Addario followed him out here, like a puppy looking for kicks. Billy wishes he had a cigarette, wishes he had a drink. Wishes this kid would fuck off and leave him alone.
It's cold. May won't really let up for another week.
“I hate you.”
He doesn't mean to say it, but there it is, out in the open.
Addario stares at him, blinks once and he's so fucking pretty, both eyes open, that Billy can't fucking stand it. Can't fucking stand it and maybe this is how Sean feels all the time, like the world's just unfucking fair and that's why Billy feels his mouth opening, words coming out like broken glass falling.
“You're so fucking clean,” Addario flinches and Billy grins, soft and sharp. “How the fuck do you stay so fucking clean, you bastard?”
“Sergeant-”
“Shut up, kid, just shut the fuck up.”
He watches the boy draw back, retreat. He knows the feeling.
“You ever get your fucking hands dirty?” He can't move around, can't make the space here his own, but he can shoot, almost as straight as the gun he's not allowed to carry anymore. Depth perception, mobility problems, the bullets going so far off they might as well be in Africa. “You ever get your hands dirty before tonight? Ever had another man's blood on your hands before?”
“Sergeant.” Addario stands up straight, looks him in the eye. “Sergeant-”
“I don't trust fucking clean ass punks like you! You, what the hell are you doing here?”
Addario stops trying to talk, thank god. Just looks at him, like a kid who's just been told there's no Santa Claus and Saturdays and summer vacation have just been cancelled.
“What the hell do you need to be here for? You had some, I don't know, some uncle who bit it in the force? You watch too much Law and Order growing up? You one of Giovanni's boys? Huh? You lacecurtain fucking wop!”
“You say that again,” Addario looks at him, really looks at him, and Billy wants to laugh. “And I don't care if you're a cripple or what. I will take your fucking head off.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” Billy's so tired of this. Tired of the badge and tired of the guns and tired of the city he almost died for, over and over again. “What the hell are you doing here, kid?”
“I'm here to serve, Sergeant.” Addario looks like he ought to be on a recruiting poster, all square shoulders and square jaw.
Billy finds himself laughing. It's hard and cold and it's like the rain his leg, his arm, everywhere he can still feel, tells him is coming that just won't come.
“Yeah,” he says and leans back against the concrete. “Aren't we all?” ........................................................
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2008-10-08 02:57 am (UTC)Addario followed him out here, like a puppy looking for kicks. Billy wishes he had a cigarette, wishes he had a drink. Wishes this kid would fuck off and leave him alone.
It's cold. May won't really let up for another week.
“I hate you.”
He doesn't mean to say it, but there it is, out in the open.
Addario stares at him, blinks once and he's so fucking pretty, both eyes open, that Billy can't fucking stand it. Can't fucking stand it and maybe this is how Sean feels all the time, like the world's just unfucking fair and that's why Billy feels his mouth opening, words coming out like broken glass falling.
“You're so fucking clean,” Addario flinches and Billy grins, soft and sharp. “How the fuck do you stay so fucking clean, you bastard?”
“Sergeant-”
“Shut up, kid, just shut the fuck up.”
He watches the boy draw back, retreat. He knows the feeling.
“You ever get your fucking hands dirty?” He can't move around, can't make the space here his own, but he can shoot, almost as straight as the gun he's not allowed to carry anymore. Depth perception, mobility problems, the bullets going so far off they might as well be in Africa. “You ever get your hands dirty before tonight? Ever had another man's blood on your hands before?”
“Sergeant.” Addario stands up straight, looks him in the eye. “Sergeant-”
“I don't trust fucking clean ass punks like you! You, what the hell are you doing here?”
Addario stops trying to talk, thank god. Just looks at him, like a kid who's just been told there's no Santa Claus and Saturdays and summer vacation have just been cancelled.
“What the hell do you need to be here for? You had some, I don't know, some uncle who bit it in the force? You watch too much Law and Order growing up? You one of Giovanni's boys? Huh? You lacecurtain fucking wop!”
“You say that again,” Addario looks at him, really looks at him, and Billy wants to laugh. “And I don't care if you're a cripple or what. I will take your fucking head off.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” Billy's so tired of this. Tired of the badge and tired of the guns and tired of the city he almost died for, over and over again. “What the hell are you doing here, kid?”
“I'm here to serve, Sergeant.” Addario looks like he ought to be on a recruiting poster, all square shoulders and square jaw.
Billy finds himself laughing. It's hard and cold and it's like the rain his leg, his arm, everywhere he can still feel, tells him is coming that just won't come.
“Yeah,” he says and leans back against the concrete. “Aren't we all?”
........................................................