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Charlie can’t move.
He’s at home, finally, three hours after Joe and Sarah hauled him out from the dirt, two hours after his debrief and examination, and an hour after the drive. (It shouldn’t have taken an hour, but he took a wrong turn and had to backtrack.)
Since then he’s opened the door to his home, shed his shoes, and that brings him to here, to this –
achingly dark, dirt clogging his throat and leeching into his mouth, throat raw from screaming for
Rex nudges his knee with his nose, and Charlie startles before realizing he’s on the couch.
He looks around, focuses on the tiny items that make this place home. The artwork on the walls. The staircase. The books strewn across the coffee table. Rex’s dog bed.
He’s here, he’s safe. His fingers tap against the leather – his hands won’t stop shaking.
A whine pierces the air. Rex nuzzles his knee again, his warm brown eyes studying him.
Charlie reaches out and runs his hand through Rex’s fur, matted with dirt. He’s been through the wringer – mud clings to his fur near his belly, and Charlie tries to brush it out. Fine gravel bits come off as well, their sprinkling against the floor harsh in Charlie’s ears.
Then he sees it. A thick line around Rex’s neck where his skin is raw. They tied him up, Sarah said.
He feels something, finally, anger snaking through his chest like a flood. It strengthens his resolve, and he moistens his lips.
“C’mon, pal.”
He gets up and walks to the washroom. Rex follows.
Once there, Charlie steadies himself against the sink. He doesn’t look in the mirror – he caught a glimpse of his bloodshot eyes and bruised temple back at the station and he’s had enough, thank you.
First, the suit jacket. He moves slowly, each movement exacerbating the pulsing in his head. Once it’s off, he drops it to the ground.
Now the tie. He undoes the knot, tugging and ripping, eyes on the porcelain sink.
The tie falls to the ground.
Charlie turns around to see Rex looking at him, cocking his head.
“You got it, pal.”
Kneeling beside the tub is more painful than he anticipated, so he stretches his legs out beside him and starts running the water in the tub.
Rex barks.
“Yeah, I know. Probably could’ve warmed it up while I was undressing.” He flashes a lopsided grin at his partner. “Nobody’s perfect.”
He runs his hand under the tap to check the temperature, and it’s liquid fire.
“Shit!” He snaps his hand back. Collects himself.
“Sorry, buddy,” he mutters, even though Rex probably doesn’t care about his language. He adjusts the tap. “Okay, that should be –”
Rex jumps into the tub and gives Charlie a good splash. Charlie chuckles, wipes the soap out of his eyes.
“– good.”
He rolls up his sleeves and grabs Rex’s shampoo from the shower ledge. It’s slippery in his hands, and he works it through his fur as gently as he can. The dirt and grime falls away.
As he scrubs Rex, he sees the mark around his neck.
And Charlie stops, hands deep in soap and bubbles.
They were almost ripped apart forever.
Charlie would’ve suffocated in there, in that hole, and God only knows what they would’ve done to Rex.
He looks into Rex’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Rex’s ears perk up at his words.
“I should’ve been more careful.”
Rex blinks.
“I should’ve seen that dart somehow, should’ve been paying attention…”
Rex paws at Charlie’s arm, like he’s giving absolution, and a dam breaks lose.
“I’m sorry.” His face crumples. “I’m really sorry, pal.”
Charlie’s cried maybe a handful of times in his life. There were childhood injuries. When his grandparents passed away. When his dad got hurt. This isn’t like that.
This is bone-deep weariness mixed with dread and the horrid realization of how close they came to dying. It’s an icy grip on his chest and gravel in his throat and aching sobs shaking his shoulders.
Rex licks his face, like he did when Charlie came out of the grave.
Eventually he pulls himself together and finishes bathing Rex. Once out of the tub, Rex shakes himself clean, and Charlie supplements his efforts with a towel.
“Okay, pal.” He opens the door and lets Rex out.
Rex turns and sits on his haunches. His whine is soft.
“I’ll be out in a second,” Charlie promises.
He turns the water on as hot as he can stand and sheds the rest of his clothing.
Charlie washes himself, gets the grit out of his hair and feet and fingernails. (Maybe a couple tears leak out. Whatever.)
Once Charlie’s finished, he finally looks in the mirror. His skin is blotchy from the heat – he’s mildly surprised he hasn’t fried it off. His eyes are still bloodshot, but he can’t do much about that. And the bruise is still a bruise, though the blood around it has been washed off.
Once his hair is sufficiently dry, he opens the door.
