Being back in uniform was definitely different. Stan had just stripped back into street clothes. It had been a short shift today, just requiring him to make his statement for everything that had happened. He prayed that it was enough to keep Ashley out of jail. It was what Tom would have wanted him to do – watch out for one of his girls.
"It sucks not being back out on the streets patrolling, doesn't it?" Officer Adrian Carter was just stepping into his uniform for his next shift. He warily eyed Stan up, as if waiting for agreement. An agreement that would provide enough words to possibly figure out his mental state.
Stan snapped his head up after tying his shoes. "Eh, a break from being on the streets is kind of nice right now. I think I needed it."
"Yeah?" Carter pulled on the officer's hat that tied in the black outfit. "I bet. Too bad that girl and other kid didn't die out on the streets too. The likes of them can rot in hell after what that gang did to your brother."
Stan snapped at the mention. He rushed Carter and shoved him up against a locker. "What'd you say?" His face had contorted into anger. His voice dangerously low.
"Whoa, Fletcher, man! What'd I say?" Carter's eyes were wide with alarm. "I just said that bitch and her gangster friend should rot in hell after what they did to your brother."
"That bitch tried to save my brother's life." He growled through clenched teeth. His knuckles were white from gripping the fellow officer's uniform. "She doesn't deserve any of this!" He snapped and pulled free of the man. He backed a few feet away. Putting a safe distance between the two. There was no way that he could guarantee not lunging at the man again, and distance was his only hope of holding back his temper and emotions.
"Hey, I'm sorry, Fletch. I didn't know." Carter smoothed his uniform out. His gray eyes flashed an apology. It made Stan feel guilty; he swallowed it down though, in an attempt to keep his instability to himself.
Stan didn't know what to say to him. He had been keeping all of his feelings locked away. He didn't know how to react with people beyond a professional level yet, other than to get mad at them. He had needed to be strong for Ashley and Chase. He had needed to put aside anything that had affected him from doing his job properly. Duty was first, before emotions.
"Are you okay, Fletch? A lot's happened to you lately." Carter was clearly resisting the urge to put a hand on Stan's shoulder. "You and your brother were pretty close. We all loved him."
"Don't matter how close we were. He's dead now." Stan grabbed his black leather jacket and walked out of the room. He didn't have time for sentiments. No time for people to feel sorry for him. The air felt suffocating as he tried once again to lock down his feelings. It was useless this time. He needed air. He needed to escape.
Blindly, he pushed his way past other cops giving him their respect and flashing him their apologetic looks. He couldn't take it anymore. Between that and going through the hours of debriefing. Being questioned about every possible detail. It was more than he was able to handle.
He burst through the front doors and rushed down the seven or eight cement steps to the ground below. He jumped on his motorcycle. His jaw set hard and a lump forming in his throat. He wasn't sure where he'd end up, but he needed to get away. Now.
The neighborhoods and trees blurred by. A rush of colors that smashed together in a fury. He didn't pay attention to them. He just drove. Letting the wind whip through his short, messy hair. The growl of the bike wasn't loud enough to drown out the thoughts billowing over in his mind. He was tired. Tired of the pain that threatened to overwhelm him. To bring him to his knees in an undeniable fury that no one could stop.
He pulled up in front of a small house and killed the engine. He jumped off the bike and ran up to the front door. He fished around for a key and unlocked his way into the place. The place Tom called home was both a relief to see, as well as a damning emptiness that reminded Stan that his brother wasn't coming back. He shoved his shoes off and found his way down to the basement. Seeing memories of Tom scattered throughout the house.
His breathing was ragged as he peeled his jacket and shirt off. He flicked on a light that revealed a large punching bag hanging in the middle of the room. He tossed the clothes to the side, kicking his socks off along the way. He threw a hard kick at the bag. He was too angry to lose balance, only throw more force into the bag. He dashed out of the way before the bag had a chance to come back at him. He came back at it with a sharp right hook. Then a left. Then both fists right after each other. He laid into the bag with as much power as he could muster. He needed the anger, pain, resentment, anything that was hiding behind his eyes out. Only memories of Tom came in though.
He remember his brother teaching him in this basement how to fight well. He had taught him how to make it through the police academy. He had watched out for him by preparing him for the future. It was the desire to be like his big brother that had kept Stan going. He loved the job just as much as Tom had, but it was times like now that reminded him of the parts that he hated.
The sweat glistened over his thick, well toned body. His eyes were blazing. "How the hell am I suppose to do this without you, brother?" He ground out another punch.
"You left me to clean up your damn mess!" Another jab at the bag. "She needs you! I don't know the first thing about how to help Ash in this mess." Another right hook.
"Did you even think about Molly?" He threw another double at the bag. "She's your daughter! What the hell do you think this'll do to her?"
He couldn't feel the pain reverberating through his fists. He just laid into that bag with as much force as he could. More then what a normal man could probably do, but with the emotion twisting raw into him, he wasn't a normal man. He was a fool to believe that his brother would always be with him. Watching his back. Where was he when Tom needed the protection? He was too damn busy undercover. Blocks away from the fate that had taken a life that should have had many more years left to live.
His gut twisted as he thought about Ashley being there with him. Seeing it happen. Watching him die without being able to do anything about it. What would this do to her? What would happen to her after what had been finished in the alley?
His pull only had so much effect. He was new to this police force. His brother had all the creds. What did he have? A name. A name that he'd have to live by and prove his worth. Now he had backing after being undercover. Something that showed that he could get a job done. Something that proved that he could be ruthless if he needed to be.
