Chapter Text
The first night we attempted our sting, it was a bust. Nobody took the bait. The second night, we had a close call, but instead it was an attempted roofie we put a stop to. The third time was apparently the charm. Oswald got snatched up. Hardy and I gunned the car and followed after her little blip on the GPS. We finally arrived out in some woods past the Axehampton estate. We followed the blips through the tall grass and woods until we found a clearing with a large, decrepit wooden hatch. Hardy and I tugged open the hatch and peered down into the dark tunnels. I jumped in first, my firearm and torch in hands. I slowly made my way through the corridors, navigating blindly now that Hardy and Miller weren’t operating the tracker. Hardy and I walked the cold, dingy corridors in search of Oswald and the 4 teen girls. We found an open area and all four teens tied up and trembling on the dingy floor. I dashed in and swept the area before kneeling down and working to untie everyone. Hardy knelt down and helped untie the girls. Oswald wasn’t far, thankfully, so we rescued her as well. She quickly drew her sidearm and helped us work to get the girls out. As we hoisted the girls up and out and into the arms of awaiting PCs, someone attacked Hardy and myself. We both got hit pretty good, but I quickly fought back. Hardy got shot and stumbled back. I turned to face our attacker.
“Cian!?”
“Callahan?” he asked. “You got assigned this case?”
“Of course I did! I’m a DI!” I shouted. He charged forward and shot me. I stumbled back and watched Cian dash up the ladder. I quickly followed after him, chasing him through the fields outside the Axehampton house. I pulled out my phone and radioed everyone else. “DI O’Halloran in foot pursuit of suspect… identified as Cian Murphy… DI Hardy is down! Hardy requires medical! Suspect headin’ towards Briar Cliff!”
I put my phone away and continued chasing Cian. We ran through the town, with him shoving things over in attempts to deter me and me avoiding his obstacles. We ran up towards the cliffs before I caught up to Cian and tripped him. A struggled ensued, the both of us throwing punches and attempting to wrestle each other’s firearms away. With no guns at the ready and just our fists, we ended up laying against a cliff’s ledge. Cian was on top of me, grabbing me by the collar. He very poorly thumped my head against the grass a couple times before dragging me a little bit to threaten throwing me off the cliff.
“Cian, why!? Why are you doin’ this!?”
“Because you can’t keep your nose out of business you don’t belong in!” he snapped. “You meddled in Wicklow, you reported me to the Chief, and now you’re taking this case! Idiot!”
“You were behind Wicklow, weren’t you!?” I demanded.
“Of course I was! Why else do you think I tampered with evidence and killed Rose!?” he shot back. He slammed my head back against the grass properly this time. A sharp pain shot through the back of my head and I groaned. “I should’ve killed you back when I’d killed Rose!”
Something in me snapped. I punched him in the face, knocking him back off me. I then turned things around and bashed his face in repeatedly. When he was bloody, bruised, and battered, he kicked me right in the gunshot wound. I yelped in agony and collapsed on the grass, writhing in pain. He dragged me back towards the cliff’s ledge and acted like he was about to toss me down. I awkwardly slapped at Cian and pushed him before I managed to get to my feet and tried to talk him down.
“Murphy, please!” I insisted. “We can work out a deal! Just—Just don’t do anythin’ rash!”
“Too late for that! You robbed me of the DI position!” he shouted. “You can join Rose in hell!”
He kicked me in the gunshot wound again and I grabbed his tie in a last-ditch effort, yanking him down over the cliff side with me. I helplessly clawed at the rocky cliff before hitting a jagged rock that jutted out. I shot back and landed with a dull thump in the sand. Great. I died alone after failing to save Hardy, so then he was dying alone as well. If there was a God, He’d abandoned us. I stared up at the starry night sky, feeling the cold release of death.
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My eyes fluttered open and the disgusting white light of a hospital immediately hit me. I couldn’t move. I groaned softly. Hardy was standing beside me in a hospital gown, clutching the little rack his IV bag was hung from.
“Shh, don’t move. Don’t try to move,” he said softly. “You got really hurt.”
“What—What happened?” I said hoarsely.
He sighed softly. “Well we rescued those girls, the attacker shot me, and you chased him up to the cliffs and he pushed you. He fell with you, but I’m not sure how that happened.”
I groaned softly. “So… I’m guessin’ plenty of broken bones, internal damage, and a single gunshot wound.”
“How do you figure that?”
“I can tell,” I said weakly. “I hurt everywhere.”
