I don't own the rights to anything or anybody. But I'm indebted to those that do...in this case, Dick Wolf, NBCUni, USA and whoever else.
The rating is for language... This twisted and turned from what I'd initially started... one-shot or ? Let me know what you think, should it continue?
Hanratty's is a real place in New York City, it's an upscale restaurant... Hanrattie's is a fictional neighborhood bar somewhere in New York City...
Tired
Bobby was tired. Tired of thinking. Tired of being responsible, of being the responsible one. Tired of looking for Donnie. Tired of looking for Frank (even though he told both Frank and himself he wouldn't). Tired of seeing that look in Eame's eyes. He was so fucking tired of everything.
He sighed as he swirled the last bit of whiskey around the bottom of the glass before tilting the glass to let the amber liquid slide down his throat. In all these years, he still had never been able to get used to the burning sensation of the alcohol. Tonight though, it reassured him that he was still able to feel.
He got up to pour himself another shot. He always kept the bottle in the kitchen. He figured that if he had to get up and go get it, he'd never go that one drink too many. It was that same reasoning that had him putting away his gun in a lockbox as soon as he walked in the door. He'd never be able to react too impulsively.
He poured the drink and as he set the bottle aside, the flashing light on his answering machine caught his attention. He knew the call was from Lewis. He'd been here, listening as Lewis left the message. He played it back.
"Hey Bobby, it's been forever man. You never call me back anymore. Come on, dude, that's just wrong. Okay, that's the end of lecture. Look, a bunch of us are down at Hanrattie's, we'll be here all night, man. Gina really wants you to come by; she hasn't seen you in forever. You know, other than at the funeral. And that wasn't really..."
There was a long pause in the message, in which Bobby was able to hear the sounds of the busy bar. Lewis continued, his voice lower, quieter and serious, "Bobby, it's time man. Think about it, before you don't come. We'll be here until last call, I... I... we really hope to see you down here. All right. Bye."
"Bobby, it's time. Bobby... Think about it. It's... Think about it. Time... THINK ABOUT IT. THINKATBOUTIT! THINKABOUTIT! " The phrase echoed in his head. Fuck it, Bobby thought as he threw his glass across the kitchen, shattered glass and whiskey flying around the room. "I'm fucking tired of thinking about it!" Bobby yelled.
He crossed the room in three long strides and yanked open the closet door. As he reached up the lock box on the shelf was in his sight line. His hand landed on his leather jacket, he felt the supple leather caress his palm and he could smell the remnants of his cologne from the last time he'd worn it, but still his eyes focused on the lock box.
This was IT. It hit him then, deep in the gut. He knew it, he finally knew it. He closed his eyes and drew deep even breaths. Raising his head to look up at the ceiling, up to the heavens, he knew this was it. This is what IT had always been on those nights when sleep wouldn't come and doubts would come creeping in. But no more.
The thought of IT repelled him. There was no appeal to IT at all.
He pulled the leather jacket from its hanger and slammed the closet door. He picked up his keys and wallet from the table by the front door. Opening the door, he slipped one arm into the jacket and as he slammed the door closed behind him, he slid his arm into the other sleeve and shrugged the jacket into place.
Hanrattie's sounded like a good idea.