Disclaimer: Val McDermid's, not mine.
A/N: Written for the i Wire in the Blood /i TS Eliot Ficathon. Thanks to lj userquixotic for the beta.
This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star
- "The Hollow Men", TS Eliot
Tony is surprised he hasn't already lost his mind, though he suspects there are some that would argue with this assessment. Those are the people who don't understand how he can enter the mind of a killer and walk the fine line between who he is and who they are.
He knows there is darkness within him. There is darkness within everyone. All Tony can hope for is that he doesn't get lost in the dark.
Some days are harder than others.
He hardly sleeps anymore. At night he dreams of the people he was too late to help – killers and victims alike. They are all accusing, and he's afraid that one day he will see familiar faces – one specific face – in his dream, and he knows then that he will fall.
Tonight he dreams of children. He walks down the corridor towards the morgue – he's alone, he's always alone. Lying on the autopsy table is a child. As Tony steps closer, the child's eyes fly open; she turns her head to look at Tony and her mouth moves in a soundless plea for help.
Tony steps back, and in that instant the transition from dream to reality takes place. He realizes he's at home, in bed, his sheets twisted around his body. It's an unusually warm night so Tony kicks the covers off, rolls over and tries to go back to sleep.
A few minutes later, he realizes sleep is lost for the night. He gets up and walks to the kitchen, where he puts the kettle on to make some tea.
There's a part of him that wishes he was able to let go, but at the same time he's scared that letting go will be worse than remembering. It's in remembering that he's able to continue doing what he does.
Besides, the dead deserve to be remembered.
Once his tea is made, he walks into the lounge and sits down. If he can't sleep, he might as well play Tomb Raider.
But tonight, not even Lara Croft can help him. Tony knows what he really wants – he's known since the second he woke up – but he also knows better than even to think it.
He glances at the clock; it is two a.m.
Later, with his second cup of tea, he sits on the sofa and begins to read. There is relaxing classical music playing softly in the background. A few pages into the book, Tony has no idea what he's just read – the words have not registered. He's not even sure what book he's reading.
With a sigh, he closes the book and sets it on the floor next to the sofa.
He stands, and begins to pace the room.
Passing the clock for the fifth time, he notes that it is now three-thirty.
When he next passes the phone, he stops. He knows he shouldn't, but he picks up the receiver and dials a familiar number.
And thinks, Carol's going to kill me.
"Hello?" There is no trace of sleep in Carol's voice.
"Did I wake you?"
"No."
"Why not?"
There's a sigh from her end of the line. "Have you been awake long?"
"A couple of hours."
One of the most surprising things about Carol is that she understands Tony – more than that, she accepts him for who he is. She doesn't ask why he's awake or why he called her at this hour. All she says is, "It's not your fault, you know."
"I know."
"You know it in your head, not your heart."
A surprising insight this early in the morning. Tony doesn't deny it.
They talk. The next time Tony glances at the clock, it is five a.m. and he is still talking to Carol.
"I've kept you up," he says.
"Nonsense. I wouldn't have slept anyway."
He's a bit taken aback by that. "Why not?"
She groans. "Tony."
"Sorry."
There's silence, but Tony doesn't want to hang up. Whatever peace he's currently feeling won't last when he ends the conversation.
"Do you want to come over for breakfast?" Carol asks.
"I think I need coffee more than food, but yes. I'll come over." He's smiling as he says this; he can't think of a better way to start the day.
"Alright. I'll see you in a little while."
He hangs up then, and on his way to the shower he realizes that although the guilt is still there, he doesn't feel quite so alone anymore. Talking to Carol helps.
And he thinks, maybe it's all about the moments in between. Moments in which he can breathe.
Moments with Carol.