Change is a difficult process when you get down to the nitty-gritty of it.
Often, it takes place outside the observation of the world as a whole. Sure, some transformations are blatantly evident. The thing is, you only notice the metamorphosis until after the fact; when it's too late to go back.
She had always despised the word change. So, rather than dwell on the meaning of the word, her analytical mind would short out and think of change as in pennies, rather than change as in metamorphosis. Yet another defense mechanism to try and cope with all she had to live with on a daily basis.
And her subconscious defense system was put up for good reason, it was understandable in fact; for no matter how hard she tried to modify her 'basic situation' it always failed her... terribly, with undeniable and often complicated consequences. She'd work her way up and then inevitably come spiraling back down, to that dark place where she'd end up more often than not. He had been right on. She was like an alcoholic.
But that's where her comprehension of change ceases; where the understanding simply dies.
She believed change to be unattainable at best, and so shied away from it at all costs. She never before realized that sometimes she was powerless to fight its effects... that she couldn't always control it, even if she had tried everything in her power to ignore that possibility.
She'd always been pretty self-involved, for good reason. She had her own demons to wrestle with, her own skeletons in the closet if you will. So why worry about those of somebody else?
However, everyone has skeletons in the closet, whether she chose to acknowledge that or not.
Her emotional baggage aside, she began to learn how to open up, a little, bit by bit. She started to notice that everyone carries a load—some more effortlessly than others. Her newfound friend was an integral part of getting her to realize that. He cared; genuinely, and all he asked for was her trust. She began to think that maybe it wasn't so bad to care about him too.
However, a wall put up for their own protection, held her an arm's length away. Always. She wasn't ready to take that barrier down, and so she hadn't realized how different he had become until it was almost too late.
Granted she hadn't stopped long enough to take in the entire picture, though as time wore on, she did notice a few inconsistencies in his personality. Subtly at first; there was a small mood here, an uncharacteristic utterance there, almost cynical if she didn't know better. She never thought anything of it. The alteration was so small, seemingly insignificant.
She knows now, and completely understands that more often than not, things are more significant than they seem. She won't ever forget it either.
After Malden, and the standoff with her father, her once happy-go-lucky country bumpkin shied away from situations in which he'd have to face the man that he once held a gun to. Inevitably, that meant avoiding her too. She tolerated it, after all, they were just friends, and it wasn't in her to forgive him right away.
In fact, somewhat childishly, she had even blamed him for the way everything had panned out in her apartment that night… much the same way she had blamed her father's so called friends for selling him out years ago. She projected her sheer frustration with the situation onto him, but it hadn't been him that she was actually angry with. She didn't care at the time; she simply wanted someone to chew out for the mess, and God forbid that someone would be herself.
But her indiscretion began to weigh on her heart. As if... she cared. Which she did, but this feeling, was so new. Her mind began to drift at work, while pouring over paperwork, not a moment went by where she didn't see his retreating, shadowed figure, shoulders shrugged and head low... walking away under the dim glow from the street lights. Wordlessly. He hadn't even acknowledged her tirade, which at the time made her that much more infuriated.
She had been so vehement, and not a day went by that he wasn't reminded of her words... They tortured him—echoing in his head relentlessly. He simply couldn't lay that demon to rest. It was with him, constantly... but all subject to interpretation really.
She was drugged, he often reminded himself. She doesn't, didn't, and never will have any true recollection of all that had transpired... She didn't hate him; he didn't do anything wrong. He had simply done his job, but that wasn't of importance to her. She had expected him to be her friend first and foremost, but instead he subjected her father to countless hours of questioning... It had spiraled out of control... too quickly for him to stop it all.
He couldn't help but think that he hadn't been able to keep his promise. I'm not going to be the guy who sits by and buys you another drink, pretending none of this ever happened. I'm not that guy, he reminded himself. But through all of this, he was, in a way, that guy. And he hated himself for it.
So he threw himself back into his work more fiercely than before, becoming much like one of the robots that lined his shelves at home. Home, what a joke. He had come here to make a new life for himself, and proceeded to screw it all up. The only thing he really had left was his job. He was a cop, first and foremost. At least that's what he tried to tell himself.
He should of heeded the warnings... should have listened that Cavanaugh was a name not to be taken lightly around these parts. He should have...
But.
He couldn't help but care for her still. My word, he couldn't help but care.
He knew she wasn't one for apologies. So he nearly hit the roof when she called. Yes that's right. She called first.
Now, granted that didn't mean she was the first to speak. A series of 'uhs' and 'ums' ensued before he realized exactly who it was. He hadn't been too articulate either, and the silence soon became deafening... until a decided click and a dead line breached the awkwardness. Typical, he thought. But she had called. That, in itself, almost made him smile—something he hadn't done since he silently slipped into the night.
It took them both a while to even begin to forget the events that had transpired. He'd been so afraid... for her life, for her safety, for her. As much as her demons were her own, the fact that he knew they existed made them his too.
The awkward period did in fact pass, though not without some prodding from outside sources. Miraculously enough they found themselves working on a case together... Macy's doing. Frankly Garret was sick and tired of her moping about as if Armageddon was afoot.
He walked into Autopsy Two, avoiding the corner office while reading over the particulars on a rather upsetting case. Children were always tough... homicides and kids just shouldn't go together. But often they did, unfortunately. He walked in the exam room, still immersed in the file, and asked blankly, "What have we got doc?" expecting the 'doc' to be Nigel or Peter or Bug. He never expected...
She was taken aback by the simple sound of his voice. He was there, right behind her, assigned to her case. How the hell did that happen? she thought as she turned to look at him, swiftly pulling off her face shield in the process. He was still looking down; nose in the case file, but the stiff silence lingering after his unanswered question soon became cause for his concern. His eyes wandered up briefly, and a look of utter shock came over his visage as he noticed her standing there, a myriad of emotions evidently welling up inside of her. He glanced back at the exam room door for but a moment, making certain it said "Autopsy Two". Alas, it did. He was in the right place, but was she?
Neither spoke, taking in the sight of each other, for it had been a while. At least it seemed that way. He wasn't certain how long it had been exactly; likely no more than a week or two, though it felt like years.
No, they stood in awkwardness yet again, before simultaneously uttering something, anything, to subdue the silence. It was nothing new, they'd been there, done that before. However, she was the one to throw her hand up this time. "Please, just stop." She said succinctly, with a gesture saying more than a thousand words. Before he could even respond, she began filling him in on what she had discovered from the small child laying lifeless upon a grey slab.
Working through the case together proved to be strained at best. She didn't want to talk about it... and granted he didn't either. So they let it go, as much as you can let go and forgive.
They had caught the man responsible, none other than the child's uncle with a perverse obsession, and in closing that case, she found herself seeking him out. After booking, she knew he'd have a stack of paperwork, but she blindly allowed herself to go see him. She cared... but why was that so difficult?
Ignoring all the skeletons between them, and pushing the entire affair into the realm of her unconscious mind, she ended up practically dragging him to the Pogue once the i's were dotted and the t's crossed.
And so he suddenly was re-initiated into a world of the smoky pub and beer nuts... and her... but was it the same?
