Dickory

Please God, Not a Cult

The next few days were largely uneventful. They were back at work, though Fowler seemed determined to keep them out of the field as much as possible. They'd been handed a couple of cold cases to look over, but they weren't having much luck. Even Nines, with all his advanced programming and sensors, couldn't pick out any new leads. It was sad, but some cases were just like that. Dead ends. Reed felt bad as he closed the file on the pretty redhead. Stabbed. Tossed in a river. Found a couple days later with no idea at what point along the river she'd been tossed in. Her final movements had put her in a crowded nightclub, but none of the old cameras had caught her leaving. She'd either slipped out or been lost in a group. Nines had looked the footage over and even tried using his software to clean up the feed, but it was just too old and grainy. Ten years old now. Phck, she'd be about my age now...

"I'm sorry I haven't been able to help," Nines apologised from his place across the desk, where he was making the most of the last few days of the Christmas season. His tree was lit up and his snow globe was flurrying. Reed looked at his own tree, which was blinking yellow with Nines' stress level. He didn't take failure well. Reed understood that. He felt it himself. Cold cases were especially hard because you knew so many people had failed before already. If Nines can't get anything, then it's unlikely anyone ever will...

"You've done more than enough, Nines...Some cases are just like this. We don't always catch the bad guys." Reed sighed sympathetically as he dropped the file on his desk with a light slap. The sleeve was so thin. So little information. No suspects at all. Her family had been cleared. Her friends had been cleared. The staff at the club had been cleared. The only other people were random patrons, and the ones they'd tracked down over the years either hadn't recognised her or hadn't remembered the evening at all. Reed couldn't blame them. Clubs were all the same. Different nights blurred into one. You got shitfaced, grabbed a body, and went home to get fucked into the mattress. Sometimes you didn't even bother going home if the back alley was free. That could just be me though...

"We should." Nines' jaw tightened as he glared at his terminal screen, likely scanning the footage for a fourth time. Reed gave him a sympathetic look of agreement. He was right. Every cold case, every dead lead, was a sign of their failure. Unfortunately, failure was just something you had to accept sometimes, no matter how much you wished it could be otherwise. There were cruel, devious, and downright evil people out there, and sometimes those sick fucks were just better or luckier.

"Nines, I hear you. I know. Failure sucks. It's phcking hard. You just have to get used to the idea that sometimes we fail. It's not your fault. It's not anybody's fault," Reed insisted as he held up the far too thin file before replacing it on the desk with a note of finality. Nines dropped his gaze to his lap as he removed his hand from the terminal, allowing the video feed to close. He looked crestfallen, like he'd personally failed the victim. His LED continued to spin yellow, teeth catching his bottom lip. Reed reached his foot across beneath their desks. He was just able to touch the toe of Nines' shoe. Nines must have felt it since within moments he felt both of Nines' feet reach out to trap his own between them. He must have gotten something from the contact. His LED was soon blue again. "Phck, I could use a cigarette..." Reed complained for the first time all week, his eyes closing with stressed fatigue. Cold cases really got to him.

"Would you accept a walk or a gym visitation as an alternative form of release?" Reed sank back with a sigh. He knew Nines was right. He shouldn't be using cigarettes as a crutch. He was breathing better than he had in years. He barely coughed anymore, and his sense of taste was getting stronger, too. He'd actually requested Nines' decaf the other day because the regular coffee had tasted too strong, but I just...I need something more than exercise! Nicotine gave him that buzzy little hit to get him through the day. "A sugary snack may help," Nines suggested helpfully, noting a drop in Reed's mood.