Rex jumps up from his position on the ground to place his paws on Charlie’s chest.
“Easy, buddy,” Charlie says, his smile softening his words. “Still a little sore, but I imagine you’re probably the same.”
He kneels and gives him a good pet. “Why don’t we grab something to eat, huh?”
//
Once Charlie finds a pair of pants, they order pizza.
He elects to sit on the living room floor, back against the couch leg and pizza boxes on the coffee table. There’s two – one for him and one for Rex.
Rex wastes no time attacking a slice, and Charlie finds he’s hungrier than he thought he was. Guess being in a hole for hours will do that to you.
It’s too quiet, so he flips the television on and reaches for his Coke.
And sees Lisa and her husband’s face.
The remote clatters to the table. His heart starts to quicken. It’s fine. Of course the news probably picked it up, nothing strange about it.
The words wash over him. Revenge. Murder. Noel. Grave.
And then he’s looking at his own face plastered beside them.
His hand shakes, and Coke seeps onto his sweatpants.
“Damn it!”
He slams the can back on the table and looks for a napkin, shoving the pizza boxes aside and dropping papers on the floor.
“Where the hell did I –”
He turns, and Rex is there in front of him with a stack of them between his jaws.
“Thanks, pal,” Charlie says, extracting a napkin and patting his pants.
His vision is starting to blur, and he runs his arm across his face. “Sorry, pal. I should watch my tone. I’m not mad at you.”
The tears won’t stop, and he extracts a few more napkins from Rex with one hand while scrambling for the remote with the other. The screen snaps to black.
“I was trying to protect them,” he says, and hates the way his voice wavers. “I didn’t want them to feel responsible.”
Rex drops the napkins into his lap, and Charlie stares at them.
“I wanted to do the right thing. That’s what this is about, right?”
He can sense his voice is getting louder, but he can’t stop himself.
“You do the right thing, you do your job, you find the truth, and it gets you a coffin.”
Rex is standing up now, growling, and Charlie knows he’s sensing his aggression and reacting to it, but he feels like he’s underwater and trying to get to the surface and if he doesn’t yell, he’ll never be yanked out.
“I can’t do this! I can’t do this anymore!”
Rex barks, and Charlie’s face crumples. He presses his fist to his mouth, quelling the waves of emotion. Normally he’d tell Rex ‘down’, but he doesn’t have the energy.
The barks turn to whines. Rex comes closer and nudges his way into Charlie’s arms.
“Maybe it’s time,” he says, barely above a whisper. “We’ve put years into this – maybe we should get out while we can.”
Rex whines, and Charlie looks into his eyes.
“I just don’t think I have it in me, pal,” he says. “Not anymore, at least.”
Rex cocks his head, eyes beseeching.
“But you love this job.” Charlie pets Rex’s cheek and sighs.
“Damn it. So do I.”
Rex moves closer and nuzzles his cheek.
“I know, I know. So what are we gonna do?”
Rex says nothing, and Charlie buries his face into his partner’s fur.
“Rex.” He says into Rex’s back. “Damn it, Rex.”
Rex whines, and Charlie holds him closer.
“We’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”
Maybe he’s trying to convince himself more than Rex, maybe it’s more of a mantra, maybe it’s a prayer.
But it’s something.
//
Darkness, hopeless darkness and dust choking his lungs and dirt in his mouth and where is Rex where is Rex where is
Charlie bolts upright in his bed. He swallows hard and waits for his breathing to slow down.
His heart pounds in time to the pulsating pain in his temples, and he grimaces. All this crying’s not helping his head.
He can’t stay here. In this room, his room, that’s supposed to be safe and not like a coffin–
Charlie’s legs move, finally. He gets up and goes for the door.
Snapping on lamps as he makes his way into the kitchen, he sees a dark shape jump up. He startles before taking a proper look.
“Sorry, buddy. Not having the greatest night.”
He grabs a glass from the counter and fills it with water and ice from the dispenser on the fridge, before spinning to grab ibuprofen from the cupboard. He shakes a couple pills lose and scoops them into his mouth before washing it down. He presses the glass to his forehead, lets it cool his flushed skin.
Rex whines, sniffs at his knee. Something lurches in Charlie’s chest, and he sets the glass down on the sink.
“I’m sorry,” he says, kneeling so he’s eye-level with Rex. “Bet your night’s not going well, either.”
Rex leans into his touch and licks his face. Charlie gives him a good rub.
