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mariamariquinha · 2 months ago

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Bossa Nova (Benny 'Borracho' Magalon x f!reader) - Eleven

Ten

Summary: You've made a decision.

Word count: 7.544.

Warnings: Cursing, talks about police work corruption, irresponsible use of alcohol, people being idiots and work-related situations. If I forgot something, sorry :/

Author’s Note: I remember that I said that there would be some fake dating stuff and there will, but not right now. I'm working on chapter 12 already, so it was a small change of plans but not a change of path.

I'll try to update on AO3 as soon as I can! Sorry for any mispelling mistakes as well; always safe to remind that English isn't my first language.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

****

The Los Angeles Sheriff's Department has just completed an operation that arrested a ring of robberies in luxury properties last Saturday. Police-grade weapons, special clothing and technological equipment that facilitate the breach of property security systems were seized.

You closed the fridge and stared at the 7-Eleven television curiously, a bottle of sparkling water in hand.

One of the gang's most notorious victims is technology entrepreneur Theo Park, who was in the house at the time of the incident and was attacked by the robbers.

“To bad things that come to good. If I hadn't been there, maybe they would have gotten away with it and not left enough evidence to get caught. I’m very grateful for LASD's dedication to solving this case.”

Theodore had once said that he appeared on an experimental college TV show and, after that day, he decided he would lose some weight so he wouldn't look so bloated on screen. He seemed to have learned his lesson; despite reporters shoving microphones in his face, he looked flawless.

“It's amazing how the rich get justice so fast, right?”

You blinked a few times and turned to the cashier, who was also watching the TV. You neither agreed nor disagreed; you approached the counter, placed the bottle on top and fished out a pack of licorice candies, which you also slid towards him.

“You work there, don't you? At LASD?”

Because he would know, right? Of all the other thousand times you went there and bought the same thing, without fail, and the other times you were looking for some alcohol after work. You would open your wallet and every time your badge would come into view. It wasn't really a badge, you wanted to argue as you held out the credit card to him and looked up, but you didn't know if it would make any difference to say that.

“Mm-hm,” You answered and he nodded.

“Huh. I don't doubt that your boss didn't carry this Park guy on his lap.”

Again, you didn't respond. Outside, in the parking space very close to your car, there was a pickup truck with a nice Confederate Flag sticker and the owner had entered the store a little before you, so you didn't want to take any chances. The cashier swiped your card and handed you a bag with the things you bought. You thanked him, wished him a good day and he told you the same.

You sat on the curb for about twenty minutes on the block before your building. You took out a piece of licorice candy and chewed it leisurely, observing the movement of the early hours of the morning and mentally calculating that you should soon get in, take a shower and remind yourself that you would be late for work, that there was something else you should do before going there. Yes, the work, the same one that would be buzzing with excitement at the conclusion of a case with so much repercussion, and that would remind you enough of things that you were willing not to remember.

Well, you should expect that; should learn to let it go.

Still, you thought about what you could do strategically: you would get in late, people would be already minding their own business, so you could get in easily.

It wasn't like Theodore was going to give up on the climb to become a popular person in the city alongside the most popular people in the world.

****

You had your eyes closed, face to the ceiling, hitting the back of your head on the elevator wall. Before you could hear the doors close, you heard voices getting closer to the point where they were inside the space with you; when you opened your eyes and lowered your head, you saw Nick, Benny, and Connors walking in.

They paid attention to you for half a second and looked away; Benny had a look that lasted longer, one that made you run your hand over the back of your head and stare at the ground.

“Hearing?”

The question made you snap your eyes up again, spotting O’Brien eyeing you curiously.

“... No,” You shook your head, forcing a small smile. “Got something to deal with this morning.”

“Mm,” He hummed. “Something important, eh?”

You didn’t know why you did it, but you swiped your eyes to Benny for a split second and spotted him pinching the bridge of his nose with a discreet sigh. When you turned back to Nick, nodded a little – a deep breath to not say the first thing that passed through your mind.

“It was.”

But there was a weird, sticky atmosphere. Connor’s hair was wet, they all smelled like shower – probably had a long night out, arriving that late at the station. You could tell, from the way Murph would be looking at anything but you, that there was an attempt to access you, a curiosity to know how you would react to the recent news, or to be in the elevator with them when everything was pretty much fresh in everyone’s minds.

