thelongdormantcop | and after the bombs subside

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grace faraday

and after the bombs subside

For a long time, Jerry has considered himself lucky. It isn't like his life has been as easy as all that — if anything, it's the exact opposite — but that, he thinks, is all the more reason to. He's made it through shit a lot of people haven't, before and during and after the war, a childhood spent barely knowing if there'd even be enough to eat and time overseas marked by too many close calls to count, things he tries to bury as much as possible. Even then, he's a lot better off than others. He knows too many guys who got killed over there, even more still who came home and ate their guns, or who went looking for trouble just so somebody else would end it, or who spent even more time looking for answers at the bottom of bottles than he did, drinking to try to forget it all instead of just to cope. Besides, it isn't just the war that set him off; it was what he came back to. Too many others never came back at all, either physically or mentally.

Showing up here has given him a good deal of distance from all of that, anyway. At least, that's what he thought, that he'd never be rid of it but that it was farther away, not just the past but history. Besides, he's learned to deal with it. Maybe his way of doing so involves a hell of a lot of not dealing, but it beats most of the other alternatives. The same goes for the other war, the one he'd walked away from fighting the night he showed up here. Though aspects of it are always present, it's easier to keep all of that pushed aside, to focus on the fact that, from here, he won. He's safe and so is Grace, and there's no one here who would do him any harm. If that means not letting himself think about Keeler or Jack or Connie O'Mara or all the innocent lives lost when they got something wrong, everything that went to hell that last night, then he's alright with that. There's enough else here that needs his attention anyway. Dwelling on the past would accomplish nothing.

That is, maybe, all the more reason why, when he walks right into it, it catches him by surprise. Heading through the park on his way back to his apartment, wrapped in a heavy coat to combat the snow, he hears it first, the faint sound of explosions making him more uneasy than he cares to admit to. There could be any number of reasons for it, but it could be trouble, too, which is, maybe, why he heads in that direction, aware of his gun in his holster, though he doesn't reach for it. He isn't on duty, but shit like this is why he stays armed anyway, so he'll be ready if he needs to be.

It isn't any sort of trouble he finds, though, but a festival of some sort, booths crowded with people who look plenty happy to be there. He doesn't really see them, though. His gaze fixes instead on the red paper lanterns strung overhead, a too-familiar sight even with the snow coating the ground, and with the sound of firecrackers ringing in his ears, he finds that it makes his head spin, his chest tighten. It's all he can do not to pull his gun out after all, though he knows there's nothing happening here. He can still see it, the bodies littering the ground because they walked into a setup, because he wasn't there in time to stop it, because they failed.

He doesn't know how long it takes to get back to his apartment; he doesn't really remember walking there at all until he's by his door, fumbling for a key so he can get the door unlocked, letting it slam shut again behind him. There's nothing happening and none of that's followed him here, but he feels like he's still back in Chinatown anyway, hands shaking as he lights himself a cigarette. It doesn't calm his nerves like he wishes it would, making him no less unsteady when he goes to the kitchen to pour himself a much-needed drink. They're the only ways he's got to battle this, an old habit founded mostly in the days when he first got back from the Pacific, more fucked in the head than he wanted to tell anyone, something that's just as true now. He just needs to remember how to breathe again and he'll be just fine, even if just a couple sips of scotch leave him doubled over his kitchen sink, thinking he's about to be sick. At least he isn't, though, the one thing this has over the last war he was left with memories of being in. It isn't much of a reassurance.

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Grace waits. She isn't a big fan of doing so, but for Jerry, she waits, because Lord knows he spent enough time waiting for her. He'll show up soon enough, she figures, and she'll forget he was late at all.

But as the minutes go on and drag out, there's no sign of him. She thinks of ringing him up, but he's not so good with these new phones (neither is she yet, but that's a different story). Instead, she leafs through a magazines, sighing to herself, until she looks up and finds she's lost forty minutes waiting.

That's about when she starts to worry.

It doesn't take her long to dress in something warmer, bundling up in a coat and hurrying the four blocks to his apartment. She's always thankful he's nearby, but now in particular, it's a relief to know she hasn't got far to go to see him, even if that's all the more reason to worry about his being late. Knocking at the door, she taps her foot, impatient and fretful. "Jerry?"

