Work Text:
Noel Finley killed a man for the first time last night. The sun hadn’t quite set, glaring in his eyes as he begged, screamed, for the man to just back down. The bullet went in quickly. No matter how many times it happened, Charlie was always surprised by how easy it was to fall apart.
The worst part wasn’t hands scrubbed raw despite not a single drop of blood getting on his skin. It wasn’t the three men it took to drag Noel back to the station. It wasn’t even each call blocked by a door or the chief pushing him away from Noel.
The worst part was the silence.
The worst part was Charlie not being there, the only person who wanted to help with no ability to. Charlie had been sent home by the chief, and Noel had remained in the station. Charlie paced and made himself sick with worry. He wanted to call the station, to march back and demand Noel to talk to him.
But that wasn’t how shit like this worked.
So Charlie kept his distance.
The next morning rolled by with a missed call and nails digging into palms and limbs tight with distress. The afternoon ticked by and Charlie told himself not to call.
Noel would answer when he’s ready.
The second night passed much the same. Pacing, waiting, hoping.
Charlie went into work, his uniform so pristine from worry-cleaning that it set him on edge all over again. Noel was in the chief’s office. Charlie could see him through the window. He passed by so many times, working up the courage to knock.
Noel looked up, made eye contact. Charlie convinced himself there was recognition behind that blank stare.
He lingered late that night, standing outside the office door.
“You have to give him time, Dowd. Shit like this is rough.”
“Yeah.” Charlie murmured. “I know.”
But that was his partner, his reason to live, his Noel Finely. Why should Noel respond to the chief instead of him? Was it because he wasn’t there that night? Charlie tried to convince himself there was nothing to be done, but his mind was always the last thing he believed.
Another week passed like this, and Charlie felt like his final thread was about to snap. Memories flooded back more and more each day, conversations bubbling to the surface with smiles and kind eyes from their whole life. But one memory shouted for the most attention, the only one Charlie wanted to forget.
The gun was hot in his hands, he wouldn’t be surprised if the metal branded itself into his palms. He was frozen, the only movement being blood seeping into the dirt. He stared at the man for an hour. A man who was just following the law, no matter how much Charlie hated it. A man who did nothing wrong in the eyes of Charlie’s coworkers. A man who saw two boys that got reckless last night, a man who recognized a uniformed officer as a fraud.
A man with a bullet in his throat, to put it simply. Technically survivable if you’re annoying enough, but Charlie had too good aim for any bullshit exceptions.
After ages, or maybe a couple heartbeats, Charlie forced himself into sluggish action. He holstered his gun and stumbled towards the man, kneeling in the mud. At least his eyes had closed out of fright. He nudged his head, pushing it so it was looking away, closed eyes be damned. A disgusted shutter passed through Charlie as he wrapped his hands under the man’s armpits to drag him back.
The lake was close. The blood trail was incredibly obvious, but there was no one around to hear the gunshot. By the time someone noticed he was missing, Charlie would be cleaned up and in the bed of some rich girl who wouldn’t be paying attention enough to tell the time.
He dumped the body into the lake, and stood tall soaked in blood and sweat. His uniform was destroyed beyond saving, but he wasn’t stupid enough to dispose of the evidence.
Nobody would know. Not even Noel. Not even when the two fresh-faced detectives were put on the murder case that went cold. Noel was squeamish when it came to the water bloated and fish-eaten corpse, so if the only other detective didn’t ask questions, nobody would.
Charlie found himself at the edge of the lake now, staring blankly into the depths. The corpse was long since gone, but who knew what other spirits rested beneath the surface? In his bag was the bloody uniform, hard with dried blood and stuck in its crumpled shape where it had dried in a trash bag in the back of Charlie’s safe.
This was the first time he killed a man. And he refused to shut down. He went back home and took the case with a nod and joked with Noel in the car to the scene where he stood blood soaked just the night before. He afforded the corpse with the proper solemnity while Noel puked in a bush some ways away. He took care of the reports and spoke to the family, and picked up dinner on the way home.
