A/N this is a sequel to Coward, you definitely should read that before reading this. Thought I'd switch it up a little bit, try a different style. I like it, it's a little jarring, but it's interesting and fun to write. That and the Garret in my head kept jumping up and down going "you know..." I don't own anyone, jut borrowing them to play.
She stands in the hall, pounding on the door repeatedly. Minutes go by before she finally pulls the key out of her pocket. He never did ask for it back. She opens the door, not quite expecting what she finds. Her first thought is that something is most definitely wrong. She doesn't quite know what. But something is wrong. She calls his name, surprised when she doesn't get an answer. She makes her way across the room, carefully, there's more than a few bottles littering the ground, and she wonders how much he's had to drink. Too much.
It's then that she sees him on the couch. She starts to curse until she sees the mess of orange bottles on the table in front of him. A slew of them. She carefully and methodically looked at each label. Nembutal. Percocet. Xanax. And the two empty bottles of Royal Lochnagar on the table. She avoids looking at the body. She knows what it is, she knows what happened, as much as she doesn't want to think about it, she knows.
The note is still on the table, and she reads it over, each word slowly sinking in. The point where he mentions her. She can't help but choke up and smile at the same time. That was his twisted sense of humor. Threatening to haunt her if she took over, if she started doing things to make the morgue more efficient. It's then that she can't avoid it any longer and looks at him, lying there unmoving on the couch. She tried to remember everything she knew about time of death. He can't have been dead long, a day at the most. He left the day before in a fit, that must have been when he did this.
He didn't want to screw things up between them. That was the only thing that she could think of. That he apologized for screwing things up. That he really did care. She lifted his head gently to look into the cold brown eyes. They'd never hold that spark again-a spark of love, a spark of hate, but no matter what, it was a spark of passion. She hadn't seen that in him since they had split, and she can't help but wonder if maybe she was the last thing to break the camel's back.
She knows that she's definitely one of the straws. Just another little thing that grows and grows until finally he can't take any more. But it was all gone now; he had nothing left to worry about. Nothing left. Not even his life. He took his own life. And she wants to hate him for it, she wants to sit there and scream at him, but it would do no good. "Why?" She asks. "Why did you have to do this? Why did things have to-" She can't even finish the thought. She doesn't know how the thought is going to end, it's best that it gets caught in a sob as she buries her head against him.
She wants his arm to wrap around her, to pull her close and tell her that it's all right, but he's stiff and cold, he's gone and there's nothing she can do about it. She sits there and sobs, wanting him to come back, wanting him to burn in hell, wanting to tell him that she was sorry and thinking that he deserves whatever he gets. That he had it coming. She wants to tell him that she never wanted to run off with Eddie, that she did want to care about him, and she wants to tell him that he is every bit the coward that he said he was.
Instead, she settles for wiping her eyes, and taking a deep breath, clearing away the pill bottles, and the scotch, leaving him there before folding the note up. She picks up her phone and dials the familiar number, calling it in. When the familiar faces enter, she says that she just found him there. One finds the broken heater. She stands off to the side, glad that it's Nigel that came, she doesn't want to see Jordan break down and she knows that the other woman would.
It's only after the body is carried off that she leaves, heading for the familiar building. She looks into his office, and takes a deep breath before heading across the hall. Jordan's behind her desk, eyes red-rimmed despite the stoic facade. "I found this. It doesn't matter what you find, it's an accident." She hands the other woman the note, and pauses, watching as the tears spring up in soft eyes.
"An accident." The other woman repeats, setting down the note. "A broken heater-" She smiles faintly. Jordan understands. There's a pause as the two of them both share a look. They both loved him, they both want to love him and hate him. And just for a moment, all their past hatred fades away, for once; they both feel the same thing. They both feel lost and alone.