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azombiewritesTitle: I Leave a Dagger in You
Fandom: Crossing Lines
Genre: Angst | Tag | Short Story.
Rating: PG
Main Characters: Ellie Delfont-Bogard and Inspector Luke Wilkinson.
Disclaimer: Based on characters created by Edward Allen Bernero.
Spoilers: Set after the Season 3 episode ‘Expose’.
Author's Notes: Story title snagged from the song 'Devil in Me' by Gin Wigmore.
Total Word Count: 4,423
Status: Complete
Summary: Ellie wants to talk to someone who understands. Someone who has killed to protect innocent lives and she can only think of one person. She needed to talk to Luke Wilkinson, a conversation that reveals she isn’t the only one who needs help.
I Leave a Dagger in You
The Hague: Netherlands
She felt cold.
Still. Hours after the . . . event.
Skin tingling, goose bumps a permanent fixture; at least until she felt better. Felt less guilty about killing a man. Her first, as though she should be counting . . . as though she should expect to do it again. She gripped the cup set on the table in front of her, trembling hands grateful the cup was nearly empty. Even though she knew it was normal to feel this way, she didn’t want to feel. She didn’t want to feel the shock, the fear . . . the relentless guilt. No amount of preparation had prepared her for such an emotional reaction . . . nothing she did relieved her of the guilt. No rational thought could compensate or balance her inner turmoil.
She had taken a life . . . shot and killed a man.
A killer himself. The man’s profession, a manifestation of evil, failed to give her the assurance she needed. She tried to tell herself that she had killed in defence of another, Lea Jensen still alive because she had been there to protect Lea, a nagging suspicion Lea hadn’t told them everything, putting Ellie in the right place at the right time.
But . . .
She hadn’t been in a position to save Mrs. Peterson, her death quick and without warning. The killer moving with confidence . . . more confidence in his ability to succeed than Ellie had had in her own to stop him. He should have killed her, Ellie a witness, able to identify him but he had left her there, sprawled on the floor, turning away from her, his attention aimed elsewhere; his intended victim.
Why he had left her there, within reach of her weapon, she didn’t know. Would never know . . . unless he saw something in her, something he didn’t conceive as a threat, her young appearance an expression of her lack of experience. Possible he had planned to kill her as an afterthought on his way out of the building.
Ellie could still feel the impact of hitting the floor, a hard landing. The pain now dulled, giving way to the unrelenting guilt. She closed her eyes, the event playing through her mind like a bad movie. She understood she could have done more . . . should have done more. She had the training. She was gaining the experience required, spending more time in the field thanks to Sebastian. She was growing and maturing as a police officer and she was proud of the person she was becoming.
This was a setback. A temporary one she was certain.
How temporary she didn’t know. Her training, her education told her how to help someone dealing with similar emotions, but she was struggling to deal with her own. She lifted her gaze, searching for something, anything that could help her through this.
Searching for someone . . .
Gaze finding and resting on Inspector Wilkinson. A former military man, a marksman according to his military file. The shot he had taken to protect Sophie Baines the first time he’d worked with the ICC proof of his skill, his sniper platform a hovering helicopter. She watched him, following his tall frame as he stepped away from his desk, his long strides taking him quickly toward the break room. She couldn’t help but admire the man, a deep respect for his confidence, his intelligence, his control . . . his ability to handle the emotional side effects of his job . . .
Ellie moved without thinking, before she could change her mind, standing up and walking away from her voluntary solitude to talk to the one person she now believed could help. Shoulders straight, she walked past each prying, concerned gaze, her friends worried. A smile of reassurance returned, they left her alone, allowing her to keep moving.
Stepping into the break room, Ellie stopped, her steps faltering. So close, he stood in front of the counter, his back to her, his shoulders slumped forward, head lowered. A moment of doubt; it felt as though she were intruding. Hesitant, she was no longer sure how she should approach him. Not sure, an intrusion into a private moment was a good start, a conversation ending before it had begun.
No. She trusted this man. He wouldn’t turn her away.
A slow, deep breath. A slow release.
“Luke?”
A slow movement, he turned to look back over his shoulder, not at all surprised to see her standing in the middle of the room, as though he had expected her, had known she would follow him into the break room. A very intuitive man. He waited, silent.
