A/N: This is what happens when I have IM, friends in the CI fandom, thoughts of Deakins stuck in my head...again, and a bunch of challenge lists to answer. Anyways, yeah. This really has nothing to do with anything, just some random thing that cape out of nowhere, so...and CI's still not mine.
It was midnight by the time I got away from work. This latest case had us all going around in circles; it had been nearly three weeks, and we still had next to nothing. What we did have wasn't going to get us anywhere, and we knew it. Goren and Eames had talked to numerous people since it had begun; so had Logan and Barek. Hell, even I had gone into the interrogation rooms a few times. But it had gotten us nowhere.
And I couldn't for the life of me make myself go home. Streetlights cast their glow on everything below them as I wandered through Manhattan, unable to turn and make the drive back into Queens. Something was keeping me there in the city; I didn't know what it was, but I wanted to figure it out. Wanted to sit and think, without having to worry about someone coming along to distract me…wanted to know exactly what it would take to get this case closed.
But I hadn't been a detective in years, and if I was delusional for thinking that I still knew what it was like to be out there on the streets, then that was the way it was going to be. I knew the answers wouldn't come easily. They never did. We wanted to know who, and where. How, and why…and when. But it took us one eternity to get to where we wanted to be, and another to ensure that justice was served. It drove me up the wall, made me wonder why I was a cop. Why I even bothered.
Rain started to fall just as I finally came to a stop, outside of a church. It was ironic in more ways than one. Here I was, sitting with the blood of numerous victims on my hands, until their murders were solved, and I was sitting outside a church. And it was raining. To me, rain had always implied something akin to cleansing, and yet blood was still running over the city sidewalks, people were still dying, and us cops were doing all we could to make it stop, but 40,000 out of eight or so million was nothing.
I was walking inside before I knew what I was doing, grateful to be away from the rain, away from the squad room…away from everything. I'd needed time to myself for a while now, and found it quite amusing that I was only just getting it now, when what I really should've been doing was sleeping. But I knew that even if I went home, I wouldn't be able to close my eyes, so I remained in the church, and sat, staring off into nothingness for what felt like forever.
After a while, the silence started getting to me. I wanted answers. Ones that, if they didn't come from something physical, would come from somewhere else. Someone else. I wanted to know how innocent children could be allowed to die, and how cops could sit there with no clue as to how to bring some sense of justice, and closure, and whatever else it was that we felt we needed. Wanted to know why I kept feeling it was worth it, even when it seemed so pointless.
My eyes slid closed as I sat there, and before I knew it, I was praying, and until I figured out what for, I wasn't going to leave.