Tiva Short Stories

Maybe and Anyways

It was late. It was always late. 

We got back to the bullpen at around 3 AM. All reasonable people were asleep. All regular people with regular lives were at home in their beds, thinking about nothing.

But me, I could not stop thinking. Thinking about the life I had taken. The copper scented blood on my hands. The way my gun was a little lighter from the missing bullet, and my heart a little heavier. 

His name was Bryan. 

Bryan was 18. Dead beat mom,  his dad almost beat him dead. When he was 17, the same age I was when I joined Mossad, he joined a gang,  Los Soques.  He was just with the wrong crowd. Bryan was given an initiation to kill an ex member of the gang, Lieutenant Max Wachoz. He left his body in a river. He left his uniform on. He covered his head.  We were notified of Max when he washed up onto the shore, Wednesday. Bryan was a smart kid. Left almost no tracks. Almost.

It ended the way that many crimes do. He saw us, we saw him, we drew weapons, he drew on desperation and drew a weapon on an innocent person. He cried while he did it. I didn't have a choice. We tried to talk him out of it, but the bullet eventually was forced out of my gun. I shot once. I don't miss.

Back in the bullpen, I took my gun out of its holster. I cleaned it furiously, I replaced the bullet, slid it back into its sleeve, placed it in my drawer, and slammed it. 

You say that you're trained. You say you're immune or that it gets easier or that you've learned to deal with it. You say you're fine. You say it, and you say it, and hope that if others believe it then you will. But its a god damn lie. 

I anxiously stuffed my jacket and hat into by pack. "Night," I called, rushing towards the elevator. I couldn't be within these walls right now. I felt numb. I felt angry. I felt lost. I felt nothing.

Nothing. 

"Hold up there  speedy,"  Tony called, "Do you really think I'm going to let you leave like this?"

"Like what?" I stated coldly, tapping my foot as I waited for the elevator.

"With all this f-ing paper work?" He responded jokingly, half laughing, half not. "Do you have any idea how much god forsaken paperwork it is to kill someone in the name of public safety? Its easier to be a murder, no paperwork whatsoever."  

"I'll keep that in mind next time" I cackled, tears running down my face. He pulled me into an embrace,

 I pulled away sharply. 

"No, I just..."

"I kill people for a living Tony"

"I take the love, and happiness, and joy of people and their families each day"

"You're a secret tax collector?"Tony asked. 

"I can't just... after that, I don't deserve to get to just live, or  love, or breath, or complain about paperwork. You can't just forget killing someone. I don't deserve to forget killing someone" I cried out. 

The great Dinozzo was silent. He's never silent. We both slumped down onto the floor. After a minute, he finally spoke.

"You know what?" He chuckled, "You're right"

"Maybe you don't deserve to love, or laugh, or smile, or cry, or complain, or be happy for a moment, or push away the thoughts of those that you have killed,  or for crying out loud  wake up each darn day to this cruel earth"

"But ya know what?"

"What?" I sniffed.

"Maybe, just maybe, you get to anyways"

And I did. He grabbed my hand that night, and 2 years late,r at the alter I took his, and 40  years, 2 kids, 1 dog, 5 grand children, and 1 retirement cruise to the Bahamas later, I got to have it all, even if I never deserved to, because sometimes, you just do. 

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