Her confidence wavering, she didn’t know where to start . . . didn’t know how to ask him for help, for advice. She never lacked confidence; never struggled to find the right words . . . she averted her gaze. Folded her arms across her chest.
You trust this man.
Turned her gaze back. “I need to talk to someone about what happened today.”
It was his turn to frown, gaze quickly becoming neutral. “Yeah?”
She almost smiled corners of her mouth lifting, stopping when he continued, his words not what she had expected, not what she had hoped for, her doubt growing.
“Okay, I’m sure Sebastian is around here somewhere,” he said, turning away from the counter and stepping forward, stopping in front of her, a cup of what she assumed to be coffee in his right hand. His gaze drifted past her, in search of someone else. “I could go look for him if that’s what you really want.”
Not blunt or mean, perhaps a misunderstanding. Oblivious of her need to talk to him. Ellie didn’t want to talk to anyone else about this. She wanted to talk about it with Luke Wilkinson, a man who knew death better than she did. She needed his calm strength, his understanding. She needed to know how he did it, how he lived with the knowledge . . . the reality that he had killed; on more than one occasion she was sure.
And then she realised they had never had a private, personal conversation in the months since he joined the ICC investigation team. Always small talk. He’d never had a problem when it came to talking about himself, revealing small details of his personal life, nothing deep, always enough to satisfy the curiosity of his co-workers, people who were quickly becoming friends. Luke Wilkinson was a very likable man but he had the ability to hold a grudge. She had quickly learned that trust was an important part of Luke's life. Something he held in high regard . . .
“Ellie?”
“I’m sorry, I . . .”
“Do you want me to get Sebastian or do you want to talk to me?”
He had known why she was here. He knew what she had wanted. She could see the understanding revealed in his expression. He had given her an out, a fiction of misunderstanding in case she changed her mind, in case she wanted a way out of what could have been an embarrassing situation. “I want to talk to you.”
“Okay, sure,” he said. “Let’s go somewhere more private.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he said as he moved passed her, “you haven’t heard what I’ve got to say.”
She wasn’t going to regret talking to Luke, she knew that. Whatever he had to say would be with good intent. Always able to speak his mind, to be honest in conversation, he would tell her what she needed to hear, not what she wanted to hear. She could already feel a sense of relief, of hope that the man she had come to admire would help her through a process of grief. She was grieving, a life taken by her own hand.
Ellie followed him out of the break room, gaze forward, resting on the area between his shoulder blades. Felt her confidence returning as she followed him into the small conference room that had been her respite since returning from the scene. Closed the door behind her. She knew the rest of the team were watching. She didn’t need to look their way to know that. Their conversation would be private but not their body language, sometimes more telling than a verbal conversation.
Grateful when Luke indicated she should sit in a chair that would allow her to keep her back to the outside, her facial expressions kept from view. He could have sat beside her, causing the need for her to turn to face him when she spoke but he didn’t, sitting opposite her, a direct line of sight. He leaned forward, forearms on the table, hands in a comfortable embrace, cup of coffee now sitting within her reach. She could smell it. A latte. Curious, she leaned forward. Sprinkles. He had known. He had been waiting for her approach, knew when that moment would be. Felt her eyes begin to fill with moisture.
“It’s just a latte,” said Luke.
“With sprinkles,” said Ellie, leaning back into the chair.
For a moment, an abashed expression filled his features, a shrug of one shoulder, pretending it didn’t matter. “Still.”
“It’s the thought.”
“Just don’t tell Sebastian. I have a reputation to keep.”
Ellie laughed. A needed release.
Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, Ellie watched him watching her. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“How do you live with yourself knowing that you killed someone?”
A quick response. “I don’t think about it.”
“It can’t be that easy?”
“Why not?”
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.”
“You will.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk to Sebastian about this? Carine maybe?”
“You know I don’t.” Ellie shifted closer to the table, closer to Luke. “You were waiting for me. You knew I would come to you about this.”
“Who else were you going to talk to? Marco? I don’t think he would be very understanding. Sebastian would only tell you what you want to hear. Arabela doesn’t really do personal conversations. I’ve tried and failed. And there’s no way in hell you would go to Carine . . .”
Ellie frowned. “Why not Carine?”
