Violent Eulogy

Second Chance

Two hours later, I'm sitting at the bar, waiting for Captain Preston to get there.

I've always knew that he knows about us on some level, but Ash, being the eternal avoider that he was, decided to play dumb, so for a year and half, whenever we wanted to choose partners, we chose each other, and he always picked us to work with each other, in a way he was our pimp, and a very good one at that.
I doubt anyone else in the station noticed the reason. Or maybe Ash has rubbed off on me, maybe I'm fooling myself too.

"Please don't turn into an alcoholic, I've dealt with much more than one's fair share of those."
He's here. And points at my whiskey with a small curve in his lips.

"I might turn into a lot of things Captain, but an alcoholic isn't one of them." I try to brighten the mood but his grim expression tells me somehow I've made it even more awkward.

"We all turn into a lot of things we never thought we would, Eva." He says quietly. And gazes deeply into my eyes:" Someday you'll find that out, if you haven't already."

That's right. I did turn into someone I never thought I would. I finish the drink with a single gulp.

Let the path to alcoholism begin then, it's not like I have much to lose anyway.

He gestures to the bartender and orders a glass of red wine.

I raise my brow and he glares at me: "What? I'm driving." He groans.

I smile: "Well, so am I."

He rolls his eyes and thanks the bartender for his glass: "Well, some of us don't have a death wish. And believe me, you're already chest deep in shit, don't make it any worse."

I shrug: "Didn't realize I was. Wynne cleared me, and the therapist he sent me to said I was fine too."
He smirks: "Oh so that's what she said, huh?"

I feel something tightens in my stomach, I narrow my eyes and try my best to keep calm: "What did her report say?"

He doesn't answer. Avoiding eye contact, he starts tracing the edge of the glass with his finger.

And I wait.

And waiting makes me angry.

The glass shatters between my fingers and I groan in pain as I feel at least half a dozen little cuts.

The bartender looks at us, wide eyes and scared.

Preston holds out his hand, gesturing him not to disturb us.

He finally raises his head and looks at me with a pained expression: "She didn't clear you, Eva. She said you're grieving, and you're doing it wrong. You're not processing your emotions and they're manifesting in all the wrong ways. She said you're too angry, too fed up and too impatient to be back on the field. That you would do more harm than good.

I want to disagree, I need to disagree. But there is blood dripping from my hand. And that definitely won't let me win this argument.

I just made her point for her. Damn it.

"I see." I say, defeated.

The bartender approaches us, against his oder, and meekly offers me a hand towel.

I take it without saying a word and wrap it around my palm.

Preston doesn't take his eyes of me when he asks him to bring the bill: "Be there at 8."

"Be where?" I ask, confused.

He looks at me, equally confused: "The station, of course."

"What? I thought you just said..." a ray of hope lights up everything.

He tilts his head and chuckles: "You think I care about what a damn shrink said? I told her she can go to hell. I know you, Eva. Not processing emotions and being constantly angry is a part of your character. It's always been there and has nothing to with Ashley. I made a few calls and got you your job back."

I freeze, there is no words in the entire world that can help me show my gratitude.

He understands that and nods with a small smile: "Just don't make me look bad. Okay?"

I nod in silence. And a real smile forms on my lips, after a very long time.

He pays the bill and is ready to say goodbye when I quietly ask him: "Captain?"

"Yeah?" he replies while putting on his coat.

"Can you give me a ride home? I think I shouldn't drive."

And for an split second, everything in the world is once again bright and hopeful.

He nods approvingly: "Sure."

"Well, that went well, got your job back and everything." Ash says from the sofa as I open my flat's door.

I roll my eyes: "Why can't you just find your fucking peace? Just go away! Shoo!"

He shrugs and puts his feet up on the table: "I can't. You murdered me, remember?"

I sigh and put my keys in the small green bowl, an ugly hand made house warming gift from his wife: "you said you were gonna leave me, tit for tat."

He glares at me and raises his voice: " YOU SHOT ME! IN THE BACK! LITERALLY! FIVE TIMES! HOW IS THAT THE SAME GODDAMN THING?!"

" So what now? You wanna stick around and make me go mad? Kill myself? A little too dramatic if you ask me." I say as I sit next to him.

He sighs: "Well, you killed me first, so that'll be fair. But no."

"What then?" I cross my arms, defensive and tired of his crap.

He runs his hand through his hair: " I don't want a damn thing, Eva. Because I'm not really here. You know, I'm nothing more than your stupid coping mechanism, apparently you prefer a mean, low quality version of me around better than not having me at all. Now this, this is dramatic."

I sit there, letting it sink in and then let out an exasperated sigh: " Yeah, that does sound like me, screw me."

And we sit there in silence. For a long time.

Until the night falls and even then we keep sitting there, in the dark.

Somewhere along the way I fall asleep, I have been sleeping just fine for a week now, with the exception of this morning, but it's still an strange feeling, after months, it is a dreamless sleep.

My disturbing dreams have now entered my reality and my dreams are once again silent and black and white. I'm once again safe in them.

For a long time I used to have nightmares about hurting Ash, of killing him, and I used to think, no matter what, I would never hurt him. Never.

But we all turn into a lot of things we never thought we would.

And now, that I've killed him, I can sleep, I can finally sleep fine.