What I own: A lip gloss that perfectly matches my hair, a vast collection of burned out candles and more nail polish than one woman should.
What I don't: Rookie Blue. Nope, not mine.
Author's Note: This was written as an entry for the FanFicaholics Anon July drabble challenge but SURPRISE, it became a series. It has nothing to do with any of my current WIPs but I saw the prompt and couldn't get it out of my head. I know it is vague, that is kind of my MO… I will explain eventually, promise. This is canon, in a sense that it isn't horribly not but it does NOT actually follow the season. Not beta'd because I am impatient. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. The song, because that is how I do, is 'For Everything A Reason' by Carina Round. Turn it up real loud while you read, it will make more sense, I think. Reviews are hoarded and brought out to make me smile on bad days. Oh, they are also rewarded with sneek peaks of the fic of your choosing cause I know this doesn't float everybody's boat. Thanks for reading y'all. Feel free to ask any questions here or on twitter, I like to answer them.
There is always that moment first thing in the morning. That fleeting one where things are still bright and clear, the possibilities endless and untarnished, the joy and anticipation of what may be still coursing through your mind. It was always my favorite time of day as long as I could remember: The sunlight slanted in through the curtains, yellow swiss dot were the first ones I could remember, gradually to deep green and then blue sheers as I got older. This morning the golden rays filtered through the blinds, highlighting the dust motes that danced in the quiet post-dawn.
This morning was no different, not that I remembered. The same little tingle, that thrill of 'what if' and 'maybe' as I opened my eyes and just lay for a moment, a small smile tugging at my lips. I couldn't help it, it was almost intrinsic. The rich scent of cinnamon spiked coffee drifted through the air, teasing my nose and sending the last vestiges of sleep from my mind and I sent up an absent thank you to the genius that invented programmable coffee pots.
It all started the same, everything was the way it should be until that moment: Familiar. Safe. Secure. Right. Until it wasn't anymore. That deafening moment when everything changed and nothing was right again.
It happened so fast, in less than the blink of an eye. The sound was deafening, louder than any gunshot I'd heard before. I didn't see the flash, at least I don't think I did. I didn't remember. It was fuzzy, like looking through a frosted window and trying to make out the individual snowflakes.
I remembered the red though, thick and viscous, spreading far, FAR too fast on the cracked asphalt. The coppery scent hung in the air, teasing my nose and threatening to cause the meager contents of my stomach to make a reappearance. I knew why Lady Macbeth was so haunted, it still clung to my fingers, darkening around the edges of my nails and causing my head to swim.
Then there were the voices. The screams, cries, wails. Whatever. They still rang in my ears. Apologies were shouted, pleaded for between the gasps and sobs of horror and pain.
It was over in a moment but that moment was an infinity from where we stood. Doing this job, you get good at compartmentalizing, at separating what you see with who you are. But this, today? Watching as one of my friends lay on the cracked pavement, eyes unseeing as a white sheet was draped over navy blue and another moving, stone faced and blank eyed as he was cuffed and placed in the back of a squad car, I couldn't separate that from who I was. It wasn't a job anymore. It was real. It was life. It was death.
Statements were given, calls were made. I'd insisted on being there to tell his parents, we had met a few times before and I would never forget the look on his mother's face. The sheer devastation as she was told her son was gone, that she had now outlived both of her children. It would haunt me for the rest of my life.
"My mom, before she died, used to say 'for everything a reason'." The voice cut through my thoughts, ringing through the empty, dark locker room. I'd been sitting in the same spot for… who knows how long now. My boots were off, as was my uniform shirt and belt, my hair loosened from the tight French braid I had woven it into after my shower. I glanced up, didn't bother smiling, he knew me too well for that. Instead he kept talking and sat beside me, just far enough away.
"I never understood it, especially not after the accident. I still don't but maybe… maybe there was a reason." His voice cracked and I squeezed my eyes shut tight until flashes danced behind my lids and they started to ache, brightly colored spots quickly replaced by a bright blinding light as I opened them, so similar to the sun streaming through the windows this morning and yet as different as life and death. I had tried, futilely to recapture that feeling of lightness, and hope, the elusive joy of that second but it was hopeless. Instead of searching for the light, I rested my head on my partners shoulder and gave in, for just a moment, to the darkness.