“Morphine’s not helping?” he asked, furrowing his eyebrows a little.
I shrugged and looked down at my arm in a cast. “I got busted up good, and you… got shot. Are you alright?”
“It’s one gunshot. I’m fine,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. He leaned against his IV rack more.
“No you clearly aren’t,” I said. “Where’d that get you?”
He moved his hospital gown aside a little, revealing the gauze pad over his stomach. “Narrowly missed my lung.”
“Christ, Hardy,” I said softly.
He stepped a little closer and sighed, looking at me like a kicked puppy. “Oh, Cal…”
I raised my eyebrows a little. “You addressed me by first name?”
“Ah, I guess I did,” he said. “I think you and I have earned it. And you didn’t answer my question.”
“What question?”
“Is the morphine helping?”
“Aye, it’s takin’ away most of the pain,” I said with a slight nod. “Although me head hurts and I hurt everywhere.”
He nodded slowly and shuffled over to the foot of my bed. He grabbed my chart and flipped through it. He raised his eyebrows a little. “Wish I had my readers, but from what I’ve gathered, you got busted pretty good.”
Miller came marching in and looked at Hardy in confusion. “What the hell are you doing out of bed?”
“Came to see if O’Halloran was still alive,” he said, setting my chart back down and clutching his IV stand. “Heard he was in critical condition the past week.”
“As were you! You’ve got a bullet hole in your chest!” she cried. “Do I have to get a nurse?”
“Christ, Miller, relax,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I just came to see if the idiot’s alive.”
I weakly raised my hand a little. “Well, the idiot is alive.”
“What on Earth happened back there?” she asked me.
“I chased DS Murphy out of the bunker and through town. Just kept runnin’. I finally caught up to him on the cliffs. He kicked me right in the bullet wound and I fell off, but I grabbed at him in a last-ditch effort to live and took him down with me.”
“And you survived him throwing you off?”
I nodded slightly. “It wasn’t a throw, more just a fall. I was able to try and grab at the rocks and slow me fall, but one spot was pretty jagged and stuck out, so I hit it, bounced off, and hit the sand. You know all the damage?”
She grabbed my chart. “I assume Hardy doesn’t have his readers. Ahem, looks like a broken back and rods in the spine, dislocated shoulder put back in place, couple broken ribs, cracked pelvis, broke your arm there when you tried to break your fall, minor concussion, and a good amount of scrapes and bruises from a fight. You fought Murphy?”
“Aye, we had a little scrap,” I said. Hardy and Miller both gave me a look. “Okay so we had a pretty nasty fistfight. I bashed his face in after he admitted to killin’ me wife and tellin’ me he should’ve killed me back then, too.”
“Jesus,” Hardy muttered. “And you’re just… okay with that?”
I shrugged weakly. “Okay enough I suppose. Morphine is doin’ a good job makin’ me really hazy.”
Her and Hardy both let out tired sighs. “He meant mentally, Cal. Y’know, like how you’re coping hearing that he actually did kill her.”
I sighed softly. “Like I said, morphine’s makin’ me too hazy to think about that right now.”
“You have to think about it sometime,” Hardy said softly.
“And I will at a time that isn’t now,” I said, closing my eyes.
“C’mon, Hardy, you’ve gotta go back to your bed,” Miller said.
I heard him sigh with annoyance. “Relax, I’m fine to stand.”
“You’ve got a bullet hole in your chest,” she insisted. I heard their footsteps recede. “C’mon, just sit down at least? You’re 3 feet from the idiot.”
I faded out, the morphine making me drowsy enough to fall asleep.
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Months wore one as I recovered. I struggled with some temporary paralysis and worked my way to crutches. As I recovered, the court proceedings were going on for the case. It went all the way back to Dublin PD, marking me in the news as “Dublin’s Disgrace” who uncovered corruption within the department. My old Chief was canned and the DI who took my place took over as Chief. Since Murphy was dead, the new Chief—Sullivan—went through his old cases and found egregious evidence collection methods and direct witness intimidation. She was already putting things together for record keeping purposes. Finally, my day to testify came.
I swore the oath to tell the truth and leaned awkwardly against my crutches on the witness stand. Murphy’s defense began to grill me. “State your name.”
“Detective Inspector Callahan O’Halloran,” I said flatly.
“Thank you. Now, can you tell me a little bit about yours and Cian Murphy’s history?”
