Title: Easy To Be Hard
Author: Shawn Carter
Email: gfshawn@earthlink.net
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. Tollin/Robbins created the show.
Notes: This is an interlude. It takes place after the second story.
Summary: Jesse Reese is his own kind of enigma. He has his own demons plus an unfulfilled coffee date. So he deals.
Rating: PG. Language. Adult situations.
Music: The title is from a song by Three Dog Night.
Additional Notes: I have noticed that when I upload stories to Fanfiction.net, the editing makes short work of some of my periods. If I put three in a row, it shortens it to one which makes some of the sentences look blocky. I apologize for this.
*****
My side hurts. Every step I take aggravates it a bit but they assure me that I'm out of the woods and it shouldn't break open again. I guess that means I won't bleed to death. That's good I guess.
I spent nearly nine days lying in that hospital bed. The good news is, I didn't miss a single Knicks game. The bad news is, I didn't miss a single ep of The Young and the Restless. I now know everything I've ever wanted to know about the wonderful world of oversexed and underlaid soap characters. Lucky me.
Right now I'm just happy to be as far away from that hospital as possible. The place feels like a damn crypt. Also, being woken up in the middle of night so that some overweight and terribly cheery nurse can give me a sedative is not my idea of a good time.
I miss my bed. My apartment is dull and quiet but it's my sanctuary. If you walked into it, you might think you were in the baseball Hall of Fame. Okay, I'm a bit fanatical. When I was a little boy and far too young to understand who my father actually was, all I knew was that he was the man who used to take me to games and buy my ball caps. He was the guy who never said no to me when I just had to have the newest case of Topps cards.
Growing up tends to shatter the rose colored lenses. Sometimes I wonder if I'd be better if I didn't know what kind of man Al Hawke. What would I be like if I thought my father was just a normal business man? Would I have toughed out college in the hopes of getting drafted one day? Would I have keep dreaming about wearing Yankee pinstripes?
But that's another life and not really worth the time and effort.
This is who I am now. Not Jesse Hawke. Jesse Reese. I took my mothers' name. Look, Hawke is a pretty common name but here in New Gotham, if you say that name, people know who you're talking about. I could have lied through every interview I had and told people that it was just a name but I think they would have always wondered. So Reese I became. And now only one other cop knows my secret and that's my partner. McNally. I've been working with the guy for a very long time so I kind of figure that I'm safe with him. He'll never tell.
It's my own private hell. And I live with and will continue to do so. It's the thorn in my side and the fire beneath my ass. It's what drives me when I wake in the morning.
I need to be better than him. I need to be more than Al Hawke's son.
Because if I'm not than all I am.all I will ever be. is the son of a monster. And what does that make me?
I shake my head. It's about nine in the morning and cold as hell outside. They released me about two hours ago. McNally offered to pick me up and take me home but I told him I needed air. I don't think I expected it to be quite this chilly. This front that has hit New Gotham with quite a passion has left the city draped two feet deep in snow. The kids aren't even playing anymore. It's Sunday morning and I'm sure a lot of the families are on their way to church.
My mom always tried to drag me there. She thought maybe the Lord could help with my inner demons. The truth was, she was always looking for some type of redemption. After all, how do you fall in love with a terrible man and remain a good person? As long as she lives, I suspect she'll be trying to answer that question. After all, she still adores the man. And calls him husband.
And you know what? I'll fight you to the wall if you ever try to tell me that she is anything less than an amazing woman. So full of love and warmth. So plagued by demons. It kills me to see the pain in her eyes. One more thing to hate my father for.
I pull my leather jacket up around my shoulders. There's a little café about two blocks up that serves a mean four egg omelet. The stuff legends are made of. I'm not allowed back on duty for another two weeks or at least until after I've cleared a psyche exam. I can't say I'm in a terrible hurry to deal with that. Shrinks and I have never really meshed. On a purely professional level I get them but beyond that, they're useless to me.
