It's Only Me Waking You
Chapter 4: Kino
Gereon views his image in the grimy mirror of the gent's room. Amber light seems to magnify his black eye, a crescent-shaped cut under his other eye, and a swollen lip. What the light doesn't expose are the bruised ribs and brown-purple marks from punches thrown that cover his abdomen.
Detective Inspector Rath doesn't really mind that he looks a mess. He isn't vain. And at least his visual appearance accurately reflects what he actually feels like; it's honest.
Czerwinski offers him a glass of whiskey when he limps back to the open homicide office. He thanks his assistant yet sips it half-heartedly. The double dose of morphine he took immediately after the incident yesterday has long since worn off, but (for once) he has no desire to self-medicate.
"You should go home, detective," Henning says, eying him warily, as if Rath will collapse at any moment and take his grey hat with him. It would be a shame to crush that fine fedora.
Gereon sinks heavily into his chair with a moan. His back cracks, as if it's siding with Henning.
"There are reports that need to be written," Rath mutters. "I'm fine."
The assistant leaves him, and Gereon sinks into a typewriter daze. Next, Graf appears at his side, biting his lower lip tentatively.
"Herr Rath?"
"Mmm?" Gereon glances up, pretending that he's steeped in work when he can barely focus on the words on the page in front of him. He can't remember the line he just read-the characters blur.
"Are you all right?" Graf seems to be hovering between concern and amusement.
"Yes, quite," Gereon replies too quickly.
Graf tries another tactic. "Can I get you anything?"
Rath considers this. The sun has begun to slip, though he still has hours of work to complete. "Coffee, please. Two cups."
When Graf returns, mere minutes later, Gereon thanks the photographer for his kindness and downs the coffee. At least it's hot. It's testament to how tired he is that he doesn't gag on the obscene sludge that passes for caffeine in the Castle.
Despite its nonexistent, bitter flavor, the coffee works. Gereon's vision clears, and he clicks and clacks his way through multiple reports. He is so engrossed in his work that he doesn't even notice Ms. Ritter enter the office. Everyone else has gone home after giving up on Gereon.
"Bad day?"
She startles him, and he inadvertently knocks over a bottle of ink from his desk. He lunges sideways but fails to catch it before it crashes to the floor, shattering and splattering drops of ink onto Charlotte Ritter's shoes and skin-colored stockings.
"Forgive me," he says, frustrated at his own clumsiness. He reaches down to pick up the pieces of glass but only manages to slice open his thumb and stain his fingers. Gereon swears at his own sluggishness.
Charlotte gently says, "Let me." She patters away to return with a damp rag and begins to clean up Rath's mess. While she works, he takes in her red and gold cloche hat, the curl of her short dark hair, the curve of her cheekbones. He breathes in her scent-something floral and bright-and spies the sprinkle of silver tassels peeking from beneath the folds of her winter coat.
"Are you going out tonight?" he asks.
She finishes cleaning and looks up at him with a coy smirk that he wants to slip inside. "Maybe."
A moment passes. Gereon presses his cut finger into a relatively clean handkerchief and chews on the inside of his cheek. "Leopold Biehl got away."
"But not without a fight," Ritter adds.
The detective shakes his head.
"So let's go dancing!" Charlotte exclaims, waving her arms about.
Rath can't help chuckling; her enthusiasm is contagious. For a brief moment, he imagines the lights dimming in the office. A spotlight pops into existence, shining on both of them. Charlotte is suddenly standing without her winter coat, sparkling in silver sequins, and Gereon wears a snappy suit and tie. Eric Borchard's jazz combo floats in the air from an invisible record player, and Rath poses like Fred Astaire. He takes Charlotte's hand, and they begin to spiral into a perfectly choreographed dance number. Gereon solos, tap dancing, as Charlotte beams, twirling delicately. The pair jump onto desks, scattering papers until they cascade onto the floor like snowfall.
"Gereon?"
The fantasy vanishes, peppy jazz echoing like a phantom in Rath's mind. He smiles, still dreamy, and begins to stand. That's when his back seizes up, and sharp pain emanates from his ribcage. He groans and collapses back in his chair. Charlotte's hand moves from her open, surprised mouth, to his shoulder.
"I guess dancing is out," she states, deadpan, though there is a ghost of a smile in her expression.