“Ah, we both worked for Dublin PD. The former DI of the station, DI Byrne, retired. The former Chief promoted me to DI in his place, while Murphy stayed DS. He seemed a fine bloke to me. Got work done, clever, knew how to smooth talk a judge for warrants and the likes, bit better with family relations than I was.”
“What was the most recent case you’d worked before this?”
“The ah, Wicklow Murders.”
“Was DS Murphy working that case with you?”
“Aye.”
“And as DI you were his superior, correct?”
“Correct.”
“And yet you had no knowledge of his past record?”
“At the time, no, as most of his record occurred before me promotion. I had no access, and when I got the promotion, I never saw need nor did the Chief suggest I should look into it. As me direct superior, I trusted his judgment.”
The woman nodded a little. “I see. And former Chief Gallagher was related to Mr. Murphy, correct?”
“Aye, I believe he was Murphy’s father in law.”
“You gave a statement about what you and Mr. Murphy spoke about before your injuries and his death. Would you care to restate that for the jury?”
I nodded slightly. “He confessed to bein’ directly involved in the Wicklow Murders, as well as a confession to the death… t-to the death… ahem, sorry. He—He confessed to the murder of me late wife, Rose O’Halloran.”
I could hear whispers and feel the stares. Great, now I was going to be known as the troubled DI with a dead wife. Murphy’s defense cleared her throat and began to speak again. “And have you gotten any concrete record of those confessions?”
I nervously glanced at Hardy and Miller, who were sitting in the audience. I took a shaky breath. “No, unfortunately I have no recordin’ of the confessions.”
“Then how can we prove he made such statements?”
“I understand you can’t, but I would hope you can trust me word based on me track record.”
“Well to a jury who’s never met you, how could you possibly prove Mr. Murphy confessed to anything?”
“I can’t.”
More hushed whispers. “Are you certain you’re not mentally incapacitated in any way?”
“I’ve already been medically cleared to even be on this witness stand. Do not question me mental clarity.”
“I was just checking Detective O’Halloran, no need to be hostile,” she said. I hated that condescending tone of hers. I had a minor concussion I’d mostly recovered from, not a TBI. She glanced down at some papers on her stand. “Detective O’Halloran, do you admit to having slept with Mr. Murphy roughly 8 years ago?”
I stared at her incredulously. “Of course not. I was happily married to me wife, Rose, at the time. We’d been married since 1995. You’re insinuatin’ I slept with Murphy in 2007. I have never been unfaithful to me wife.”
“And yet you identify as a bisexual man, do you not?”
“I’m queer, yes, but that doesn’t mean I’d jump anyone in me line of sight at any given moment,” I said, my jaw tense. More murmurs. I could feel the stares. Christ, even my meds weren’t helping me stay calm.
“No further questions for now, Detective. Thank you.”
I firmly grabbed my crutches and made my way out of the courtroom. I doubled over in the nearest jacks, puking my guts up. I coughed and spit, my crutches messily tossed aside from my hurry. I slumped against the toilet seat, staring down into the bowl. I pulled the handle to flush it and sat back a bit. After a couple more dry heaves, I figured I was in the clear.
“O’Halloran?” Hardy’s voice echoed through the jacks. I kept silent. I heard him step a bit closer and winced, hoping he couldn’t tell I was in there. “I can see your shoes and crutches, O’Halloran. You alright?”
“Peachy,” I said sarcastically. I managed to get to my feet and pick up my crutches, hobbling out of the stall. “Why?”
“You puked.”
I furrowed my eyebrows a little, trying to play dumb about it. I hobbled over and rolled up my sleeves before washing my hands. I stared at him for a moment. “I didn’t puke. God forbid a bloke use the toilet.”
“You are so insufferable, you know that?”
“Back at ya,” I said, continuing to wash my hands. “I just don’t get why this case went to trial if Murphy’s dead.”
“His wife sued,” he said tiredly. “You know this.”
“Aye, and now she’ll win.”
“We have Murphy’s prints at the scene! We have the confession! We have our injuries!” he insisted. “It may be a while, but we’ve got this case. Plus, we have Dublin offering things up.”
I leaned forward and splashed some water on my face. “Christ, Murphy’s wife is suin’ us. I’ve been to her home before. I’ve helped her with yard work for fuck’s sake. I was a family friend.”
“I know. Murphy almost killed you though.”
“I-I don’t know what happened to Cian that made him want to kill folks,” I said, splashing more water on my face. I took a sip out of my hands and rinsed my mouth. I stood back up and grabbed a few paper towels to dry my hands off. I turned to Hardy and tossed the paper towels in the bin. “Got a mint or some gum maybe?”