Jerry isn't thinking about how long it's been. He isn't thinking about much of anything, in fact, all of his energy going into trying to hold himself together. It's not worth all of this and he knows it, the whole thing too far behind him for that, but he just can't shake it, the sound of the firecrackers echoing in his head, though he's aware he can't hear the commotion in the park from here. The worst part is, if it were just some battle, he knows it would be easier. There's a lot of shit he went through overseas that was a whole lot worse, and it hasn't bothered him like this, though that may be, in part, because he's made a point of avoiding that subject wherever possible. This was personal. This was something that, logical or not, he still feels he had some measure of control over, that he should have been able to stop, too fresh to push from his thoughts. He's been keeping this at bay for weeks now. He'd have been able to continue doing so, too, if it weren't for all this.

By the time there's a knock on the door, he's slowly gotten down one full drink, though it hasn't done him all that much good. Just staying on his feet is a nearly impossible task, but he's stayed by the sink, gripping the edge of it, white-knuckled, between careful swallows. It's the best he can do. It's not much good at all, his head swimming as he finally heads out of the kitchen to see who it might be.

He stops dead when he hears Grace's voice, though, eyes closing for a moment as he winces, the plans they'd had coming back to him all at once, tied up in a surge of guilt. If she's here, then he has to be late, and he hadn't meant to keep her waiting, but then, he hadn't remembered he was supposed to be doing anything, either, too caught up in thoughts of the past to spare any focus for his present. It's the stupidest thing, but he thinks for a moment that he ought to just pretend he isn't here. He doesn't want her to have to see him like this. He doesn't want her to worry, though, either, and that's all it would accomplish, so he can't. Besides, he knows he owes her one hell of an apology.

"Fuck," he says, a heavy exhale, as he pulls the door open, not quite able to look at her standing there. "Grace, I am — I'm so sorry." At least, if nothing else, it's clear that he means it. He just hopes that will be enough that she won't be too upset with him, not sure he could take that now, even if he doubts he'll be able to get out of answering any questions about where he's been.

Finding him safe at home, Grace's first instinct is to scold, annoyed he kept her waiting, more so because she worried and she doesn't want him to know that. It's silly when he knows how she cares for him, when she's worried about him before, but she can't help it. It's hard to let these things show yet. Or, anyway, it's hard not to try and hide them.

"Where have you been?" she asks, stepping inside, but she leaves it at that when she gets a better look at him, her eyes widening slightly. Of course he's sorry, she knows it, she believes him, but it's more than that. Something isn't at all right. For a moment, she's afraid he's found out something dangerous for them both, heard that someone knows they're here, but it passes quickly. If that had been the case, he wouldn't be here; he'd have come and found her immediately.

She drops her purse to the floor, her arms outstretched before she's even reached him. "What happened? Are you alright?" He looks frightfully pale and shaky, and she finds herself hoping he's just caught cold, that it's as simple and harmless as that.

Jerry shuts the door behind them, locks it out of instinct, and stays put as she heads towards him, not sure how to do anything else. He can't even lift his arms to wrap around her, at least not right away, too shaken and guilty and frustrated with himself for that. How he's supposed to tell her any of this, he doesn't have the first goddamn idea, not least when nothing's actually happened, and when it comes to the question of his being alright, he doesn't know the answer. He wants to say that, yes, of course he is — he's a lot better off than a lot of other guys, not someone who jumps at the slightest noise or starts fights over nothing — but he's pretty sure that, in anyone else, this isn't what he'd call alright at all.

He just has to get his head back on straight, is all, and stop remembering the chaos he couldn't stop.

"I'm sorry," he says again, the only thing he's sure of, eyes shutting for a moment. It's as much now for worrying her as for having kept her waiting, but he isn't sure it makes much difference. There isn't any taking back either and he knows it, especially not if he looks bad enough for her to have guessed that something's wrong so quickly. Letting an arm wrap loosely around her waist, he sighs. "I just got caught off-guard by something, and I... lost track of time, wasn't paying attention to it. But I should've called or something."

