Part 25
Bailey closes his eyes, taking a long deep breath, wondering if he should go ahead and go back to work. He had been recessed for the rest of the day, now, since the lawyers had to haggle over which jurors would make up the jury. He was a little upset that the judge would not let him out of the selection process. He was juror number 25 so chances were he would not get picked an he felt that having to continue through the process was worthless, and he had lives to make sure weren't being killed by this new serial killer. He had flashed his badge, and he felt he had given the judge a very persuasive speech, but the judge would not hear of it. He places the cold glass against his forehead for a moment, and let some of the condensation drip between his eyes. He pulls the glass away from his face, and takes a long draw off the refreshing amber coloured liquid. He had called into work a few minutes after they had been released, and George had said everything was fine, and he should try and enjoy the rest of the day, they would call him if they felt he needed some stress.
He takes another sip from the glass, finishing it off, work didn't really stress him out, it actually calmed him. He knew George had good intentions, though, and was looking out for his best intrests.Bailey would prefer to be at work, though, trying to help solve this case. It wasn't as if he didn't trust the team, they were all very capable, and a part of him deep down, knew they were all doing a fine job, and could manage a few days on their own. Everything in the past few months since Frances had caused him to be under a lot of stress. He knew she was trying, and he was proud that she was trying. She just had a way to be difficult, she still thought at times he had only ever thought of her as a check that needed to be addressed in the mail. They both were having to struggle to get things to work, though he wished he had been able to spend more time with her. He had fought to gain custody of her and Arianna, and it broke his heart that his parenting skills had become a little dilapidated since the divorce.
He looks deep into the bottom of the shot glass, and wonders if he should get another shot. He doesn't need it, he knows. He sets the counter on the liquor cabinet, vowing to put it away later, and takes his cell phone out of his pocket. He starts to dial the number for work, and stops dialing before he reaches the last number. They should be fine, he is aware he has a problem with taking other people's fall-outs, and troubles on himself. He just can't stand to see people have a lot of stress, -or- be in grief. His nature is one of caring, and he can't let people go through things he feels they don't deserve to go through. He can't stand to see with burdens, though he couldn't really fine someone to release his burdens, too.
Bailey closes his eyes, taking a long deep breath, wondering if he should go ahead and go back to work. He had been recessed for the rest of the day, now, since the lawyers had to haggle over which jurors would make up the jury. He was a little upset that the judge would not let him out of the selection process. He was juror number 25 so chances were he would not get picked an he felt that having to continue through the process was worthless, and he had lives to make sure weren't being killed by this new serial killer. He had flashed his badge, and he felt he had given the judge a very persuasive speech, but the judge would not hear of it. He places the cold glass against his forehead for a moment, and let some of the condensation drip between his eyes. He pulls the glass away from his face, and takes a long draw off the refreshing amber coloured liquid. He had called into work a few minutes after they had been released, and George had said everything was fine, and he should try and enjoy the rest of the day, they would call him if they felt he needed some stress.
He takes another sip from the glass, finishing it off, work didn't really stress him out, it actually calmed him. He knew George had good intentions, though, and was looking out for his best intrests.Bailey would prefer to be at work, though, trying to help solve this case. It wasn't as if he didn't trust the team, they were all very capable, and a part of him deep down, knew they were all doing a fine job, and could manage a few days on their own. Everything in the past few months since Frances had caused him to be under a lot of stress. He knew she was trying, and he was proud that she was trying. She just had a way to be difficult, she still thought at times he had only ever thought of her as a check that needed to be addressed in the mail. They both were having to struggle to get things to work, though he wished he had been able to spend more time with her. He had fought to gain custody of her and Arianna, and it broke his heart that his parenting skills had become a little dilapidated since the divorce.
He looks deep into the bottom of the shot glass, and wonders if he should get another shot. He doesn't need it, he knows. He sets the counter on the liquor cabinet, vowing to put it away later, and takes his cell phone out of his pocket. He starts to dial the number for work, and stops dialing before he reaches the last number. They should be fine, he is aware he has a problem with taking other people's fall-outs, and troubles on himself. He just can't stand to see people have a lot of stress, -or- be in grief. His nature is one of caring, and he can't let people go through things he feels they don't deserve to go through. He can't stand to see with burdens, though he couldn't really fine someone to release his burdens, too.