Let me sleep
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Thick files were neatly stacked on the desk, next to an almost empty bottle of some sort of liquor. An empty glass, sticky to the touch, was sitting in Steve's hand. He was starting to feel a bit dizzy already. Quickly glancing at the files, he grasped the glass in his hand tightly and then moved his gaze onto a plastic bottle, lying on the floor empty.
One?
Two?
Three?
Again, he couldn't remember. Steve was feeling drained at the very beginning of the week. The conversation with the team, held in the headquarters the prior night, completely drained his energy. It was unusually difficult for him to keep his mind concentrated on the conversation, remain invested in it, and refrain from physical contact with the team.
It wasn't easy trying to organize his chaotic mind. Why was he thinking so much? Why was he feeling so much? Why was he so scared?
Why weren't there any more pills in the bottle?
Steve struggled to find answers to those questions. The bottle on the floor was still empty, yet the glass in his hand was filled quickly. Shaking, he poured what was left of the liquid, and brought the glass closer to his nostrils, inhaling the intoxicating smell of the sweet alcohol.
It was time now.
Taking a deep breath while observing the glass so close to his face, Steve drank up. It burned his throat, warmed his insides and made his teeth clench. Already quite intoxicated, Steve's shaky hand missed the table and the glass hit the floor, smashing into pieces. The noise startled him so much that he nearly fell onto the floor himself, but managed to hold himself onto the desk. It took a few minutes to recollect.
Steve was calm now.
Trying to coordinate his movement as best as he could, Steve carefully reached his hand and grabbed the top file from the stack.
A picture of one of the dead shooters was the first to meet his eye. The man's beautifully warm brown eyes seemed to be staring at him. Steve couldn't breathe for a second while his heart was pounding, once again. He was looking at the picture, observing the man's every pore, line and freckle, remembering every strand of his auburn hair. It was a while before he flipped the page. A lot of words graced the page, which he could simply not read now. He flipped again.
The auburn strands of hair were tangled in messy, bloody knots. The man in the picture was lying on the floor with his rifle across his chest in a puddle of blood. Steve closed his eyes, feeling like he could throw up. Was it the liquor or the picture?
Feeling brave, he reached for another file. The envelope was as blue as his eyes were. He hesitated. Why did he spend fifty minutes convincing the team he could work the case if he couldn't even go through the paperwork? Why was he so afraid of papers? He tried smiling a little, thinking how paperwork was everybody's pet peeve.
Steve opened the file.
The image of the little boy colliding with the linoleum floor flashed in front of his eyes. Impulsively, he stood up as the chair behind him fell over and he let out a loud cry. Grabbing the liquor bottle closest to him, he tossed it across the room and sobbed through the sounds of glass hitting glass. The window glass broke into pieces. Steve was holding his head with the both of his hands, trying to get the images out.
The face of the shooter, lying dead with a smile frozen on his lips, was creeping at him from the desk. Steve maniacally groped his belt in search for his gun. It wasn't there. He wasn't even sure where he was going as he staggered across the room, throwing things off cabinets and tables until he spotted his shiny gun on the sofa. Without thinking, he fired shots at the table, trying to shoot the shooter. The picture was still there, the furniture around it had holes in it and Steve had no more ammo. As if he was giving up, he slid against the wall, hitting the floor. He was sat on the floor for a while, staring blankly ahead. It was peaceful for a while as he drifted away, somewhere between consciousness and asleep.
"Steve," he heard a voice calling his name and he winced, rubbing his eyes. They burned from the combination of touching them with sticky fingers and crying. He couldn't quite make out where the voice was coming from until he saw the front door open. He staggered towards it, instinctively holding his hand over his abdomen. A lot of light was coming through the open door.
Was it morning already?
Steve reached the door, immediately blinded by the lightness in front of him. Everything in front of his house was in white linoleum. Trying to adapt to the blinding lightness, Steve squinted into the distance until he saw a trace of blood. He looked down, suddenly there was blood on his shirt, especially where his hand was on the abdomen.
"Steve," the voice called again.
He raised his head, meeting the shooter eye to eye. And then he woke up, hitting his shoulder as he rapidly stood up. Nightmares were slowly becoming part of his daily routine.
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"Good morning, Commander," the lady behind the counter greeted with a smile which soon transformed into a worried grimace. Steve was visibly unwell.
"Morning," he tried to smile and nodded as he approached the counter. Sliding a small paper with something scribbled on it, he looked away. The woman looked at the paper.
Co-codamol
"Is your headache not getting better?" she asked worriedly.
"It is," he lied. "I hurt my shoulder. You know how it is with the five o," he tried to be nonchalant. The lady bit her lip, hesitating.
"Are you sure you are okay, Commander?"
"I promise," he forced a smile. The woman nodded and disappeared. She came back with two boxes of pills in her hand.
"Thank you, Jeanie," he whispered before he turned around and left the pharmacy. Jeanie waved back and kept looking through the window for quite a while after he was gone.
After a quick drive, Steve was parking the car. Noticing that Danny had just entered the building, he made a decision to leave the pills in the car this time.
Better not bring this to Danny's attention.
He entered the office in a clean, navy-blue shirt and a dark pair of cargo pants. Except for his thinner figure and tired, sunken face, he was looking just as usual. Danny glanced at him and the rest of the team soon joined them. As if it wasn't already a rough morning, Danny suddenly decided to make it worse.
"What do you mean you forgot the files? You insisted on doing the paperwork! How did you forget?!" he yelled, waving his hands everywhere. Perhaps he was doing it on purpose to tick off Steve.
"I forgot," he repeated through clenched teeth. Chin interfered, ordering Danny to cut it out. They went back to the case as Danny and Steve kept glaring at each other. The day went on with each of them in their own offices, trying to figure out the next move. They were getting nowhere with the case, weren't sure if there was anything left of the case to work on as all their leads were dead but also very aware of the governor's threat. It was stressful, to say the least.
At the end of the day, Steve stood up to leave. Danny, seeing him, quickly followed.
Steve sat in his car and drove off rapidly, hoping to get rid of Danny which – of course – didn't happen. Danny kept tailing him for the most part of the drive. He couldn't get rid of him. The speed of the cars was fast until Steve simply stopped his car, causing Danny to rear end him. Thankfully, the crash wasn't powerful enough to hurt either of them but it was enough for Danny to completely lose it. Steve, after checking if Danny was all right, simply drove off.
„YOU ANIMAL!"
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Steve was asleep on the sofa when he heard banging on the door. Another nightmare?
The banging intensified as seconds passed. Steve, still dreamy, wandered to the door and opened them.
Please let this be another nightmare.
He groaned as he saw Danny, red in face, furious. It must have only been a couple of hours.
"What! Is the matter! With! You!" he shouted, making dramatic pauses and stressing each word. Steve watched his face go from red to pale.
Shit.
Danny was silent as he shoved him aside, making his entrance into the completely messed up living room. Steve ran his hand across his face.
"Please, not now," he asked as a jolt of pain ran through his head. Danny did not oblige.
"What is this?" he snapped, immediately.
"Danny," Steve pleaded, feeling suddenly very anxious.
"Did you do this?" Danny's eyes were wide open. "What the hell-"
"Danny, not now!" he cut him off. Danny, instead of listening, walked closer to him, getting completely into his face.
"Not now? NOT NOW? Then when, Steve? When the hell are you going to get some help!?" he yelled. Steve clenched his teeth as Danny kept rambling.
"You are completely, one hundred percent, out of your mind, Steven, completely out of your mind!" he finished his rant and stopped waving his hands.
Before he could say anything else, Steve's fist flew straight into his face.
Shit.