Another shrug as he leaned back, creating distance. “She’s your mentor. You’re afraid she would look at you differently. That she would treat you differently. You’re worried she would keep you behind closed doors and not let you back out in the field.”
He was right.
Of course he was.
She reached out for the latte in front of her, the cup still warm, her limbs still cold. “All I can feel is the guilt. The remorse of taking a man’s life.”
“It’s only natural.”
“What did you feel the first time you killed someone?”
Luke frowned. “The first time.”
“You’ve killed more than once. That’s obvious.”
“Is it?”
“Luke, what did you feel the first time you killed a man?”
He looked away, his expression half hidden and for the first time she couldn’t read him. She didn’t know what he was thinking. Watched as he turned his body to the side, as he crossed his legs. He leaned back, stretching his left arm over the table; a familiar pose. Turned his head to look at her, his eyes guarded.
“I thought they deserved it.”
Not what she had expected.
“Why?”
The fingers of his left hand began to fidget, tapping against the table. “Have you thought about Psychoanalysis?”
“Talk to a doctor?”
“You are one.”
“I deal more with the legal aspect of . . .”
“You can’t psychoanalyse yourself.”
“No, I--”
“So you thought you would psychoanalyse me. What? You think if I reveal something about myself, something very personal that it would help you deal with it. Is that it? No, you don’t have to tell me. I get it. You came to me because you think I have a kill list etched on my gun. That I’m proud of what I’ve had to do. I’m not proud, Ellie. I did what I had to do and I did it to save lives. Just like you did today.”
She felt as though he had punched her, the breath torn from her lungs, the sudden swing in his emotions catching her off guard, his understanding quickly turning to anger. “No. Luke, that isn’t my intention. I . . . I just want to understand how you deal it. You always seem so in control of your emotions after you’ve had to shoot a suspect. You make it look so easy--”
“I make killing look easy?”
“God no. This is all going wrong. I’m sorry. It’s not what I meant to say.”
“Then say what you mean, yeah.”
“Of course.” Looking away, she placed her hands on the table, palms down. Took a deep breath, her thoughts scrambled. He was trying to help her and all she could do was . . . she didn’t know what she was doing. She couldn’t think straight, guilt clouding her mind. Emotions rising, a tear slipped free. She wiped it from her cheek, her movements betraying her frustration. “I don’t want to feel this way. I don’t want to feel guilty.”
“Ellie, look at me.”
She lifted her gaze.
He was staring at her, his lips pressed together in a thin line, fingers continually tapping against the table. She could tell he was making a decision, arguing with himself. Decision made, he uncrossed his legs and snapped his upper body forward, arms resting on the table.”What I tell you doesn’t leave this room. Do you understand me?”
“Yes.”
He looked to the right. She followed his gaze. They were under scrutiny, the rest of the team hovering, waiting. She turned her gaze back to Luke, his head lowered, his eyes hidden from her.
“You don’t have to tell me,” said Ellie, reaching forward, wrapping her fingers around his hand, stilling his apparent apprehension.
He looked up at her and she could see the sadness he was trying to hide. “This isn’t about me. I don’t want to make it about me. You killed someone today, Ellie. That’s the only thought going through that head of yours. Right now, you’re not thinking of the lives you saved, the people you protected.”
“I only saved one life. I wasn’t able to save Mrs. Peterson.”
“I was talking about you, Ellie. You saved Lea Jensen and you saved yourself. He would have killed you.”
“I can’t wrap my head around it. I’m struggling to find a way to deal with what I did. I thought that if you could tell me how you do it . . .”
“Shit.”
“I’m sorry, Luke. I just . . .”
“I grew up around violence, Ellie. It was a regular thing . . . it happened too often. I became desensitised to it. Violence . . . death . . . it doesn’t bother me the way it should. It doesn’t bother me the way it bothers you. Being desensitised is no way to deal with it. It’s not a healthy way to deal with it.”
“You grew up in a rough area?”
Something flashed in his eyes, so quick she couldn’t recognise it. “This isn’t something I like to talk about but if it can help . . . I don’t know how, but . . . My dad was a drinker and when he was drunk, he became violent. He used to beat my mum. I had to protect her and sometimes that meant taking the beating for her. The threat of violence was always there. I started to expect it and it didn’t take long before I became use to it.”