Grace shakes her head quickly, not so self-absorbed as to hold that against him now. "You will next time," she says. "It's alright." She can't begin to guess what's happened, but it doesn't truly matter. If he wants to tell her, he will. If he doesn't, then she'll be here all the same. "We can just stay in tonight, I don't mind. Come on, let's sit."

She'll pretend it's because she walked here in heels if she has to, but she can handle a little walk just fine and she's sure he knows it. The main thing is getting him sitting and steady again. It's the damnedest thing, looking at him now, feeling this desire to take care of him. It's not exactly a common urge for her, and she hardly knows how to start anyway. She's never been meant to be some angel in the house, ready to tend to her man's needs outside of the bedroom, but she's trying. He makes her want to.

It isn't alright, Jerry wants to say, but it wouldn't have anything to do with his not having called her and he knows it. That's a small enough mistake, something he could easily make up for. What started all this, though, isn't alright at all, neither the incident back home nor what he stumbled into at the park, and certainly not how incapable he is of shaking this. When it's only been a few weeks, not even a month yet, it makes sense in that he hasn't had an opportunity to deal with that or any of the rest of it, but with everything that's happened since, it's difficult to keep sight of the fact that it really has been such a short time, and therefore all the more so to cut himself any slack for it, especially now that Grace has found him.

A protest dying in his throat, he nods as he starts towards the couch, reaching into his pocket for his lighter and a fresh cigarette. The first one he smoked didn't do him any real good, but he's a little less unsteady now, at least. It buys him a moment's time before he has to speak, too, which might be more important. What he's supposed to say, he can't tell, but he owes her more than just silence or his trying to shrug it off. He can try, and later, he will, but right now, it would just look idiotic. "No, it's fine," he says finally, not quite as convincing as he'd like it to be. "We don't have to stay in just 'cause I got thrown for a loop."

Edited 2013-02-14 22:41 (UTC)

Grace isn't having any of it, though. Whatever happened threw him for enough of a loop that he forgot about her altogether, and she doesn't think it's plain old vanity that makes her think that means something. He wouldn't just leave her sitting around by herself, waiting on him without so much as a phone call, if he weren't truly distracted. When it's clear enough he's not pleased about whatever's happened, she isn't about to drag him out on the town just to entertain her. It isn't as if she'd have any fun anyway, worrying about him.

"Well, maybe I want to stay in," she says. "Did you ever think of that?" There's a certain appeal to it, truthfully. Much as Grace enjoys being out and about with him, it's nice to stay home just because they want to, rather than have to. She leans her head against his shoulder. "Jerry..." She wants him to talk to her, but it's not as if it's as easy as all that. It would be tough enough, she thinks, if they weren't still learning how to talk to each other or that it's alright to do so. For her, though, that feels like all the more reason to try.

Just the way she says his name is enough to make Jerry quit pretending, something in his gut twisting at the way she sounds. It really shouldn't matter, he thinks, and still believes that he should be able to shrug this off, but it's apparent enough that he can't. If he could, she wouldn't be so aware that something's wrong. Deep down, he thinks maybe that shouldn't even be so bad, but he hates that he's given her cause to worry, and he hates having to talk about any of it. Even real stories of his time overseas would be better than this having set him off, because it involves her, too. She's the one who told him it was a setup, the reason he was able to make any kind of difference at all. He should be grateful for that alone, he knows, and for the fact that it didn't go any worse. He should be able to prevent it from getting to him like this. The latter, though, is impossible to manage, and with that being the case, the former doesn't have as much weight as it ought to.

He keeps his gaze averted from her, keeping it turned out, unfocused, over the rest of the room, as he lights his cigarette and takes a long, slow drag. She doesn't have to have said anything more than that for him to know that there won't be any more dodging the subject, but he can't look at her and say any of it, either. "You know, they're doing something out in the park," he says, voice quiet, distant. "I guess some kind of... festival, or something. The whole place is done up — firecrackers going off, those red paper lanterns strung up."

It's too vague and he knows it, but he isn't sure what else to say. Anything outright mentioning Chinatown is too much for now, more than he can try to give voice to. He just hopes she gets it without him having to say so.

