29. Happiness

Buzz had always known he wanted to be a cop, but here he was barely a month into the job and he really didn't know how much longer he could take it. It had seemed like such a good idea. Stop the bad guys, save the innocent. He just hadn't really thought about how he would deal with the ones he couldn't save.

He leaned over the sink and splashed a couple of handfuls of cool water on his face, roughly scrubbing it dry with a paper towel.

The latest victim had only been nine and he couldn't get her glazed, lifeless eyes out of his mind. She was just a baby. Who would do something like that to a baby?

The world was full of so much hatred and anger and filth. There was no way he could even put a dent in it. Buzz dropped his face into his hands, burying his still damp fingers in his hair. He wanted to sob, could physically feel it building in the back of his throat, but managed to suppress it down to a choked sounding cough when he heard the bathroom door open. He saw Detective Lassiter out of the corner of his eye and gave a jerky half nod, although the older man didn't seem to notice him.

Buzz knew he should probably leave-blatantly loitering in a bathroom with your superior there couldn't be a good idea-but he couldn't quite bring himself to leave the relative quiet for the insane bustle of the rest of the station. He stayed where he was, not even moving when Lassiter came over to use the sink next to his. His head was bowed, but he didn't miss the narrow, assessing look that Lassiter gave him while he dried his hands.

"Hard day. It's McNab, right?"

"Yes, sir," Buzz said, both agreeing about the day and confirming his name. He straightened slowly and turned to face Lassiter. The detective was frowning, but he didn't look angry. It was almost…concern? "Sir?"

Lassiter openly studied him for a moment and cleared his throat. "This job will wear on you if you let it. We deal with a lot of shit. Not everyone's cut out for it, but you do good work. Give it some time. I think you're going to do fine."

Buzz rubbed the back of his neck and glanced around the room, suddenly feeling even more awkward. He opened his mouth, grasping for the right words, closed it, chewed the inside of his cheek, opened it again. "How do you deal with it, sir? I have dreams, nightmares…"

The detective leaned his hip against the side of the sink, his eyes cutting to the side as he thought. "I spend a lot of time at the shooting range. And I'd probably explode if I didn't have my wife to go home to. Hobbies are good. Something you can lose yourself in so that you don't have to think for a few hours. As for nightmares," Lassiter looked back at Buzz. "They happen. You can't see the things we do and not be affected by it. If they get too bad, go to the chief. He can arrange for you to talk to someone. Needing help doesn't make you weak, just human."

Buzz nodded, his gaze dropping to his shoes. "Thank you, sir."

Lassiter's hand landed on his shoulder. It was heavy and oddly comforting. When he spoke, his voice was serious, but more hushed than Buzz had ever heard it before. "You seem like a happy guy, McNab. Not too many people are that lucky. And too few manage it working a job like this. If you want to survive, you have to focus on the good that you can do more than the bad that those scum can. Don't lose your spirit. Don't let them steal it from you like they steal everything else."

The grip on his shoulder tightened briefly, and then was gone as Lassiter strode out the door.

Buzz looked at his grim reflection in the mirror and wiped halfheartedly at the last few drops of water clinging to his neck.

Happy?

He tried a smile. It looked strained and felt awkward. He sighed and tried again. This one was a little better; easier, although it still didn't quite reach his eyes. Buzz nodded at his reflection and turned to leave, his smile firmly in place.

Happy. Yeah, okay. He could do happy.

Kristin: This chapter's for InfernumEquinomin, who asked for something with Buzz. If anyone else has something they'd like to see, feel free to ask. I can't promise I'll write it, but I do promise I'll try.

PeanutTree-Lobsters are your peanuts? I've never had a good lobster. They're always overcooked. :/ Carlton is totally a closet snuggler. He's all sorts of clingy and touchy feely, I just know it. And thank you. I was feeling really iffy about that one. I'm glad you liked it. Confession? I don't really like reading angst at all. I have no idea why I keep writing it.

34/100