Piece by Piece
By Minastara
~8~
Disclaimer: Lethal Weapon is the property of FOX and Shane Black. I do not own the characters, I just like playing with them. :)
Key:
"Hi" – Speech
'Hi' – Thoughts
Hi – Text Message
~8~
Chapter 5: Time Heals (Not)
~8~
Takes place toward the end of 'Fashion Police'.
Riggs POV
Leaving Palmer to her swamp and associated paperwork, I head to my truck. Spinning the key ring with my right middle finger, I think about the craziness that was today. Crazy is definitely one way to put it. I never thought I'd say that I survived being water boarded in a barrel. Survived… That thought brought me back to what Doc said. She was right about a couple of things.
Time is cruel. Every day, Miranda is there with me, in my thoughts, in my dreams. My promise to her and Lucas always chief in my thoughts and actions; to do them proud and to see them soon. A promise made a year ago that was both harder and easier to keep on days like today.
I had just jumped in the truck and slammed the door shut when that thought caught up to me. 'No, I couldn't have…' I scramble for my phone, in a mild panic. I hit the button to wake the screen up, I notice a bunch of missed called notifications, but my focus was on the date.
September 16th.
I stare at my phone in total disbelief. I blink a few times, sure that my eyes were playing tricks on me, but nope. I lean back against the driver's seat. I'd missed it. The first anniversary of the day my world fell from under me. My throat was tight as I tried, and failed to hold in the rage-filled scream.
When I came back to myself, my throat was sore, so were my knuckles. I look down to see dents in the steering wheel as well as the dashboard. Flexing my hands, the pain flares and I can see that I'd broken skin, bleeding. I flex them again and the pain doesn't flare up again, so I'm pretty sure I haven't broken anything besides skin. Not wanting to think about what had just happened right now, I start up the truck and pull out of the parking garage.
My next stop is the 24-hour pharmacy closest to the beach. I park and head on in. I am greeted by the youngster at the counter. Giving a small reply, I pick up a small hand basket and head to the first-aid aisle. It didn't take long to find a bottle of Witch Hazel, some antibiotic/pain ointment, and some gauze packs. Everything I need in basket, I head back to the register up front. Out of the corner on my eye, I catch sight of the beer in the refrigerated section. Without a moment of hesitation, I deviate from my path to the register and add a six-pack to my basket as well. I make my purchases and drive on home.
Surprise, surprise, my canine visitor has once again found his way into my trailer. The scraggy mutt was taking a nap on my couch, after apparently scavenging for any morsel of food it could find, leaving the place more of a disaster than usual. "Really?" I say to him, looking at him. The dog just tilts his head and lays it back down on his front paws, ignoring me.
Shrugging, I put the six-pack in my small refrigerator and empty the plastic bag onto the counter. The process of bandaging myself has been repeated so often that it was really automatic at this point. Afterward, I put everything away in the cabinets and took a seat on the right end of the couch, which my canine invader graciously surrendered to me. I take out my phone, tapping a button to activate the lock screen. There's my lovely girl. I look at the screen for a second before tossing the phone to the other end of the couch, disgusted with myself. All I could do was put my head into my hands with my elbows on my knees to support me. 'I can't believe I missed it. Sure, everything with Palmer and the Hongs had my days runnin' together, but I never thought I'd *forget*!'
I must really have lost my mind. Maybe that's why Miranda's been haunting my dreams and my waking hours. Her way of reminding me that she's waiting on me. 'You almost had me tonight, baby.' And it had been a close one, the closest I'd come since coming to L.A. The memories of the cold water filling my lungs, my muscles straining against the hand pushing me down into the barrel while at the same time getting weaker from the lack of oxygen sent a shiver though me. Seeing Miranda then all but confirmed that I was going to die and I was ready, at least until…
I jump off the couch, starting my companion. Grabbing my keys and the beers, I open the door and whistle to the dog. "Come on, boy," I command. The dog precedes me out of the trailer. I open the driver's side door, the dog jumped in and I slid in afterward. Starting the truck, I backed up and peeled away from my home like the devil was on my tail. I can't be there now. Too silent, too many guns, and frankly, too much temptation to finish what Caldera started. Driving around L.A., I didn't really have a destination in mind, but when I finally stopped the truck I wasn't surprised to see where I'd taken myself.
