THE PEACEFUL AIR of the desolate bullpen, disturbed all at once by the crack of a thick file landing on a desk. Alan Maybury's head shot up, his brown eyes blinking away the haze of sleep and attempting to focus themselves on whoever had the gall to awaken him so rudely. His jacket was folded under his head, his arms tangled in the fabric to better cushion his head against the rickety wooden desk below.

When his eyes finally cooperated with his brain, he was met with Erin Blake, the detective he'd been working with for the past few weeks. The case; missing fifteen year old girl, gone from her bed when her father went to wake her for school, alarm system promptly disarmed at about four-sixteen a.m. Her phone was only found recently, having been discarded into a bush just outside the front door and dead as a doornail. Forensics was still searching it for anything that may give a single clue as to where she went—and with who.

"You're not sleeping again." Erin observed apathetically, crossing her arms over her chest. Her green eyes narrowed. They weren't a dark green, but a bright—almost disturbingly—green, akin to those of a cat. Complete with pinprick pupils to match that made it seem like she was looking through Alan, rather than at him.

"Clearly I am, seeing what I was doing not thirty seconds ago." He was too much of a smart-ass to resist giving her shit, even if she was his superior. The brunet officer didn't care much for being woken up so harshly. His gaze shifted from those eerie eyes down to the file, doing his best to keep from showing his discomfort. "That thing's gotten pretty massive. You aren't using that one intimidation tactic to try scaring me out of sleeping on the job, are you?" His left eyebrow quirked upward. "'Cause that definitely isn't gonna work."

Erin scoffed. "You watch too many movies." Then she shook her head.

"But, no, it's bigger because, while you were here dozing like a regular sleeping beauty, I was re-interviewing Opal's neighbors. Your job is to sift through all these statements and see if there's anything useful we missed the first time." The second half of the explanation had an air of superiority to it that made Alan's jaw clench. She loved to use her rank—and more commonly his own—to do the easy part herself and leave the tedious busy-work to him.

What a self-important bitch. Not that he would or had ever vocalized that particular thought.

It was a wonder they got along at all, but the running tab at the shitty bar downtown didn't lie.

Alan gave an exaggerated huff and reached over to grab the file, surprised by the heft it had for really only holding pieces of paper. Usually this was the part when Erin would either offer to get him a cup of stale coffee—the first of many—or just walk away. This time, however, she just stood there, studying him. He pretended not to notice at first, opting instead to focus his eyes on reading through the first of many witness statements, but once he reached the bottom she was still there.

"You got something else to say or am I just that pretty?"

"Why are you not sleeping again?" There was no sympathy present in her tone, if anything she sounded more annoyed than genuinely concerned, as if it directly affected her. Though, in a way, it did since there was only so much she could do without her partner present.

Alan didn't answer for a while, putting the statement in his hands on the already cluttered desk—the start of a pile that would grow exponentially the further into the mind-numbing task he got. He leaned back in his chair, straightening his spine for the first time since he got into the station earlier and focusing his gaze up on the ceiling.

"Or don't tell me, I don't—"

"Haines' execution is next week." He blurted out, a heavy sigh following as if he'd been holding that in forever. To anyone else, his connection to the religious serial killer would be a mystery, but to Erin—whom he'd drunkenly babbled all the details of his teenage and young adult life to ages ago—it made complete sense. "Ah." Was her only response.

"You going?"

"Is that even a question?" He shot back, finally looking at her again as his brows furrowed like she'd just insulted his mother—not that that would be his reaction to that situation. Though, in reality, there were rarely nights he didn't lie awake after finding himself in the midst of a nightmare—flashback, he recalled his therapist telling him, a common symptom of PTSD—still able to hear and feel the bullet tearing through the skin of his side, like it happened in slow-motion despite the reality that it was faster than he could blink.

One moment he and—no, he wasn't going to even think his name—had David Haines cornered, the next he was on the ground, bleeding out.

In those moments he questioned his willingness to even step foot into the same building as that sociopath. He could remember the calculation in his eyes, like everything was according to plan—perfectly fitting into whatever little agenda he believed God was telling him to carry out. It never left his mind, even once the man was securely locked behind bars in one of Illinois' most secure facilities.

The only thing that let him hold onto his resolve and remain committed to seeing the man killed was spite.

"I caught the guy. Of course I'm going." His voice was firm but tight, an attempt to both mask his anxiety about the event and convince himself it was a good decision. Closure.

Even with the technicality that it wasn't only him—and the fact that he wasn't even mentioned in any interviews or articles regarding the incident—he felt he deserved at least some recognition after what it had done to his—frankly already fragile—psyche. A tiny part of him regretted telling Kevin to keep his name out of it. Damn it, so much for not even thinking his name.

"Then stop being weird about it. Get to work." She was still apathetic, but there was less harshness to Erin's tone compared to before. Great, he thought, exactly what I didn't want; sympathy.

"Grab me a coffee before you got off galavanting, would you?" He asked as she began retreating to do whatever it was she did when saddling him with the hard technical work.

"Fine." She huffed, feigning reluctance and shifting her course in the direction of the coffee pot that was only filled at the start of each shift and when needed in-between. It was never really needed in-between though, since it was probably the most disgusting blend known to man.

Alan's thoughts finally had a bit more clarity after getting that off his chest. He mentally thanked Erin to avoid having to do it to her face—their relationship wasn't that good. His attention went back to the file—finally—and focused on the second paper in the stack.

wow! new update!! who would've thought ( ik, it's not i found,
trust me i'm working on it ). i've had this written for ages and
honestly forgot about it ( surprise surprise ) but here you go!
hopefully this'll tide y'all over for a little bit. <33