Javier Esposito was called into Montgomery's office. He could still feel himself shaking from the video, and the urge to hurt Tyson was strong. He smiled slightly at the possibility, his imagination filling it the visions. He could imagine the smug smile leaving his face, replaced by a large bruise. Javier would laugh as the devil fell.
Entering the office, he was met by the grim faces of his partner and their superior. The sunlight shone through the blinds of the window, painting the group in a dim light which matched the solemn mood. Montgomery's features radiated hints of anger under his professional demeanor. His brown eyes were set with fierce seriousness, and Esposito stood a little straighter in response.
Without wavering Javier spoke up, offering to pay the ransom and to deliver the cash himself. He couldn't let his partner die because of the reluctance of the Police force. The image of those blue eyes staring back at him, clouded and unstaring, haunted him.
Roy agreed with a slight nod, as if expecting the response. He looked at him with knowing eyes, burdened by the thought of the broken friendship. He saw the desperation in the Latino's eyes, and the fight-or-flight nature of his stance. Even if he had said no, Esposito would have gone anyway, driven by the unique bond. He didn't want them both dead.
Blinking slowly, Montgomery told the two detectives to head home, and sleep as well as their emotions permitted. Javier knew that he wouldn't get much sleep. As he made his way down to the car park, his heavy limbs seemed to sink and he leant against the wall.
The silence of the journey was evident, and it stood in stark contrast to the usual chatter of his blue-eyed partner. The man could be ecstatic about any situation, always seeing the positive where Javier saw the negative. The Irishman would talk about Jenny and the team, while the Latino detective would stand in silence, letting out the occasional laugh and soaking up his partners'.
He made his way through the dark lot, eyeing the shadowed vehicles warily. He knew Tyson was a smart man, and like a fox, he was sly in his movements. He wouldn't put it past the man to have a man spying on him, but he couldn't get himself to ask for protective detail.
Lack of proof and a messed up mentality kept him from bringing it up. A small, desperate part of him thought that maybe if he waited for Tyson, he would see Ryan again. It was the dark, suicidal part of him which had served himself well in the force.
Driving home, he watched as the traffic lights and lit buildings blurred together. His tan fingers gripped the wheel until his knuckles turned white, a slow ebbing pain radiating from the tight skin. The orange glow of the streetlights made the road seem infinitely long, and he drove quickly to escape his thoughts.
Music blasted from the car speakers, loud and blaring, making it hard to process the events from earlier. Pop songs rose up from the dashboard and he was bombarded by memories of Kevin. The younger man would sing those songs loud and unashamed as they poured from the speakers.
He missed his partner - the sound of his voice, the peppiness of his tone before morning coffee, the skip in his step. He missed his warmth as they stood at the whiteboard, pouring over the day's work before calling it a night. Most of all Esposito missed knowing that his partner was safe.
Eventually he reached his apartment and pulled into the underground car park. He took a few moments to sit there, gathering his thoughts as his forehead rested against the steering wheel. The Latino detective was the image of weariness, the leather of the wheel creating an intermediate pillow for the journey to his bed.
He reached his apartment after an equally tiring elevator ride. He was once again struck by the silence of it all. It was worse when he entered the apartment. The sight of his couch made him realise the reality of the situation. The couch which they had shared so frequently may never see Madden night, nor would his fridge be stocked with Kevin's favorite brew.
They were his final thoughts as he made his way to his bedroom, toeing off his shoes and collapsing into the soft sheets. The warm gentleness of the cotton relaxing him slightly and he settled into a turbulent sleep. The night was plagued by nightmares which clawed at his brain and drove it into frantic madness.
Esposito dreamed of Kevin lying in a puddle of his own blood, watching as it soaked into his white shirt with startling speed. The image changed, and he saw his partner tied up and struggling. He could almost feel the pain as the twine ripped at the skin of his wrists, leaving deep red cuts.
A ticking could be heard, steady and as fast as the detective's heartbeat. Slowly the volume grew, eventually encapsulating the entire dream. He tried to peel his eyes away from the wide eyes of his partners, the way that they almost pleaded for Javier to help him escape. He urged himself to wake up and escape the nightmare, but his eyes kept him paralysed.
At the climax of his dream, the hotel room blew, washing him with the heat of the flame and the stench of burning flesh. The melded together in the darkness of the aftermath, and in his dream Javier was fully intact while his partners charred remains continued to smoke.
He jolted awake covered in sweat and panting. His work clothes were drenched through, sticking to his muscled frame with disgusting frequency. He stripped of quietly while walking to his kitchen. He threw his shirt onto the wooden floor of the hall and went directly to the fridge.
The starkness of the fridge caused his stomach to growl in hunger, and he hastily grabbed a beer. The cool air which washed over him was a relief to his overheated form. The sound of the bottle opening was heaven to his weary ears, and he sighed at the comforting motion.
Esposito sunk into his couch, watching infomercials and trying to absorb what the obnoxious salesman was saying. It was loud, repetitive, and an absolutely perfect distraction. He watched until he had finished the final remnants of his beer and his eyelids dropped unceremoniously.