The top half of the Murtaugh house was dark save for the small glow from Harper's room; no doubt from the small table lamp in the room. Trish, R.J., and Ri must still be out of town. Those kids tend to be regular night owls on the weekend and their rooms would have similar glows from the windows if they were home. The kitchen lights were on as well as the TV in the living room, which told me that Rog was still up. I pull off from the curb across from the house and park the truck in the driveway on Rog's side of the garage.
Grabbing the six-pack, my canine cohort and I exit the truck, heading for the kitchen side door. Before I knock, I glance down at the dog. "Be good or Rog'll kick us both to the curb and no food for you," I threatened. He gave me a slight whine and a quick lick of his chops. Taking that as agreement, I knock. The door opens almost immediately.
"Hey!" I hold up the beer as an offering. "Is the bender still on?" I ask though we both know that the bender had been a bust.
Roger smiles and says, "Well, I'm more in post-Bender mode."
"Oh, well, if you need it, I can lend a hand with those sandwiches before Trish gets back."
Rog takes the beer and stands aside. "Sure, come on in."
~8~
Shortly after getting the dog out of Rog's living room (a bribe of sandwich meat may have been involved), Rog and I grab a couple of those sandwiches, a beer each, and settle down on the couch in front of the TV. Though there was something sports related on, it became background noise while I focused on my food and beer. I was half way through my second sandwich when Roger chimed in.
"Not that I don't appreciate the company, but what brings you around, Riggs?"
"Aw, you know, the possibility of free food is always gonna bring me runnin'," I reply, smiling just as I take another bite of my sandwich.
"Oh, really? 'Cause I heard that you had a dinner invite," he said, that eyebrow up in its usual position when Roger is in interrogation mode.
I put the sandwich back down, chewing slowly. Swallowing, I pick up my beer. "And who did you hear that from?" I ask before taking a swig.
"I've got my sources. Now, stop dodging the question. Why are you here instead of having dinner with Palmer?"
"That is a good question, Rog. Hold that thought." I take another pull from the beer before putting it down on the coffee table and standing up. I head for the kitchen. I go around the island, turn and reach up into the cabinet to the right of the sink. The bottle of bourbon was half empty, but it was exactly what I was looking for. Grabbing the bottle, I open the other cabinet and pull a couple of tumblers down as well. When I turned back to the island, Roger was standing on the other side. He glanced down at the bottle and glasses in my hands and gave me his (I call it) patented concerned look. The look where that single eyebrow is raised and the frown is long. That look that says he is worried about what I'm gonna do next. I ignore that look and pour until the brown liquor almost touches the rim. Setting the bottle down, I snatch up the tumbler and smile into the glass. "She was fun, but it's too soon. I forgot, Rog. Don't know how it happened. She's been in my dreams, even when I'm awake," I ramble on, throwing back the glass and enjoying the smooth burn of the liquor as it goes down my throat. "Maybe she's tryin' to tell me, remind me, but this mess with Palmer…" The back and forth with Palmer had been fun, very much link his and Roger's banter. She had indirectly almost gotten him killed. Almost.
I pick up the bottle and pour me another round, the glass halfway full this time. I quickly raise the glass and threw it back as fast as the first round. This time the burn barely registered, but the warm feeling in my gut was starting to spread nicely. I was about to pour another drink when a hand grabbed my wrist.
"Hang on a minute there. I told you that I wasn't gonna let you kill yourself in my house. Alcohol poisoning applies. Give me the bottle, Riggs," Roger commanded. I wasn't feeling particularly accommodating and hold tight to the bottle. From the glare that Rog is giving me now, I doubt my stubbornness is appreciated. "Martin. Give. Me. The. Bottle," he demands again. This time when Rog tugs at the bottle of Maker's Mark, I decide to let him have it. The room was starting to spin a little anyway. It wouldn't do to drop such a good bottle of bourbon.
Gripping the counter to steady myself, I slowly lean forward until my forehead touches the cool, marble counter-top. I close my eyes and hope that the world would stop spinning. Whether I'm there for minutes or seconds, I have no idea, but when the world finally slows down, I can feel a hand moving in deliberate circles up and down my back. "I'm okay, Rog," I utter, though I wasn't sure if my partner had heard me.
"You think you can make it to the couch?" Roger asks, stopping the back rub.
