Work Text:
Junk, junk, junk.
How much can one single person accumulate on a phone?
Emails, messages, spam, a bunch of numbers I no longer call.
But it's necessary. "Fresh start" like Angel put it. Maybe he's right. After all, he was the only one who could offer me some advice that wasn't just straight up shallow bullshit.
I had to do it. I had to move on, and that meant doing shit differently.
Even if in a still very messy apartment. I'll get around to it. Bottles, boxes of takeout and some... unprescribed pills that sat untouched for the better part of a day.
What the fuck am I becoming?
This is how I cope?
It's fucking dumb.
That's something she would say.
But...
I can't wallow in it.
I'll grab another beer and get on with it.
"Joey Quinn, your free trial is almost up!" Dumb spam email. Delete.
"Your package is being held up in customs. Pay this fee to..." What am I? Stupid? I don't even order shit from abroad. Delete.
"Try this miracle drug that will enlarge your..." Alright. I bet Masuka fucking signed me up for this one. Delete. I clearly don't need it.
I could feel the couch denting below me with every minute I spent just organizing my damn emails. I didn't even know they would pile up like that, honestly.
Live and learn.
Now with text messages.
Keeping some. Those I know and work with. Colleagues and friends. Family.
Deleted too many pictures I do not need, numbers I do not call and useless files.
Down to the last pit stop.
Voicemail.
"Quinn, it's Batista. Get your ass to the crime scene now."
Old one. Delete. Don't need a reminder of how strict Angel can be as sergeant.
"Hey, Joey! It's Vince! I'm down at this bar-"
It's always some raunchy place, even for my taste. Delete.
Phone calls upon phone calls about work and perps.
Don't need any of that, I wonder why I keep them for so long anyway.
Huh. Funny.
Unknown number called months ago.
Probably something meaningless.
And yet... Something about it screams listen.
Why would I save an unknown number's voicemail?
I press play. And there's crackling on the other end.
And then a deep breath.
"Hey, Joey..."
Pause.
Fuck.
This can't be.
The sound of her voice... like glass just shattered and I've been cut with every tiny piece.
Like a cold wave rolled over me.
Honestly feels like my heart dropped to my stomach.
It's been months since I heard her voice. So long that I thought I'd forget it soon. Not that I want to, I hope I never forget how she sounded.
Now suddenly... It's here?
Is she haunting me?
Do I deserve it?
Debra. I miss her. So fucking much. I still love her. SO fucking much.
It's like for the first time in months I can feel my heart beating again. Like I woke up from this semi self induced trance ever since the doctors told me her condition.
The blood pumps through my veins in a weird anxious feeling all while the cold waves continue to crash onto me.
I even have to sit up straight for this. All while I still hover over it once more.
I can't think. What can I think?
Throw the phone on the coffee table. Press play. Don't touch it 'til it's over.
"I uh... I'm sorry about today. I know I've been a fucking mess."
Back when she was working that case, the jewel robber. Briggs.
I can just imagine her, hand in her hair as she paced back and forth.
Wind in the background, like she’s outside.
"I just want you to know that... It means a lot to me, everything. You know, with the DUI thing and all."
Called me up at 4 in the morning to pick her up. And even after everything, I didn't hesitate one bit.
I would be there for her in a heartbeat, whenever.
"You're a good person. I'm... I'm sorry I'm not... Fuck, what am I saying?"
Deep breath again.
"I wish things were different. But I know it's too late."
It wasn't. We fixed things in the end. And I was happy. We were happy.
"I don't mean..."
Of course she did.
She never admitted it.
But I knew.
"Anyway, I just called to say that. To be nice for once. To not be an asshole for the first time in a long while."
I miss her crudeness. No filters whatsoever. Just her, always, unafraid.
"Um, yeah. I'll see you around. Bye."
And it ends so quickly.
I sit in silence, almost static sounding.
I think I held in my breath without realizing.
God, I fucking miss her.
I miss her so much.
I miss her so much my eyes burn with tears. Like they've been building up since.
I don't think I cried ever.
So I do now. I process it once again.
Debra's gone. And she'll never come back.
We'll never get married. She'll never sign her name as Mrs. Debra Quinn.