“Tell you what,” Charlie says, straightening. “I know we don’t do midnight snacks, but I’ll make an exception.”
He rummages in the pantry and finds one of Rex’s milk bones. Rex barks and stands on his hind legs.
“Okay, okay,” Charlie laughs. “Down.”
Once Rex is back on all fours, Charlie passes him the treat and pets his head. “You’ve earned it.”
He straightens and leans against the counter for a bit, watching Rex gnaw at his treat. Like a dog with a bone… It’s funny. They’re both the same in that way, getting right down to the meat of things. It’s something that’s always helped Charlie in cases – this voracious need to find the truth, pick at every lead.
All to protect your precious reputation.
He clenches his jaw. Lisa’s weary face comes before him, and that of her husband. The hatred in their eyes. The hurt.
His eyes trace the line around Rex’s neck. To think that a pair of grieving parents tied him up.
(And buried me. Left me for dead.)
His stomach turns, and he feels it again, the rage filling his lungs, the loss of control, the absence of light.
And yet, he can’t hate them.
To lose a child is something far beyond his conception, and he can’t help but wonder what he would’ve done in their place. If someone had buried his little one, what lengths he’d go to.
Charlie shakes his head, rubs his temples. He’ll have to face Lisa tomorrow. It’s not looking good for her, sentence-wise. Joe had tried to talk him out of it, but Charlie insisted. He had to see it through.
Like a dog with a bone.
Out of his reverie, he realizes that he’s sitting on the couch again, just like he was when he’s first returned home. Must’ve walked over during his contemplation.
He looks back toward the closed door to his room, then looks away. Not happening.
Rex sidles up to him and sniffs his knee, and Charlie runs his fingers through his fur.
“Think we should call it a night, pal?” he asks. “At least, whatever’s left of it.”
A glance at his clock tells him it’s close to two in the morning. Fantastic.
He gets up and snaps off the lamps, one by one. He pauses before the last one and looks to Rex, realizing he needs the light to get back to his dog bed.
Rex whines, presses his nose into the cushions of the couch. Charlie smiles fondly.
“I guess I don’t mind cuddling,” he says, and off goes the last lamp.
He grabs the blanket hanging over the top of the couch and stretches out. Rex jumps up to settle on his chest. Once comfortable, Charlie spreads the blanket over both of them.
In a matter of moments, he feels his throat clench. Maybe he should’ve left the lights on – images of rocks and dirt and a lone camera come to mind.
Rex shifts his weight, and Charlie focuses on him – on the sound of his breathing and the weight of his legs on his torso. “Remember how we met, pal?”
Rex exhales, and Charlie rubs slow circles into his furry forehead.
“I mean, of course you do. I’ve just been thinking about it lately.”
Rex growls low.
We both have our issues, Charlie had murmured that day. (Mostly to himself, but to Rex too. It may as well have been just the two of them in the forest, despite the entire forensics team watching and waiting.)
Both adrift, dealing with different losses that brought them to the same place. He’s the bravest, kindest being Charlie has ever met, and he can’t imagine life without him.
Maybe that’s why he opens up to him more readily than anyone else.
“You were protecting Grace,” Charlie says. “You wanted to keep her safe.”
He’s played that moment thousands of times in his head, the way Rex snarled and snapped at the forensics team, before lowering his head onto his partner’s limp arm.
And then Charlie had knelt so they were eye-level, told him they needed his help.
“You answered the call,” Charlie continues. “And the rest is history.”
History indeed. Countless times Rex had put it all on the line for him, beat all the odds and braved all the elements.
Especially today.
“You know, when Jesse told me you showed up at the lab,” Charlie says, and now his throat is welling up, “I wasn’t surprised.”
He swallows hard, continues scratching behind Rex’s ear.
“I knew you’d find a way. You always do.”
Rex growls low again, and Charlie’s eyes spill over.
“I thought of you the whole time, buddy.” He looks out into the dark of the room, miles away. “If you were safe, if you were getting help.” He swallows hard. “If you were alive.”
Rex shifts his weight, and Charlie dips his head to whisper directly into Rex’s ears.
“I love you, Rex.”
For a second, he thinks Rex has fallen asleep. And then he feels the soft pat of a paw on his chest.
Charlie laughs wetly and reaches down to holds Rex’s paw there, over his heart. And wonders when the hell they both got so sappy.
“Tomorrow, after work,” he says. “Let’s go back and enjoy the view, properly this time. You and me, how about it?”
Rex answers with a soft snore.
Charlie chuckles. “Sounds good, pal.”