Title: Reminders
Disclaimer: All rights belong to the other rightful owners of the 'Law & Order' brand.
A/N: Recently I've been playing around with different writing styles, seeing what I can do in different voices, in different points of view. I sort of want this particular short bit o' drabbling to remain clean, not bogged down with all these author's notes and lead-ins... So read on, loves! Read on...
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It isn't the big stuff that gets to you... Its the small stuff. Generally.
Sitting at my desk, reading over various reports. My partner walking back from the break room - a mug of coffee in one hand, a big sticky chocolate-covered donut in the other.
Still here, still at One Police Plaza, eleventh floor: Major Case Squad. Same job - different desk. Situated in a dark corner, my partner's desk directly behind mine and facing a column in desperate need of a new layer of paint. He's not a bad guy, more of a traditional by-the-book swaggering cop type, and an Irish temper that can flare up a bit too easily.
It was so hard at first. Staring at your empty desk, untouched, just as you left it. A crushed coffee cup in the trash beside our desks, a few stray blond hairs woven into the rough red fabric of your chair. Your blotter covered in your notes, scribbles, and doodles. I particularly liked the one of Carver - the calm and collected "blah blah blah" he rambled out of his goateed mouth.
All those little things... They got to me.
When I was introduced to my current partner, I nearly took the poor man's head off as he went to sit in your chair. Deakins had to explain to him that we were to both be getting new desks. I thanked him quietly later that day... He just handed me a cardboard box.
Five months later, I can't really say it hurts any less... It just gets easier to crawl up inside my head. Pretend that everything is alright. Even though I try to be on top of my game, my solve rate has dropped... My partner stepping into the role of lead detective... I've become the guy in the background... Occasionally making comments that may or may not prove useful. I have to give the man credit, he's stayed thus far. But, a recent Homicide transplant - I think he's just grateful to be at MCS.
I called your sister once... But it was too much too soon. She's a good woman, and I will take her up on her offer to call again some day. But not anytime soon.
When I was cleaning out your desk late at night I found your red notebook. I loved how you kept up on everything - all those newspaper clippings about us. And the notes... I laughed at every one of your pen strokes. I could just hear you snarking at me for reading it... Smiling behind your playful scowl. I really battled with what I should do with your things. Throw it all away to save myself the grief? The constant reminders? But my whole damn existence is a constant reminder. So I took them home with me... They're sitting in my closet buried behind a wall of shoes and luggage.
My partner is sipping loudly at his steaming mug of coffee, regaling me with his recent sexual conquests the previous night. I am just pretending to listen, this police report in my fingers a safe haven from having to hear about one more "tight blond."
And I smile to myself, knowing exactly what you would say about someone like him... And I know that all these little things, however painful, are precious. All I have left - besides that coffee-stained blotter and the dusty santa mug - are the memories. The sound of your laugh, the way your nose wriggled when you were pissed, the crease in your brow as you processed whatever crazy shit came out of my mouth...
Five months and it never gets any easier. Maybe tonight I'll call your sister...