I chuckle a little as I think about shrinks. Helena is seeing one. Somehow I don't think it's exactly helping.
I laugh at myself. The sound almost echoes in the cold air and I can see my breath puff out in front of me. It seems to freeze there.
I'll be damned if McNally isn't right; she's on my mind a lot these days. When I was lying in that bed I wondered if she was a closet soap fan. I thought about seeing if she wanted to go to a Knicks game with me. You know, stupid shit. I decided no on both counts. She'd probably be bored stupid.
I really need to get her out of my mind.
This isn't me. I'm not the kind of guy to lose myself over a woman. Ever.
I've been in relationships before and they've always ended up taking years off my life. It always starts nice and fun and usually pretty easy but before too long it becomes all about who's wearing the pants and how come I never see you. You know, stupid shit. The kind of crap that makes you wonder if it's worth it and hey why bother. Life's too short to spend it always irked out of your mind.
Being a cop makes relationships hell. There is just no way around that. They always end up having an expiration date that if you ignore quickly becomes a spoil date. And God help you if you ignore that warning label. You're just about screwed then. And it's kind of even your fault. Lord know I've been there.
So why is there something in me that thinks maybe, just maybe crazy perhaps Huntress might be different?
I laugh. That's one is easy, Jesse. Come on now, not even good enough for prime time. The answer is because you're a fool, man.
Okay, okay. Yeah, sure, I talk to myself entirely too much. Hazard of the job; someone or something has to fill up those quiet moments when your head just ain't making any kind of sense. I'm a cop though and my life never makes sense so why the twenty four hour comedy routine? Suddenly my head goes quiet. No answers there.
I hear my phone ring and at first I'm a bit taken aback by the sound of it. It seems so odd and out of place in the almost eerie silence of the morning air. I open it up and almost tentatively mutter into it, "Reese?"
"Hello, Detective," she says and I swear to God she's purring. Still she sounds tired and worn down. She's still fighting off her injuries and they are many.
"Helena," I reply and I know I'm not purring but I do wonder if I'm hiding my excitement very well. Let's not call it excitement. How about.okay, there's just about nothing I can call it here that will get me off the hook. So I decide to try casual. Perhaps I can play disinterested. "How are you?"
I hear her snort. Okay, so maybe disinterested is really not something a guy can pull off when he's clearly head over heels. Not that that is me of course.
"You don't call, you don't write."
"Are you drugged up?" I ask. I can hear the odd tone in her voice. It bothers me more than I'd like that she still has to be sedated. The Joker is in prison and being watched around the clock. He can't hurt her anymore.
"She is," another voice replies rather sharply. Barbara Gordon. This woman is amazing in more ways than I can explain. Now if only she was dangerous and brunette. I laugh at this because I know that she still wouldn't have that powerfully intoxicating whatever the hell it is that Helena's got going.
"Oracle," I say, nearly tripping over the word. "Is she okay?" I can hear the alarm in my own voice and I'm a bit shocked by it. I'm beginning to realize just how much I care and it frightens me more than a little. Call it lack of control. Who really knows though?
"Sure," Barbara replies but she doesn't sound certain. Something is wrong but I get the feeling that she has no intention of telling me what it is. At least not on the phone.
"Can I.can I stop by?" I ask, suddenly terrified that she'll say no. I have this sudden need to see for myself that Helena is okay. And you know, selfishly, it's not all about her. I guess the way I figure it is, if she's okay and has made it through this, then so am I.
"We'd like that," Barbara says, this time much more certain. It's a nice warm feeling and it kind of throws me. I haven't had a family in a very long time. At least not the type that I actually want to see. I love my mom to death but there's so much pain there. I can see the agony in her eyes. She wanted her life to go so differently. So I guess it's strange to me that these people who live in the shadows with only their secrets to keep the warm almost seem more home than any I've ever known.
Best not to dwell too deeply on that. It only leads to cheap whiskey and a pounding headache. Not that I'd know much about that. Okay, hey, it's my head damnit.