He patted himself down. “Nah, might wanna try Miller.”
“Aye,” I said, hobbling out of the jacks. I spotted Miller with her two lads and tried walking past her. She stood up and came over to me.
“Sir,” she said quickly. “You alright?”
“Aye, fine.”
“Oh c’mon, don’t give me that. I’ve been working with you for a couple months now. What happened up there?”
I sighed softly. “Just… nerves.”
She gave me a knowing look. “Trust me, I understand. Being grilled about your wife like that isn’t easy.”
I sighed again and gave her a nod. I remembered glancing at the court transcripts for the Latimer case. I couldn’t imagine being grilled about my partner and people insinuating I knew they were responsible for killing an 11-year-old lad. “Aye, it wasn’t easy. Got some gum or a mint?”
“Sure, what for?” she asked, starting to walk back over to her lads. I followed her as best I could, and she kept her pace slow for me. She grabbed her purse and began to rummage around.
“I kinda… hurled in the jacks,” I said awkwardly. “Need somethin’ to get the taste out of me mouth.”
She handed me a stick of gum. I took it and unwrapped it, sticking the gum in my mouth and the wrapper in my pocket. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear it, mate. Maybe you should get home and get some sleep.”
“Aye, I probably should.”
I said my farewells to her and Hardy before hobbling out of the courthouse. I went down the streets and caught a cab, taking it back into town. By the time I got back to my caravan, it was pouring rain. I hobbled inside and got myself to the kitchen, grabbing a microwave meal and shoving it into the microwave. As it hummed and cooked my food, I grabbed a bottle of whiskey and took a swig, the smooth burn of the drink scraping down my throat. I poured myself a glass of it over ice and took my TV dinner to the living room, settling on the couch and stirring the food a bit to ensure it was warm all the way through. Right as I put my feet up on the coffee table, there was a knock at the door. I sighed and ignored it, continuing to watch a mindless reality show and eat my meal.
Another knock mere minutes later. Ignored again. The third time took a bit longer. After the fourth knock—which was more like the way a cop with a warrant pounds on the door—I finally got annoyed enough to answer the door. I hobbled over and threw the door open, only to see Hardy standing there and soaked in rain.
“Hardy? What the hell are ya doin’?”
“Came to check on you,” he replied. “Figured you need a mate, y’know?”
“Right… well it’s pourin’ rain.”
“I know, just… I think you need a mate.”
I stepped down out of my caravan, albeit a bit awkwardly. Hardy backed up as I stepped out into the rain. “Hardy, you’re completely soaked! Go home!”
“Listen to me for a moment! I-I’ve been doing some thinking!”
“Aye? I’m thinkin’ you should get inside!” I insisted. “Christ, Hardy, ya look like a wet cat.”
“Oi!”
I shrugged and brushed my hair back. “Well ya do!”
“I don’t get it, but fine,” he said back. He stepped closer, his rain-soaked hair in his eyes. Jesus, he really did look like a pathetic wet animal. “I just… I-I hardly know how to explain this.”
“Explain what, Hardy?”
“Okay two things,” he said, holding up two fingers. “One, I did some digging and realized you never got off the line when you called in Murphy fleeing. It recorded his confession and the struggle. I turned it over to the court.”
I looked at him incredulously. “What!? I-I hung up, there’s no way-”
“No, you didn’t hang up!” he said, looking almost excited. He stepped closer. “You caught his confession on the line back to the station, where it’s all recorded!”
I let out a choked laugh, running my fingers through my soaked hair in disbelief. My shirt was turning transparent from the water, while Hardy’s was mostly dry thanks to his coat. “You—You’re fuckin’ with me! No way!”
“Way!” he said back, albeit really awkwardly. “Murphy’s lawsuit isn’t going much further!”
I let out a sigh of relief and hung my head. “Jesus…”
He very awkwardly hugged me tight, nearly knocking me off my crutches. I put one arm around him and felt his blood thinners in his coat pocket. I swiped the packet and slipped them in my pocket as we broke the hug. He cleared his throat. “I-I should probably go then. Y’know, leave you to get some rest.”
I gave him a slight nod. “Thanks. See ya tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow.”
