The Dying Rain | ✔

21.

Ryan stood at the small bar, with his elbows propped on the counter. His hair ruffled and the same shirt as yesterday hugged his lean physique. The glass of wine seemed to stare at him with an questioning glare. 

He sighed as he tapped his foot on the ground and twisted a little in the small chair Gabris sat in forever. 

The apartment smelled of grilled fish and onions. The sizzle of meat being fried in the kitchen, in the far left corner, filled his ears.

"I don't get it," Brenda said cooking away, "591 cases solved by her in the span of three years and nobody questioned her once."

"You mean something, Brenda. Just say it, why don't you?" Ryan said, not turning around to face her or do anything which would make him acknowledge this conversation. 

The clang of utensils followed as answer. When Brenda didn't dignify his statement with an answer, Ryan gulped down the last sip from his glass. He slipped out of his chair and was suddenly too weak to walk upto his room. He scrunched his nose and shook his head, in the hope that the vertigo would leave him alone. 

When he managed to find his ground he turned around to look at Brenda. She grabbed the pieces of fried fish off the pan and placed them on the plates set on the counter. She seemed to have the usual hate for the world on her features. 

"If this case costs me my job-"

"I spent 10 years on service in Vietnam. Ten years and I was able to solve 450 cases. You solved 589 cases and you've worked for 12 years," Brenda said grabbing the plates after switching the stove off, "so, forgive me for being skeptical about a very elusive FBI agent who has no records of her whatsoever even in the world's most renowned agency."

Ryan sighed for the hundredth time that night. Brenda walked around the small counter and to the couch placed in the middle of the apartment. He watched her as she put the plates down and paused. 

"Want me to grab the forks?"

"Yes," Brenda threw her hands in the air and then buried her face in her palms, "God!" 

When Ryan grabbed the forks and knives he sat down on the carpet. He grabbed one of the plates placed on the table and rested it on his lap.

"There's something the Bureau isn't telling us," Brenda said through a mouth full of food, "I mean, if they didn't want this case to be solved why put their best agents on it?"

"This feels like a trap," Ryan said after a long pause, "like the bureau is setting us up for something."

"Right," Brenda scoffed. But even in her silence after that, it was clear that she believed in what Ryan had just said more than anyone else. 

Her heart dropped to her stomach. But she couldn't get her mind off Naomi.

"Look Bren," Ryan said, "I know...I know why this is so important to you,"

"You do?" Brenda raised her eyebrows, still digging in to her plate.

"Yes, of course I do," He said, "I've known you the longest anyone has on the team, and I know why you get your panties twisted on Bane's name," 

Brenda's hands stopped in mid air, contemplating perhaps. This didn't stop Ryan however, he was too drunk to not be emotional with anyone with a ear. 

"I've seen how great you two were together, heck doesn't matter if y'all didn't know each other in the academy, but when Naomi was a fresher you treated her like your sister-"

"Protégé," 

"See exactly," Ryan pointed his fork at Brenda, "You're a little fucked up here," He said tapping the edge of his knife on his temple, "But you have this," He said tapping his knife on his chest now, "You're not jealous that she amounted onto bigger and better things after she was promoted,"