"Good," I say. "I'll stop by later."
"Okay. Goodbye." I can tell that she doesn't mean to be so abrupt but she's obviously distracted. The line clicks off but not before I can hear her trying to urge Helena to calm down. Apparently the nightmares haven't stopped.
And who can blame her. I've been beaten up, shot and stabbed a time or two but I've never had anything happen to me that even comes close to what the Joker did to her. And I'm not even sure the worst of it was when he nailed her with the mallet. What he did to her head.man.I can't even imagine.
You're the top of the world one day. Tough as hell. You have your demons but you've learned to deal with them in a way that's uniquely yours. My way is slapping on cuffs. Hers is slapping on the smackdown. So to speak anyways. It's how we've both learned to survive.
He took that from her. He made her his victim and he got into her head. It's bound to leave a few scars. Plus, Barbara still thinks that there's something actually physically wrong with her brain but I really don't want to go there.
I walk a few feet towards the café and stop. My side is burning again. It occurs to me that I've been walking in the cold for a very long time. My body is suddenly very tired. I put my hand on my side and can feel the scab of the J that he carved into my side. I wonder if it will eventually fade.
I wonder if so many scars will eventually fade but they never really do. I mean they do I guess in the actual sense of the word but they always kind of throb. You always know that they are there and part of you doesn't mind because it's who you are and who you've been. But the other part hates it because it's like a burnt in reminder of how much pain you've gone through and how it will always stick with you. Influence you. Drive you.
He's not my demon but now I have his mark on my skin. He's not my ghost but I'll never forget him.
Anymore than I'll ever forget who I really am.
When I go home and walk over to my desk, I can open up my top drawer and find my drivers' license in there. From when I was a teenager. And I'll be damned if it doesn't call me Jesse Hawke on it. I can run as far as I want from those printed words but they don't change. They'll never change. My birth certificate will always say Hawke.
We live with our scars. Me, I live with my truth.
Of whom I could have been and who I choose to be. Am I successful? I have no idea. I try. Am I a good man? God, I hope so but I won't ever stop needing to me. And I hope that gives me an edge.
I decide to forego breakfast and head home. I'm glad to be out of the hospital but I'm just as tired. I kind of wish I had allowed McNally to take me home. Old news though. I'll hike the two miles to my pad. I figure I'll sleep for awhile and then head over to the Clocktower to check on Helena.
I touch my face and sigh. I need to shave. My head as well. I'm downright furry about right now. I guess I'll do it when I get up. It's hardly a production.
I think I'll ask her to a game when this is all over. She'll probably hate basketball but it's become fairly obvious that our coffee date just isn't going to happen. I mean there have been so many excuses. Being pissy, getting beat up, getting shot up, being tired.so many cop-outs. Okay, telling yourself a joke isn't funny when it's in your head. It's not okay to amuse yourself. Too much anyways. Somehow no one else seems to get the joke. Life's weird like that.
But I'll still ask her to a game.
Because that is who I am now. Jesse Reese. Detective for the GCPD and Knicks fan. Yankees too though I kind of dig Boston as well. But I'll never tell on that one. If I thought being the son of a mobster was rough.
I laugh; there I go amusing myself again.
And I'm still okay.
Even with a bullet hole in my gut and a J in my side, I'm still standing.
I shove my hands into my pockets and begin to walk home. The snow begins to fall again and I kind of enjoy the chill against my cheeks. It's too cold and early for most people so the streets are fairly empty. And for right now I kind of own them. No crime. No hate. Just quiet.
I'm at peace. I don't exactly know why but there is calmness about me. Honestly I don't know if I'm scared or comforted by this but I'll deal either way.
Because that's life. It's dealing. It's accepting. And it's moving on and letting everything filter through. It's opening up and trying to learn to live after every injury. It's reaching out and trying to make a connection.
But mostly it's just dealing.
And I'm okay with that.
