Of Regrets, Recriminations and Reproof
By Kelly
A/N: This is just a teaser chapter to whet your appetite for the full-length one. I'm really sorry for the delay but I'm suffering from lack of privacy to type my stories. As a result, all of the fanfics I'm working on are suffering: End of the Worlds, Cardhunter and a Tokyo Babylon/X AU fic which I'm drafting. But no worries, I've uploaded a teaser chapter for End of the Worlds also and I'll try to do one for Cardhunter as well. You'll definitely see a long chapter after the 29th! Till then, enjoy!
"Look, you said it yourself that if he doesn't want to talk about it, we can't force him to! So just sign the damn release form and let us get him back home!"
Ted sighed, running a hand through messy brown hair, letting his head fall back against the wall behind him. He had been pacing the hallway for nearly an hour as Berkley first tried reasoning, cajoling and finally, threatening Dee's doctor to let Dee go back home. It had been Ryo that asked for the help. Dee, upon waking had done nothing but ask them to let him go back. That he didn't want to stay in the hospital any longer.
"I am not asking you, I'm telling you! If you can't help him and he doesn't want you to help him, then what's the use of forcing him?!"
Ted couldn't help the wry chuckle that he let escape at that. No matter that Berkley tried so hard to cultivate the image of a cool, suave Commissioner; always in control, demanding the best from his subordinates, when in truth, he was as protective as a mother hen. The last few days had been rough on everyone. The contents of the file he had found had upset the station in more ways than one. The others had clamored him for the details but what they already knew was all that he could tell them anyway. If Dee really is the only survivor of that massacre 17 years ago, then he might be the only link they have to solve the serial killings happening now.
As a cop, you deal with the harsh reality of life. That not everyone is nice, that there's some real bastards out there that makes you think, are they still human? But always, always. . . .you were able to separate work and home. The cases stay at the office. Home time is private time. Homicides, rape. . .all these are bad things that happen to other people. Sure, you might know their names, talked with them even. . .but they're in essence, strangers. People whom you've never met before. And probably never will again. So what to do when one of those bad things had apparently happened to a good friend? A buddy? A fellow detective?
That is when the lines between work and self is blurred. There is no longer that fuzzy wool that helps buffer you from the worst of humanity. The wool has been torn away. Bright light is flooding in and no matter what you do, the wool stays torn.
Uniformed policemen, those that walk the beat, share a common bond with other policemen. They're the ones out there keeping the street safe for little kids and grandmothers everywhere. They deal with the flotsam and jetsam of life. They are no less than the detectives in the squad room. They're in the same job after all. And they protect each other. They're the blue wall.
The detectives don't really have a certain moniker to identify themselves. But they still have that bond. They're family. And nobody gets away from messing with family.
But. . . .would the price they have to pay for it be too high?
A shudder ran through him. Ted was not a superstitious man by nature. He was a detective. He dealt with cold, hard facts. But he couldn't help the feeling of premonition anyway.
After all, if after 5 years on the squad and he still took his instincts lightly, then he shouldn't be holding a detective badge anyway.
"Ted?"
Ted's head snapped up instantly at the evident weariness in Berkley's tone of voice. He knew the weariness was more than just having to deal with the doctor. The mayor was still pressuring him everyday for visible results; Berkley had neglected to mention the All Saints case.
Berkley, in his opinion, failed to see why some asshole should use his detective's trouble as a ticket to stay in office.
"Sir. . ."
A blond eyebrow shot up in reproof.
"Berkley," Ted amended with a small grin. "I take it we got clearance?"
Berkley waved some papers he was holding in his hand. "Took him long enough," he snorted. Ted murmured something about being nice but Berkley bulldozed on anyway. "I swear I was about an inch away from pushing his stethoscope up his—"
"Commissioner!"
". . .he was very persistent."
Ted was hard put to keep up the stern look. Berkley was smiling one of his knee-melting smiles that said, I didn't mean anything. He had been getting a lot of those smiles, in different variations, from the Commissioner these past few days. He was somehow alarmed to realize that it did make his knees weak. A slow blush was staining his cheeks and Ted quickly looked away before he embarrassed himself. Staring determinedly at a particularly ugly oil painting of a meadow, one of the hospital's collection that graced the hallway, Ted tried to clear his throat first before speaking. He was afraid he might squeak if he didn't.
"So. . .er. . .what do we do about Dee?"
From the corner of his eye, Ted was disappointed to note that the smile had slid off quickly, to be replaced by a deep frown.
"I'm not sure," Berkley admitted slowly. "I'm thinking about getting the department's psychiatrist but somehow, I get the feeling that Laytner is not really the kind of person that opens up to shrinks," he smiled wryly.
Ted nodded in agreement. If there's one thing that's painfully obvious, being Dee's friend, is that Dee is a man who treasured his independence and pride. He wasn't arrogant. But he's not the kind of person to spill his guts to a total stranger either.
"Maybe if you give them some time off together, Ryo can get the full story from him," he suggested.
Almost, he regretted saying it.
At the mention of Ryo's name, a brief flicker of emotion crossed Berkley's face. He wasn't sure what it was; it could be anger? Resentment? Sadness? Either way, it rammed home the reminder that Berkley. . .no, Rose, always did have a liking for the Japanese-American.
Real smart Ted. Real smart, a little voice at the back of his head chided him gently.
Berkley seemed to have sense the sudden discomfort from him, or maybe he himself was uncomfortable. Whatever it was, the gentle, amicable mood between them evaporated and once again, the close, shuttered look was back on the tanned features. He was no longer Berkley. He was Commissioner Rose.
"It's a good idea," Berkley replied noncommittally. He held out the papers to Ted with an absent smile. "Would you mind giving these to McLean? I need to call the precinct to make some arrangements for the two of them."
Ted took the waiting papers. "Yes sir," he said quietly.
He couldn't help hoping for the gentle reprimand of "It's Berkley, not sir" but it never came.
. . .to be continued. . .