tɕāj
(n.) sincere kindness and willingness to help others, even before they asked, without expecting something in return
|Thai|
She is just glad it hasn't been a child. She has no idea how he would've reacted if a child had been murdered. He always seems off when a kid is involved in one of their cases. He just isn't himself at those times. Or maybe that's who he used to be before Red John decided to end life as he knew it.
That is one of many questions, she'll probably never find the answers to. Sometimes, though, she doesn't even want to know. The hurt radiates off of him every time he talks about his past and she never knows what to say to make it better. Most times he simply shakes himself out of it after a few minutes of indulging in his memories.
This morning, his eyes had wandered to the swing set and she had noticed how his fingers had curled into fists before he had shoved them into the pockets of his suit jacket. She had to call his name twice, softly, before he had looked at her as though he had seen her for the first time ever before realizing where he was and putting on his trademark smile.
He had been his usual self throughout the case – or so it seemed. He had been arrogant, annoying, getting on her nerves. Had offended more or less everyone involved in the case. Had solved the case in no time at all. But she had seen past his charade.
So it was really no wonder when she couldn't seem to find him after the case was closed. Following an instinct, she didn't know she had, she had gone back to the playground and sure enough that's where he was, sitting on one of the swings, his legs dangling beneath him. The soft rattling of the swing's chain the only sound around him. Carefully, almost as though she was approaching a wild animal she had moved closer to him before looking at him questioningly. He had nodded towards the other swing in a silent invitation for her to sit down.
Now, sitting on the play equipment she wonders if coming here was the right decision. He had probably wanted to be alone, given the fact that he had come here all alone.
And for what feels like the thousandth time she feels hesitant to approach a subject around him. It's not that she is uncomfortable in his presence, quite the contrary, if she allows herself to be perfectly honest. But even after almost a decade of knowing him and working with him, she still feels unsure whenever it comes to his family, his thirst for revenge and his past in general.
Leaning forward so that the swing starts to move gently, she takes a deep breath. "So," she begins tentatively. "You...wanna talk about it?"
He raises his head and looks at her. But even though his eyes are set on her, his focus seems to lie somewhere, she knows she will never be able to reach.
Waiting for his answer, she studies her shoes in an attempt not to let him show how eager she is for him to open up to her. She can still feel his gaze on her, though. After a few minutes – that seem like days to her – he starts speaking.
"She... loved swing sets. She never wanted to do anything else than go swinging. I never really got what it was about it that made her love it so much."
She looks up at him as soon as the first word leaves his lips. And even though she is concentrating on what he is saying, the picture he makes strikes her again as pure beauty. His blond curls seem even lighter in the sun and due to the warmth he's shed his jacket hours ago, leaving him in his vest and dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. She's been working with him for almost ten years now but she still finds herself stopping in her tracks just to look at him every now and then. Right now though, he doesn't need her appraising him, so she focuses entirely on what he is saying.
"She once said to me that it was about feeling like flying because her feet couldn't touch the ground. She didn't even need the swing to move, she was content just sitting on it and looking at the other kids... Because as soon as she had hopped onto the swing her feet would lose the contact with the ground... She could spend whole afternoons just sitting there and gazing into the sky lost in her thoughts, her feet dangling beneath her, without even swinging."
It's when he stops talking, that she realizes it's exactly what they are doing at the moment and the realization of that meaning comes crashing down on her. He is trying to let her in and even though they are a far cry away from telling each other their best kept secrets, she knows, they've taken a big step in what she hopes is the right direction.
She desperately wants to touch him, hug him, put a hand on his arm – anything just to let him know he's not alone. But she doesn't know if the gesture would be appreciated. His whole body seems to scream isolation.
It's only when he shakes his head ever so slightly and gives her his crooked half smile that he appears to be back in reality. He looks at her, eyes squinting against the sun and pushes his feet away from the ground, sending his swing into movement.
He knows how hard it is for her to ask him questions about his past, knows how secretive he always is, knows she just wants to help him. And despite of what others might say, he's grateful for her patience with him and generally just thankful for her. He knows he doesn't deserve her. But even that knowledge doesn't stop him from selfishly inflicting pain on her. He doesn't want to hurt her but he can't help putting her in an emotional state of distress.
She'd never tell him that, he is aware of this fact but she doesn't need to. He can read people, can read her. Knows when he stepped too far, sees the look of worry in her eyes whenever someone mentions the serial killer, notices how she tries to comfort him, is more than aware of the fact that she's risked her job for him on more than once occasion. Still, he doesn't know why she does all of the above. Or perhaps, he supposes, he knows but wishes he didn't.
He's a wreck, damaged goods. She's too good for him in oh so many ways. And it unnerves him a great deal that he just can't let her go and get on with her life. It' selfish but that's what he is. He tries to tell himself he's only keeping close tabs on her but he knows he's lying. And it's always times like this, when they are alone and he opens up to her and sees the relief on her face that he knows he will never be able to walk away for good, leave everything behind, run away and completely lose her.
Contrary to popular believe he hasn't hardened beyond caring. He does care. About her, mostly. But still.
He tilts his head and studies her face. He can see that she's itching to ask him something else and even though he desperately wants her to take the fall and ask him whatever she'd like to know, deep down inside of him he knows that neither of them is ready for that.
So instead of urging her on, he settles for gently taking her hand in his. He briefly wonders if that was the right choice, given the somewhat confused look in her eyes. But then she smiles at him and he thinks that they just might be closer to being ready than he imagined.
:fin: