AN: This is for Cloe83. Her prompts can be found on the forum.
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I know, through personal experience, the stages of grief. I know there are levels, processes that a person must go through. But even my 'personal' experience hasn't exactly been personal until now. Personal meant, counselling those who were grieving. Personal never meant losing someone close to me. My grandmother died when I was nine and I remember being upset and I remember going to her funeral and being sad and crying for her. I also remember that being the first time I ever saw my father cry. But grief had always been something that belonged to someone else and my understanding of it came from books; my empathy was learnt. Now at least when someone has died I can lean in to the people they leave behind and really mean it when I say 'I know what you're going through'.
Cal looks at me differently these days. He worries about me in a way that he hasn't before. He's suddenly still. It's as if he's grieving too. But he can't be, because he didn't know Claire. Something has changed for him nonetheless and I haven't quite figured it out. To be honest, I'm too tired to. Emotionally tired. I'm trying to grieve. But I've never done it before so I'm not quite sure how to feel. I feel bad, terrible even, and I cry a lot. I allow myself too because that's healthy. If I need to cry, I should, I should let it out. That's normal. But it's been several weeks and I don't feel normal. I feel terrible.
Cal comes periodically to talk to me, probably to check up on me and I would laugh that he's put on his 'shrink' jacket except it's more like he's trying to be a good friend. And I need it. I need him because right now I am lost and I am hurting and what I really need is some comfort. I need a hug. And I need some love. And what I really want is for someone to simultaneously hug me and tell me that it will be all right.
Cal hugs me. And that's nice. And it is comforting. But he doesn't tell me it will be all right. He knows better.
I get up in the morning at the same time every day and I shower. I dress. I do my hair and my make up and make myself presentable to the day. It used to be to make myself look good, but now it's more about not looking so bad. I drink coffee, have breakfast, watch the morning news. I drive to work and I park in the same place and maybe it's the banality of my life that is somehow 'off'. Death reminds us that life is short. We don't have to get stabbed by an enraged psychopath for it to be cut off before what we would consider is right. Death puts things into a different perspective. We start to think about what we have, what we haven't got and all I can think about is how people treat each other like shit.
PJ
"Morning," Cal greets me and gives me a careful study. I fix him with a smile that is genuine, because I am genuinely happy to see him. He fills me in on the last few hours and from that I can deduce that he was here late and came back early. Or just slept in his study. Either way, he walks close to me as we head to my office and I can feel the warmth of his torso against my hip. When we walk like this, I manage to forget about Death and all its friends. Then I laugh to myself because I'm referencing Coldplay album titles in my head. Perhaps it's time to move on from the grieving thing. And definitely time to change the playlists on my mp3.
I give Cal's arm a squeeze as I duck into my office. "I'll catch up with you when he gets here," I tell him. Meaning, when the suspect gets here.
"Right," Cal agrees and heads across the hallway to his study.
At my desk I start with checking my email and returning calls and then Anna is knocking on my door. I give her a welcome smile; she tells me Kevin McDonald is here for interviewing. I know she means the suspect Cal was telling me about earlier. "Thanks Anna," I get up from my desk.
"They're set up in the cube."
I thank her again and head down the corridor. When I walk into the room where the cube is located I can see the glass is tinted to protect McDonald waiting inside. Outside it are Loker and another intern sitting at their consoles. A tall dark haired man in a suit is standing behind them watching the smaller monitors. I can't see Cal at all and assume he's begun, or is late showing up. I cross towards the man in his expensive suit. He's Mr Warsteiner's contact for the case. Mr Warsteiner considers himself far too important to show up and track the progress himself. His father died under suspicious circumstances. The police are having a hard time with the investigation. So the son, Maximillian, hired the Lightman Group to centre on finding the killer. At the very top of his list is Kevin McDonald; the new family lawyer. But Mr Warsteiner insists on sending along one of his 'boys' to keep an eye on things.
Mr Oranger comes to shake my hand. His eyes are an icy pale blue colour and they pierce through me. This was a man who saw a lot more than he let on. In fact, I have to suppress a shudder at the thought of what this man might have seen. The Warsteiner's were well known for making their money through illegal channels, drugs mostly, but I doubt that's all they had their fingers in. I doubt Mr Oranger's sole position with the Warsteiner's was babysitting.
"Loker can find you somewhere more comfortable to wait if you would prefer," I offer, hoping but doubting Mr Oranger will take me up on the offer. He doesn't, just politely declines. I round the edge of the cube and approach the door, forgetting to check to see where Cal is. As I come around the edge of the interrogation structure I can see Cal standing, like he's waiting and as I start to come up the stairs he spots me and hurries over. He looks worried.
"Sit this one out."
"Why?" I'm offended.
"Just," he tries to shove me out of the room again but I push into him, momentum on my side and without wanting to cause too much of a scene, he lets me.
I step up into the cube proper. The man at the table has dark hair and blue eyes and he's watching me with a painful expression on my face and all of a sudden it strikes me like a low blow of lightening: Dave.
