...
A Winston-centric fic.
...
Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own Human Target.
...
A/N: Well, since I love Chi McBride so much, I thought I should give him his own fic. I'll get back to my Guerrero/Ames fics after this one.
This one deals with the days after Katherine's death, and how Winston dealt with it all, as well as becoming partners with Chance.
I hope you guys like this, I know I'll love writing it.
As always, please read and review, I live for feedback!
...
So, it all came down to this. He held the glass of scotch in his hands, contemplating on whether or not he really wanted to drink it. He was a man who loved his scotch. Or his wine. Or his Irish coffee. Anything to take the edge off, most days.
He wasn't a cop anymore, so it's not as though he had that moral dilemma to deal with any longer.
With Katherine Walter's death still fresh in his mind, he stared down at the glass, swirling around the liquid within it. It was tempting ... oh, so tempting. That little voice in his head was whispering to him, goading him on. Just one drink, that's all you need. Just a sip. You'll see, it's not so bad. You're still in control, you're still capable. So you lost one witness ... you've been wanting to quit the force for a long time. Just have a drink, Laverne. It'll all make sense when the glass is empty.
Would it? Would it all be better if he swallowed the contents in that well-used glass?
He knew the answer. He knew, deep within him, that he needed to end his love affair with that glass, and dump the drink down the kitchen sink. He knew that was the right thing - the smart thing to do. Problem was, even though his brain knew that, he couldn't seem to get the message through to his hand.
The glass began to raise towards his lips, seemingly of its own accord, and Laverne Winston drew a shaky breath, his lower lip trembling. So close ... so close.
The glass had barely touched his quivering lips when he managed to snap himself out of his trance, and he slammed the glass down on the table. "No!" he stated forcefully, sitting up off of his living room couch. He paced about his empty apartment, thinking of everything that had happened: giving a witness's location to a hit-man, losing that witness, and finally, to the book he'd recovered from the site where it had all gone down.
It hardly seemed like a consolation prize, not after everything that had happened. He'd trade it for Katherine Walters life in a heartbeat. She didn't deserve to die. She'd still had her whole life ahead of her ...
Winston looked back at the glass on the table, lowering his lids as his defenses wavered. It would taste so good ... just one sip. He wiped a hand over his face, leaving it rest over his mouth for a few seconds.
"There's gotta be another way," he whispered to the empty room. "There's gotta be."
He was a drunk. He'd been a drunk for too long. Alcohol had been his safety net, and he'd used it whenever the going got tough. Dirty cops? Shot of whiskey will take care of that. Divorce? Two-day bender ought to solve that problem. Witness ends up dead because of your mistake? Hell ... why not a glass of scotch? Why not a whole damn bottle?
Winston clenched and released his hands repeatedly, battling with the urge within him to surrender to the drink; to just let go and make it all feel better.
It wouldn't feel better, though ... he knew that.
He had to get out of there, he had to leave. With another look around his sparse and lifeless apartment, Winston left quickly, his feet taking him away. Away from the drink, away from his guilt, away from his problems.
Somehow, he found himself in front of a certain building. It was where Katherine and her kidnapper/attempted savior had hidden out. The man that had tried to save her was in that building ... and the man that had tried to kill her. Were they two separate people? Was it just a moment of weakness, or was this his turning point?
Winston looked down at his feet, chuckling dryly at the internal question. It suited him, too. Was this his turning point, or would he go back to the alcohol? Gotta be another way, he told himself.
His feet pushed him on, walking into the building and guiding himself up to the man he was looking for. The entire elevator ride up, he told himself over and over, like an inner mantra, 'there's another way. We're not as stuck as we think we are ... there's another way.'
Maybe if he said it enough, it would be real.
...
The end.
Well, what did you guys think of that one? Like it, hate it?
A bit darker than I usually write, but I think it worked out okay.
Reviews are appreciated, flame if you must, but constructive criticism is much more useful.
Until next time ...!