Edited 2013-02-18 14:25 (UTC)

Grace watches him as he talks, brow furrowed in quiet confusion. She hasn't been by the park today, and it hadn't come to her attention that anything was going on at all, let alone something that might bother him. As he speaks, though, it dawns on her what it is he means.

She hardly knows a thing about that night. Most of it, for her, was spent on the run in one way or another. It was only the next day that she knew much of anything about it at all, and all she really cared to hear was whether he was safe and where she could find him. Everything else was secondary at best, most of it learned after her arrival here, and even then very little. Reaching across his chest, she drapes an arm over him, hand at his shoulder.

It can't have been easy, coming across something to remind him of that without warning. She just doesn't know how to respond to that, what questions might upset him further or even offend him or be entirely off course. It isn't as if she has any familiarity with that sort of thing, except in a second-hand story kind of way, and not enough to be much of a help to him now. That hurts almost as much as seeing him upset in this way, slow and cool and careful, a disguise for the way he might come to pieces or blow up otherwise. She's sure that's what it is, that or shock, if only because those are both what it would mean in her.

"Are you... Is there anything I can do?"

Exhaling smoke, Jerry shakes his head without looking over at her, though he lifts his free hand to rest over hers. It's about the only way he's got to acknowledge how much her being here means when he can't make the words come. Mostly, he just wants to apologize, to tell her that he isn't usually like this, set off at the slightest thing. He hates this more than he'd ever say, the fact that he has been this time around, that she was kept waiting because of it. This is one thing, though, that he can't shake so easily. His time overseas was different. It was hell, but that's the nature of war, and they all went through it; their fight was on a larger scale. This was personal, and he still can't stop turning it over in his head, what he could have done differently, what might have gotten him there sooner. He wasn't just one of many this time, making little difference on a larger scale. There was so much left in his hands, and it didn't make one damn bit of a difference.

"I couldn't stop it," he says after a long silence, only audible because of her proximity and the quiet of the room. "Didn't get there in time." It hits him a moment later that there probably isn't any point in saying so. The fact that she's figured out what he meant so easily speaks volumes on its own, and though it's difficult to remember that she was in L.A. a day longer than he was, he's sure that would have given her some kind of insight, especially if she was trying to figure out where he was. "Guess you already know that, though."

It's not as if they've never talked before, and he's hardly saying much now, but it's still a bit overwhelming for Grace. She hasn't the first idea how to be helpful to him, and she wants to be. They've made some progress, worn away a little at the walls they'd grown so used to hiding behind, and she wants to continue that. It's just, most of what she's managed to say thus far has been about them, not herself, and there's still so little she knows about him. But she wants to.

This, though, she's not sure she'll ever understand, the same as she doubts she could even begin to get what he went through in the war. She knows a little bit, but not much, just enough to know it isn't something she's ever experienced or, please God, ever will.

"I only know a little," she says quietly. She wants to watch him, but she has the sense it wouldn't help, so she looks down at his lap instead. "I... I just wanted to know you were alright. There weren't a lot of details to be had." Truthfully, she didn't want to know them.

There aren't really a lot of details to be given, either. Even if there were, though, Jerry wouldn't want to give them, and not just because it isn't something he likes to talk about. She shouldn't have to hear any of that shit. She shouldn't even have to be here for this now, when his heart's still racing like he's back there, the cigarette he's holding doing little to calm him down. Grace is a lot more helpful on that front, but even so, he'd never ask her to see him like this, and he's a lot better off now than when he first staggered back here. It doesn't say a hell of a lot, but he'll take it.

Letting his hand drop from hers so he can slip his arm around her instead, he shakes his head helplessly, only just enough of a movement to still be noticeable. "There wasn't a whole lot to it," he says, quiet in turn. "The whole thing was just a fucking mess." What came after was worse, but just telling her this much is strange enough as it is without letting it get more personal. When all of this is so much more than he was ever able to tell her before, he doesn't know how to start talking about the squad or its members, about finding Keeler dead in the little shack where they'd set up. He doesn't even know if she'd want to hear it, or why she's sitting here now.