He hugged the bag when it came flying back at him. It nearly shook him off balance, but it didn't matter. A dull ache tried to make itself rawer. It reminded him that no matter how numb he had tried to feel, the pain was just as real as it was days ago. He just hadn't dealt with it. How could he deal with it? He didn't know.
His head bowed into the bag as his eyes pinched shut. "I still need you." He whispered through the lump forming in his throat. Anger, exhaustion, pain. None of it was more real than that at that moment. He backed away and threw everything he had in a double punch, pounding the life out of the bag.
He inched back slowly, before dropping to his knees and grabbing his head. The breath wheezed out of him as the tears he had done so well at holding back became inevitable. He could feel them rush down his face in hot streams that were unstoppable. He moaned as he tried to push them out of his eyes. Trying to stop the tears. Now that they've started, he didn't know if he could stop them. His chin quivered as his breathing became rapid huffs. He growled out his pain, unsure of how else to get rid of it.
Surprise edged its way in as he felt a hand grip his shoulder. A warm body knelt down next to him. Quiet and still. He wanted it to be Tom. He wanted to hear that it was all just pretend. A gracefully committed lie. One that could be taken back and forgiven. A false hope warmed him inside. He chanced a glance to his side.
Dom's wiry build leaned up next to him. A quiet comfort as his eyes met Stan's. Apologetic and dark. His grip was strong. Unnerving and stable. Reassuring. No words moved from his lips as if he knew that nothing he could say could change anything.
"I'm sorry about your brother." Stan choked out. The distraction made it easier for him to breath. It was welcoming.
Dom's dark eyes looked confused. "How..." His voice cut off.
"I knew before I went undercover." He tried to steady his out of control, ragged breathing. "My brother knew everything about who Ashley was with. He wanted to make sure she was safe." The words came easily. Straight forward.
"He never told her, you know." Dom looked at the still swinging bag.
"I had an idea. Didn't know for sure though until when she started seeing you." Stan dragged a fist over his eyes. The pain was duller. Time would heal it. He just needed to be patient.
Dom's gaze grew cooler. He searched Stan's face as if looking to see if he knew something, before pulling his gaze and hand away. "You don't know?"
Stan swallowed away the remainder of the lump in his throat. Making it easier to breathe and communicate. "Know what?"
"She's not talking to me. Won't even look at me." Dom's jaw set hard.
It was Stan's turn to put a hand on Dom's shoulder. "She will. Give her some time."
Dom shook his head. "I really blew it this time."
Stan wasn't completely sure of what all had went down, but he had some idea. He had overheard parts of conversations, enough to know why she was angry with him. "Doing what you can to protect someone is always a noble thing, Dom. Not hiding behind that safety net, though, is what shows a person how much you really do care about them. Giving them the option to make a decision shows that you have faith in their decisions as well. It shows that you have faith in them." The words flowed easily from his mouth and although meant for Dom, were comforting to him as well. It was like he hadn't thought of that way with Tom. They had risked communicating with each other while he was undercover to ensure that each of them were safe.
Tom's death wasn't his fault. There had been nothing in his power where he could have protected him. They had each chosen their paths in life and both were full of kinks and danger along the way. It was the life that neither of them would give up. Until the grave beckoned their name.
Dom seemed to be considering the words. "Do you think I was wrong?" He looked up at him. His eyes searching for answers. For truth. His voice was more unsteady then usual. It didn't have that calm, commanding demeanor.
"I think you took the easy way out. It was easier for you to force your way through the feelings of not being able to see her, than it was to deal with the fact that she could end up dead because of you. There was no easy path, but yeah, I think you were wrong." Stan met the young man's eyes. No doubt was emitted. He spoke smoothly. Only honesty came from his lips.
Dom nodded and looked back at the floor. "I don't know how to fix it. I need her."
Stan pulled his hand back and swallowed. He remembered some of Tom's words to him about Ashley. He remembered looking into her file for himself. She wasn't someone that needed much, but she was also someone who didn't want to need anything either. "There's your first problem. She's lived most of her life in and out of rough foster homes and being on the streets fending for herself. Anybody can need food or need some other disposable thing. She needs to be wanted. She needs to know that you'd value her more then a simple need that could be disposed of. She needs to feel wanted, Dom."
Dom lightly grunted. "Liv had tried to explain that to me awhile back. I didn't know how to do that then and I still don't know how to now."
Stan shrugged. He could say what he could say, but only Dom could make it happen. "Maybe the only way to make it known is to tell her. Showing people something usually means more, but maybe telling her what you want her to know would be a better way for her to believe you. Or even just listen to you. Don't know if you don't try, man." Stan got up and offered his hand to Dom.
Dom looked at it for a moment before taking the man's offer. He jumped up, standing only an inch or two above Stan. "Tom was a good man. I'm sorry about what happened to him."
Stan believed him. He squeezed his shoulder. "Me too." He looked away and pulled in a shaky breath. "I was just going to check on Ash to see how she was doing. Wanna join me?"
"I don't know if it's such a good idea, Stan."
He smiled at the young man's wariness. "I'll tell her it was my idea. Nothing's going to happen if you don't reach out."
Dom nodded carefully. "Okay."
"We're taking my brother's car though." A slow smile reclaimed his face. He winked at him as a playful tone inched into his voice. "He had an eye for the classics."
-------------------------------------------------------
Poor Stan! I mean he lost a brother! It's awful!!
Okay, Dom did too, but let's be honest... his brother was pretty nasty... Just saying!
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