Billy Collins (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
heroeswork) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
alphabetcity2016-03-12 12:02 am
heroeswork) wrote in alphabetcity2016-03-12 12:02 am
Entry tags:
The fear of falling apart
(Billy on his own after the really bad threesome)
Billy ended up staying in Lexington longer than he'd originally intended when he walked out of the hotel room. He did go to his car, where he fell into a deep but troubled sleep. It was heading into mid-day when he finally surfaced again, his mouth dry as cotton and every part of him reporting unfit for duty for one reason or another. But the aches and pains, even his throbbing head, didn't matter so much as the hollowness inside him. It was like all that had remained of his heart, the box, and the impromptu walls and simply dried up and blown away. There was just nothing left. A numbness unlike the drugs had consumed him.
He returned to the room where it happened. He didn't want to be there, but he had to. He needed the shoes and everything he'd left behind. But when he opened the door, he couldn't move at first. He could only stare at the corner of the bed visible from the doorway. Fuzzy memories flit through his head, as if fragments of a terrible dream. His wrists throbbed, still bruised from the handcuffs. He only stayed long enough to gather up what he'd left. He intended to just leave. Go somewhere else. Go back to Langley. But by the time he got to the front desk to turn in his key card, he was just too exhausted. Summoning what little charm he had left, he convinced the man behind the desk to give him a different room, claiming he wanted a better view.
He didn't care about the view. He just ordered room service and took a shower hotter than was probably necessary. The food was tasteless as dust, but he forced himself to eat. He did all of this without really thinking. He let the white noise of his headache occupy his thoughts rather than considering the source of his pain. His stomach aching from the unwanted food, he crawled into the bed and slept again. Night fell and he barely noticed. The next day passed. He got up for water and another attempt at food. He turned on the TV, but it was just noise. Mostly, he just slept. Anything to not think, to not analyze.
All but the pain in his wrists was gone by the time he headed to the airport. That and the emptiness in his chest. But now he had a sort of clarity. It was harsh, as unbearable as a desert sun. Undeniable. Tim was lost to him. Turned on him. He wasn't sure he could do anything to him, though. He had more than enough to end the man's career. A phone call was all it would take. The deputy could easily have his badge taken away. Likely even end up in jail. But Billy couldn't do that. Mike, however, Billy could do something about.
By the time he landed in DC, he had a plan laid out. It would take some major violations of his own duties, and some various privacy laws. But that was really a day on the job for him. He needed to find out as much about Mike as he could. He didn't know the man's last name or anything else about him. What he did know is that he was a junkie, he probably had a record. He was linked to Tim. Whether in an official capacity or personal, all would take was a little digging.
And that's what he did when he finally returned to the office. He told no one about what happened to him. He even managed to act like himself for a day or two. When Martinez asked him about his long weekend, he just replied with "oh, you know. Same old, same old." And shrugged like it had been nothing remarkable. But by day four, all three of them were suspicious. Billy was quieter than usual. More focused than usual, but wasn't getting any actual work done. They were supposed to be digging up intel on their next assignment and yet Billy wasn't even throwing out his usual half-serious ideas. Because he was ripping apart federal databases looking for this mysterious junkie.
Finally, he had a name He even had addresses and phone numbers that he figured were wildly out of date. But using the information the marshals had on this CI of theirs, he was able to dig deeper. Follow the man's movements, sort of. He'd reached the point where he was digging through mountains of traffic cam and security footage, trying to find out more about this guy. He was sleeping less and less, now. His head was clear. If he could find this guy and break his face a little, then it would all be alright. He'd stop having nightmares. He'd feel whole again, not nearly so empty.
It was well into the second week that he looked up to see his three teammates gathered in front of his desk, looking at him with deep concern. Well, Martinez and Dorset were concerned. Casey looked the same as he always did, which was as close as he ever got. "Who's Michael Warren?" Dorset asked, arms folded.
Ice filled the gaping hole in Billy's chest. "Who?" He tried to play dumb. It never worked with these guys.
"Every few weeks, you go down to Lexington on your own," Casey said, sternly. He did everything sternly. "And now you've been doing nothing but looking into a low life from the area."
Billy shrugged. "Oh, you know, I figured he could--"
"Harlan County isn't exactly a hotbed for international arms trades or terrorist activity," Dorset cut him off. They knew him too well.
"We're worried about you," Martinez added. "You haven't been the same since you got back."
"I'm fine," Billy said as dismissively as he could. "I just found out about this guy, and all he's connected to." He spun a tale, weaving together all that he'd found. He even dragged in a mention he'd found about one of Crowder's associates trading mining equipment with drug lords in other countries, in exchange for cocaine. Or was it heroine? He made an excellent case for this being a genuine lead for something.
"That was well over thirty years ago," Dorset said finally. "Warren was in kindergarten at best."
"We will force you into a psych leave if we have to." Casey said.
"I'm fine, seriously."
"Take a few weeks, Billy," Dorset pushed. "Get yourself straightened out. You'd be a liability in the field."
"You've always taken care of us," Martinez said, a bit more gently. "Maybe it's time to take care of yourself."
Casey held up a finger as Billy started to protest. "Take a leave on your own, or we're shipping you off to a company psychiatrist."
"We'll still be here when you're actually ready to talk about it," Dorset added.
With a sigh, Billy finally agreed. A silent, sullen nod. But he didn't see it as a chance to sort himself out. He saw it as an excuse to return to Kentucky and hunt down Mike on his own. If he were there, it would be easier to ask questions. A sloppy junkie couldn't be too hard to find.
