He had been alone before, and had been alone for years at a stretch. Most of his life, actually, had been spent in solitude-it was just how things were for the agents like him. But he had never felt more LONELY than he did, waking up that next day. It looked to be a nice day, bright sunlight, birds chirping on the fire escape. Normally he liked that, found it relaxing first thing. Right now, he just didn't give a shit about it.
The nagging thought that would not go away was the uncertainty. In a plain old break up, it was like you'd ripped a band aid off. It hurt at first but also felt better as time went on. This was different. He hoped if she felt as strongly as he did-hell, half as strongly as he did-she would come back. Brannock realized that he might have loved women before, but had never been IN love until he had met Thistle. There was a difference, which he felt very intimately.
This morning he felt like he had woken up missing a leg or an arm unexpectedly. A surprise and suddenly he wasn't whole. Brannock knew himself, and he knew this one would be difficult to deal with. And it was way too early to patrol or anything, and he didn't feel like doing any paperwork. The only other semi-attractive option was a work out.
In a daze he walked to his storage unit. Rent was due on that so he'd have to call the bosses. Upon arrival he went through his usual routine-turning the fan on, deciding on which bags to use (some were better for kicks, some for punches), and then selecting any weapons he wanted to train with. Luckily he had the routine down, because he basically was on auto-pilot. He kicked the shit out of the bag, but didn't feel any better. An afternoon trip to the archery range, where his skills always attracted whatever crowd was present, also failed to heighten his spirits. Back at the apartment, the bosses provided satellite tv from around the world, but even with around 640 channels to pick from, he couldn't find anything worth watching and ended up watching one of those Nick teen-based dramadies.
Nighttime finally came, and he left to patrol, still feeling pretty numb, Fuck, I have got to shake this for the time being or the worst would happen, he thought. That's when Thistle would end up calling, he told himself; "Oh, hey Danny. I am sorry you died. I was gonna tell you I wanted to give it another try. Oh well, bummer". That would be his luck. But for now, he had to snap out of it or else he'd end up dead and getting his innards stomped on or worse. The night was busy, but not excessively so, and he returned home and again slept on the couch.
He hadn't checked in with the bosses in days, so he received a visitor. Bleary eyed and fatigued, Brannock answered the knock at the door and discovered a disheveled Bobbie Stewart in the hallway. "What's up, man?" Bobbie mumbled as he pushed past Brannock and headed straight to the kitchen. "Dude, they did a good job of putting this place back together", he said, surveying the apartment from the opening in the wall between the kitchen and living room. Brannock still stood in the doorway but he had turned slightly to follow the movements of his friend. A can opener started up. Closing the door, he headed to the kitchen. "Bobbie, what.. . .what the heck are you even doing here, first of all. Second, don't you have any of your OWN freaking food to fix?"
Bobbie turned his head but did not stop preparing his meal. "Well, yeah, but it is no fun eating alone all the time. At least you can hang out at the hospital with Thistle. Me? I have a fricking bird." It looked like he was combining the contents of a soup can with spam. Brannock didn't ask any questions but felt his stomach churn slightly. He sighed. "She's not at the hospital. She went to rehab". He motioned for Bobbie to sit on one of the bar stools, and he told him the whole hellish series of events.
"Fuck.. . .Fuck. Dude, I don't know what else to say. Relationships suck sometimes, you know? Or, like, even when you aren't in one, trying to figure out if you should be, or if you want to, or if the other person wants to. It's all so fucking complicated. I give props to anyone that can make anything work. And for guys like us. . .it just never seems to turn out right", Bobbie began, and he became more animated as he spoke, which he often did. "You think she doesn't know how much you care for her? Like, maybe she was doubting that you would want to keep on after that whole thing here in the apartment. Like you were gonna break up with her to, I dunno, protect her or something".
Brannock looked up at the ceiling. "I thought of that. Hell, I thought of everything. I just don't know-nothing really makes sense. Maybe she really doesn't know what my feelings are. I don't know how she could be in the dark though". Bobbie finished eating his strange, unheated concoction, and noted "But listen. I KNOW you. Didn't you ever tell her how you felt, like, really said 'hey Thistle, I love you'?"
It dawned on Brannock that, for the most part, he had avoided using that word directly to her. "I. . .I'm not sure." Bobbie stood up, put his bowl in the sink, and leaned in towards Brannock, putting one hand on each shoulder and making eye contact. "Then you're a stupid fuck. I know you say Thistle isn't all mushy and shit. But, I bet that's what she needed to hear. Did you say anything like that to her when she left?" Obviously, he hadn't, because his last contact with her had only been a message, and he said as much. "Well, let's hope that you get a chance to, dude," Bobbie began. "In the meantime, we are going to break a cardinal rule of patrolling. Two, actually. One, we are getting trashed. Then, we're going to patrol as a team. Like, you know, Batman and Robin, or Kato and the Green Hornet. But I get to be Kato."
Seemingly minor, both of these things were considered serious by their superiors. Being drunk was problematic because of the whole reflexes, reaction time, coordination thing while fighting monsters. Patrolling other than alone always had to be approved ahead of time, because if things went south a whole area's agents might be wiped out. Frankly, he couldn't give two shits about either of those things at the moment.
What actually made the night almost enjoyable was that Bobbie was a real lightweight, and was a funny drunk. Fortunately they encountered nothing more serious than several Flippers, so-called because of a large flipper-like appendage on their heads. They looked ridiculous, and while they in theory could be dangerous, even most civilians ended up able to fight them off. Brannock's memory was a little fuzzy later, but he thought that the night ended with Bobbie throwing a brick through a police station window, followed by his rapid, free fall descent off the middle of the fire escape ladder. When Danny woke up in the morning, he was sleeping in the bathtub wearing his pajamas and an apron, while Bobbie was passed out, body halfway in the window leading out to the fire escape. His pants were missing. Brannock's head pounded, but he realized he really appreciated the guy-time he'd just had.