She tightened her grip when he tried to pull away. “I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t tell you so you can be sorry. I’m telling you because you can’t deal with it the way I do.”
“Is that why you were so quiet after the Pacetti case? You interviewed the son and got him to confess. Did you tell him about your father?”
“Like me, he was just trying to protect his mum.”
“Not like you. You didn’t have someone kill your father.”
“I thought about killing him once. More than once. Call it a moment of weakness.”
“Everyone has moments like that. It’s a natural response born from anger.”
“You have to deal with this, Ellie, the best way you know how.”
“I don’t know how.”
“You had to protect Lea, just like I had to protect my mum. You did the only thing you could under the circumstances. It was a kill or be killed situation. Lea’s life . . . your life or his, it’s as simple as that.”
“I don’t know if simplifying it would help.”
“Try it. Ask yourself what would have happened if you hadn’t shot him.”
“Lea would have died.”
“And you would have died. Now what would you feel more guilty about? Lea’s death? Yours? Or his?”
“Lea’s.”
“What would you prefer? To feel guilt over the man you had to kill or the guilt you would feel if he had killed her?”
“The guilt of killing him.”
“You only had two choices, Ellie and you chose the right one.”
She nodded, emotions almost overwhelming, eyes filling with moisture.
“When that intelligent brain of yours starts telling you to feel guilty, ignore it and think of the lives you saved. Can you do that?”
“Mrs. Peterson--”
“She died before you knew he was there. Nothing you could have done.”
“It’s hard to convince myself of that.”
“You don’t want to convince yourself. You want to wallow in guilt because you think it’s the right thing to do. You think that if you don’t feel guilty there is something wrong with you. You don’t want to be okay with what you did, you want to punish yourself. Here’s the thing, Ellie, you shouldn’t be punishing yourself for saving someone’s life, as though Lea’s life wasn’t worth saving.”
Telling her what she needed to hear. He was right. Again.
“Do you get what I’m saying?”
Her voice soft, she said yes.
“Now, can you do what I asked?”
“I can try.”
“I don’t want you to try. I want you to do it.”
“I saved a life today.”
“Yes you did.”
“I saved someone’s life.”
“Your latte’s gone cold.”
An embarrassing snort of laughter, an unusual and rare response for her. Released her grip on his hand, his fingers still, no longer tapping against the table. Lifted her hand, the chill in her limbs finally retreating and wiped the tears from her eyes. Realised she felt a little better, less guilty. It was a start. A good one. She looked at Luke, really looked at him. His eyes, the pale freckles across his nose, the lines creasing his forehead as he lifted his eyebrows to question her but he didn’t flinch with embarrassment, comfortable with her scrutiny. It was still there; the sadness she had seen earlier. She wanted to know, needed to know what had caused that sadness . . .
Now it was her turn.
“Is your mum still alive?”
“No.”
“Did your father--”
“Natural causes.”
“And your father?”
“You’re still going to psychoanalyse me? Now?”
“I’m not ready for our conversation to end,” said Ellie. “Not yet. It’s helping. You’re helping.”
“By talking about my past?”
“Only if you want to talk about it.”
“You don’t owe me any favours. I wanted to help.”
“I know and I’m grateful. This is what friends do for each other.”
“Friends?”
“Yes.”
“Four.”
“Four?”
“I’ve killed four. Three men and one woman.”
A switch in their conversation, Ellie expecting him to talk more about his father.
“Why did he deserve it?”
He leaned back, away from her and folded his arms across his chest. An obvious defensive position but she wasn’t sure he was aware of it. “What?”
“The first man you had to kill while defending others. You said he deserved it. Why?”
“This isn’t how it works, Ellie. I tried to make you feel better about what you had to do and yet here you are, trying to make me feel bad about what I’ve had to do in the line of duty.”
“I only want to help.”
“Help? How? By trying to make me talk about something that kept me awake for months--”
“Quid pro go. You helped me and--”
“Yeah, I know how it goes. Why?”
“I can see sadness in your eyes. A sadness you’ve lived with for a long time. I want to help.”
He returned to his previous position, leaning forward, arms on the table, hands in a less comfortable embrace, the knuckles white. “How about, I just write you a check now. Would that make you feel better?”
“Why did he deserve it?”