He walked off and I hobbled back into the caravan. I took the packet of pills I’d swiped from him out of my pocket. I stared at the little white pills wrapped tightly in the packet. In a swift and impulsive decision, I pried about 8 pills out and gulped them down with a huge swig of whiskey. I couldn’t do it anymore. Rose was gone, Murphy had followed me to Broadchurch and nearly killed me, and I was being treated like shite from his defense team. It didn’t take long for my stomach to start burning and my chest to feel funny. I puked up the pills, coughing and sputtering as my heart couldn’t figure out what speed to beat anymore. Before I could really register what I’d done and maybe regret it, I was unconscious.
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“You idiot.”
I opened my eyes and sighed. I spotted Hardy standing next to me with his arms crossed. “Mm? What’s your problem?”
“You’re my problem,” he said tiredly. “Seriously? You swiped my pills?”
I groaned softly. “I haven’t got a clue what you’re talkin’ about.”
“Don’t play stupid,” he said, annoyance creeping into his voice. He yanked my chart off the foot of my bed and opened it up. “Ahem… drug overdose on Flecainide. Guess who used to take those?”
I huffed and rolled my eyes. “Hardy-”
“Don’t ‘Hardy’ me,” he snapped. He threw down my chart against the foot of my bed. “You swiped my old anti-arrhythmic pills. You stopped your heart!”
“It was kinda the point.”
“Suicide? Seriously?” he demanded, stepping closer. He crossed his arms again. “You miserable bastard.”
I rolled my eyes again. God, even when he was pissed he was still kinda cute. Ugh, why was I thinking Alec Hardy of all people was cute? I sighed heavily. I must’ve been stoned on pain meds. “I’m aware I’m miserable, hence why I did it.”
He leaned closer and looked at me. “You can’t just give up, O’Halloran. Believe it or not, I like having a co-DI around the office. You’re one of the best goddamn detectives to touch Broadchurch. You—You’re one of the best friends I’ve had in a long while.”
“Hardy, please. I’ve shoved you away at every given moment.”
“I know, and it makes me want to wring you by the neck,” he said flatly. He sighed and awkwardly brushed some of my hair aside. “And yet I’m still coming back to you.”
I swallowed and took a deep breath. “That’s not fair to you, Hardy.”
He scoffed and shook his head. “Can’t believe you took the easy way out.”
“Hardy-”
“Don’t even start with me,” he cut in, putting a hand up to shush me. He sighed. “I’m putting you on suicide watch.”
I groaned loudly. “Suicide watch? Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. You clearly can’t be trusted on your own,” he snapped. “C’mon, let’s get you discharged.”
He got a nurse to bring the paperwork and I signed it. I got dressed again and hobbled out with him. He nudged me towards his car and I climbed in, albeit a bit awkwardly. We rode in silence back to my caravan on the hills. When I hobbled in, I noticed it was oddly clean.
“Took the liberty of having someone clean up for you,” he said quietly.
I looked around at the oddly clean living room. “Jesus… thanks, Alec.”
“You addressed me by first name?”
“Guess I did,” I said.
He stepped closer and I awkwardly turned to face him. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”
I sighed softly and nodded a little. “Aye, I’m aware.”
In a very awkward, swift movement, he leaned in and kissed me. We looked at each other in shock, his stupid, soft brown eyes lit up by the setting sunlight in my window. His lips were chapped and his beard was prickly, but he wasn’t a bad kisser. I stood there all stupid, leaning on my crutches. I tapped my fingers against the little handles.
“So…”
“Right, yeah,” he said, clearing his throat nervously. “Sorry, kinda… acted on impulse. You should—should sit down.”
“S’pose,” I said quietly, looking over at the couch. I continued tapping my fingers against the handles of my crutches. I cleared my throat. “Want… tea?”
“Depends what you’ve got,” he said, heading to the kitchen. “Christ, you really live here?”
I scoffed and hobbled over. “Aye, I do live here.”
“Seriously?” he asked. I furrowed my eyebrows. “You haven’t looked to get a proper home here? Just a caravan?”
“I don’t own much and I wasn’t certain I’d be here long.”
He stared at me for a moment. Despite his usual pissy expression, there was an odd softness in the way he looked at me. Not judgmental at all, but more so out of concern. He swallowed and rubbed the back of his neck before turning and rummaging through my cupboards. I sighed softly, wishing I hadn’t said something so awkward to him. Maybe he took it the wrong way. It’s not that I didn’t like Broadchurch necessarily. In fact, it almost reminded me of where I’d grown up in Galway when I was a lad. At least this time I wouldn’t be beaten and dragged through the street for kissin’ a bloke.
