Disclaimer: Still not mine.
Summary: "To find a form that accommodates the mess, that is the task of the artist now." -Samuel Beckett
Messy Together (2/3)
He's frozen.
Stuck staring at the grate across from him. Officers shuffle back and forth on the other side of it, noses in files, leading suspects. But he's stuck here.
It feels like someone's dropped lead into his shoes.
He wants to yell. Throw things. Get in Gates' face for not seeing that this isn't just a case.
He wants to turn back time and go with them.
Maybe one more person would have made a difference.
Maybe.
Probably not.
Don't be stupid. You know you did the right thing.
His hands shook when he went in to tell the Captain. To tattle on his friends as if they were six years old. As if he hadn't felt awful enough she reamed him out for letting it go so long.
And then there was the look on their faces when they left. Didn't even speak to him.
You saved their lives. And they may never forgive you.
The bullpen is near silent behind him as he stares at the wall. Empty. He's empty. He can hear Gates in her office, making phone calls and yelling for the proper paperwork. A few of the other detectives are discussing other cases. Someone else is telling a joke.
It's all white noise in his ears.
When his phone vibrates on the desk beside him he remembers how to move. Just a text though.
I've got dinner for when you get home, it reads.
It takes all his strength to smile at how wonderful his wife is. Slowly he shifts and stands again, gathers his things and leaves. He doesn't even tell Gates. She probably knows anyway, and there's no one else around to care and no real work to do either.
He can't help but question if it's worth being here without them.
He walks through the door and into the aroma of warm garlic bread and pasta hits. Jenny's at the kitchen counter stirring noodles in her favorite pair of leggings and one of his college T-shirts. At the sight he lets everything fall from his hands – who cares if there's a pile by the front door, he's not planning on leaving for a while – and slides right up behind her.
His arms hug low her waist, his head pillowed on her shoulder, her hair a curtain over his face.
He could stay here forever.
"Hey," she says with a smile, "glad you're home."
"Glad to be home."
She drops the pronged ladle on a towel next to the stove and turns to look at him. "What's up?" She can tell by his face that something's up, and whatever it is, it's not good. His eyes are dull, his face slack. The spark she usually sees when he gets home is absent. "What happened?"
"Too much?" He sighs, dejected, "Javi's suspended."
"What? Why?"
Kevin reaches around her to turn the burner off. If the pasta isn't done, oh well. "It's kind of my fault."
She squints, cocks her head. He's not making sense. "I don't think I understand. You're going to have to give me more."
"That case I got called to yesterday afternoon? Our killer is Kate's shooter."
"How?"
"The victim had broken into Montgomery's house and taken files. We think- thought, it had to do with her mom, and her shooting."
"Kevin, that's-"
"Crazy? I know. It's been almost a year, but yeah." He tightens his hold on her, unable to get enough of this comfort. It may never be enough, but he has to try. "Kate and Javi didn't want to tell Gates. And I did, but they're my friends and my partners, so I kept my mouth shut. But they wouldn't give it up, or see how dangerous it was."
She's running her hands up and down his arms, soothing. A reminder to calm down. Nothing he can do about it now, anyway. Might as well just get everything out.
"When they went after him on their own…and without backup, I just- I couldn't not tell her. They could have been killed."
He feels her fingers brushing his cheeks before he realizes he must be crying. He takes her hand in his, resting them both against his chest. "We got there just in time. Kate was…god, she was hanging off of a building. Javi was knocked out in a hallway. If I hadn't told her?"
"Hey," she cuts him off. "You did the right thing. You know you did the right thing. And you did it because yeah, they're your friends, and your partners, and you care about them. They will remember that. Even if they can't see it now."
"How can you be so sure? I mean, Kate didn't even look at me. She packed up her desk and she left. Javi just…he'll never forgive me."
"Just trust me okay? Trust your partners. It will work out. You'll see." She grabs his lapels with a sly smile. "And one day you'll come home and tell me how you and Javier made up and how Kate came back and you'll have to sit there as I say 'I told you so.'"
She presses a tender kiss to his lips before he can argue.
"Come on," she breaks from his embrace, turning back to test the pasta and plate it, "We'll have dinner, and open a bottle of wine, and you'll forget about it for tonight. Tomorrow's a new day."
He wraps himself around her again, loving the way she giggles when his fingers brush her stomach. He kisses her neck, her cheek, and her temple, with a smile.
"Thank you."
He uncorks the wine and pours them each a glass as she dishes out generous helpings of pasta and sauce. They move like a unit to get everything to the table, shutting off their cell phones and turning on sitcom reruns to listen to as they eat.
She starts telling him about her day, light and humored, but he can't focus on her story. All he can see is how sweet and beautiful she is, how much she cares. His heart pounds in his chest. Aches for her.
He takes her hand from across the table, and he's home.