We'll never live together.
We'll never have children.
We'll never grow old together.
I'll never say "I love you, Debra" again. Not to her face at least.
As cheesy as it all sounds, even in my head.
I mourn all of that, for the first time, properly.
Crying my stupid dumb heart out for the first time, alone in my empty apartment.
All I have left are traces of her memory. Some pictures I keep tucked away. Her badge.
And now her voice. When she was at her worst.
Was it fair to keep it? To keep a trace of when she was most lost?
Seems fitting. I'm only mirroring her situation now.
She would hate seeing me like this.
Cheeks burning with grief pouring out of my eyes as I try to keep myself together but can't.
How was I supposed to move on?
Knowing the one woman who could keep me on track and call me out on my bullshit is gone.
The one woman I had the heart for.
The one woman I ever wanted to get down on one knee for.
The one woman I love.
"I love you, Joey."
It makes me cry harder.
I still remember how weak she was. How she managed to utter that as her last words. And I didn't even say it back. Just said "What?" like a dumbass.
It never once crossed my mind that she would die.
I'd picture me driving her home after she was released from the hospital. Both of us well and fit to stand together for our future.
But it all ended so fast.
Next thing I knew, I was telling her brother she was brain dead. Just there physically. Gone forever.
I play the voicemail again, and again, and again.
"Bye."
On loop, all while I drink away my tears that seem to never stop.
"Bye."
We had so much to look forward to.
"Bye."
There's nothing else I can do. Not even a grave I can visit everyday with flowers. Just her memory, haunting me forever.
I should join her in whatever there is after life.
I could. Right now.
But I know I can't. Even if I were to join her, even if there's something after, she'd be disappointed.
Doesn't mean I don't think of it every now and then. Mostly when I'm at work, staring at her old desk where she used to sit.
Back when we were partners. When she hadn't made Detective yet.
Her hair was so short back then.
We were younger and dumber. At least I was definitely dumber.
I spend the night drinking myself away again.
Thinking about all the possibilities we had to be happy.
And how it can never be.
The screen is stuck on her voicemail.
I don't think I can delete it. I know I should.
If I delete it, I may regret it forever. But if I leave it, it will haunt me forever. And it'll push me closer and closer to doing it.
I've considered options. I have a gun after all. To my temple or through the roof of my mouth. Wouldn't be pretty.
Pills almost never work properly.
I never really liked the thought of jumping from high places.
And I sure as well can't tie a damn noose.
It was a daily struggle once I found myself alone with nothing to do. In the dark, in silence.
Yet, I couldn't bring myself to be that honest with anyone. Not even Angel. I'd be suspended, forced to do therapy and counseling and shit.
I never uttered a word of it, I know I can handle this myself.
Eventually, at least, I'll learn to cope with it. Become numb to all of it.
Just work and get on with life.
All with a big empty space to fill.
But that's how it usually is, right?
I pretend to be fine and one day, I am. Sort of.
Right?
I have to.
That's the only way to go.
I can't give up. She wouldn't want that.
I love her too much for it.
So I'll live for her. With guilt, unsaid things and sorrow.
But I'll live.
I'll try.
For Debra.
It seems strange to let that hit.
Debra's dead.
I'm not.
I stare at the screen.
The voicemail stares back at me.
I know what I should do, but I don't know if I can.
Part of me wants to keep it for a little while longer, just in case.
In case I need the comfort of it, the softness of her tone.
As if it could ever truly comfort me.
All in all, it shook things up more than it settled.
But to delete this would mean accept her being gone forever.
She's not coming back. Ever.
I'll never go back to normal either.
But at least I still have a chance at trying.
I lean over, tears drying finally.
Delete voicemail?
It's funny. I'm so worked up over sound waves.
Going back and forth on this one stupid decision.
If I delete it, she goes with it. Not just the voicemail.
Nothing ever is just surface level.
If I keep it, one day I might be the one going.
And I can't perpetuate this.
I think of my friends. People who would be just as affected by my death as I am with Debra's.
I can't be selfish.
I have so much ahead of me.
Even if without her.
Delete.
I love you, Debra.
'Til the last of my days.
That's it.
And life moves on.
Nothing more.