“Do you actually have any tea or were you screwing with me?” he asked, continuing to rummage through the cupboards. The sound of one cupboard door closing jolted me back to reality.
“Aye?”
“Tea? Do you actually have any teabags or not?”
I sheepishly rubbed my neck. “Ah, I couldn’t tell ya.”
He continued rummaging through the incredibly small kitchen in search of tea. “Jesus, how do you operate in this kitchen? It’s so small.”
“How d’ya think I feel? I’m wider than you,” I said, gesturing to the space. “At least you’re a stick compared to me.”
“Oi, I’m no stick!” he protested, standing back up. “I’m just… lean.”
“You’re a stick in comparison to me,” I said. I sighed and leaned against the counter. “Maybe I can just run out to the shop and get some stuff. Been meanin’ to run out anyway.”
“With what legs?” he asked, pulling out his phone. He dialed a number and held the phone to his ear. “Miller, hey I need a favor. Our genius co-DI tried to off himself, so I’m watching him for a bit. Mind running a couple errands for him? Aye, that’s fine. Just swing by when you’re free and I’ll have a list of things to get. Thanks.”
He hung up and stared at me. I sighed. “Seriously, Hardy?”
“You need groceries and you can’t exactly go out anywhere,” he said firmly. “No legs, no running out for anything.”
“It’s a figure of speech, you wanker,” I shot back. “And for the record, me legs still work.”
“Barely,” he said softly.
I let out a weak scoff. “Aye, barely.”
“You ever worry about that?”
“Me legs? Doc says as long as I keep up with me PT-”
“Doc says you might regain full function. You fell off a cliff and miraculously didn’t die. You broke your back and pelvis for Christ’s sake,” he said exasperatedly. “I mean, Jesus, Cal… you could’ve died.”
“Would it really have been that big a deal?”
He furrowed his eyebrows, his jaw a bit slack for a moment. “You… seriously think that?”
I shrugged and shook my head. “Dunno, I guess I just… at a certain point, you get tired of it all. I mean look at what I’ve got goin’ for me, Hardy. Widower at 43, ‘Dublin’s Disgrace’, me entire life and career… it just doesn’t really feel worth much anymore.”
“But you had a lovely marriage, yeah? You’re a gifted detective, too. I know we were a bit… abrasive in the office, but I think you’re good at what you do.”
I sighed and rubbed my forehead. The last thing I wanted were platitudes or empty attempts to make me give a damn about my life. I swiped his anti-arrhythmic meds for a reason. We stood there in silence for a moment before he awkwardly cleared his throat.
“Right, so… Miller should be here soon,” he said. “You should sit down. Relax a little.”
“I’m o-”
“It’s an order, not a suggestion. Sit.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You’re not intimidatin’, Hardy.”
“Would you just sit and relax? Please?” he asked gently, those stupid puppy eyes boring into my soul. I huffed and hobbled over to my couch. I sat down, unhooking my arms from my crutches and setting them aside. I crossed my arms and stared across the room at my TV and various shelves. I caught sight of my wife’s urn. I had picked out a jade urn with some gold highlights. I had her ring melted into the little latch holding the urn shut. “What’re you staring at? Oh…”
He hesitantly sat beside me, the silence of my caravan deafening. “Hardy-”
“Shut up,” he said. I looked at him funny. “You miss her.”
“Don’t ask stupid-”
“Wasn’t a question,” he interrupted. “I know you miss her.”
I sighed and stared at my feet. “’Course I do.”
“You ever talk to anyone about it?”
“No.”
He looked at me incredulously. “Why wouldn’t you talk to a professional after something like that?”
“I don’t need a shrink.”
“You need someone.”
“I do not.”
He sighed softly and held out his hand. I looked at him quizzically before staring at his wide hand and slender fingers. I looked back at his face, his usually cranky expression oddly soft. “I know you think you’re alone now, Cal. You’re not alone. As much as we both probably don’t want to admit it, we’ve got each other.”
I raised my eyebrows a little in surprise. “That’s… odd comin’ from you.”
He furrowed his eyebrows. “Why?”
“Well for starters, religious guilt doesn’t exactly make a bloke profess love for other blokes that easily. Second, even if you weren’t religiously guilty, you’re still emotionally repressed. I wouldn’t expect you to say anythin’ nice to me,” I explained. He stared at me dumbfounded, and reasonably, a little angry.
He sighed and his expression softened a little. “I understand.”
We were interrupted by Miller’s arrival.