“We’re done, Ellie and the next time you want help dealing with your guilt, ask someone else.”
He stood up, an almost violent move, pushing the chair away with the back of his knees before walking away. She could see his anger and it wasn’t going to stop her. She stood and moved to intercept him, stopping him. Mirrored his movements when he stepped to her left, then right. A stalemate. Ellie wasn’t afraid of him, Luke not the kind of man who would hit a woman, wouldn’t use any sort of force unless it was necessary.
“Luke, why did he deserve it?”
“I really don’t want to talk about this, Ellie.”
“Simplify it,” said Ellie, stepping closer. “What would you rather feel? Anger at me for helping you through something that still bothers you years later, or the sadness you live with every day? You’ll get over the anger, Luke, but you won’t get rid of the sadness until you talk about it.”
He turned away from her. One hand resting on his hip, he rubbed the back of his head with the other, long fingers brushing through his short hair. He was going to break, she knew with a certainty. He turned back, a grimace of anger on his features. Dropped his hand to his side and said, “If I didn’t know any better, I would think you set me up.”
“It’s the last thing I would do,” said Ellie. “You know it helps to talk about things. You knew I would want to talk to you about what happened today. Not someone else. You. But you didn’t come to me. You waited until I was ready. How you knew I was ready to talk, I don’t know but you went into the break room knowing I would follow you.”
A shrug. “Well, I am a detective.”
She smiled, couldn’t stop herself. He made her feel better without trying. “You said some things that concerned me. “Why did he deserve it?”
“She. And the why doesn’t matter. It’s what happened after.”
“You had to kill a woman.”
“Yeah,” said Luke, laughing at the absurdity, the sound full of contempt. “Yeah, imagine that. The bloke who would take a beating to protect a woman kills one.”
“You felt guilty about killing a woman?”
Pressed his lips together. “No. I didn’t. That’s what got to me. I struggled with the fact that it didn’t bother me to kill someone. To kill a woman when I’d spent years trying to protect one. It kept me awake for a long time.”
She moved closer. He took a step back. “What helped you to deal with it?”
“I spoke to someone. He told me about desensitisation to violence. Not an experience I wanted to repeat. I didn’t go back. Be grateful, Ellie, that you feel something. It’s what makes you human.”
“It wasn’t--”
“Are we done?”
“No.”
“What else do you want?”
“May I?”
“May you what?”
She refused to smile at his confusion. Reached out with open arms but waited for his consent, for him to step forward into her embrace. “And you said you were a detective.”
“I’ve got the warrant card to prove it.”
“Then detect what I want.”
“I know what you want.” Straightened a tie that wasn’t crooked and looked to his right. “You do know Sebastian is watching us. He already looks like he’s ready to throttle me.”
She kept her gaze on him, giving him her undivided attention. “No strings attached. I promise.”
His gazed snapped back to her. “Okay, but we can’t make a habit of this and don’t think I’m not angry that you turned the tables on me.”
“Believe me, Luke. Your admittance has helped more than you think.”
“And put me in a bad light.”
She stopped waiting. Moved forward and wrapped her arms around him, her face pressed against his chest. It was a long moment before he returned her embrace. She felt comfortable, welcomed. The guilt was no longer a burden, now an emotion she was grateful to have. Not to feel when it came to taking a life in the line of duty . . . it drew her emotions into a new perspective. Tightened her embrace.
“You’re a good man, Luke. You feel emotions through other means, so please, don’t dismiss yourself because you can’t have an emotional response to violence. That isn’t your fault.”
Felt a shattered breath on her neck. She wasn’t going to let him go, not until he was ready. She had asked him to help her through an emotional crisis, only to find he needed help in return, even if he didn’t willingly admit to the need. Maybe, in his own way, he had set himself up, giving no opportunity to refuse to speak if she had asked, if she had pushed, and push she did.
A very intuitive man.
She was patient, a few minutes before he let go. Looked up at him, his emotions evident, natural. “Feel better?”
He nodded. “You?”
“Yes,” said Ellie, a smile emerging as proof.
His body language awkward, uncomfortable as he moved away toward the door. “Right then. I’ll let you get on with it.”
“Luke.”
He stopped and looked back at her.
“Thank you.”
