right away. The guy was actually sitting down, doing his paperwork. I could see the visible strain on his face. For someone who will gun down everyone in his path, chase vehicles on foot and jump off of tall buildings like they're nothing with a smile on is face, he sure looked uncomfortable. My shock turned into suspicion when he only uttered a quiet, "Hey Roger" as I walked in.
On a normal day, he would have teased me for my perpetual lateness, or mentioned that the suits I wore, though fashionable, didn't mask the fact that I was getting too old for this shit. But no, just a meek little hello and a swift glance as I entered. I sat on my desk and stared. His behavior was so out of character; I had to get to the bottom of it.
"Jesus, Rog, what are you starin' at?" the young detective asked, when his curiosity and irritability finally got the best of him. His expression was how I expected, an irritated frown, except for his eyes. Usually the clear, blue eyes matched whatever emotion the rest of his face held, but this time they were different. They were guarded... no, cloudy... no, misty.
In my surprise, I exclaimed, " Shit, man, have you been crying?" before I could stop myself. Even though Riggs had a history of crushing depression and serious injuries, I realized that in several months of working with him, I had never seen my partner cry. Unfortunately, Riggs realized this too.
This time he looked at me with an angry scowl that did reach his eyes. The glare was intense enough to make me squirm uncomfortably. I quickly tried to correct myself.
"Hey, it's no big deal, I mean, I do it all the time myself. Not that you are. But if you were, I wouldn't judge you or anything," I stammered.
Riggs chuckled a little at my attempt to save myself. He still looked distressed, but not as if he was going to rip me apart anymore. I breathed a sigh of relief, and my concern for myself quickly switched to concern for my partner. I knew the kid had been through a lot, and as his partner and friend I try my best to help him through everything. Things seemed like they were going well lately, so what was bothering Riggs today?
"So what's up, man? Usually I have to hold you at gunpoint to get you to file paperwork. But today, you sit here doing it willingly? Why the sudden mood swing?" I asked, tactfully not mentioning that Riggs had been crying. After all, I didn't feel like losing any limbs today.
"Well... it's just a rough day for me."
I looked at him searchingly.
Riggs sighed. "It's," he paused, took a breath, then went on. "Well, it would have been, my tenth anniversary today. I am doing this mundane task to keep myself bored. There's nothing reckless or dangerous about paperwork. And I don't really trust myself today," he said with an honest and open brokenness that made my heart twinge.
Trish and I spent our tenth anniversary in a quiet cabin on a lake. I remember worrying that she would be disappointed that we weren't going somewhere more exciting, or that I only was able to take three days off of work instead of a week like she deserved. But, like a million other times in my marriage, my incredible wife just smiled and kissed me when I told her the plan. She looked into my eyes and said, "Thank you, baby. I think that is exactly what we need."
No wonder Riggs was hurting. His wife died young, and so unexpectedly that they never got to experience the incredible, everyday, joy of marriage. He never got to experience the change in the relationship from unbridled passion of youth to the more mature and slow-burning one of adulthood. He never got to see Vicky become a mother, and experience how the love of a family fills your heart in ways that he never could have imagined.
My thoughts were interrupted by a surprised utterance from Riggs. "Shit man, are you crying now?"
"Shit no, man," I said, even as I realized that my eyes had in fact begun to tear up. Instead of addressing this further, I, as any sensible man would have, walked by and smacked the back of Riggs' head on the way to my desk.
"Fuck, Rog," he complained, clearly grateful for the change of subject.
"Hand me a stack of those reports," I said. If Riggs was good about one thing, it was about listening to his instincts. No car chases or drug busts or murder investigations for us today. "It's about time we caught up, anyway. Doing this willingly?" I scoffed. " The captain's gonna have a heart attack."