This one is a shorty one, sorry. I am researching some information to move forward with the story. Please leave reviews - this is my first attempt at a fanfic, so any feedback is super welcome.
Week or so after Sack's funeral. Roughly two weeks after the bombing.
The day was almost over, and even though he still had a stack of files to go through, Don already poured at least 3 shots worth of cheap whiskey into himself already. He was on auto-pilot, glancing over the cases, singing here and there. Most of the details eluded him - this has become the new normal in the past couple of weeks. The mayor assured the feds, that "they will receive the NPDs full cooperation in uncovering this potentially terrorist attack on the station". And Don obliged fully - there was little else that he could do. The tabloids were eagerly waiting for him at every turn, sniffing around for any scrap, ready to crucify him over every word he uttered.
Just over two weeks ago, his dull yet comfortable life was turned upside down. Any hopes of re-election for the next term - up in smoke, along with the old station. The temporary location was a two story office building downtown .One one side, there was the "le Petite Pooch", a dog grooming establishment pretentious enough to attract only the classiest owners of the ugliest dogs in Neptune, The temporary Sheriff's office on the other side was, not without a cruel jab at himself, he figured, a bakery. While the store windows featured overly-elaborate mini-cakes and various muffin concoctions, "The Ruby Red" was nothing but a glorified donut shop.
The only good thing that Don found positive in this new arrangement was the fact that he still had a job. Neptune had always two things that it excelled at: ass-kissing when you are on top, and pitch-fork massages the minute you hit the ground. And lately, he was finally able to fully feel what Keith must have felt a few years back, only he still had his job. For now at least. While most of the influentials in town have no openly chased him down the streets with buckets of tar and feathers, the families of the victims were out for blood. It did not help that the news-hyenas got a whiff of the Sheriff getting questioned by the FBI for possible negligence.
Despite the whispers, Don made sure that his uniform looked impeccable in the morning, that his Listerine packs were safely tucked in the breast pocket of his jacket, and that the Mints adequately covered the smell of alcohol on his breath. Double the freshness. And once at the office, he spent most of it in his office, thankful that the bottom drawer was big enough to house a bottle of good ol' Jim Beam - is that not the official label of lost causes? Don felt it should be. Perpetually hung over, he mentally saluted his father with each shot that he poured down his throat The bastard always did always call him a useless piece of shit, and that's exactly how he felt.
It was only late in the evening, as he laid in bed, mindlessly flipping the channels, that he allowed his mind to return to that night. The night when he stole something so sweet, that he thought was going to sustain him for weeks, months to come. Veronica's flushed skin, her small body pressed against his. Her lips, timidly at first, but responding to his. He was never one to give into romantic notions - sex is sex, and a kiss was always just a cherry on top. But not this. His memory was hazy, he remembered drinking, he remembered driving to the beach. He remembered wanting to do so much more than just kiss her, but ended up having her storm off. Quite the usual Don Lamb performance, he thought to himself. But he could not recall what he said. Who cares? She was gone, back to college. She did come back for Sack's funeral, but he only caught a glimpse of her once. He did not look for any further contact. What was the point?
Yet, the nights brought in one thing that he held on to - the memory of something that could have been, Had he not been him. Maybe he had a chance a long time ago, before Lily Kane died. Now it was just a hazy, alcohol-fueled fantasy of a broken man.