Some irrational selfish part of Charlie wanted Noel to be the same way. He wanted Noel to stand, to wash his hands and just say something. Charlie didn’t sleep for the rest of the night, anger spinning out of control in his stomach, so much so that hot guilty tears stung his eyes as the sun began to rise.
Charlie dragged on his uniform, and he could feel the rigid blood soaked fabric, despite this uniform being clean. He could feel the dirt under his nails and the lake water in his shoes. Still now, he stood and he went to work and he greeted his coworkers and gossiped with the secretary and pretended there was no blood on his hands.
He was still smiling over his shoulder at something the deputy was chuckling about as he walked into the detective’s office that he didn’t notice who was just behind the door.
Charlie ran straight into him, swearing as his hand instinctively went to the knife in his belt.
“At ease, soldier.” Noel said weakly. But that was his voice. And there he was. And Charlie almost fell to his knees.
He leaned against the back of the door to steady himself. “Hey.”
“Hi.”
“A- Are you okay?” Charlie asked breathlessly. The evil selfish anger dissipated immediately, replaced by a tentative hope, growing like mold in his stomach.
Noel didn’t respond, looking at his feet. “I’m sorry.”
It was exactly what Charlie wanted to hear, right? And yet his entire consciousness twisted with guilt of his own. “It’s okay.”
Noel didn’t close the distance between them, so neither did Charlie. Noel lapsed into silence again, and Charlie forced his feet to carry him to his desk.
“Are you going home?” Charlie asked.
Noel shook his head. “Not until you do.”
Silence, again. Charlie didn’t try again until the day began to close. Noel was sitting stone-still in his office chair, his stare blank and fixed on the ground.
“Noel?” Charlie lingered to the side, too scared to do anything else. “I’m going home.”
Noel nodded and shakily rose, not meeting Charlie’s gaze. Charlie took a deep breath and walked out of the station, the rest of their coworkers giving them a wide berth. Noel Finley, who used to be the life of even room, reduced to nothing but ash. Charlie led Noel to the car, which he got in with no complaint. But instead of driving home, Charlie found himself on the dirt road that led to the lake.
Noel realized too late where they were as Charlie parked the car. His hands tightened around his knees as he looked at Charlie with wide, panicked eyes. “Why are we here?”
“Just get out of the car.”
Noel, for his part, didn’t argue. He dragged his feet as he trailed behind Charlie to the lake’s edge. The sun was beginning to set, but it was too cloudy for the golden fire sun to make the water glitter. Charlie stood there, letting the words form on his tongue.
I killed a man too. You aren’t alone. See? I understand you. Talk to me. Please, just talk to me. Who else in this world understands you like I do?
“I still see him, you know.” Noel said before Charlie could verbalize his thoughts. “The uh- the man we found here.”
Charlie bit his tongue.
“I still… still think about his… skin. Bloated and rotten a- and- and bitten.” Noel hugged his stomach, wrecked curls falling in sunken eyes. He looked ready to throw up or start crying, or both. “And the fucking larvae in his wound, right in his neck.”
Charlie kept his expression shuttered, painfully still despite feeling the rot crawling beneath his skin as if he was the corpse instead. He very well could have been.
“Right in his neck. Isn’t that fucked up?” Noel let out a humorless laugh. “He couldn’t even scream.”
He didn’t.
“It was quick.” Charlie said. “Probably, I mean. Hard to survive a bullet through the throat.”
“What kind of monster would do such a thing?” Noel whispered. Charlie closed his eyes as if he was praying, but he gave up on that flavor of hope long ago. “I want to go home, Charlie.”
“Okay.” Charlie said, letting his eyes open. The sun had already sunk below the trees. He could barely see Noel turning to go back to the car. Charlie sank to his knees, burying his face in his hands.
What kind of monster, indeed.