-FIN
Author: Shawn Carter
Email: gfshawn@earthlink.net
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. Tollin/Robbins created the show.
Notes: This is an interlude. It takes place after the second story.
Summary: Jesse Reese is his own kind of enigma. He has his own demons plus an unfulfilled coffee date. So he deals.
Rating: PG. Language. Adult situations.
Music: The title is from a song by Three Dog Night.
Additional Notes: I have noticed that when I upload stories to Fanfiction.net, the editing makes short work of some of my periods. If I put three in a row, it shortens it to one which makes some of the sentences look blocky. I apologize for this.
*****
My side hurts. Every step I take aggravates it a bit but they assure me that I'm out of the woods and it shouldn't break open again. I guess that means I won't bleed to death. That's good I guess.
I spent nearly nine days lying in that hospital bed. The good news is, I didn't miss a single Knicks game. The bad news is, I didn't miss a single ep of The Young and the Restless. I now know everything I've ever wanted to know about the wonderful world of oversexed and underlaid soap characters. Lucky me.
Right now I'm just happy to be as far away from that hospital as possible. The place feels like a damn crypt. Also, being woken up in the middle of night so that some overweight and terribly cheery nurse can give me a sedative is not my idea of a good time.
I miss my bed. My apartment is dull and quiet but it's my sanctuary. If you walked into it, you might think you were in the baseball Hall of Fame. Okay, I'm a bit fanatical. When I was a little boy and far too young to understand who my father actually was, all I knew was that he was the man who used to take me to games and buy my ball caps. He was the guy who never said no to me when I just had to have the newest case of Topps cards.
Growing up tends to shatter the rose colored lenses. Sometimes I wonder if I'd be better if I didn't know what kind of man Al Hawke. What would I be like if I thought my father was just a normal business man? Would I have toughed out college in the hopes of getting drafted one day? Would I have keep dreaming about wearing Yankee pinstripes?
But that's another life and not really worth the time and effort.
This is who I am now. Not Jesse Hawke. Jesse Reese. I took my mothers' name. Look, Hawke is a pretty common name but here in New Gotham, if you say that name, people know who you're talking about. I could have lied through every interview I had and told people that it was just a name but I think they would have always wondered. So Reese I became. And now only one other cop knows my secret and that's my partner. McNally. I've been working with the guy for a very long time so I kind of figure that I'm safe with him. He'll never tell.
It's my own private hell. And I live with and will continue to do so. It's the thorn in my side and the fire beneath my ass. It's what drives me when I wake in the morning.
I need to be better than him. I need to be more than Al Hawke's son.
Because if I'm not than all I am.all I will ever be. is the son of a monster. And what does that make me?
I shake my head. It's about nine in the morning and cold as hell outside. They released me about two hours ago. McNally offered to pick me up and take me home but I told him I needed air. I don't think I expected it to be quite this chilly. This front that has hit New Gotham with quite a passion has left the city draped two feet deep in snow. The kids aren't even playing anymore. It's Sunday morning and I'm sure a lot of the families are on their way to church.
My mom always tried to drag me there. She thought maybe the Lord could help with my inner demons. The truth was, she was always looking for some type of redemption. After all, how do you fall in love with a terrible man and remain a good person? As long as she lives, I suspect she'll be trying to answer that question. After all, she still adores the man. And calls him husband.
And you know what? I'll fight you to the wall if you ever try to tell me that she is anything less than an amazing woman. So full of love and warmth. So plagued by demons. It kills me to see the pain in her eyes. One more thing to hate my father for.
I pull my leather jacket up around my shoulders. There's a little café about two blocks up that serves a mean four egg omelet. The stuff legends are made of. I'm not allowed back on duty for another two weeks or at least until after I've cleared a psyche exam. I can't say I'm in a terrible hurry to deal with that. Shrinks and I have never really meshed. On a purely professional level I get them but beyond that, they're useless to me.