His awkwardness was endearing. “For what it’s worth . . . when we work together in the field, not that we’ve done that very often . . . have we worked together in the field?”
“No.”
“When we do, I won’t have any hesitation trusting you to watch my back.” He looked away, nodded, opened the door and walked out.
A sudden realisation. Luke Wilkinson had never dismissed her, always treating her like an equal. Like a fellow police officer. He treated her the same way Sebastian did, with respect. She watched him as he moved past the others, an audience she wasn’t ready to acknowledge, his back straight, his body language confident. Where he was going, she didn’t know but she was glad when Arabela followed him.
Speaking to Luke had been the right thing to do. For both of them.
The End.
Fandom: Crossing Lines
Genre: Angst | Tag | Short Story.
Rating: PG
Main Characters: Ellie Delfont-Bogard and Inspector Luke Wilkinson.
Disclaimer: Based on characters created by Edward Allen Bernero.
Spoilers: Set after the Season 3 episode ‘Expose’.
Author's Notes: Story title snagged from the song 'Devil in Me' by Gin Wigmore.
Total Word Count: 4,423
Status: Complete
Summary: Ellie wants to talk to someone who understands. Someone who has killed to protect innocent lives and she can only think of one person. She needed to talk to Luke Wilkinson, a conversation that reveals she isn’t the only one who needs help.
The Hague: Netherlands
She felt cold.
Still. Hours after the . . . event.
Skin tingling, goose bumps a permanent fixture; at least until she felt better. Felt less guilty about killing a man. Her first, as though she should be counting . . . as though she should expect to do it again. She gripped the cup set on the table in front of her, trembling hands grateful the cup was nearly empty. Even though she knew it was normal to feel this way, she didn’t want to feel. She didn’t want to feel the shock, the fear . . . the relentless guilt. No amount of preparation had prepared her for such an emotional reaction . . . nothing she did relieved her of the guilt. No rational thought could compensate or balance her inner turmoil.
She had taken a life . . . shot and killed a man.
A killer himself. The man’s profession, a manifestation of evil, failed to give her the assurance she needed. She tried to tell herself that she had killed in defence of another, Lea Jensen still alive because she had been there to protect Lea, a nagging suspicion Lea hadn’t told them everything, putting Ellie in the right place at the right time.
But . . .
She hadn’t been in a position to save Mrs. Peterson, her death quick and without warning. The killer moving with confidence . . . more confidence in his ability to succeed than Ellie had had in her own to stop him. He should have killed her, Ellie a witness, able to identify him but he had left her there, sprawled on the floor, turning away from her, his attention aimed elsewhere; his intended victim.
Why he had left her there, within reach of her weapon, she didn’t know. Would never know . . . unless he saw something in her, something he didn’t conceive as a threat, her young appearance an expression of her lack of experience. Possible he had planned to kill her as an afterthought on his way out of the building.
Ellie could still feel the impact of hitting the floor, a hard landing. The pain now dulled, giving way to the unrelenting guilt. She closed her eyes, the event playing through her mind like a bad movie. She understood she could have done more . . . should have done more. She had the training. She was gaining the experience required, spending more time in the field thanks to Sebastian. She was growing and maturing as a police officer and she was proud of the person she was becoming.
This was a setback. A temporary one she was certain.
How temporary she didn’t know. Her training, her education told her how to help someone dealing with similar emotions, but she was struggling to deal with her own. She lifted her gaze, searching for something, anything that could help her through this.
Searching for someone . . .
Gaze finding and resting on Inspector Wilkinson. A former military man, a marksman according to his military file. The shot he had taken to protect Sophie Baines the first time he’d worked with the ICC proof of his skill, his sniper platform a hovering helicopter. She watched him, following his tall frame as he stepped away from his desk, his long strides taking him quickly toward the break room. She couldn’t help but admire the man, a deep respect for his confidence, his intelligence, his control . . . his ability to handle the emotional side effects of his job . . .
Ellie moved without thinking, before she could change her mind, standing up and walking away from her voluntary solitude to talk to the one person she now believed could help. Shoulders straight, she walked past each prying, concerned gaze, her friends worried. A smile of reassurance returned, they left her alone, allowing her to keep moving.
