What I own: A random season of House on DVD, 34 red lipsticks and an impertinent Siamese Cat.
What I don't: Rookie Blue. Nope, not mine.
Author's Note: So, this happened. I know. Don't hate me, okay? This was originally a series of drabbles that was done for the FanFicaholics Anon group over on FB that just... wouldn't leave me alone. So I made it a for real series. I wasn't gonna go there but I totally did. I know. I blame Peter Mooney and that face. Who gave him the right? I promise I'm not jumping off the McSwarek ship, Girl Scouts honor. I know this is vague, and also un-beta'd but that is kind of my MO… If you have read any of my other stories, you know that. I Anyway, I hope you enjoy. The song, because that is how I do, is 'Half-Truism' by The Offspring. Turn it up real loud while you read, it will make more sense, I think. Reviews will be rewarded with babble in PMs and twitter AS WELL AS sneak peaks of the story of your choice cause I know not all my lovely readers whom I love will get down with this little tale. Oh and they make me smile like Missy and write faster. So there is that. Thank's y'all for just being awesome.
The ground was sopping and the heavy, damp scent of wet moss overwhelmed my senses. Watery sunlight barely filtered through the trees, their bare branches reaching up towards the grey sky.
My jeans were wet, the mud from beneath my knees soaking through the heavy denim in an instant. My flannel shirt did little to shelter the bitter wind that caught my hair, whipping the dark strands in front of my face. It didn't do much, blocking my already cloudy vision, the icy blast causing tears to spill down my cheeks.
At least that is what I told myself. It was easier to lie than face the truth sometimes. If you could believe the lie, the pretty, easy words all wrapped up in a nice bow, then you didn't have to deal with the truth.
That was my area of expertise. Believing in people, hoping for the best. I couldn't help it, it was who I was, who I had always been but now? Today? I wanted nothing less. I didn't want hope, I didn't want to think that things could be better. They wouldn't. They couldn't. Not again. Not after this.
The sun disappeared behind the angry green-grey clouds overhead and a rumble of thunder overhead signaled the impending storm only seconds before the first icy raindrop fell, mingling with the salty tears on my cheek before falling to the already wet ground.
That was all the warning there was, just the one drop before the sky opened up, frigid droplets falling in sheets through the trees, soaking me to the bone in a blink. My hair was plastered to my cheeks and neck, my boot slipped as I stood, and I stumbled forward, catching myself against a tree, the rough bark scratching against my bare palm.
I glanced down at my hand, watched in almost macabre fascination as the blood that seeped from the shallow cuts mingled with the rain water, fading to a pale pink before I turned my palm over and shook it. I didn't want to see that, not now. Not today. The bright flashes of red brought everything back, all of the images that I tried so hard to fight.
The sob welled up before I could stop it, seeming to echo through the deserted forest. It was the first time I'd cried since I saw him fall, the man I had come to look at as a brother, falling at the hands of a friend and the wrong end of a gun. That shot echoed endlessly in my ears as I rethought every moment, every decision, every second. I couldn't solve the problem, couldn't fix it, not this time.
I heard a twig snap behind me and froze, my spine straightening instinctively as I whirled around, coming face to face with my partner. His eyes were red and, despite the rain, I could tell he had been crying as well.
He didn't say anything, nor did I, not in those moments. There wasn't anything that either of us could say that would make it better, nothing that could soothe the pain that seemed so endless, every day that passed pulled off the tender scab that had somehow formed and exposed the wound to the elements.
"It's ashes to ashes again." It was all I could think of, the words from the funeral still echoing in my ears, he knew, he would understand. A small nod was all it took and I was in his arms, tears falling freely, yet again. It was supposed to get easier, right? A hand on my back and whispered words of condolence, somehow made it manageable, if not easier. It was enough to get through the day at least. And sometimes that was enough, sometimes that was all that you had.
