A few days pass. He looks over the city. It's gray and wet like his trampled-on pride. Suspended indefinitely. They took his gun and his badge. Applying to their mercy did not help. Hurling the cardboard box at the wall did not help either.
Now he has to sit through this wonderful dinner. Just a week ago it would have been fine, he could have handled a meal with just Harlee and Baker. But now, with a new player, he is no longer sure.
He sits in the corner, voices and smoke filling the place. Baker's gray form blends in with the shadows and he likes that, he would rather not see her. Better to study the other two as they look at each other with discomfort so raw it bleeds into him. A certain part of him is delighted: imagine a front row seat to what looks way more real than Nava and Harlee. Fucking perfect. His gaze slides along the mirrored ceiling and lands on her face. She is mesmerizing and smiling, at his FUCKING BEST FRIEND! Tom's hand moves to cover her fingers and she doesn't yank them away. Stahl's lips rival a desert.
With each chime of the clock, he grows more and more restless. Jealousy, rage wake him up and blackness hardens his groin. The air feels stuffy, his suit an elegant torture device. Harlee's face softens as candlelit pyres burn on the table. Baker drones on, such a sucker for chit chat. Did she really think he could like her? Delusional to no end...
Infuriated, Stahl wants to both worship and utterly ruin Harlee for what she is doing right now. He can no longer hear the music, his food has no taste and his desperate brain is looking for some foothold so that he could function.