After the Call
by Castalie




Warnings: Mention of domestic abuse. A little more complicated than that, but when it comes down to it, that's what the story is about. The thing is, in that particular case, there are two or more victims instead of just one.

Story Notes: This is a follow up to "Falling".



After the Call

By Castalie

I didn’t know what scene I was going to witness when I entered the loft, but I had enough experience in my line of work to realize it wouldn’t be pretty. It was all the more sickening that I wasn’t about to face some strangers, but my *friends*.

I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel either.

I was furious, at Jim for what he’d apparently done *again*, at Blair for letting things escalate and fucking encouraging them, like I now realized he did. At *myself* for believing they would be able to control this thing between them, for believing it was different from what I usually saw on the job, and for letting myself enter their sick game. Or maybe I was supposed to feel just sad, because I knew deep inside me that what they were going through wasn’t just a phase but never really did anything to make them *see*, because I let myself believe at one point that what they shared was love and lust mixed in such a powerful mix that it had to be expressed roughly- sad because I should have known better.

Those talks I had with both of them in the past months, together or separately, never meant anything. They were just empty words to them. Why didn’t I decide to up the ante? I could have done it, I had the power. I had the knowledge. I saw all the signs, and I knew them by heart.

Tell me how you were supposed to feel after your best friend just called you, his voice so cold it sounded like he was dead inside, to tell you you had to come as soon as possible because he’d just beat his lover *again*, and they both needed help?

Was I supposed to feel relieved that finally, they’d asked for my help?

I didn’t know. I just felt sick. And since I couldn’t choose, I settled for being numb. If I had to be honest with myself, feeling numb was better than facing the truth.

I’d let my friends down. When it came down to it, that was what this whole fiasco was about. I’d let them lose themselves in this cycle of anger and sorrow, and decided to close my eyes to the truth.

Because believing they were just facing a rough patch was easier than admitting that Jim was abusing Blair- better than thinking Blair was encouraging it because he was just hating his life now, maybe even hating all of us and himself in the process.

Right before I opened the door to the loft, I wondered what price I was going to pay for letting myself forget I was a cop, and for refusing to be a real friend.

As I entered and saw Jim silently rocking an unconscious and battered Blair, I realized no price would be big enough. I didn’t know how I was going to do it, but I was done with being blind, deaf and mute. I would help them, no matter what. I didn’t care if they ended hating me in the process.

Right at this moment, I hated myself enough for all of us.


A/N: Thanks to my betas.



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