I chuckle a little as I think about shrinks. Helena is seeing one. Somehow I don't think it's exactly helping.
I laugh at myself. The sound almost echoes in the cold air and I can see my breath puff out in front of me. It seems to freeze there.
I'll be damned if McNally isn't right; she's on my mind a lot these days. When I was lying in that bed I wondered if she was a closet soap fan. I thought about seeing if she wanted to go to a Knicks game with me. You know, stupid shit. I decided no on both counts. She'd probably be bored stupid.
I really need to get her out of my mind.
This isn't me. I'm not the kind of guy to lose myself over a woman. Ever.
I've been in relationships before and they've always ended up taking years off my life. It always starts nice and fun and usually pretty easy but before too long it becomes all about who's wearing the pants and how come I never see you. You know, stupid shit. The kind of crap that makes you wonder if it's worth it and hey why bother. Life's too short to spend it always irked out of your mind.
Being a cop makes relationships hell. There is just no way around that. They always end up having an expiration date that if you ignore quickly becomes a spoil date. And God help you if you ignore that warning label. You're just about screwed then. And it's kind of even your fault. Lord know I've been there.
So why is there something in me that thinks maybe, just maybe crazy perhaps Huntress might be different?
I laugh. That's one is easy, Jesse. Come on now, not even good enough for prime time. The answer is because you're a fool, man.
Okay, okay. Yeah, sure, I talk to myself entirely too much. Hazard of the job; someone or something has to fill up those quiet moments when your head just ain't making any kind of sense. I'm a cop though and my life never makes sense so why the twenty four hour comedy routine? Suddenly my head goes quiet. No answers there.
I hear my phone ring and at first I'm a bit taken aback by the sound of it. It seems so odd and out of place in the almost eerie silence of the morning air. I open it up and almost tentatively mutter into it, "Reese?"
"Hello, Detective," she says and I swear to God she's purring. Still she sounds tired and worn down. She's still fighting off her injuries and they are many.
"Helena," I reply and I know I'm not purring but I do wonder if I'm hiding my excitement very well. Let's not call it excitement. How about.okay, there's just about nothing I can call it here that will get me off the hook. So I decide to try casual. Perhaps I can play disinterested. "How are you?"
I hear her snort. Okay, so maybe disinterested is really not something a guy can pull off when he's clearly head over heels. Not that that is me of course.
"You don't call, you don't write."
"Are you drugged up?" I ask. I can hear the odd tone in her voice. It bothers me more than I'd like that she still has to be sedated. The Joker is in prison and being watched around the clock. He can't hurt her anymore.
"She is," another voice replies rather sharply. Barbara Gordon. This woman is amazing in more ways than I can explain. Now if only she was dangerous and brunette. I laugh at this because I know that she still wouldn't have that powerfully intoxicating whatever the hell it is that Helena's got going.
"Oracle," I say, nearly tripping over the word. "Is she okay?" I can hear the alarm in my own voice and I'm a bit shocked by it. I'm beginning to realize just how much I care and it frightens me more than a little. Call it lack of control. Who really knows though?
"Sure," Barbara replies but she doesn't sound certain. Something is wrong but I get the feeling that she has no intention of telling me what it is. At least not on the phone.
"Can I.can I stop by?" I ask, suddenly terrified that she'll say no. I have this sudden need to see for myself that Helena is okay. And you know, selfishly, it's not all about her. I guess the way I figure it is, if she's okay and has made it through this, then so am I.
"We'd like that," Barbara says, this time much more certain. It's a nice warm feeling and it kind of throws me. I haven't had a family in a very long time. At least not the type that I actually want to see. I love my mom to death but there's so much pain there. I can see the agony in her eyes. She wanted her life to go so differently. So I guess it's strange to me that these people who live in the shadows with only their secrets to keep the warm almost seem more home than any I've ever known.
Best not to dwell too deeply on that. It only leads to cheap whiskey and a pounding headache. Not that I'd know much about that. Okay, hey, it's my head damnit.