PJ
I tell you what, it's bloody painful seeing her face in that moment. I realise then I should have tried harder to keep her out but the truth was, if I kicked up a fuss it would arouse suspicion not just in her, but in Mr Fruit outside too. And he looks like one scary bugger who has looked down his share of gun barrels, and been on the other side of them. Not just him, the Warnsteiner's have a fierce reputation and now that we're in the FBI's bad books it would be a good idea to just try and keep everyone on side. I took this case on thinking it would be an open and shut murder, but the more I delve, the more I get my hands dirty, the more I want a shower to wash it all way. Seeing Mr McDonald has just made that feeling stronger.
But Gillian, bless her, takes a few shaky steps forwards and sits. McDonald, or Burns, or whatever, follows her carefully and they're staring and staring at each other as if there is no one else in the room. I step up behind her, ready to break the electric connection but Gillian reaches for the file on the table and asks the first question. And if I hadn't hardened my soul against reactions out of my control, my jaw might just have dropped open in surprise. I continue to stand behind her, immensely proud.
'Good girl,' I tell her silently and shift my gaze to watch Burnsy's face. Or McDonald's. Bloody hell its confusing all that undercover malarkey. Burnsy looks just as stunned as she does but surely he would know where he is? He's been here before. Several times. He might not recognise their employees and they wouldn't know who he was from a bar of soap, but the building's walls haven't changed in the slightest. What was he expecting really? Maybe he thought someone would warn her to stay away. Hell, if I'd had any previous warning, I would have. But then why would anyone here have cause to recognise the name McDonald?
Burnsy is begging her with his eyes. I walk around the table slightly to see Gillian's face. She's steadfastly ignoring him. When she looks up to talk to him, her eyes are cool, her face is steady and I've never seen her try so hard to keep it all under control as I am right now. She's being a professional and whatever it is Burnsy is asking her, it goes unanswered. She gets on with the interview and so do I. Neither of us are really interested in what Burnsy has to say. We know he's not involved, but under the insistence of Mr Wanker, we've brought him in. I think fleetingly that I should have resisted harder, should have insisted Burnsy here had nothing to do with his father's death. But then, that might clue Mr Wanker up to the fact that we actually suspect it was him.
We spend half an hour with Burnsy in the cube and if I find the situation strained then Gillian must feel ten times worse. Loker is probably wondering what the hell is going on. But as Burnsy leaves with his babysitter no one says anything.
"I'll get on the footage straight away," Loker announces.
"Whip-ee," I respond hurrying to catch up to Gillian. I follow her into her office but before I can say anything she tells me she's fine. And I almost believe her. She's clearly been working on compartmentalising because I can barely see the flicker that says she's not. She watches me steadily and a million words die on my tongue to be buried alongside a billion more casualties of my silence. I want to tell her she's not fine, I want to insist she takes some time off, I want to tell her something comforting, and mostly I want to tell her that I love her like it's some kind of magical cure that will make her entire life better. But what I do, is turn and leave her office again. I promise myself I will tell her soon, when she gets over Claire's death and she's ready to deal with the fallout of my bombshell.
PJ
I'm pretty sure my hands are shaking. I can feel them tremoring but when I hold them out in front of me they seem to be just fine. Nice and steady. My heart isn't though. I can feel it pounding away and it's hard to tell if that's because of the sheer shock of seeing him again, or because I can still feel something for him under the surface. Suddenly everything is rushing to the forefront. Even with Cal giving me space I feel exposed. I turn away from the door, wanting to hide a little. God, Burns, no Dave. I hadn't even thought about him for months, a year at least. He must be on a new case. Obviously he was on a new case. Why else would his hair be a different colour? Why else would he be involved in yet another shitty situation with more reasons that would keep him away from me...
The phone on my desk rings, startling me out of my thoughts. A phone call would be a welcome distraction. I reach for it and answer, sounding nice and calm too.
"Gill it's me."
Oh God!
"I shouldn't talk long."
I'm pretty sure my heart has stopped beating. In the cube, I wasn't listening to him. I mean, not listening to him like I am now, alone in my office, no longer overly aware of Cal in the room with us, not having to pretend for the men outside of the room. His voice is still gravelly and the vowels run smoothly off his tongue and they make me shiver inside. I can imagine hearing that voice in the dark of my bedroom and it makes me long for something that is no longer mine.
"Have dinner with me."
I'm silent until I realise what he's asking. He's asking me to reconnect or something. "I can't."
"There's so much I want to explain to you."
"And I would love to hear your explanations," I tell him my voice strained with an anger I have tried to repress for a year. "But we're in the middle of investigating your boss. So I can't."
"My place."
"No," and I wonder if I should call him 'Dave' or 'Kevin'. "Just..." and I want to say 'not right now' or 'call me back later' but I'm not sure if I want either of those things.
"After it's all over, I'll call you again."
So he suggests both options in one smooth mouthful and I find I can't ignore either of them now that they're in front of me, so I agree, and I hang up, and I'm not sure whether I should laugh or cry.
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