Alone in the Dark 3
'What are you thinking about?' Phil asked me, and I lied to him. I wasn't thinking about Neil Manson, nor that sod Victor from NCS, nor even who might be corrupt. I was thinking about Mickey and the soft blue eyes that wouldn't meet mine any longer. Thinking about that night when we laid alongside each other, then leant foward and kissed in the dark.
He did come back to me. Sort of, anyway. When I saw him sitting in my office, I saw that the laughing young man I'd worked with for so long and loved, hadn't come back. It was some-one with his name and dress sense, or lack of, but with a coldness in his eyes and heart. What did I feel when I saw him there? Joy, because he'd come back. Felt a lot more than I'd care to admit really.
I knew he wouldn't greet me, because of the others being there. I even understand why he wouldn't come close, hug me - Delaney is still too recent for that. But a smile, or handshake - that wouldn't have been too much despite how careful he's been to avoid me ever since he left. I thought our friendship would have meant that much to him, at least. I hoped, for a second, that we would have sat and talked, laughed, about music and football and work; that we'd still be mates if not lovers.
What we got was a 'hello. How are you? Do you know that your DI's bent?' and us plunged into opposite sides of a murder enquiry, until it got to me thinking that maybe he was bent. I missed him when he left, and I miss him now, when he's gone again and won't meet my eye, but not like I did in those few hours that I believed him to be corrupt.
Because it was in those few hours that I realised that I don't love Mickey Webb anymore. The man he's become - suited, uppitty, a sergeant - loves his job and loathes himself. Everything else, like me, gets filed under 'unimportant.' He's changed so much that I can't see in him what was there before, and that's why I could see him as corrupt. I never really thought it, but I considered it, because of what he is now.
But he doesn't know that, because I had to go looking for evidence, just to prove that my best mate hadn't killed someone or something similar, and when his eyes met mine, I saw that he was innocent and that he didn't trust me anymore.
'How do you think that makes me feel?' Mickey asked me. I couldn't have answered that without crying for what I've done to him. I'm so, so sorry and I can't make him listen to me when he's left again. I don't think I've ever hurt him like that before - you don't hurt the ones you love, but I did.
I don't care about Manson. I wouldn't have cared if he had killed Jean and Cassidy. All I cared about was proving that Mickey wasn't corrupt, despite the fact I don't love him anymore. And because I cared so much, I made it worse. He thinks now that I've never trusted him, but I did, heart and soul from the day we met, and I still do. The difference is that he doesn't trust me now.
He trusted Liz; maybe that has something to do with it. His marriage plans upset me, even though we never pretended that we did anything apart from get smashed one night and end up in bed. I know, if he'd asked, I would have gone to the wedding, stood as best man if he'd wanted me to and wished him well. I would have hurt, and I guess he would have looked at me and remembered, but we would have survived. He loved Liz, I loved him, so I would have been glad to see him with her. But he trusted her, and look what she did. Maybe he thinks I'm the same.
How she could have done that to him is part of what I'm thinking as well, but I can't say that to Phil. I can forgive most things, but not what she's done to Mickey. Yes, Mickey, whatever MIT are calling him, because Mickey was the man I knew and if I remember him, then there's a chance he'll come back. I'm glad I arrested her; I'd be glad for Mickey's sake if she died inside, because she's hurt him so much.
I couldn't make him talk about it; he went silent like so many times before. But this time, he won't trust me to help him deal with it and I don't think he can make it on his own. I can't take watching him hurt, but because he's gone away, I'll have to imagine it and that will be worse.
I know he's brave. Far stronger than me; he's survived more than I've even seen, let alone known, and I admire him for that. And coming back - that must have been the bravest thing he's ever done, and I sodded it all up, so I think he's right to hate me now.
What am I thinking, then? That if you can ever forgive me for what I've just done to you, then you'll be a better person than I could be. That I love you, and I'm so sorry that I'll not see you again.
'Thinking about, Phil? Oh, nothing important.'