"Good," I say. "I'll stop by later."
"Okay. Goodbye." I can tell that she doesn't mean to be so abrupt but she's obviously distracted. The line clicks off but not before I can hear her trying to urge Helena to calm down. Apparently the nightmares haven't stopped.
And who can blame her. I've been beaten up, shot and stabbed a time or two but I've never had anything happen to me that even comes close to what the Joker did to her. And I'm not even sure the worst of it was when he nailed her with the mallet. What he did to her head.man.I can't even imagine.
You're the top of the world one day. Tough as hell. You have your demons but you've learned to deal with them in a way that's uniquely yours. My way is slapping on cuffs. Hers is slapping on the smackdown. So to speak anyways. It's how we've both learned to survive.
He took that from her. He made her his victim and he got into her head. It's bound to leave a few scars. Plus, Barbara still thinks that there's something actually physically wrong with her brain but I really don't want to go there.
I walk a few feet towards the café and stop. My side is burning again. It occurs to me that I've been walking in the cold for a very long time. My body is suddenly very tired. I put my hand on my side and can feel the scab of the J that he carved into my side. I wonder if it will eventually fade.
I wonder if so many scars will eventually fade but they never really do. I mean they do I guess in the actual sense of the word but they always kind of throb. You always know that they are there and part of you doesn't mind because it's who you are and who you've been. But the other part hates it because it's like a burnt in reminder of how much pain you've gone through and how it will always stick with you. Influence you. Drive you.
He's not my demon but now I have his mark on my skin. He's not my ghost but I'll never forget him.
Anymore than I'll ever forget who I really am.
When I go home and walk over to my desk, I can open up my top drawer and find my drivers' license in there. From when I was a teenager. And I'll be damned if it doesn't call me Jesse Hawke on it. I can run as far as I want from those printed words but they don't change. They'll never change. My birth certificate will always say Hawke.
We live with our scars. Me, I live with my truth.
Of whom I could have been and who I choose to be. Am I successful? I have no idea. I try. Am I a good man? God, I hope so but I won't ever stop needing to me. And I hope that gives me an edge.
I decide to forego breakfast and head home. I'm glad to be out of the hospital but I'm just as tired. I kind of wish I had allowed McNally to take me home. Old news though. I'll hike the two miles to my pad. I figure I'll sleep for awhile and then head over to the Clocktower to check on Helena.
I touch my face and sigh. I need to shave. My head as well. I'm downright furry about right now. I guess I'll do it when I get up. It's hardly a production.
I think I'll ask her to a game when this is all over. She'll probably hate basketball but it's become fairly obvious that our coffee date just isn't going to happen. I mean there have been so many excuses. Being pissy, getting beat up, getting shot up, being tired.so many cop-outs. Okay, telling yourself a joke isn't funny when it's in your head. It's not okay to amuse yourself. Too much anyways. Somehow no one else seems to get the joke. Life's weird like that.
But I'll still ask her to a game.
Because that is who I am now. Jesse Reese. Detective for the GCPD and Knicks fan. Yankees too though I kind of dig Boston as well. But I'll never tell on that one. If I thought being the son of a mobster was rough.
I laugh; there I go amusing myself again.
And I'm still okay.
Even with a bullet hole in my gut and a J in my side, I'm still standing.
I shove my hands into my pockets and begin to walk home. The snow begins to fall again and I kind of enjoy the chill against my cheeks. It's too cold and early for most people so the streets are fairly empty. And for right now I kind of own them. No crime. No hate. Just quiet.
I'm at peace. I don't exactly know why but there is calmness about me. Honestly I don't know if I'm scared or comforted by this but I'll deal either way.
Because that's life. It's dealing. It's accepting. And it's moving on and letting everything filter through. It's opening up and trying to learn to live after every injury. It's reaching out and trying to make a connection.
But mostly it's just dealing.
And I'm okay with that.
-FIN