Rath says in a tight, pained voice, "I would have to agree," and sucks in breath through his teeth.
Ritter dramatically strokes her chin, then something kindles in her eyes, and she snaps her fingers. "I have an idea. Let's try this again."
She gets a sturdy grip around his left arm and uses much of her own body weight to prop Gereon up when he stands. The pain returns in waves, sweeping up his spine, but it helps to be able to shift his weight and lean on someone. Charlotte pats his arm reassuringly, and they begin to slowly make their way through the homicide department and out of the Castle.
There is a chill outside as they step into the late November evening. Gereon pauses as the sharp air batters against his bruises, seeping into the lining of his trench coat.
"I hope we're n-not walking very far," he chatters.
"Just six miles," Charlotte says with a wave of her hand. When Gereon halts, eyebrows arched in suspicion, she snorts with laughter. "C'mon-it's only two blocks away."
They walk in silence, steeping in the vibrancy of Berlin at night; the city streets are bustling with people, and music can be heard from inside numerous clubs and cafes they pass by. Once Gereon manages to remain upright for a block without incident, Charlotte transitions from gripping his arm to holding his hand. Rath's injured state sets the pace, but Ritter still leads him. He can almost taste her barely-contained excitement before they turn the next corner to find-
"The Delphi Cinema!" Gereon declares. The theater's dazzling marquee is lit with an array of colorful lights. Now showing: Woman in the Moon. He is delighted but tries not to show it. "I thought you might want to get something to eat…"
"And watch you pick at your plate?" Charlotte tosses back at him. "Fritz Lang is food enough for me."
She begins to pull him forward, but Rath holds his ground. Ritter turns to him with a question on her face. "What's the matter? Are you unwell?"
His gaze drops to the ground, embarrassed. "Charlotte, I'm afraid I will fall asleep…"
"Detective Inspector, if you fall asleep, you owe me a new pair of silk stockings." She tugs on his hand, and that is that.
They shuffle into a crowded theater. Gold gilding glimmers on the walls and faded mint-green upholstery dots the hundreds of seats inside the auditorium. The haze of cigarette smoke lingers in the air like early morning fog across a meadow. Men in suits sit alongside women, wearing scarves and hats with feathers stuck into them. Ritter plops into a nearby seat and gently (yet firmly) hauls Gereon with her. He inhales sharply when his spine brushes the back of his seat, then the pain stabilizes.
"Better?" she murmurs to him.
Gereon nods, unable to verbalize how differently he thought his night was going to end, how pleasantly surprised he is to sit beside Charlotte.
"Better," he affirms. His smile is lost as the theater darkens.
A newsreel takes them around the world. Then a hush covers the audience, and the film begins. Despite his initial pain, Gereon soon gives into the fantasy of the story playing out in front of them. He envisions that he is hurtling in a ship through space. It feels a lot like floating, like being free…
"Do you believe that people will visit the moon one day?" Charlotte whispers into Gereon's ear.
He shrugs, offering a half-smile. Several minutes later, he feels a small weight press against his right shoulder. Gereon looks down and finds Charlotte's head resting against him, nestled into his neck. She is fast asleep.
Gereon imagines what will happen when the film is over, and the theater empties. He imagines waking Charlotte gently, running a hand through a curl of her hair, repeating her name softly. He imagines her startling out of her seat, giggling at herself, perhaps flustered. He imagines telling her that even though she was the one who fell asleep, he will pay for her ruined stockings, and he will also ask her out to dinner. Tomorrow night. That is, if she wouldn't mind accompanying him...
The detective inspector shivers slightly in anticipation of that moment, so sweet, so tangible, yet undeniably unattainable because it lies in the future, unpredictable, unknown.
Gereon sighs and leans his head lightly against Charlotte's, feeling the warmth of her breath. It is enough to exist in the moment, safely wrapped in a blanket of darkness while illuminated images dance and sway on screen. It is enough to rest next to the woman he is beginning to love-maybe the one he has always loved since first seeing her.
It is enough to be happy. Gereon's sigh mirrors Charlotte's even breaths, and he knows he is.
He is.
TBC
A/N: I thought of the idea for this fic long before I started watching season 3 and was absolutely delighted to discover the movie subplot. Expressionism! The earlier dream/dance sequence is also a nod to the one in episode 2.2, one of my favorite moments in the show. Thanks for reading!
~Ista