All your anger, all your hurt, it doesn't matter in the end
Those days go by and we all start again
What you had and what you lost, they're all memories in the wind
Those days go by and we all start again

-Offspring, Days Go By-

Days Go By

I couldn't believe it. Here we were at the police station again. What had seemed like a simple smash and grab had flipped around and the gray bars were looming ahead, superimposed by my mind over the wide, metal doors at the top of the concrete ramp I was being hustled toward. I could hear the cop mumbling beside me while his hand gripped the cuffs tightened around my wrists, but I chose to ignore what I knew from experience was one of two things … a cursing for ruining his late shift nap or a lecture on how I was going to turn out just like my father if I kept going down the path I'd chosen.

It seemed like only yesterday when I'd gotten released from the county jail from that thirty day drunk and disorderly stint the judge had slapped me with. Come to think of it … it very well could've been yesterday since it was now long past midnight. I took a deep breath of the night air, knowing that it would probably be my last for a while.

Behind me and Deputy Dog, I could hear my partner in crime mouthing off to the cop that had him cuffed, but I let the words flow over me while I prepared myself for another lockdown of unknown duration. I was convinced that Judge McCafferty had been very serious when he'd told me not to let him see me in his courtroom again, and his words kept echoing inside my head over my buddy's ranting jibes.

Go to jail, go directly to jail. Do not pass go. Do not collect two-hundred dollars from the liquor store's cash drawer. The thought of that stupid board game Curly and Angela had blackmailed me into playing with them years ago brought a smirk to my lips. They had given up forcing me to play when I kept robbing the bank and holding them up at knife-point for their cash and deeds, though, but this situation was eerily similar to the 'Chance' card I always seemed to draw when things were going good.

The aroma of cigarette smoke and wicked deeds washed over me when Deputy Dog pulled the gun-metal gray door open and shoved me through into the station's waiting area. "You know the drill, Shepard. I don't want any trouble out of you, got it? "

I shook off the haze I had been in and stared around with my best detached gaze at the other criminals parked on the benches around the room, their hands cuffed behind them much like mine were. "You wouldn't be having any trouble out of me now if you had minded your own business, O'Neil."

A huffing sound came from Deputy O'Neil and he guided me toward an empty bench sitting across from the sergeant's desk, spinning me around and shoving me down onto the hard wood. He stared down at me with a frown on his lips before wiggling his finger a few centimeters from my nose. "Stay put, and doncha go wandering off."

I watched that finger shaking and impulse took over. Leaning forward, I snapped my teeth at it and laughed like mad when O'Neil yanked it back just in time to avoid me clamping down on it. "That's a good way to lose your trigger finger."

O'Neil glared at me and his lips thinned out like he was going to say something else, but he changed his mind and spun around to stomp off toward the sergeant's desk. I snorted and sneered, "That's right … run for your life."

The bench I was sitting on shook when Dallas Winston was shoved down onto it beside me, and I pulled my gaze off O'Neil's back to watch my partner in crime try to trip the cop that had brought him in as the man skirted around the bench past him. "Ain't this some shit?"

"I toldja it wouldn't work, you stupid ass," Dallas hissed at me as soon as the cop that had brought him in was out of earshot. "But you never fucking listen to me, do ya?"

I rolled my eyes at him and shifted on the hard bench. He had nobody to blame but himself for us being caught this time, and he was just trying to shift the guilt to me instead of admitting that he's the one that fucked up. "It would've worked if you hadn't dropped that fucking bottle, butterfingers."

Dallas shot me a 'go to hell' look before turning a bored gaze on the other unfortunate souls sneaking glances at us from their own little piece of purgatory. "I didn't drop it. It jumped off the fucking shelf."

"Sure it did," I agreed with a snort of disbelief, knowing I was probably pissing him off by questioning his prowess as a thief. I couldn't let it go, though. Dallas the Great had fucked up and I was going to rub his face in it as much as possible. "The damn thing jumped right through your hands and bounced off your foot out of spite, huh?"

"Shut the fuck up, Shepard."

I smirked sideways at him and caught him wincing and looking down at his foot with a dark glare. Bingo … mission accomplished. "Revenge of the whiskey," I taunted. "Ma always said the alcohol would get you in the end."

"Your mom ain't got enough sense to string that many words together." Dallas smirked when I made a low noise. He knew how sensitive I was about my family and that those were fighting words even if we were handcuffed in the booking room. "What? Gonna defend your stupid mom now?"

"No." I leaned forward on the bench and slide my arms up under me, my eyes focused on a dark stain on the floor while I concentrated on what I was doing. Pain shot up into my shoulders, and I felt the joint pull outward a little when I managed to maneuver my arms all the way under me until they were locked behind my knees instead of behind my back.

"What the fuck are you doin' now, Tim?" His eyes were narrowed to ice-blue slits as he watched me bring my knees up. "You're gonna break something important doin' that shit."

Scrunching my knees up close to my chest, I slide my cuffed hands down to my boots and wiggled them upward over the heel toward the toes. "What I'm gonna break is gonna be your concern when I get my fucking hands free," I retorted, shooting him a wicked smile that I knew would set his teeth on edge. "You bad mouthed my mom, asshole."

"I've always bad mouthed your mom," Dallas replied with a sneer that was all his own before he turned his attention back to the desk sergeant, apparently not considering me a threat at all. "Believe I've called your sister a few names, too, now that we're on the subject."

"Keep your mouth off my sister, you bastard," I snarled, swearing under my breath as the short chain on the handcuffs snagged on the bottom of my boots. "You're just chaffed because she ain't interested in a damn thing you got to offer."

"My mouth ain't the only thing that's been on your sister and what I offered, she sure didn't turn down," he said in a teasing tone as he turned his head to fix me with glittering eyes. "She ain't too bad for a Shepard, you know."

"That's it!" Jerking my arms upward with all my strength, I managed to break the chain free from my boot and suddenly found myself with both hands in front of me. "Now you're gonna get it, Winston!"

Getting to my feet, I clasped my fingers together and brought may arms around to catch him upside the head with one big fist, watching gleefully as he was knocked off the bench and onto the filthy floor of the station house's booking room. Catcalls and hollering from the others waiting in the booking room bounced off the high ceiling of the booking area when I drew my foot back and kicked Dallas in the ribs with the square toe of my boot. "That's for calling my ma stupid!"

"Here, here! There'll be no fighting in here, boys!"

Before I could get in another blow, I was grabbed from behind and yanked back away from Dallas …

A low chuckle came from Tim Shepard as he leaned back in the hammock and propped one booted foot on the porch railing. Every year on this day, he purchased a bottle of Jack Daniels and drank himself into the past in the old hammock. It wasn't a significant day to anybody other than him, but it managed to impact his life more than any other day of the year.

"He sure was a wrangler." Raising the bottle of whiskey in his hand toward the darkening sky, he laughed again. "Here's to the only person that ever bad mouthed my family and lived to tell about it."

He turned the bottle up and took a quick swallow before settling into the netting more comfortably. "It's been over three years, Dally," he continued, the whiskey leaving a burn down his throat that he knew wasn't all the after effects of the liquor. "Eleven hundred and twelve days since you did your last stupid thing."

Raising the bottle again, Tim stared at the amber contents and tilted his head to one side thoughtfully. "I can almost hear you say you didn't know I could count that high, you asshole."

With a low sigh, he rested his head back into the hammock and watched as the last remaining light slid behind the trees. No matter how many days came and went, he couldn't go a single one without thinking about the friend, and enemy, he had lost. Nothing had ever been the same after Dallas left this world, and nothing would ever fade his memories of their time together.