Grace stifles a sigh, fingers moving restlessly against his shoulder, as much to soothe herself as him. What's happened has happened, and there isn't a thing she can do to change or fix it. How she can help him to feel better about it, she doesn't know. Her instinct is to try and take his mind off of it instead, to distract him from what's got him shaken up, but the thought of doing so makes her uncomfortable.

"That isn't on you," she says, quietly cautious, looking slowly over at him. She wants so badly not to make this worse than it already is. "Jerry, you — you couldn't have gotten there any faster or told them or — or known what to expect." All she'd known was that Cohen knew about them. It's not like that was information enough to put things right. There isn't a thing either of them could have done.

"I know," Jerry says, nodding slowly, voice low. Though he still can't quite make himself look at her, he does mean it. Deep down, he knows there isn't really anything he could have done. He tried damn hard to take care of everything that night, and he wasn't without some measure of success, though he doesn't think he can really credit himself at all with Grace's being able to get away. That hasn't stopped him from replaying it over and over in his head, like some kind of self-inflicted punishment, trying desperately to figure out where he fell short, what he could have done differently. If he'd driven just a little faster, chosen a different route, shown up a matter of moments sooner, maybe he could have given everything a better outcome, except he couldn't have known that then. For what he did know, he did everything he could.

And that, he thinks, is part of what makes it so fucking difficult. If he could pin it down to one thing he got wrong, a mistake or an obvious oversight, he could blame himself and have that be that. It would be a lot easier to swallow than the idea that it was all inevitable, that all of that fighting was for nothing. Even now, it makes his stomach turn. "I know, Grace. But I — I still wish I could have."

"I know you do," Grace says quietly, though it isn't as if she's given that night much thought before now. Not his end of things, at least, not what he went through that night. She's been too busy trying not to think about any of it, too likely to remember her own part of what happened to give Chinatown any consideration. That doesn't make it less true. She knows he would have done whatever it took to set everything right if he could have. "But you did what you could, darling. You can't change what happened, so why beat yourself up about it?"

It isn't as easy as that, she knows, but maybe she can at least get him to believe that for tonight. If he's reacted this badly now, it's going to take a while for her to make him believe it for longer than that.

It isn't just that, Jerry wants to say. It's so much more than the part he might have played in the whole thing, the fact that, if he'd been just a few moments sooner, he might have been able to stop it. He never was cut out to go to war, not back when he enlisted and not really when he showed up for O'Mara and the others. That was just a hell of a lot easier, when they had the advantage the whole time. Busting up Cohen's clubs wasn't all that different from his usual job, except it was working towards one concrete goal, something necessary, a cause that had come to mean a lot to him. With the tables turned, though, and them being the ones under fire, it was entirely different. He just doesn't know how to tell her that, how to own up to how fucking scary it was, even more after the fact, with time to think about how easily it could have gone much worse. He's gone and made himself look awful enough already. He doesn't need to add to that.

"I just wasn't expecting it," he says, letting out a slow breath. "All of that here, I mean." It's not really an answer to her question, but he hasn't got one, and he doesn't know how to own up to that, either. Finally making himself look up at her again, he frowns. "I am sorry I kept you waiting. I mean that."

"No," Grace says quickly, reaching up to cup his cheek. "Jerry, I told you, it's alright. I don't mind." It isn't like he just up and forgot about her. He had a reason. She's not about to hold this against him. He's got bigger things on her mind, and she doesn't mind admitting that this once. "We'll go out another day, and I'm here now." She isn't about to leave his side either, not until she's sure he's alright. Not even then. Tonight was supposed to be the two of them, and it still can be. If he doesn't want to make a big deal of it, then she's content to follow his lead, cautious with anything more serious between them. As mad as she is about him, there's so much she still isn't sure about. It's easier just to let him point the way.

