Michaels watched his bosses leave, feeling like the biggest ass in the world. God and Syn were probably on their way to file the necessary paperwork with the disciplinary committee. He’d serve his suspension and then he’d be fired. Instead of trying to explain anything to his team, which he couldn’t, he unclipped his badge from his belt, dropped the clip from his service weapon, and placed both on his desk. He turned around, not able to look Day in the eyes, especially after striking his partner.
He made the walk of shame out of their department and through the bullpen without lashing out at anyone else. He got in his truck and closed himself inside, feeling like his heart had been torn apart again. Now he’d lost his job. The only thing he’d had left, the thing he’d worked hardest in his life to get. He had nothing anymore. Once it was confirmed that he’d been fired for assaulting his superior officer, he wouldn’t even be able to get work as a mall security guard. When his father found out, he was certain he’d be disowned, shamed. He’d lose his father’s respect; have no friends, no team, no work, no partner, no lover.
He rubbed at his swelling knuckles and dropped his head back to the headrest. He felt tears sting his eyes and wanted to yell out, curse, hit, do something to feel like a man. But whenever he did that, all he managed to do was fuck up his life even more. He was no man. He was an immature kid, just like Judge said he was. No wonder he didn’t want him. What kind of man couldn’t control his fucking temper? Michaels fought the breakdown, hard. Fought the tears. Fought the rage inside him. But it was too goddamn hard. He dropped his head into his hands and bawled like a damn baby. He tried to think of anything positive in is life, but failed miserably. A few minutes had passed, and his head was still resting on the steering wheel when he heard a light tap on his driver’s side window.
“Oh, no,” he mumbled. He didn’t want to look up. Didn’t want anyone else to see his… what did God call it? Yeah, his self-destruction. The tap was a little louder and a little more persistent the second time. He slowly raised his head and saw the last person he expected to see. God’s imposing figure was right outside his truck, his left cheek slightly discolored beneath his day-old stubble. Day was standing close by, waiting patiently for Michaels to do something. He was so scared. Why were they out there? To officially fire him… to allow God his punch back? Well, hell. That pain would be better than what he was feeling in his gut and heart. He tried to reach for the handle, but his hands shook so badly he could barely release the lock in the older model truck. When he finally did, God yanked the door open. Michaels flinched involuntarily and waited.
“You fell in love with him, didn’t you?” Day asked quietly, moving closer.
Michaels coughed in an effort to mask the sob that caught in his throat. He didn’t want to cry in front of them, of all people. God held up Michaels’ gun and badge. “These will be with me when you finish your leave.” And with only those few words, God walked back into the precinct.
Leave… not suspension… or fired. A sliver of a silver lining, he supposed. He’d have the loneliest existence ever, he’d continue to watch his teammates fall in love all around him, observe their public displays of affection, and he’d just have to get used to it. He was falling into a state of deepening depression, and now he knew how people stayed trapped under that disease. It was like a ten-ton boulder strapped to his back.
“Austin. Talk to me, please.” Every trace of Day’s humor was gone and in its place was the kind and attentive Lieutenant that everyone knew and adored. Even him.
Michaels looked at his bruised knuckles again. He shook his head no. He couldn’t talk; he had no voice, only a huge mass lodged inside him, threating to overtake him, to explode his body from within until all that remained were tiny pieces littering the parking lot. He pressed his fists to his eyes, trying to shove the tears back inside.
Before he knew it, Day had cuffed the back of his head and pulled until Michaels was out of the truck and enfolded in his Lieutenant’s strong arms. He couldn’t fight it anymore. Being held so tightly, so lovingly, he dropped his weight, all his burdens on Day’s shoulders, praying he could hold them both up for a short time, while he gave up the fight. He squeezed his boss to him, clutching and grabbing at the back of his dress shirt like it was a life preserver. Day was right there, held it all for him, albeit temporarily, it felt good to release for a while.