The doors opened, like a breath of air along that tension. It was your floor. You shared a small nod with them, walked to the corridor… then stopped, turning to them and held the doors from closing.

“I-” You cleared your throat. “Congratulations on the case. You guys-” You looked at Benny again, saw him frowning at you, which made you frown back. “You did a great job.”

“Thanks,” Connors said when the silence stretched and no one, not even Nick, said a thing. It was weird to verbalize, weird to touch. Whatever confused expressions were splayed on their faces, it certainly was splayed on your face as well.

You nodded a little, feeling rubbish and robotic at the same time, and then you let your arm go, standing like an idiot in front of the closing elevator doors and giving all of them one last look.

****

Of course Big Nick or Connors would notice, but no one felt like verbalizing it. Untouched territory, like a silent agreement, that it wasn’t their business to poke through your drama with your ex. Maybe that was why Benny felt so weird with time, so invasive towards you even if he knew he was right – you were still someone who happened to be in Park’s life, there was no denying it.

They were on about three hours of sleep – hungover. They managed to hold off on the scoop until the morning, at least until the paperwork was signed; Benny remembered that they handed in the papers and Z had already found the girls to celebrate. Well, celebrate was a strong word. Benny went and enjoyed it, but little; he was home around 3, took a while to fall asleep and had a late morning. Nick needed a ride because he slept in the hotel room, so the two went back and found Connors in the parking lot.

It was strange. Benny spent days talking and listening to his ex's testimony, checking information about him, going deeper and pretending he didn't know anything when Z mentioned that the guy had graduated from Caltech, as if Benny didn't research for that already. And Theodore, fuck, he was an ass, but an ass still trying to be nice. He was polite, but his phrases and his words were a touch harsh, bordering impatience. He would look at him, then at Connors or Henderson or Nick, do an once over, put a tight smile on his face – like trying to fit in way-too-small shoes because it was pretty.

Benny saw that your face wasn't happy, and even if it was, there wasn't a sense of genuine relief in you. It wasn't like you didn't want the case to be solved, but it seemed like you were already fed up and wanted to take a band-aid off at once. Congratulate on the case, smile, leave. Don't give them a chance to ask anything, disguise it.

When the case was closed and they happily went to Theodore’s penthouse to give him the news, he said he would give them something, like a bonus for the Department or other things they might have wanted – you know, to compensate. Benny told him that they couldn’t accept because it would be categorized as a bribe, but then Theodore looked at him like he grew a pair of extra ears on his head like an alien, as if that even made sense.

After a while, he wondered if Theodore was confused because he thought with common sense about LASD or if it was because you, who was already married when you became official there, told him things about the Department's relations.

Still, when they arrived that morning, Theodore had delivered a breakfast basket to them – one that was already somewhat cold, but intact.

If it were up to Benny alone, it would continue like this until the end of the day, and the next day after that.

****

He called.

It was a new number, one you didn’t recognize, but you were already expecting calls from unknown places. You picked up, excused yourself from the chat you were having with Lennon about some material he delivered, went to the corridor – you said it was important, family matter.

For a few seconds after your ‘hello?’, no one said a thing. It was so quiet that you wondered if it was one of those marketing bots or something, so much so that you had already taken the phone out of your ear to put an end to the call. Before you could do it, though, a voice cracked up on the other end, and you stopped dead in your tracks, a big frown on your face as you recognized who it was.

“... Hello?”

And you still had the phone away from your ear, staring at the screen in confusion, and when he insisted one more time you just blinked a few times, looked around and took a few steps deeper into a less crowded area.

“Yes?” You asked, voice low and discreet, the phone slightly pressed against your ear as if someone could hear him, as if it was shameful to speak with him in the first place.

“Oh, hi,” He said. “I… Erm… Am I interrupting something?”

“... I’m working…?”

“No, yeah. Yeah, yeah, totally, I could’ve imagined, I… Sorry.”

You felt a tone of impatience, at the same time that you felt irritated with yourself for wanting to ask how he was, how he felt. You could see that calling you was impulsive, Theodore only got nervous like that in situations without any planning or with too much planning.

Fuck, yeah, you were mad with yourself – you shouldn’t get attached to whatever you used to know about him.

“Can I help you with something?” You asked instead, pinching the bridge of your nose and squeezing your eyes shut for a second.

He got quiet on the other end, sighing and ruffling through what seemed to be like papers or whatever. You looked around again, just to be sure, and felt that pinch of irritation growing.

