Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or ideas from The Killing. It's all just for fun.
Spoilers: Season 4, episode 6
Linden doesn't know how she ends up at the station, really. She'd dropped Jack off at the airport, waited until she knew for sure that his plane had taken off even, to be sure that he'd made it. It's a wonder that her son had made it anywhere in this world, really, with her as a mother, she thinks sadly. Now she's in her car outside the station, just sitting there. There's still work to be done, after all. Besides, what the hell else does she have to do? The answer is simple.
She has nothing. No one.
She closes her eyes and inhales slowly, trying to calm herself down. It seems impossible, and yet also much too easy. Inside her, she simultaneously feels a violent storm and an absolute emptiness. It shouldn't even be possible to feel both of these things at once… and yet, she does. When Jack had left for Chicago before… well, she hadn't been alone. But now… she has more than burned that bridge. One more thing that she has done to fuck up her own life. She had thought that she'd been alone for most of her life, but looking back, at least she'd had Jack for the past decade and a half or so. For the first time since before Jack was born, she is really and truly alone. She tries to focus on clearing her mind, which isn't as hard as it used to be. She's gotten better and better at making herself numb to the pain.
She inhales deeply again, then exhales that breath and opens her eyes. She needs to do something. The sitting here, the thinking, doing nothing… that's what will kill her. She has to do something. Work had always been her savior, the one thing that brought her back from the edge. The only thing, until she had met… don't even think it, she tells herself angrily. Focus on work.
That's her cue to move, and she jerks the door open, thankful that there's no car parked on the left side of hers, because she surely would have smashed her door into any car that might have been there with the force with which she opens hers. She slams the door just as hard again after her, ignoring the looks from a few people who happen to be walking through the parking lot at that moment. She has never cared what anyone else thought, and she certainly isn't about to start now.
Get ahold of yourself, she orders herself as she walks across the wet concrete. She knows that she's wound up tight – what else is new? – and she struggles to focus on what she needs to do for the case. Her mind automatically starts sifting through the details of the Stansbury case as she walks, and by the time she reaches the door of the station, her stress is almost back at a management level. She's lost in thought as she weaves her way through the halls that are filled with indistinct chatter from the officers around her, but she comes to an abrupt stop as she rounds the last corner before reaching her office. Their office.
At the far end of the long hall she sees Holder standing with Reddick. Holder isn't saying anything, but Reddick is leaning in close, saying something to him. She feels as though the pit of her stomach has suddenly dropped. Is he confessing? What did he tell Reddick? That asshole Reddick has always had it in for me, and he'd definitely love to hear the story of what Sarah Linden did to Lt. Skinner.
Suddenly, her heart is beating so fast that she can't hear anything else, as if it had moved to her ears and is blocking out all other sound. She watches, with the now familiar feeling of everything moving in slow motion around her taking hold. As if it's some kind of nightmare, Reddick claps Holder on the back good-naturedly, then walks away, leaving Holder standing there. Neither of the men walk in her direction, which is lucky because Linden's feet are glued to the spot where she stands.
Linden watches as Holder stands there for a long few seconds, seeming to stare at nothing before he turns and disappears around the corner at the end of the hall. Only then can Linden hear the sounds around her again as they slowly fade back in. She lets out the breath that she hadn't realized that she'd been holding and blinks in disbelief. They're already broken, damaged beyond repair, but it now appears that Holder has… that he has done the unthinkable.
He betrayed me, was all her brain could repeat, over and over. Even in their current state, she'd never imagined that he would have stooped so low.
Suddenly the air around her is choking her, and she has to get out of there. She doesn't know why, only that if she doesn't get out of the station immediately, she's going to pass out. As she staggers back the way she had come as fast as she can, almost knocking over several confused looking unis, more than one person notices her strange behavior. A few of them even try to call out to her, to ask her if she's alright. She doesn't hear any of them, only the voice in her head that's screaming at her to run, to move, to get out of there before she chokes on the air that's so full of betrayal.