"Yeah," I answer. Bit by bit, I straightened up and make my way back to the living room. Apparently, Rog had muted the TV before coming to stop me from drowning my liver; the silence a complete welcome to my senses. I dropped down onto the sofa, my head laid against the back of the sofa with my eyes closed. Even with my eyes closed, I could practically feel Rog's eyes on him. I really doubt he's just going to forget about that minor breakdown. I'm proven correct when I feel the couch jostle beside me.
"So, you want to tell me what that was all about?" Roger asks.
"Honestly? Not really, Rog," I respond, my voice still a little hoarse from the bourbon.
"Okay, let me rephrase that. Tell me what that was about or I'm calling Cahill and Avery," Roger countered.
I opened my eyes then and looked at my partner to determine how serious that threat was. Roger was sitting there, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and that no-nonsense glare focused on his interlocked fingers. 'Well, damn. He's dead serious,' I realize. Closing my eyes again, I consider my options.
Option A: Don't tell Roger and he calls Cahill to put him in a seventy-two hour psychiatric hold. If I manageto get out of that, I'm sure that Avery will either fire me or put me on modified with me riding a desk for the rest of my career. All in all, a pain in my ass.
Option B: Tell Roger the truth and hope his partner doesn't go forward with Option A.
'He already thinks I'm crazy. Doubt the truth is gonna make much difference," I think, realizing that I actually don't have much to lose. Sighing, I lean forward mirroring my partner's position. Opened my mouth and told him. I told him about the dreams, about Miranda asking me to join her, how close I came to doing just that tonight, and why I decided to fight back. Then, I got to the thing that broke me: realization that I have forgotten the anniversary. "I should have let Caldera finish me off."
"Nah, man," he rebukes, his head shaking. "You did the right thing."
"'The right thing'? The right thing for who, Rog? I know that Avery would be glad to have me gone—" I ignore the token "That's not true" protest and continued, "And I know your life would be easier without having me around."
"Now, hold it right there!" Roger interrupted, stunning me. Once he was sure that he had my full attention, Roger continued. "We all know you're crazy, man. Suicidal even, but you told me that you wouldn't do the deed yourself because you don't want Miranda to be ashamed of you. Fighting for your life, fighting for my family's lives… that is the sanest thing you've done since I met you. So, I want you to hear me and hear me clearly: Thank you."
He couldn't have stunned me more. This man's life and career have been thrown upside down by my very presence. In fact, I'm sure that Roger curses my existence at least once a day, and here he is thanking me for fighting, for living. Despite all the craziness I have brought to this man, he still wanted me here. Truly, it was the most shocking thing I have heard in a while, but oddly enough the ocean of despair I had felt myself drowning in minutes ago seemed to recede to a more manageable tread.
All because of two simple words from this regular, family guy.
"Besides, you wouldn't last a day with another partner. Face it, you need me to rein in your crazy ideas," Roger smirked as he picked his beer back up from the table.
I couldn't help, but return that smirk with a smile of his own. "Oh, come on, Rog! You know my ideas are the best part of the work day. We wouldn't want you to get bored," I said, grabbing my new warm beer and took a sip.
"With you around, that'll never happen. In fact, I think me hitting the lottery has a better chance of happening than you boring me."
As I laughed at the truth of that, I picked up my half-eaten sandwich and resume eating while listening to Roger as he went on to describe other outrageous scenarios that would happen before boredom would set in on our partnership. With every new scenario and every laugh, that ocean of despair shrank until I no longer felt like I was sinking in it, but rather wading through it.
"Hey, Riggs," Roger interrupts my laughter.
"Yeah, Rog?"
"Next time you're feeling like this, if you don't think you can talk to Cahill, you come talk to me. All right?"
I nodded, "I will, Rog." Roger nods as well. They are silent for a moment, then Roger starts recounting the craziest things (and some that was even too crazy for him) that I had done.
Maybe Cahill was right after all. Maybe what I really needed was right here and honestly, it was a hell of a lot more concrete than Time.
~8~
End of Chapter 5 of Piece By Piece!
Wow! I cannot believe it's been a year since my last post on this story! I will admit that the off-screen drama silenced my muse for a while on this fandom (despite a great second season). Here's hoping my muse will fully wake up because there is a lot in season 2 that I want to get to!