Stepping into the break room, Ellie stopped, her steps faltering. So close, he stood in front of the counter, his back to her, his shoulders slumped forward, head lowered. A moment of doubt; it felt as though she were intruding. Hesitant, she was no longer sure how she should approach him. Not sure, an intrusion into a private moment was a good start, a conversation ending before it had begun.
No. She trusted this man. He wouldn’t turn her away.
A slow, deep breath. A slow release.
“Luke?”
A slow movement, he turned to look back over his shoulder, not at all surprised to see her standing in the middle of the room, as though he had expected her, had known she would follow him into the break room. A very intuitive man. He waited, silent.
Her confidence wavering, she didn’t know where to start . . . didn’t know how to ask him for help, for advice. She never lacked confidence; never struggled to find the right words . . . she averted her gaze. Folded her arms across her chest.
You trust this man.
Turned her gaze back. “I need to talk to someone about what happened today.”
It was his turn to frown, gaze quickly becoming neutral. “Yeah?”
She almost smiled corners of her mouth lifting, stopping when he continued, his words not what she had expected, not what she had hoped for, her doubt growing.
“Okay, I’m sure Sebastian is around here somewhere,” he said, turning away from the counter and stepping forward, stopping in front of her, a cup of what she assumed to be coffee in his right hand. His gaze drifted past her, in search of someone else. “I could go look for him if that’s what you really want.”
Not blunt or mean, perhaps a misunderstanding. Oblivious of her need to talk to him. Ellie didn’t want to talk to anyone else about this. She wanted to talk about it with Luke Wilkinson, a man who knew death better than she did. She needed his calm strength, his understanding. She needed to know how he did it, how he lived with the knowledge . . . the reality that he had killed; on more than one occasion she was sure.
And then she realised they had never had a private, personal conversation in the months since he joined the ICC investigation team. Always small talk. He’d never had a problem when it came to talking about himself, revealing small details of his personal life, nothing deep, always enough to satisfy the curiosity of his co-workers, people who were quickly becoming friends. Luke Wilkinson was a very likable man but he had the ability to hold a grudge. She had quickly learned that trust was an important part of Luke's life. Something he held in high regard . . .
“Ellie?”
“I’m sorry, I . . .”
“Do you want me to get Sebastian or do you want to talk to me?”
He had known why she was here. He knew what she had wanted. She could see the understanding revealed in his expression. He had given her an out, a fiction of misunderstanding in case she changed her mind, in case she wanted a way out of what could have been an embarrassing situation. “I want to talk to you.”
“Okay, sure,” he said. “Let’s go somewhere more private.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he said as he moved passed her, “you haven’t heard what I’ve got to say.”
She wasn’t going to regret talking to Luke, she knew that. Whatever he had to say would be with good intent. Always able to speak his mind, to be honest in conversation, he would tell her what she needed to hear, not what she wanted to hear. She could already feel a sense of relief, of hope that the man she had come to admire would help her through a process of grief. She was grieving, a life taken by her own hand.
Ellie followed him out of the break room, gaze forward, resting on the area between his shoulder blades. Felt her confidence returning as she followed him into the small conference room that had been her respite since returning from the scene. Closed the door behind her. She knew the rest of the team were watching. She didn’t need to look their way to know that. Their conversation would be private but not their body language, sometimes more telling than a verbal conversation.
Grateful when Luke indicated she should sit in a chair that would allow her to keep her back to the outside, her facial expressions kept from view. He could have sat beside her, causing the need for her to turn to face him when she spoke but he didn’t, sitting opposite her, a direct line of sight. He leaned forward, forearms on the table, hands in a comfortable embrace, cup of coffee now sitting within her reach. She could smell it. A latte. Curious, she leaned forward. Sprinkles. He had known. He had been waiting for her approach, knew when that moment would be. Felt her eyes begin to fill with moisture.
“It’s just a latte,” said Luke.
“With sprinkles,” said Ellie, leaning back into the chair.
For a moment, an abashed expression filled his features, a shrug of one shoulder, pretending it didn’t matter. “Still.”
“It’s the thought.”
“Just don’t tell Sebastian. I have a reputation to keep.”
Ellie laughed. A needed release.
Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, Ellie watched him watching her. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“How do you live with yourself knowing that you killed someone?”
A quick response. “I don’t think about it.”
“It can’t be that easy?”