It's not the first time that Linden's fellow officers have watched her acting strangely, especially lately. They know that she's under a tremendous amount of stress, and that she doesn't handle it particularly well. They also know better than to try to get in her way when she's after something, and since she's moving with determination, they don't dare try to stop her.
She pushes through the doors of the station as fast as she can, making it across the half empty parking lot to the fence that's just past where her car is parked. Her fingers grab the holes in the chain linked wire, and she leans her head forward against it, suddenly feeling like she's going to be sick. She gasps for breath several times before the breaths turn to choked coughs, and then suddenly her stomach is heaving. Without any further warning, she throws up what little was in her system, which consists mainly of coffee. She doesn't remember eating anything else in… how long has it been? She has no idea anymore. That was always something that only Holder kept track of, not me. The thought is enough to start another round of heaving, though there's nothing left to come up this time.
It's at least five minutes before she manages to steady herself enough to stand up and let go of the fence. She turns around and scans the parking lot, which is uncharacteristically empty for this time of night. Her first instinct is to feel relief that there's no one around to see her in her current state. Yet, at the same time, the fact that there's no one there is like a punch in the gut. You've always been alone, the voice in her head reminds her with an icy calm, Why does it suddenly surprise you? Bile rises in her throat yet again, and she pushes it back down quickly. There's nothing left in her – nothing left in her stomach to throw up, and nothing left in her emotionally, either. She needs to focus on work and yet… at that exact second, what she needs is to drive. To get away. To be somewhere else, anywhere else. Somehow, she makes it the few feet to her car.
…
She had driven around for half the night. If anyone had asked, she couldn't have told them where she'd actually gone, all she knows is that somewhere around 3:00 am she had ended up back at her house and had laid down in bed for what turned out to be a fitful sleep.
The nightmares begin pretty much as soon as she closes her eyes. She doesn't remember most of them when she wakes up at dawn, only that she'd woken up in a cold sweat more times that night than possibly any other night of her life. She doesn't want to go back to sleep after any of them, but she can't bring herself to get out of bed, and her body is so tired that somehow, despite her best efforts to stay awake, she just keeps dozing off again and again.
The last nightmare is the worst, at least as far as she can remember. She's dressed to go for a run, and she's been moving fast along a trail in the woods, except she's running as though she's running for her life, running to escape, and not as someone who's just out for a run. She runs until she has to stop to catch her breath. She comes to a stop by a small beach, where she sees something sticking out of the sand. As she walks closer, she sees that it's a red pinwheel, like the one that Jenna Geddes – her mother – had told her that she'd liked so much at a parade long ago, when she was four years old.
It makes her sick, the fact that the words of this woman, this stranger, are so obviously still in her mind, that someone she had always been so determined to have absolutely nothing to do with is having such an effect on her. She hates that she cares whatsoever. She works so hard not to care. She always had. It's the only way she knows how to protect herself.
Protect yourself from what? she occasionally wonders. And then something happens, someone else gets just a little too close to her and she ends up hurt, and then she remembers what she was protecting herself from. It's happening again now. But why? Jenna Geddes is a stranger. She has only ever spoken to her twice that she can even remember. She hasn't let her in… has she? Linden hates that the woman's words are stuck in her head.
In her dream, Linden kneels down beside the pinwheel and pushes the sand back to reveal that the pinwheel is being held in the sand by… her. Sarah Linden, herself. She's buried in the sand, looking rather dead. But… she knows that she isn't dead! As she crouches there, confused, in front of her dead self, however, someone holds a gun to her head, cocking in just beside her ear. That's when she knows. In that split second, she just knows that it's all over. She can't decide if she's terrified, or relieved.
This is it. It's over.
She sits up bolt straight in bed at the same second that she hears the gunshot, and it takes her several seconds to understand that her dream had been just that, a dream. It had seemed so real. It's hard to catch her breath, and she struggles to calm down, falling back down against the pillows as her eyes fell closed again.
