What Derives From Hate?

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"He's not perfect. You aren't either, and the two of you will never be perfect. But if he can make you laugh atleast once, make you think twice, and if he admits to being human and making mistakes, hold onto him and give him the most you can. He won't quote poetry, he's not thinking about you every second, but he will give you a part of him that you could break. Don't hurt him, don't change him and don't expect more than he can give. Don't analyze. Smile when he makes you happy, yell when he makes you mad, and miss him when he's not there. Love hard when there is love to be had. Because perfect guys don't exist, but there's always one guy that is perfect for you.

- Bob Marley
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   You were shot?!" He fumed, pacing around the living room while I sat calmly on the couch. I had ended up seeing him made more times than I can count as I went on to do more dangerous things for what I stand as. A mindless monster attempting to play hero. It was foolish, really, but I played the role well enough to get by.

"Yes. I was shot there. So, what?" I countered, pinching the bridge of my nose in confusion. This isn't an argument we should be having. He knows that I'm accident prone, he knows that I have a very difficult job. So, why was he surprised? Why were we arguing?

" 'So what?' You were shot for fucks sake. Shot! And you didn't tell me. That was weeks ago. Why didn't you tell me?!" He slammed his fist hard on the marble counter, scaring me.

"I didn't tell you because it felt like confinement here. I felt like I was being in prisoned here, on leave. I felt like those poor helpless animals at the zoo who have to live like that. Sure, this house is all this, that and 'ooh look at that' but it gets boring. Especially under the rules of 'Stay until it's a scar.' I was bored to death here. I was DYING! Though I can't do that but still. I didn't tell you because of my passion for what I do. I felt like nothing here because of you and Renard." He looked at me disappointedly, tears pricking at his eyelids.

That was weeks ago. Nick and I now only saw each other at work, not speaking a word, casting each other mean glances. Sean pulled me into his office. "You and Burkhardt still aren't speaking?"

"No. Can't you see that?" Crossing my arms, I looked over to see Nick watching. Sean noticed, closing the blinds, me muttering a thanks.

"Word of your skills reached a friend of mine in New York. Uhm, ever heard of NYPD Red?"

"Heard of 'em. But Sean," I took a step closer, licking my lips and sighing. "Running isn't the answer. If I run, it makes him win. And I'm no loser. This thing? It's like a game of uncle. Where you bend the kids arm behind them until they whimper uncle. He speaks or runs, I win. Vice-versa. Understand?" He granted me a nod, me out of the room in a flash. Nick glared at me from his desk as I plopped down in mine on the other end of the room.

"Y'know. Not talking to him isn't going to help you both at all." A beat cop, Kitra, I had learned spoke. She was a sweet soul, precious and to be protected. Reason being why she was my partner until Nick and I decided to pull the sticks from our asses.

"Shut up, K." I smacked her shoulder, smiling. "Not dwelling in my married life, what do we got on the case?"

"Those guys you took down a few weeks ago? They're up and at it again." I slid down in my chair, groaning in a deep octave. Them again? I already immobilized and took them down again, as hard as it was, I don't want to do that again.

"Give me a fucking break, guys. Fucking gracious if you'd do that that, honestly. I know taking shit from people like you is my job but you guys are seriously getting on my nerves." Kitra laughed, throwing her back along with it. She rarely laughed freely around anyone here except me. She had so many bottled and pent up emotions but she opened up to me. Let all of that over to me. Gregarious was the right word for this new found friendship. To her, I was the one soul in this room full of trustworthy people, she could tell her demons to.