Things Ale And Guns Can't Fix

Pain

I sat there, drawing smoke like there were no other care on the world. Since at that moment there were none. The sensation lingered. Wished it hadn't. Glancing right, I couldn't stopped myself from holding back a breath. There she was, the other side of my bed, buttoning up her blouse. The pale moonlight dancing on the skin she yet to cover entranced me. Now it would only be harder to let her go, the one thing I should have done from the start.

"How come only when I'm of use to you can I see this view, miss Bazerk? Or is it Mrs. Grimborn now?" I asked bitterly, trying to dull out the aches. Having finished with her clothes, Heather stood up and faced me, eyes without the familiar flames in them.

"Please, don't. Don't say it like that." Her voice, hiding the shame with sadness, slowly stirred up so much I tried to bury. She knew how all of this looked like, and like me, she didn't want it to be like this.

"I have to go now. Please, you and him are the only ones I have left. Please save him." And with that, out the door she went, taking my last bits of self-control with her. I stood up, naked as the day I first cried, and poured myself a glass. Heck, live in this dung hole of a city long enough and you'll find yourself something you can't live without. Mine? Cheap ale and even cheaper smokes. Dulls the memories nicely. Knowing that he's listening, I downed the glass.

"Why?" I asked quietly. The one question I kept asking, day in day out, night after night. And the answer is always the same.

"Because it's her." The voice, mine yet not, whispered in my ear. Gritting my teeth, the glass shattered against the opposite brick wall the way my heart did that night.

"Her? It was because of her that I'm here. You hid yourself deep in there, too tattered to even come to their funerals, and who caused that? She did, Fish. And now, just when you only started to heal, there she was again, crying and asking for help from the very person whose heart she shredded. And what did you do? You just danced to her tune again, knowing that she can and will shatter your heart one more time. Why?" I screamed and shouted, not caring how I looked. I'm too far gone to care anymore. Only a twisted and hollow shell of what was once a detective and close friend to them. That voice, coming from a distant past, a time when the world was somewhere worth living in, whispered.

"Because it's her." Closing my eyes, feeling that all of this was too much, I collapsed then and there, weeping. The shell cracked. The stone hard facade that was Finick Ingerman cracked, revealing the vulnerable Fishlegs Ingerman inside, crying his heart out, hoping that all of this was just a bad dream, that when he wakes up they will be there for him telling it will be alright.

But real life isn't that merciful. No, the Norns, being the cruel hags they are, will never allow it. That's why I'm here. I'm the shield to protect him from their twisted humor. Finick Ingerman, the facade that shield Fishlegs Ingerman, is me.

Opening my eyes to the sunlight dancing on the floor, I scoffed at the pitiful state that I was in right now. Dressing up with a worn suit concealing two holsters for the S&Ws, I picked up the phone and dialed a familiar number.

"Yeah, boss?" A gruff voice asked from the other side. Grinning to myself, I steeled my resolve.

"Get off your asses, boys. We have a job."