Linden wakes up again in a panic. She doesn't know how much time has passed, but the dawn has given way to the muted light of an overcast Seattle day. It doesn't matter what time it is, not really. She only knows that she has to find that second shell casing. She finally finds the strength to push herself out of her bed and staggers across the room and down the stairs to the first floor. She heads for the dining room table like a woman possessed, and once there, she begins frantically moving everything on the table. She looks under everything, leaving the table an even bigger mess than it had been when she started, if that's possible, and when she doesn't find it, she moves to the floor.
It has to be here somewhere, her mind screams. And yet, it isn't there. Just as her desperation reaches a fever pitch, her cell phone rings. She doesn't want to talk to anyone at the moment, and she considers ignoring it except for the fact that the ringing sound is grating on her every nerve. When she looks at the caller ID, however, she's glad that she did, because it's possibly the one call that she doesn't want to ignore right now.
…
Holder knows a lot of things about himself. He knows that he's acting really fucking guilty right now, despite his best efforts to stay calm. He knows that Reddick is on to him now too. Ever since he cornered him in that goddamn bathroom, told him to come clean before he went to the Deputy Commissioner's office the next day… he knows that it's unraveling fast. He just wishes he knew what to do about it. Because despite what Reddick seems to think, there is no way in hell that he's going to rat out Linden. Never mind that at the moment he isn't sure they'll be able to be in the same room together again any time soon, and that he's afraid that their friendship is over.
Still, he reminds himself that his actions aren't a reflection of her, they're a reflection of him. No, he's not perfect. Yes, she's fucked up – he is, too. He's pissed as hell at her for so many things, but mostly he's pissed at himself. There are so many things along the way that he could have done differently, so many ways that he could not have ended up here, in this fucked up place that they can't go back from. The NA meeting where he spilled their secret? That may be why Linden is mad at him, and why they fought such a nasty fight, but that isn't all of it. If he was a better friend – a better man – they wouldn't be here. He'll share some of the blame with her, but really, when it comes down to it, he holds most of it back for himself. Regret is all that he has left of what used to be the most important friendship he's ever had, and he has only – okay, mostly – himself to blame.
So he leaves the station after his run in with Reddick and he just drives through the city streets, not even aware of his destination until he arrives there. He parks the car just off the road and walks slowly the rest of the way toward the short drop off over the water, the one where he'd finally, finally, found Linden after she'd been kidnapped by Pastor Mike. He stands at the edge and looks out at the water, the memories of that day echoing in his mind.
Get out of the way, Sarah! he hears himself shout in his mind.
Who's in the way now? he wonders. Is it Linden? Is it him? Who is in their way? Are they broken for good this time?
He can't help but remember the relief he'd felt that day, when Pastor Mike had finally given up and been in custody, when Linden had collapsed on the ground, gasping for breath as she struggled with what had happened to her. He'd sat beside her, he'd just been there with her. Now he let the emotions wash over him once again, wishing that it could just be that simple. He'd been so afraid that he'd lost her that day. And now, in a totally different way, he's afraid that he haslost her again. He sinks to the ground as he lets out a suddenly choked breath, closing his eyes and shaking his head.
He sits there on his knees, listening to the sounds around him. He hears the sound of nature – the water, a few birds in the distance – mixed with traffic up on the bridge. Biltmore Pier. He opens his eyes slowly and looks up at the wide expanse that spans the water, thinks back to the night that someone had called Linden to tell her to come up there because he had been pacing the median in some kind of mania. And she'd come, talked him down, hadn't even really demanded any answers. She'd just been there with him.
As fucked up as they had both always been, that had seemed to be their specialty. Just being there for each other.
Sighing heavily, he forces himself to his feet. He wants answers, but there are none. He wants to fix it, but he doesn't know how.
He hopes that he still can.
Suddenly remembering that he's due to meet Caroline for her doctor's appointment very soon, he turns back and walks slowly to the car. The weight on his chest is heavy as he looks back at this place one more time.
It can't end like this, he tells himself. It just can't.