It isn't alright, not by a long shot. None of it is, not the fact that it happened in the first place or that it has him so thrown now, when Jerry knows he should be able to put it behind him. He's seen much worse things than what played out in Chinatown that night, and he knows that it could have gone a lot worse than it did, too. He wasn't in time to stop it, but it isn't as if he did nothing. That's just a small consolation when faced with such a sudden, clean reminder of it. How he's supposed to say any of that to Grace, though, he doesn't still know, not least when she's already shouldered far more than she should have had to. Besides, she's the only reason they didn't all die there that night, and he doesn't want her to think for a second that he's anything less than grateful for it. That's just all the more reason why he shouldn't have kept her waiting. "Yeah, well, maybe I do," he says, leaning instinctively into her touch even as he drops his gaze to look away from her. "It shouldn't... have to be this big a deal."

Grace can't really understand why that would be the case. Maybe it's different for him, but she can't imagine she'd easily forget something like that, having once been through it. There are enough elements of the last few years she can't let go of, and hardly any of them involved guns going off. "Why not?" she asks. "It was awful, and you and your friends were in such danger. How could that not be a big deal?"

Because he's seen worse. Jerry thinks it immediately, though he'd never want to say as much to Grace, not least when it's so difficult to admit to himself. Even so, it's still true. What played out in Chinatown was nothing compared to a lot of what he saw during the war, and he was in worse danger then, too, at least, the way he sees it. And though getting over all of that hasn't always been the easiest thing, either, that never got to him quite like this. It's just too much to give voice to; he doubts he'd want to be rattled like this no matter what was responsible. Not sure how else to respond, he shrugs, letting out a slow, unsteady breath. "Just shouldn't be."

He's being too hard on himself, Grace thinks, but whatever her inclination might be, she pushes back against it. Tonight, at least, she doesn't want to fight with him. Arms wrapping around his shoulders, she presses a kiss to his cheek, her forehead leaning against the side of his. "But it is," she says. "It's alright, Jerry. It just surprised you." It isn't as if he could have expected to come across something like that in the middle of Darrow. She doesn't recall any advertisements for the party or any warning that it would occur.

For a split second, Jerry wants nothing more than to tell her all of it — more about the shooting in Chinatown than just the fact that it was bad, how they'd already gotten to Keeler, what it was like to call in his body and hear that Jack was dead, knowing that she would have been, too. The moment passes quickly. He's told her the part that really matters, the thing that really left him reeling, and though the rest had just as much if not more to do with how fucking awful that night was, it isn't worth going into detail about now. Instead, he glances up at her, as if only just thinking of something. "You saved my life, you know," he says, one shoulder lifting like that isn't as big a deal as is actually the case, though he can't hide it as well as he'd like. "Probably none of us would've made it out if it weren't for you."

Grace stares at him, breath caught in her throat, confusion flickering across her expression. It feels like he must have made a mistake or maybe he's talking to someone else somehow. That was the end goal, of course, the thing that brought her to Clifton's that day — the need to see him and to be sure he made it out alive. She just hadn't thought of it as something she'd done, something achieved because of her, not least when he'd gone running into danger despite her warning. The words make her head spin a little.

Leaning in again, she rests her head against his once more. "Makes us even then."

Jerry shakes his head, an instinct as much as anything else. Even if it were like that, the sort of thing where there's meant to be some kind of exchange, it wouldn't be true. Warning him about Chinatown wasn't the first time she saved his ass, after all (and he has to wonder how any of the others could have thought his being with her was a bad idea when they only made it out of Cohen's house that night because of it. He can't imagine she would have kept quiet for a stranger carrying a shotgun). Besides, no matter how hard he tried to look out for her, he didn't wind up doing very much good at all. She made it out safely because of Jack, not him, and even that was a close fucking call, from what he's gathered. She'd have been better off leaving him out of the picture entirely, except then, he'd almost certainly be dead.

"Not about even," he murmurs, shutting his eyes for a moment. "You're giving me too much credit, anyway."

"I'm not," Grace protests. "Don't you think I know what you've done for me, Jerry?" She draws back just enough to look at him properly, a little embarrassed, though not enough to keep from going on. He means the world to her, and if she's saved him, then she's glad of it, but she didn't do anything but what was right. Maybe that's more than she would have done for a lot of people, but when she loves him like she does, she couldn't have let herself do anything else, no matter what he'd said the last time she'd seen him. But it's a lot more than his getting her to Jack. "It's as if I was sleepwalking all this time, and you came and woke me up."

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