Billy ended up staying in Lexington longer than he'd originally intended when he walked out of the hotel room. He did go to his car, where he fell into a deep but troubled sleep. It was heading into mid-day when he finally surfaced again, his mouth dry as cotton and every part of him reporting unfit for duty for one reason or another. But the aches and pains, even his throbbing head, didn't matter so much as the hollowness inside him. It was like all that had remained of his heart, the box, and the impromptu walls and simply dried up and blown away. There was just nothing left. A numbness unlike the drugs had consumed him.
He returned to the room where it happened. He didn't want to be there, but he had to. He needed the shoes and everything he'd left behind. But when he opened the door, he couldn't move at first. He could only stare at the corner of the bed visible from the doorway. Fuzzy memories flit through his head, as if fragments of a terrible dream. His wrists throbbed, still bruised from the handcuffs. He only stayed long enough to gather up what he'd left. He intended to just leave. Go somewhere else. Go back to Langley. But by the time he got to the front desk to turn in his key card, he was just too exhausted. Summoning what little charm he had left, he convinced the man behind the desk to give him a different room, claiming he wanted a better view.
He didn't care about the view. He just ordered room service and took a shower hotter than was probably necessary. The food was tasteless as dust, but he forced himself to eat. He did all of this without really thinking. He let the white noise of his headache occupy his thoughts rather than considering the source of his pain. His stomach aching from the unwanted food, he crawled into the bed and slept again. Night fell and he barely noticed. The next day passed. He got up for water and another attempt at food. He turned on the TV, but it was just noise. Mostly, he just slept. Anything to not think, to not analyze.
All but the pain in his wrists was gone by the time he headed to the airport. That and the emptiness in his chest. But now he had a sort of clarity. It was harsh, as unbearable as a desert sun. Undeniable. Tim was lost to him. Turned on him. He wasn't sure he could do anything to him, though. He had more than enough to end the man's career. A phone call was all it would take. The deputy could easily have his badge taken away. Likely even end up in jail. But Billy couldn't do that. Mike, however, Billy could do something about.
By the time he landed in DC, he had a plan laid out. It would take some major violations of his own duties, and some various privacy laws. But that was really a day on the job for him. He needed to find out as much about Mike as he could. He didn't know the man's last name or anything else about him. What he did know is that he was a junkie, he probably had a record. He was linked to Tim. Whether in an official capacity or personal, all would take was a little digging.
And that's what he did when he finally returned to the office. He told no one about what happened to him. He even managed to act like himself for a day or two. When Martinez asked him about his long weekend, he just replied with "oh, you know. Same old, same old." And shrugged like it had been nothing remarkable. But by day four, all three of them were suspicious. Billy was quieter than usual. More focused than usual, but wasn't getting any actual work done. They were supposed to be digging up intel on their next assignment and yet Billy wasn't even throwing out his usual half-serious ideas. Because he was ripping apart federal databases looking for this mysterious junkie.
Finally, he had a name He even had addresses and phone numbers that he figured were wildly out of date. But using the information the marshals had on this CI of theirs, he was able to dig deeper. Follow the man's movements, sort of. He'd reached the point where he was digging through mountains of traffic cam and security footage, trying to find out more about this guy. He was sleeping less and less, now. His head was clear. If he could find this guy and break his face a little, then it would all be alright. He'd stop having nightmares. He'd feel whole again, not nearly so empty.
It was well into the second week that he looked up to see his three teammates gathered in front of his desk, looking at him with deep concern. Well, Martinez and Dorset were concerned. Casey looked the same as he always did, which was as close as he ever got. "Who's Michael Warren?" Dorset asked, arms folded.
Ice filled the gaping hole in Billy's chest. "Who?" He tried to play dumb. It never worked with these guys.
"Every few weeks, you go down to Lexington on your own," Casey said, sternly. He did everything sternly. "And now you've been doing nothing but looking into a low life from the area."
Billy shrugged. "Oh, you know, I figured he could--"
"Harlan County isn't exactly a hotbed for international arms trades or terrorist activity," Dorset cut him off. They knew him too well.
"We're worried about you," Martinez added. "You haven't been the same since you got back."
"I'm fine," Billy said as dismissively as he could. "I just found out about this guy, and all he's connected to." He spun a tale, weaving together all that he'd found. He even dragged in a mention he'd found about one of Crowder's associates trading mining equipment with drug lords in other countries, in exchange for cocaine. Or was it heroine? He made an excellent case for this being a genuine lead for something.
"That was well over thirty years ago," Dorset said finally. "Warren was in kindergarten at best."
"We will force you into a psych leave if we have to." Casey said.
"I'm fine, seriously."
"Take a few weeks, Billy," Dorset pushed. "Get yourself straightened out. You'd be a liability in the field."
"You've always taken care of us," Martinez said, a bit more gently. "Maybe it's time to take care of yourself."
Casey held up a finger as Billy started to protest. "Take a leave on your own, or we're shipping you off to a company psychiatrist."
"We'll still be here when you're actually ready to talk about it," Dorset added.
With a sigh, Billy finally agreed. A silent, sullen nod. But he didn't see it as a chance to sort himself out. He saw it as an excuse to return to Kentucky and hunt down Mike on his own. If he were there, it would be easier to ask questions. A sloppy junkie couldn't be too hard to find.