“Theo-”

“I thought you had changed your number, so I didn't think you would answer,” He excused with a small voice, one that silenced you. “Now I don't know exactly what I wanted to talk about.”

“Maybe you better think about it quickly, I have to get back to work.”

Another sigh.

“... You went to the hospital that day. Aile-I was told you went there,” The mention of the occasion made you throw your head back in frustration and suppress a groan. “And that you got hurt.”

It was your turn to stay quiet, unsure of what to say. Your hand was good, better; it wasn't that serious of a burn and, in general, you would have a few months of recovery for the mark to disappear. Still, you unconsciously flexed your fingers, remembered Aileen's face when the coffee spilled on you.

“... So what?”

“So what? Hell, you could’ve sent me the bill or whatever.”

“I could?”

“Well, yes.”

“So you called to offer me money for my injured hand?”

He was growing frustrated – you expected him to. You could sense him gritting his teeth, clenching his jaw.

“... You went there, maybe you wanted to know how I am.”

“And how are you?”

“Good.”

“Okay.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you good?”

“I’m fine.”

“Your hand is okay?”

“You don’t need to pay me for my hand.”

“I don’t want to, I just want to know if your hand is okay. Technically, it’s on me that it got burned.”

“Oh, so that’s the secret for a good relationship? Taking responsibility for your partner’s faults?”

“That’s not-” He paused, huffed. There was a noise you could hear, like a chair cracking, and then the sound of steps on a wooden floor. “I’m not with her anymore. Although I’m probably taking that responsibility, it wasn’t me who threw coffee at you.”

You blinked dumbly at that, staring at the floor without a single reaction to process what he just said to you. It should be simple: he’s not with her, you could’ve supposed it would happen, that has nothing to do with you. But Theodore told you that, let it hang in the air, waited to see what you would do.

“... All in all, I just want to know if you need anything… That’s on me. The least I can do is pay for the hospital bill that I know was expensive as fuck. They call themselves Samaritans but they fucking rob people.”

You needed to suppress a laugh or a giggle or any indication that what he said was slightly funny. For what felt like an eternity, you just kept looking at the floor, then at your own feet, squirming to prevent any insistent feeling to bubble inside of you with the prospect of him realizing that Aileen wasn’t the best for him, or just him being let down.

Not that you expected him to be humbled by it, but still – you could dream.

“... I don’t need anything. Thanks for asking, though,” You offered, voice more calm and genuine.

“Okay,” He took a deep breath. “Listen, I know you’re out of this almost death experience transformation or some shit, but it was nice of you to come by. Despite everything, you still checked on me and… Well, I won’t forget that.”

You considered him for a while.

“Maybe you should.”

“Should what?”

“Forget that.”

“Why?”

And that was that tone, that… subtle implication. You knew what he was doing – what he was fucking implying. He used to do that when he flirted with you, when you two were doing some dirty talk in bed, when he was trying to get inside your pants. It wasn’t that good in high school, but the experience he probably gathered in college made him bold, confident; that shit worked.

So when he asked ‘why?’ with that low, teasing underlining, you wanted to punch him in the face.

“Because you should. Because I’m your ex. Because it brought me problems. Because it will make you put words in my mouth and meanings to my actions that are absurd.”

“Absurd like you still caring about me?”

“Yeah, exactly like that.”

Theodore went quiet, probably nodding to himself.

“I need to go now,” You pressed. “And don’t surprise me pulling up some shit like you still having my number and calling.”

“It isn’t some shit. I’m just thankful,” That almost sounded too false, but it just made you feel like it was really forceful. “In debt, too. I know it sounds crazy but whatever you need anything, I-”

“I’ll hang up.”

You did. Right away, at the snap of a finger – out. If he still needed to say something or add or keep up with that bullshit, you really didn’t want to know. You hung up on him, left him mouth agape or whatever, then stared at your black phone screen with that same ugly frown you had when you noticed it was him.

Your head was starting to hurt, you could feel the sting deep inside. After almost two years – two years – and the bastard called right when his little girlfriend dumped him. You deserved this, didn't you? Surely that time you stole parking cones or vomited on the college lawn wasn't going to go unpunished.

Because you were always so nice to everyone, always following the rules. Motherfucker. Cocksucker. Bitch. Cunt. Jerk. Asshole.

