Wallander was gone.
And that was fine.
It's fine.
Magnus didn't need him. He didn't need anyone.
Besides, it's not like they ever really got along, anyway.
It was fine.
Honestly, they were all better off without him.
Right?
Nevermind the way Anne-Britt got those teary eyes whenever someone brought up Kurt, remarking on how he "would've just loved to take this case."
Oh, and the way Lisa looked at everyone through those sad brown orbs as if any one of them could just pack up and leave at any moment.
Just like Wallander, who made it look so bloody easy.
Easy for him, maybe, Magnus fumed as he tidied up his desk for the night. But did he ever give a thought to the people he left behind?
Knowing Kurt, not likely.
Going on an extended holiday. That's what he'd told Lisa, but heaven forbid he fill in the rest of his team. Isn't that what they were supposed to be? A team? Sometimes, Magnus had gone so far as to consider his colleagues a family.
Idiot. He should've known, should've remembered how families actually worked.
Over the following weeks, Nyberg got grumpier—if that was even possible—Anne-Britt grew a bit quieter, and beneath Lisa's all-business, woman-in-charge exterior, her motherly side began to show.
And a mother was not what Magnus needed at that time. He already had a mother. What he really needed was a—
But it didn't matter. Not anymore. There was still work to be done, and even though Kurt might've thrown his badge away without a thought, the rest of them still had cases to solve.
At first, Magnus tried to reach the wayward detective via phone. A deadend call here, a voicemail there.
"Kurt? This is Magnus. Just, uh, wondering where you went. If you're okay. How long you think you'll be gone. That sort of thing. Yeah, uh, give me a ring when you get this message. Bye."
Everytime the office phone nearly buzzed out of its cradle, a twinge of hope sparked up inside him.
Every time, nothing. Just another stressed out client.
And that was fine. They didn't need Wallander.
Magnus didn't need him. The station still ran just as smooth as ever—nevermind the fact that they'd lost one of their best detectives, but it was fine. It's fine.
After three weeks of nothing—no calls, no messages, not even a postcard—Magnus took a trip to see Linda. Turns out the daughter was just as clueless as the colleagues. Oh joy.
That was also fine. Just peachy.
"Hey Kurt, it's Magnus again. Still wondering where you ran off to. Call me back? Call someone back. Yeah, Linda is absolutely losing her mind. No one knows where you are, you know? So… yeah. Give me a call when you give this."
He didn't doubt Linda had sent the same sort of messages. At first. They all sent them at first.
One month later found Magnus standing in front of Kurt's door. Darkness consumed the inside of the house, and though the dark blue Volvo still sat in the drive, it was very clear that no one would be taking it out for a spin anytime soon.
It probably shouldn't have taken Magnus so long to make that trip because there was some small part of him that knew he wouldn't find Kurt resting on his easychair clutching a television remote in his hand.
Still… The rest of him just had to check; to see for himself.
"Kurt, it's Magnus. Call me if you get this message."
Then, one day, Magnus called a full inbox, and he knew it was time to stop trying.
That was the day Lisa broached the subject of possibly getting another detective to transfer to Ystad Station. Permanently.
As expected, everyone had protested—Anne-Britt through barely concealed tears—but they were short staffed and all felt the strain. It was Nyberg who, as civilly as he could, proposed they hold off for just a bit longer.
And it was Magnus who went home that night and dialed Kurt's number again. Just for kicks.
Months slid by and Magnus got used to keeping his hope contained. After all, hope didn't do much in these sorts of situations. Kurt was the one who could decide how long he wanted to hide himself away at the ends of the earth, and there certainly wasn't anything Magnus could do to make him come back. It was a familiar feeling he once thought he'd never get used to. I shouldn't have to.
Magnus had just learned how to shut down the part of his brain that wanted Kurt back when, miracle upon miracles, the man himself walked aimlessly through the door.
He swooped in looking gloomier than ever, acting like everything was back to normal and expecting everyone else to do the same.
Well, Magnus wasn't in the mood for those kinds of games.
Besides, this was his case. A case he'd been working overtime on for the last two weeks, and now he was just supposed to let Kurt come in and walk all over it? Yeah, not happening.
Only, it did happen. He let it happen. Why?
After everything—after all those sleepless nights when he was left wondering why Kurt had gone, where he went, and what Magnus had done to drive him away—he still let the man back into his personal space.
Why? It was beyond annoying. It was downright frustrating.
And then there was that mind boggling business with the Eider Duck Hotel, where apparently, Kurt went with his dad all the time as a kid. Because of course, he did.
Of course, he got to do those things. Taking moments like that for granted. No wonder he can't see it—can't see what he's done by abandoning—
He shouldn't even be here. Magnus glared down at the bagged postcards scattered about the table after Kurt left. He already made it perfectly clear what he thinks of us.
Just a small team of expendable detectives he could ditch whenever life got a little too hard.
So, why did he have to come back?
Why, after all this time? After Magnus had finally—finally—adjusted to life without the man. After he'd reconciled himself at last to the fact that Kurt's sudden departure wasn't his fault.
Now… Well, now that Wallander's back… Now that Magnus could look into those sad eyes and pretend he didn't give a toss about this prodigal inspector…
Now, those thin tendrils of guilt began coiling around his lungs again. My fault. It has to be.
Why?
Painful memories from years past dredged themselves up in his mind. Why wouldn't it be your fault?
Why else would Kurt leave?
Wallander shot someone. It was that simple. He'd taken someone's life and couldn't deal with it.
Yeah? Well, you're not the only one here who's killed a man.
You're not that special, Kurt.
Only… he was. At least, he was to Magnus, though after everything, the young detective was loath to admit it. No, he wouldn't let himself admit it. To do so would be to open himself up again only to have Kurt walk out when the case was closed.
Just close the case and get him out of here. This became Magnus' mantra as they worked to figure out why in the heck someone would order so many organ transplant containers.
It was all a mess. Every bit of it. But somehow, Wallander made it all make sense. How? Magnus was sure he didn't know. All he knew is that he wanted the man to go away, go away!
Things would be easier, then. They could go back to normal… Well, the "normal" Magnus had created for himself during the past few months.
That's what he thought was going to happen. Kurt would solve the case, then run back to whatever dingy hole he'd crawled out of to be here. And things would go back to normal.
Yes, that's what was supposed to happen.
When it didn't—when Kurt put the bullets back in his gun and stuffed his ID back into his pocket—Magnus found he couldn't deal. With any of it.
So, he just… didn't.
As Kurt grew steadily closer to a version of his old self, Magnus' more… undesirable traits began to intensify. He snapped a little harsher, complained a little louder, and his words bit a little harder.
But that was fine. No one seemed to mind. Much.
No one seemed to care.
Much.
At least, if they did, Magnus was too caught up in his own issues to notice anyone else. But the others noticed him. Noticed the way he stayed to work a little longer each day. Noticed the way he came in a little earlier, too. Noticed how tiny spots of red became an almost permanent fixture on his screen-strained eyes.
Yes, everyone noticed, but one person in particular decided to do something about it.