What I own: Two hundred DVDs. A Kindle. A LOT of shoes that are inappropriate for anywhere other than a night club.
What I don't: Rookie Blue. Obviously. I just like to play with the characters. I'm making nothing from this work, and promise to return the characters (Mostly) unharmed when they are done.
Rated M for sexual situations and motherfucking language. No minors. If you can't vote or buy cigarettes, you don't need to be reading my words.
Author's Note: This is my second foray into the Rookie Blue fandom, though I have been reading for ages. I can't really explain where this came from. The flashbacks, in italics, were written by me and published anonymously elsewhere, for an entirely different fandom, but for some reason, kept coming back to me with these two. I finally got myself together and sent this to my beloved beta! She fixes my insanely long love for run on sentences and catches my shifting tense that shifts like a fucking shifty thing. I adore her. And she left y'all a note! What?! I know this is uber confusing right now, but it will be explained, eventually. This is a glimpse into the future, as it were, and future chapters will hopefully answer all your questions… unless more come up which is a possibility. In any case, reviews are welcome with open arms and make me grin like a school girl. They also, incidentally, make me write faster, so there is that. In any case, I hope you enjoy.
BETA NOTE: Hi guys! I'm gonna assume you already read the chapter. Right? Right! So this is what I'm here to do. You see, my girl already did a bang up job with this chapter. It's true Babycakes. Don't even try to deny it. You hear me? Good. Now, back to you guys. See, I read this before I got my hands on it. Which is why there's a reposting. I just made our little author make a few changes that I saw. But like you guys, I love her anyway. So if you want, reread the chapter. Not too many changes were made. Unless Babycakes decided to change things after I got my hands on it. For you new readers, you'll be seeing me more in the near future. Like the next few chapters….. *Janeycakes*
I shouldn't be here. I should be anywhere BUT here and yet? Here I am.
The air is stifling, hot and so thick with humidity that you could cut it with a knife. It made my skin itch, shivers running up my spine despite the oppressive heat. Even the night itself seemed to be conceding to the weather. There were no cars, no chirping animals, no yelling children, just the occasional buzz of an insect, though even that was seldom.
The day had been a long one, to say the least, and the images, red and violent and so very final still,flashed behind my lids when I closed my eyes. The wine hadn't helped, although I knew it wouldn't. It never did. At most, it just encouraged bad decisions.
My shirt stuck to my back and I wished, not for the first time, that I had worn shorts instead of jeans when I left my house.
I stared at the door from my position on the sidewalk for a few minutes, as though willing it to give me an answer. Something about why I had ended up here. When it became clear that the blue wood wasn't going to actually give me an answer, I almost physically felt my resolve crumble and hopped up the whitewashed stairs of the small bungalow.
I could just barely hear the music through the door, the tune teasing my ears and bringing a small smile to my lips. It was a bit of a surprise, not exactly what I had known or come to expect from my swarthy partner, but it somehow suited him.
The knock was louder than I anticipated, more to be heard over the music than anything, and I flinched, despite knowing exactly where the sound was coming from. If anyone had asked though, I would have denied it until I was blue in the face. I had been on the job far too long for that, seen more in my twenty-eight years than most people had in a lifetime, both on the clock and off. I also pretended that it didn't bother me. I had to, I didn't have a choice. You either picked up the pieces and moved on or you drowned, and that was not how I would be going out.
The morbid thought brought all of the images flashing back, and I closed my eyes against the onslaught of images that flashed through my mind, to no avail. They came rushing back, rapid fire and flickering, like a piece of film that had aged and started to crack.
I should have seen the signs. It's what I do. It's who I am. I see things that others don't. And when it is someone else, when I can be outside of the situation? I see everything. I don't miss a trick. I can't because if I do, there could be maybe a moment between me and a bullet.
But when it's you, when you are the face that is usually on the other side of the glass? Everything is different. No matter how strong you think you are, how many layers of Kevlar and ill-fitting polyester you have, the fact that there is a gun strapped to one hip, cuffs on the other. No matter what that badge pinned to your shirt says… all of that is just for show. It can't protect you when you don't have it on.
And so I sat.
The flashing blue lights from the cruiser cast cold shadows across the darkened walls, blinding me with their insistence and I could see, even in silhouette, the all too familiar form of my partner heading up the path. I should answer the door, it was fifteen, sixteen, seventeen steps from my current place on the kitchen floor but I just… couldn't. I couldn't face him, not now, not like this.
And so I sat.
No. My face was tight from dried tears, and I could feel the swelling already, my cheek was still hot from the sting and there was no way I could hide that. Not with the sharp pain with every breath, the squeak that threatened to catch in my throat as I moved, just trying to catch my breath. My bare feet stung, a single misstep, and a hundred sharp edged shards, the bright red looked nearly black in the dark, grisly spatters against the white tile.
And so I sat.
I wasn't supposed to be so weak, I couldn't be. There was nothing I could say that could make this change. I had searched for every word in the book, some way to explain this, just to myself but I couldn't. I couldn't speak the words, I couldn't find the strength.
And so I sat.
The knock was authoritative and insistent, his voice filled with worry. It was THAT tone though. That one that he used around victims. The ones who couldn't fight back. The ones who lay crumpled and incomplete. The ones that couldn't speak, not anymore. I couldn't answer, I couldn't reply because that would be confirmation. It would be admitting that weak and those were words I could never speak.
And so I sat.
I ignored the pain, the sharp, aching reality that I knew wouldn't go. I ignored the tears that fell, once again, down my cheeks. I ignored the flashes of memories, the carousel of moments, that golden ring that slipped through my grasp time after time. I ignored the man that stood just a few steps away, offering help I wasn't able to take, not yet. It wasn't time yet.
"McNally?" His voice was low laced with… something. Concern? Fear? Surprise? All of the above? I couldn't tell, not entirely, not yet. "Come on in." I didn't need to say anything, not to him. He knew me better than anyone, and he had been there today, seen the same things. The violence. The senseless ending. The shattered lives. He knew. He wouldn't push, not about this.
Slipping past him, my skin prickled instantly, the air icy cold on my arms, a welcome change from the suffocating heat. I sang softly under my breath, the words as familiar as an old friend and more comforting.
The house was dark, save for a dim light from the kitchen, though he didn't look like he had been sleeping. The beer bottle placed just so on a coaster that sat in the corner of the coffee table was a give-away that I wasn't the only one having a rough night.
I glanced back up at him with a small smile as he stood against the doorframe, arms crossed, and my brow arched in an almost playful accusation.
"It was a long day McNally, you know that as well as anyone." Sam Swarek was not a man of many words, but those he did use were well chosen and surprisingly perfect with the barest hint of a smile played on his lips. The music slowed and then stopped, and I shot the iPod that sat docked in the ridiculous sound system a pointed glare.
Returning my attention to my partner, I rolled my eyes and grabbed the bottle from its perch. After raising it to my lips and draining it of its contents in a few moments, earned a low chuckle from him as I replaced it carefully on the coaster as the opening notes of the next song drifted to my ears.
"Van Morrison to Solomon Burke. I'm impressed Swarek." And I was, truly, and happily so.
"You know I live to impress you McNally." His voice was dry with just a touch of humor that I had come to expect from him, though there was more than a hint of concern laced through them. "Did you come over at one AM to listen to music and drink my beer?"
"Nope." I shook my head with my answer, eyes closing, hips moving to the familiar beat, "Although it is a bonus."
"Andy. Are you-"
"Dance with me." I cut him off, not ready or willing to talk about it, not yet, but met his gaze. "Please?"