“You good?” Lennon had a puzzled expression on his face, watching you fuming and huffing while entering the lab again.

You threw your phone on your desk, sighed tiredly at him. Good news, Theodore is alive. Bad news, Theodore is alive.

“Yeah, just some stuff. Don’t worry about it.”

But maybe Lennon should – he should worry, should give you some clarification, should fuck you again. Thing was: he couldn’t do any of it. He was an amazing friend, one with his own worries and responsibilities, and he wasn’t your mentor to give you advice. And yeah, maybe you hinted something to him, and then he turned you down by saying he was seeing someone – that guy from the 15B, remember? – and he liked them, so you could get your shit together and let him be, feeling bad for not remembering whoever this person was.

So you got angry and worried alone – you got pissed alone. You went to the bathroom, saw yourself in the mirror, and felt like punching yourself in the face. And for what? For answering an unknown call? For listening to Theodore? For feeling that bad after Isla’s case? For, fuck, asking how Theodore was? For wanting to…

Fuck, wanting what?

You looked at your head again. A large scar was forming there, one that was uncomfortable. It wasn't that bad, nor that destructive, but looking at it was a reminder of how you shouldn't be so nice to the wrong people. What did that bring you, anyway? Turn the other cheek and listen to your ex tease you about it?

You clenched your fist and placed it against the marble of the sink for a while, eyes closed.

It wasn’t him; no, it fucking wasn’t. It shouldn’t be.

It was on you. You, you, you. Fucking you.

****

“... And, you know, he’s kind of a bitch so-”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Which is why I wondered if there was the slightest chance of you knowing anything about it.”

“Mm-hm.”

“So… do you?”

“... Mm.”

The laptop screen began to lower against your will, so that before you could take your hand off the mousepad, the edge reached your fingertips and it hurt. You hissed, but before you could complain, your brother shoved the thing away to the other side of your kitchen table.

“Hey!”

“Did you hear what the fuck I said?”

The pain dissipated at the same time as you looked at his face with a frown -- he was irritated. If you were honest, and there was no reason to be any other way, you would say that in fact no, you didn't hear what he said. You hadn't been listening to what people were saying since Theodore's call, because suddenly you were in a hurry and needed to get away, anxious to put your mind together around the fact that he was still having this effect on you.

“... No, I didn’t,” You sighed in defeat, relaxing your face to a defeated expression and leaning back in your chair, eyes lowering to the table. “What was it?”

“Theodore is on a new project with-”

“Be briefer. Maybe if you didn't go around so much, I-”

“He spoke to you.”

You went from defeated to tense. Honestly, and that was as far as you could go with that wake-up call, you wouldn't have thought that Theodore would make a big deal out of that phone call: it was one of the reasons you felt bad about reacting so intensely to it, in fact, because he didn’t give you the same importance as you did and that was pathetic.

Your face gave away the answer your brother needed, but he didn't hold on to his anger for long; with another sigh just like yours, he sat down in front of you and ran a hand through his hair worriedly.

“Just don’t tell me you’re reconsidering.”

“... Reconsidering?” You asked, and it took you a beat to get what he meant. When you did, you raised your eyebrows. “Do I sell myself for so little?”

“You do. You answered the phone.”

Fair.

“I didn’t know it was him. I was expecting another call from-”

“From Linda Ricci.”

Okay, now this conversation was starting to get weird because you were sure you would hear if he mentioned that name first. You hadn't told people that you were considering, at least in a healthy way, the possibility of leaving LASD. God, you were still coming to terms with the idea of doing this. But suddenly your brother knew the name of the person you spoke to, what you were thinking about doing, and that left you a little scared. He didn't give in, however.

“He told me,” He added. “Which is crazy, because I’m sure you didn’t tell him that if you didn’t tell me or anyone else about it.”

It sounded like an accusation, which could be also something fair because as far as he was your brother, you honestly didn’t put up with the intimate details of your relationship with Theodore. He cheated, you two split – that was all he needed to know, alongside with legal terms of your prenuptial contract. It was the kind of thing that made someone resentful, but his brother never blinked more than twice at his personal life, so perhaps the possibility of Theodore being the messenger of such intimate news of his life after so long was frustrating; between a cheating ex-husband and a negligent brother, who would be the first to know the good news about your life?

