Work Text:
She drinks too much.
Everyone here drinks too much; though the booze is different, there’s only one reason for all of them to get drunk. This reason walks in circles, tightening the ring of stuffy, stagnant air.
“The best breezes on the whole West Coast…”
Bullshit.
Strong drinks without any taste and any limits, long 4 AM runs followed by total exhaustion, winter fishing at minus 8 degrees Celsius with wet snow slapping in your face – and kicking all thoughts out of your head. There’s much more things that help too but the booze is the most effective, of course. Especially when you feel someone else’s death lingering near you – a death that’s already happened and you couldn’t stop it.
Deaths, in her case.
Yeah, booze is a classic.
“Hey, sailor boy, fancy buy gal a drink?”
How many of them were there, how many captains and skippers, chief mates and sea boys, who survived the shipwrecks of their happy lives? She knows all the ranks and ropes very well; her home is packed with mock ships and navigation books. She hates them all. She hates the sea and the darkness slumbering on its bottom.
The sailor boy smiles and reaches to get his wallet. Well, this means today’s a lucky day.
Three glasses later she looks at the gateway. The lantern winks obscenely; a quiet lantern rings in her ears as if coming from nowhere.
So, the standard scheme then? A good cop or a bad one? Or maybe she should just suck the boy off for a change…
“Is something wrong?”
His mug is too honest. Too trustful.
“FBI.”
Good that she didn’t throw her old ID in a bay when she wanted too, after all.
“Pick your jaw from the asphalt, shut your mouth, and listen closely, boy. Get out of this town. Get out and never come back again.”
Sailor boy runs off as fast as he cans. Probably even faster than he ran here, to this quiet corner. That’s a boy. Clever boy. Fucking prick who didn’t even bother to say “Thank you”. But what did she hoped to hear? “You saved my life, ma’am”? “Take care”? “Relax, psycho, your bosses decided to send you a partner and you grabbed his zipper first thing first”?
Sailor boy is already long gone and she still stands there looking at a blinking lantern until it dies out. She shrugs. Goddamn darkness. She hates darkness – and hates the sailor boys too, probably. She needs to go back to the bar and check whether this one did leave the town or she should try being more expressive. An ID, damn. How come she’s not fed up of all of this yet?
No one believes her.
No one in Washington believed her as well.
When she approaches the counter slowly, she notices that the bar is filled with familiar mugs only. This calms her a bit. She did it this time. Robert silently salutes her with a glass of whiskey and she takes it away from him, emptying in one gulp. She doesn’t need to say anything too. A hard evening. One of the many. Just like any other.
Then they drink and drink, and drink, and Robert starts telling about how he nearly died in Nepal during Yeti hunting. Just a year after he wasn’t accepted to the Academy. Such a big loss, those dicks in Quantico probably cried their eyes off. Robert still talks and talks, and she only needs to nod in time and to remind him to order more booze.
Hell knows who of them is dragging the other one home. Damn amateur, who sucks both in work and drinking. Sometimes she considers to cry crack and frankly tell him everything about why she’s stuck in this crazy place for so many years. He suspects something, of course. Smart guy. He’s nice, really nice – why spoil his life instead of letting him chase something unknown?
She knows her goal so well.
“Back off, I’ll go by myself from here. Come on, or you’re gonna wake the kids. Let’s skip that part with passionate sucking and kissing on my porch, okay?”
The deepest infiltration in the whole FBI history, she thinks while fighting the front door. As deep as it can be. Bite me, agent Cooper, from whatever hell you’re hanging out in.
The door opens silently and she hears a laughter – it’s barely audible. A bit disappointed. Very gentle.
Her hell is dark and smells of fresh bakery.
The light turns on.
Don’t look him in the eyes. Yes, do like that, squint – and he’ll pity you.
Don’t look him in the eyes.
“Oh, darling. Let me help you.”
He finally turns the switch off and carefully takes the cross of her neck.
Help me, help me.
God help me.