The Great White Way
By aubreysmom
G/PG
Characters are the property of PAXSON Entertainment and Pebblehut Productions.
Missing scene from "Holocaust Survivor"
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Another case wrapped up. And this one was more than worth it. He hung his coat in the closet and headed for the kitchen. The rest of the team had made plans to celebrate, but he'd begged off with a severe headache. The headache was real; what was most disturbing was the reason behind the headache.
Two days since the staged fight at the warehouse, and he still couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that had settled in his gut. It was an act, completely; he knew it, and he knew the rest of the team knew it. But something about it had touched a nerve.
Moving around the kitchen restlessly, he finally decided that a change of clothes before dinner might help shake off the remnants of the case— get away from work, so to speak, and give himself a chance to release everything associated with it. He headed up the stairs.
He'd just about reached the top when an overwhelming heaviness pounded its way into his chest. He recognized the symptom and immediately yanked off his tie, opening a couple of buttons on his shirt. Stumbling into the bathroom, the air starting to feel cut off from his lungs, he took several long, slow breaths while splashing some cold water across his face.
The attack subsided; as he looked up into the mirror, he realized at last what had not only set off the attack, but what had been causing the uneasy feeling this whole time. Blue eyes gazed at the image in the mirror, blond hair pushed back a bit from his face from the water.
He was looking at a face from history; an history he no more could fathom than he could the terrorists of today. Yet terror was exactly what a small group of men had unleashed on the world more than fifty years prior. Myles looked again at his image and saw thousands of blond-haired, blue eyed youths marching proudly under the banner of the Swastika— a banner that still reared its ugly head to this day in the name of "purity."
A bitter laugh escaped his lips. How is it that we have learned nothing?
The thought haunted him all that night; sleep was elusive.
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The next day at work was no better; a glance around the office made him realize that if history had been different, most of his team, a group of people he considered closer than his blood relatives, would not be here. Half of them likely wouldn't be alive. The thought sent an involuntary shudder across his shoulders.
"Somebody walk across your grave, mate?" Bobby sat down at his desk to start the paperwork involved with the Zimmer case.
Myles shrugged it off. "Just backlash, I guess," he said softly. "Cases like this make me sick to my stomach. Idiocy raised to a new high. Or dropped to a new low, more likely."
"Some people need a reason to hate," D added, overhearing the conversation. "Others just need an opportunity."
As Myles looked up to answer him, Sue passed into his sight line, carrying on an animated sign conversation with Lucy. Whatever he'd been about to say stuck in his throat.
Dimitrius watched him for a moment. "Bobby, can you get a started on the report? I need to borrow Myles for a bit." He laid a hand on the blond agent's shoulder. "Let's go get a real coffee."
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"This case got to you, didn't it? I don't just mean the little performance at the warehouse. Something went deeper this time." Dimitrius stirred cream into his coffee and waited for his younger colleague to speak. He knew that Myles kept his feelings locked away from most casual observers; yet the feelings were there, and this time he felt he needed to prod a little. "You look like you didn't sleep much last night."
Myles stared into his latte; of all the people he felt he could talk to, D was the one most likely to push him into it. Now he struggled to put words to the emotions plaguing him. After a moment, he looked up, dropping the walls and looking at his friend with anguish in his eyes.
"What makes us hate, D? I mean, why is it that, for whatever reason we think is justified…" He trailed off, sighing, and tried again. "Every time I've looked in the mirror, in the past two days, all I seem to see is history; the blond-haired, blue-eyed 'super race' that caused this whole world so much suffering. If history had worked out differently…"
D eyed him directly. "You think you'd have been one of those like Zimmer?"
"I don't know." The blue-grey eyes dropped again. "I used to think I wouldn't have. That I'd have been one of those who helped, who would have sheltered the people the Nazis were hunting. Because that level of hatred makes no sense to me. But…"
"You don't have that kind of hate in you, Myles." D's voice was softly confident. "Your reactions to Buford Harris during all this tells me that loud and clear."