“... Can you not tell dad? Or mom?” You tried with an easy demeanor, even if your tone was clipped. He was ready to open his mouth to deny, though, so you rushed to add. “I didn’t even tell my boss yet!”

“And when are you planning to do that? When we all get worried sick about your well being in that fucking job?”

You took a deep breath, leaned back in the chair. The email was open – the answer was there. You saw it.

You glanced at the closed laptop, then at him.

“Soon.”

****

“Is it because of what happened?”

Byrne was definitely not a very sensitive guy, much less an emotional one, but the question seemed to have a natural compassion background like seeing a puppy at an adoption fair. You had asked for the first few minutes of his shift to talk about the subject, at zero hour when no one would arrive for a while, and you sat in front of him with a serious expression.

The question didn't make you change that, actually; you raised your eyebrows and sighed, but it was more like a spontaneous reaction to a subject you didn't want to talk about than an explicit denial.

“Depends on what we're talking about,” You threw the ball at him, who narrowed his eyes at you.

“... About the DEA case,” He said after a while, leaning back on his chair. “The recent events wouldn’t give you time to recalculate like that. Tell me if I’m wrong, but it sounds like a well-thought decision, one you wouldn’t make out of spite.”

“That’s a good observation.”

“Not as good as the one you’ll tell me.”

Then you smiled – a bitter, large grin. You measured his reactions with caution, licking your lips and reconsidering what to say. After a beat, you arched an eyebrow and averted your gaze to your hands, both of it splayed out over your thighs.

“... I'm not a very virtuous person, Doctor, and I like to believe I'm not a moralist. Despite this, I have never given anyone reason to doubt my integrity as a professional,” You raised your eyes at him. “Maybe, at some point, but nothing that time wouldn't prove otherwise.”

“You talk about your alliance with Major Crimes.”

Alliance. You needed to prevent a snort at that.

“My partnership, yes,” The correction made him retrieve a little. “And, look, I understand how things work. I'm not an idiot and much less indifferent to them, but I think there comes a time when they stop being just things and start putting you on the main stage.”

For a moment, as soon as you closed your mouth, you remembered Emma, just as you remembered Walsh and his pitiful speech to the cameras. That made you frown.

“You, doctor, are here because the Department's credibility went to waste after what happened. People have always questioned LASD's methodology, but what happened was much greater than common sense about what we do.”

“Are you talking about Emma?”

“I’m talking about being put in the hot seat for sabotaging the case.”

He shut down again, this time considering your stern tone with more caution. You already left her with a cracked friendship, you wouldn’t want it to be worse than it was.

“... You didn’t, I assume.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“But you know I could work it out. I'm not Emma, but it's no secret that Major Crimes doesn't have much room for imposition with me here.”

Which was quite funny to think about, but you did as he did and just took it as it was – a single comment. You nodded, averted your gaze again.

“Not only that, but I appreciate your consideration. Rest assured that, despite everything, they should have the right to speculate. Maybe it was my innocence that I thought I didn't have the tendency to go over anyone to gain an advantage, especially people I've worked with for so long.”

Not that that would actually solve it, but you also didn't want to repeat Emma's attitude and put yourself as someone who was harming someone else's work, even if Nick and company had a lot of capacity to do that on their own. You thought about it. You thought about Benny. He could also harm you with what happened at the hospital, he could make conversations with Byrne less cordial and make Nick push you away even more, to the point of making the murmurs even worse than they already were.

So you said something else to put him at ease.

“It's not Major Crimes that's going to get me out of LASD. Everything that happened and happens makes me sure that I got out of LASD myself.”

****

Gina got the news with a frown, but her hug said that she was proud.

Lennon smiled, placed a small kiss on your forehead – just don’t become a stranger, he said.

Your departure was silent: no parties, no goodbyes and, please, no speeches. Despite all your years at LASD, leaving in an atmosphere of so much falsehood would be worse than dealing with more personal problems mixing with professional ones.

So no one in the lab other than Gina, Lennon and Byrne knew. From what you heard, Cillian would break the news as soon as he found someone else, and two days later he informed you that that other person had already been found. Efficient and fast, just how he liked everything to be.

You considered talking with Nick in the meantime – considered apologizing to Benny, like, properly. But every time you grabbed the phone and dialed their number, every time you thought about texting but saw the flirting stuff Benny used to send you or clipped orders O’Brien sent over, you would chicken out.

You just didn't want drama.

****

Byrne was fucking dramatic, the kind who was probably a theater kid in school before deciding to be a scientist. He had been probing the work of Major Crimes since he had set foot in the LASD, so each and every interaction came with a passive tone that bordered on rudeness, but always hovering with unharmonized friendliness.

It wasn't like Emma – with Emma there was a flow, a rhythm. She and Nick had known each other for a long time, it was just different. Byrne was ruthless, regimented, too close to an OCD diagnosis, and two feet on the spectrum of control obsession. He didn't like them and had made that clear from the beginning; for him, the defeat of Major Crimes was a personal gain, which could be reasonable, since no one there made much of a point of being pleasant.

That day, however, Cillian was radiant, smiling. He asked for permission to enter the office and had both hands in his pants pockets, almost bouncing in tune with what seemed to have been a great weekend.

It should have been – for him, of course. He practically hummed the news, or sort of purred like a cat.

“I received very ecstatic news that our lab partner is leaving us,” He said, looking at Nick and only Nick, wanting to have every single drop of reaction or bother or anything. “She received a particularly undeniable opportunity at Ricci & Co.”

Benny was sure you didn't use the term 'irrefutable'. He just knew that you weren't that definitive about things, or that at least you wouldn't talk to Cillian that way. In any case, it seemed certain that it was a good thing financially and professionally speaking: they already had the opportunity to scratch Ricci & Co. when they worked on an old case. Family business, the kind that wasn't limited to university newspapers like Theodore Park and with big, New York glass doors.

It was an immediate rational thought, one he only processed with more consideration when he saw Henderson exchanging a confused look with him.

“Since when?” Connors asked with a clipped tone.

“Hiring processes at Ricci last, I don't know, thirty days?”

“You know that's not what he asked,” Nick pressed, which made Cillian hide a smile behind a satisfied sigh.

“She gave us two weeks' notice and made sure to finish as many ongoing cases as possible. Today is her last day.”

Benny remembered what happened at the hospital, made mental notes of any sign you might have given as if the whole situation wasn't already a big enough warning. He remembered your tired, defeated expression, your slumped shoulders; you looked sick, apathetic. Then he went over Isla's case, the conversation in your kitchen, your look of fragility at his rejection.

Your defeated stance with Walsh humiliating you in front of everyone, your lost look when he made you sit in a room to solve the problem. Maybe he didn't know that these little things were pushing you out of LASD, that every frustration or disappointment or tiredness was draining you enough to make your decision.

“I see that everyone is very upset, which was expected, so I made a point of letting them know and avoiding gossip or side conversations. I believe there is a lot to think about, especially because this is a personal gain for her but an almost irreparable loss for the Department.”

“You know, Byrne, this is a good chance to stop beating around the bush and be direct with what you want to say.”

“Well, Detective O'Brien, I think everyone here is smart enough to know what I'm talking about. Please be aware that as much as I would have made a point of cutting even our toilet paper budget to match the offer she received, I should have warned you that I am not willing to sacrifice the sanity of my employees for what appears to be a whim of yours.”

Everyone was quiet, expectant – Nick was being called out by a guy who knew shit and, as far as they all knew what kind of thing O’Brien would say, his silence made a wave of shock wash through all of them.

“She was kind enough to say that it wasn't because of you, but I've been watching her movements for some time. No day off to photograph a crime scene that wasn't in her jurisdiction, small bribes with dinners, requests for preferences in evaluating evidence… This isn't exactly professional. A good reason for someone with decency to reconsider, though.”

“You know this agreement always had two sides.”

“Yeah, but only one of them was self-aware of it and clearly the wrong one made the right decision. Should I tell you which side you are on or are we on the same page here?”

It was an exaggeration – at least it seemed like one – but deep down Benny knew it wasn't. In fact, it wasn't like a feeling, just an obvious awareness, the kind that everyone knew about but didn't talk about openly. Big Nick was no longer in the sheriff's good graces. Major Crimes received a portion of annual investment that didn't come that year, and since the last meeting with superiors, Nick wasn't very satisfied with the way things were going. It was off. Odd.

If it was the case of what they did that influenced you to leave, it might sound very absurd but it wasn't impossible, even if Magalon firmly believed that you wouldn't give in for so little.

Byrne wanted the excuse to give Nick a hard time – unfortunately he wasn’t totally wrong about it too.