"I'm not talking about that." The baritone voice had lost its usual forceful edge, and was infinitely sad. "But it wasn't just Jews or blacks… Harris' group hates anyone who isn't… who's…"
Suddenly the answer clicked in Dimitrius' brain; he realized what this was really about. "Defective." He watched his colleague's head snap up, and read the torment in is friend's eyes. "You're thinking about Sue, aren't you? And the way you reacted to her when she first started working with us."
A silent nod was his answer.
"Let me ask you something." D leaned back in the booth seat, absently spinning his coffee cup on the table. "Do you still feel the same way about her that you did the first day Jack brought her in?"
Myles blinked. "No, but—"
"Do you believe that she shouldn't be allowed to have a family of her own someday? That it's passing on an 'impurity' of some sort?"
"I—" He stopped to think about that one, being brutally honest with himself. "No," he said finally, with certainty. "No, I don't think that. I'd not wish the hardships she faces daily on anyone, but I don't believe she should be denied children, or any aspect of a full life, because of it."
Dimitrius leaned forward again, folding his hands in front of him and giving his friend a direct gaze. "Do you honestly believe she's 'defective'?
Myles stared back at him for a long time, gauging his thoughts and feelings carefully. Here was the crux of his dilemma, and his knee-jerk reaction shamed him deeply. "I admit," he said very softly, "I used to."
"And now?"
The Harvard grad knew that D wasn't going to let him off the hook until he'd faced his feelings totally. "I don't know, D," he replied, desperately wishing he could say otherwise. "I often think about the things she misses, because of her… inability to hear. Things I take for granted every day— the sparrow song outside my window every morning, a Bach concerto that can bring me to tears… Even the banter in the Bullpen; there's a comfort in the blend of voices, as if it were its own music. But then I see her with Troy, or Amanda… or Helga." His gaze dropped once more, and he sighed deeply. "The peace in her face when she's in 'her' world exclusively. I can't call that a defect. I don't understand it, will likely never understand it, but there's music in her world as well. It's simply enjoyed with the eyes instead of the ears."
The waitress came over just then, and Dimitrius caught her hand. "Excuse me, miss. Do you happen to have a compact on you? One with a mirror?"
She looked at him strangely. "Yeah."
"May I borrow it for just a moment?"
Her eyes narrowed a bit, but she reached into her pocket. "I suppose. You guys want refills?"
"Please." He took the small item from her. "I'll give it back to you when you get back."
She gave him another strange glance, then walked away. D turned back to his friend, and saw a shade of the characteristic smirk return.
"You planning to freshen your lipstick?"
"Nope," D replied easily, flipping open the compact, "just your perspective. I want you to think about what you just told me, and then take another look in the mirror."
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The Bullpen was quiet; Jack and Bobby were following a lead on a new case, D had a meeting upstairs, Lucy was at a dentist appointment and Tara had gone to lunch with Stanley. Sue was at her desk, transcribing a video, when she felt someone's presence nearby, even before Levi placed a paw on her leg.
"Report finished?" she asked as she looked up at Myles.
He nodded without speaking, then leaned against the corner of Jack's desk, facing her. Then he signed ME HAPPY D-O-N-E. It was slow and very deliberate, and had her brows halfway into her bangs.
She smiled, glancing over at the wagon still in the middle of the Bullpen. "You need some help rolling all those pennies?"
Myles laughed, shaking his head at her. "Actually," he said, "I was wondering if you would be interested in having lunch with me. I think it's about time—" He broke off speaking, and signed the rest. He pointed to her, then brought both "flattened o" hands to his temples, moving them outward in a small arch. He then pointed to himself, and held out his left hand, palm up. He moved his right hand as if he were picking something up off his palm and placing it in his head. YOU TEACH, ME LEARN.
She smiled again, through the shock. "I have to ask, Myles. Why?"
His hands said it all. YOU INSPIRE T-O-O.
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FINIS