When he left without a word, using the silence as a way of having the last bit of speech, there was a swagger on his steps, like a weight leaving his shoulders. He knew for sure that was how you saw them all, how you accessed them: full of themselves, always without a worry in the world because they could handle it.

Nick threw a stapler on the panel near his desk, muttered a small ‘fuck’. Tony could even be the one to be at least pleased about it, but no one felt like sharing their opinions on the subject.

There wasn’t a worry about you leaving – it was about how it wasn’t something O’Brien couldn’t control.

****

The idea was a drama-free exit and you knew that Gina and Lennon would be able to comply with your wishes with as much effort as they could. When Cillian let everyone know at the weekly meeting, you got a few hugs and handshakes, but everyone there knew you well enough to be cordial up until that point. You were even relieved. Apprehensive, but relieved. Everyone said so many good things about Ricci & Co., Ballard even showed up at your lab during the day and told you that 'this technology thing was cool', that it 'suited you'.

He was nice. Warmed your heart with the gesture.

Lennon arrived there towards the end of the day and handed you an envelope. As no one had time to buy you a gift as they were busy because they just didn't know you were leaving, some people from the lab raised a donation and gave you around 450 bucks.

“You didn't have to do that.”

“It wasn’t my idea. Rob from IT always had a small crush on you.”

That made you smile and almost made you cry.

And maybe your last day at LASD would turn out perfectly fine if it were like that, if you only said goodbye to people with silly, happy memories, so that you could miss it a little while you were tied up in the good parts of working there.

Looking back, you should have been more insistent about saying no. Not because it sounded like a bad idea from the beginning, no, but mainly because you knew how nights like that could end and you should be just a little less carefree just in case. Lennon invited you for some drinks – Gina too. Took you, what? An hour? And then what was supposed to be only a small gathering with only the three of you turned into a ‘remember when we got our asses busted for going to that bar?’ and before you could decline, the three of you were smashed in the backseat of an Uber to meet some Gina’s friends at that same bar.

It was like the old days, the trio fresh out of college, excited from the perspective of being in LASD, all excitement and fervor to be your best versions. Theodore wasn’t with you when that happened – he went to get you from the bar, yes, but if he was there in the first place, you wouldn’t be that drunk or have that much fun.

And you had enough fun. You weren't very drunk, but you had that buzz, that feeling of excitement and anxiety; for a while, you managed to forget your apprehension about saying goodbye to LASD, about taking a direction in a place where you didn't know anyone. For a while, only. With dancing, beers, a shot or two like the cops used to do. With music too, voice high and hands moving in the air.

You would certainly need to deal with your relationship with alcohol after that. That was something for tomorrow, however, or the day after tomorrow, or next week or next month. Fuck Theodore. Fuck him and his fake concern and his phone call and his fucking money. You didn't need any of that. Look at you: a young spirit, hot, single, with friends, having fun. He didn't have that. He would spend his life licking the balls of rich people to invest just a little of their time in him, humiliating himself for crumbs to grow in life… And you wouldn't. Nooooo, not you. You would be great. She would be a fucking analytical security manager for mansions up and down the Coast, earn your money and be respected. That's what you were going to do. And no thanks to that mediocre piece of shit. No thanks to Walsh or your work for even more pathetic and idiotic detective messes.

You were almost a wreck, but okay: your reflection in the mirror was more inviting than you thought it would be. Gina was already vomiting, one of her friends holding her hair as those tequila shots took effect. You watched the scene in your reflection for a while, then heard your friend turn to you and say that it was late, that it was better to leave. You nodded. You turned to the sink, turned the tap on, watched the water drowning your palms in.

She got Gina on one side and you on the other. This was your chance to leave too. Yes, you've already had your relaxation, you've had fun, and you could go and rest. But then you glanced in the wrong direction at the wrong time and spotted Benny a few tables away with Connors and Henderson.

You looked around – Lennon was distracted, probably didn’t even notice them. You had this… frown on your face, this… sense of inadequacy. Should that be your second chance to say something? Because, well, it didn’t take long to admit the coincidence.

Benny turned slightly amidst laughter and the two of you held each other's gaze for a while. The laugh turned into a smile that turned into a grin, that turned into a straight line, then a frown. You felt embarrassed, called out, caught out. Suddenly you were too sticky, too uncomfortable, ready to run away.

Gina slipped through your arm when her friend announced she would take her. You stood still, watching them both stumble out of the bar with a lowered gaze. Flexing your fingers, you forced a big smile on your face when Lennon came jumping up and down, offering you another shot of tequila.

They would leave, you decided. They would leave and you would be able to relax. You didn’t owe them a thing.

****

You were sitting in the gutter nursing a can of Coca-Cola that was already hot. Lennon had already left sometime around one, and it was reckless of you to let him go alone with another guy, but before you could worry anymore, he sent you a photo in the mirror of his own house. Damn, you could be closer to Gina's friends, they were really good people.

You should have gone with her, even, and not stood there saying that you were fine, that you would order an Uber and go home alone. Firstly, you were clearly not well. The drink had gone bad, you were drunk and everyone obviously knew it was the stupidest thing in the world.

Still, you sat there, watched the streets fading into blurs of light and dark. Another peak at your phone and the driver was 15 minutes away, taking turns, expecting you to cancel the ride. It wasn’t like you were going to throw up in his car or whatever – you just wanted to go home.

“Seems warm.”

His voice made you grunt, bowing your head down in defeat. When you looked up, he was standing right beside you, both hands inside his jacket pockets while he eyed your hunched figure.

“Because it is,” You grumbled, taking another stubborn sip. “Borderlining my sobriety, so… cheers.”

“Yeah, I think we can agree that you have a conflicted relationship with alcohol.”

“Calling me an alcoholic?” You frowned, to which he just shrugged. He raised his eyes to observe the street surrounding you two, nonchalant as ever, and after a beat of silence you just scoffed to do the same. “Too bad you saw it too late, I guess.”

“What? You think I wouldn't fuck an alcoholic?”

“I’m not-You know what, eat shit, Magalon.”

But he didn't go. Damn, he wasn't. He remained there, moving the sole of his boot on the concrete here and there, sighing as you held your head with both hands. After a few minutes, your cell phone buzzed: the driver canceled.

“Lemme guess-”

“Why are you still here?”

“I have a tolerance for the number of bodies to find in one night,” He arched an eyebrow, tilting his head to you. “Just imagine if the first thing I see in the early hours of my morning is a reckless drunk girl who took an Uber at 2 am.”

“Right, okay. Got it.”

“Yeah, so.”

“But I’m good. I’ll find-”

“Another Uber to go back home?”

You glared at him, then made an effort to get up from your seat and feel the whole world spinning in your head. That almost got you on the floor again – you lost your balance for a second, got up too fast.

“You know what,” You raised both hands in the air. “I’m done. I’m totally done. Say what you mean or leave me for you to find me dead in the morning.”

Benny shook his head, taking in your state with what seemed like frustration.

“I don’t remember you being so annoying. Last time you drank a little too much-”

“We kissed. I know the lore, Magalon, I was there. But we are not gonna kiss now, if that’s what you’re intending to.”

“I don’t wanna kiss you right now.”

“Good.”

“But I want to take you home.”

It could be the alcohol. Well, there was a good chance it was alcohol. Anyway, when he said that in such a genuine way, with a more accessible and light tone of voice, as if he was comforting you, you felt your eyes water and an almost uncontrollable urge to cry. He noticed it too, noticed the way you wavered, blinked hard a few times and stayed curiously quiet.

You averted your gaze to the side and sniffed with a dry nose, doing a hard job to keep the tears at bay.

“Do I look like I need to be saved by you? Like, all the time?”

He didn’t walk closer, didn’t try to bring any kind of physical comfort – Benny shrugged, kept it cool. When you looked at him again, he wasn’t giving you anything but a straight face.

“At this point in time, you could say it's just a coincidence that we're in the same place when you screw up. And luckily, of course, I'm not such an asshole that I'd let you go off on your own.”

And then he said something that made you waver even more.

“I like you. In a very stupid way, but I admire you as a person and as a professional. The difference between then and now is that you're hitting the goalposts for a longer time because you're too stubborn to understand that it's not always your responsibility.”

That would make you really cry, but you didn't, opting to swallow dryly while locking your jaw so that your lower lip wouldn't tremble and you wouldn't falter. He was too good at it, it was even annoying. You didn't see Nick or Tony having that same kind of ability to read people, even though it was naturally intrinsic to the anatomy of a good detective.

The cold night breeze hit you, making you shiver and flinch a little. He then took a single step closer, pointing at his own car down the street.

“Home. Let’s go?”

****

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