“Why not?”
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.”
“You will.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk to Sebastian about this? Carine maybe?”
“You know I don’t.” Ellie shifted closer to the table, closer to Luke. “You were waiting for me. You knew I would come to you about this.”
“Who else were you going to talk to? Marco? I don’t think he would be very understanding. Sebastian would only tell you what you want to hear. Arabela doesn’t really do personal conversations. I’ve tried and failed. And there’s no way in hell you would go to Carine . . .”
Ellie frowned. “Why not Carine?”
Another shrug as he leaned back, creating distance. “She’s your mentor. You’re afraid she would look at you differently. That she would treat you differently. You’re worried she would keep you behind closed doors and not let you back out in the field.”
He was right.
Of course he was.
She reached out for the latte in front of her, the cup still warm, her limbs still cold. “All I can feel is the guilt. The remorse of taking a man’s life.”
“It’s only natural.”
“What did you feel the first time you killed someone?”
Luke frowned. “The first time.”
“You’ve killed more than once. That’s obvious.”
“Is it?”
“Luke, what did you feel the first time you killed a man?”
He looked away, his expression half hidden and for the first time she couldn’t read him. She didn’t know what he was thinking. Watched as he turned his body to the side, as he crossed his legs. He leaned back, stretching his left arm over the table; a familiar pose. Turned his head to look at her, his eyes guarded.
“I thought they deserved it.”
Not what she had expected.
“Why?”
The fingers of his left hand began to fidget, tapping against the table. “Have you thought about Psychoanalysis?”
“Talk to a doctor?”
“You are one.”
“I deal more with the legal aspect of . . .”
“You can’t psychoanalyse yourself.”
“No, I--”
“So you thought you would psychoanalyse me. What? You think if I reveal something about myself, something very personal that it would help you deal with it. Is that it? No, you don’t have to tell me. I get it. You came to me because you think I have a kill list etched on my gun. That I’m proud of what I’ve had to do. I’m not proud, Ellie. I did what I had to do and I did it to save lives. Just like you did today.”
She felt as though he had punched her, the breath torn from her lungs, the sudden swing in his emotions catching her off guard, his understanding quickly turning to anger. “No. Luke, that isn’t my intention. I . . . I just want to understand how you deal it. You always seem so in control of your emotions after you’ve had to shoot a suspect. You make it look so easy--”
“I make killing look easy?”
“God no. This is all going wrong. I’m sorry. It’s not what I meant to say.”
“Then say what you mean, yeah.”
“Of course.” Looking away, she placed her hands on the table, palms down. Took a deep breath, her thoughts scrambled. He was trying to help her and all she could do was . . . she didn’t know what she was doing. She couldn’t think straight, guilt clouding her mind. Emotions rising, a tear slipped free. She wiped it from her cheek, her movements betraying her frustration. “I don’t want to feel this way. I don’t want to feel guilty.”
“Ellie, look at me.”
She lifted her gaze.
He was staring at her, his lips pressed together in a thin line, fingers continually tapping against the table. She could tell he was making a decision, arguing with himself. Decision made, he uncrossed his legs and snapped his upper body forward, arms resting on the table.”What I tell you doesn’t leave this room. Do you understand me?”
“Yes.”
He looked to the right. She followed his gaze. They were under scrutiny, the rest of the team hovering, waiting. She turned her gaze back to Luke, his head lowered, his eyes hidden from her.
“You don’t have to tell me,” said Ellie, reaching forward, wrapping her fingers around his hand, stilling his apparent apprehension.
He looked up at her and she could see the sadness he was trying to hide. “This isn’t about me. I don’t want to make it about me. You killed someone today, Ellie. That’s the only thought going through that head of yours. Right now, you’re not thinking of the lives you saved, the people you protected.”
“I only saved one life. I wasn’t able to save Mrs. Peterson.”
“I was talking about you, Ellie. You saved Lea Jensen and you saved yourself. He would have killed you.”
“I can’t wrap my head around it. I’m struggling to find a way to deal with what I did. I thought that if you could tell me how you do it . . .”
“Shit.”
“I’m sorry, Luke. I just . . .”
“I grew up around violence, Ellie. It was a regular thing . . . it happened too often. I became desensitised to it. Violence . . . death . . . it doesn’t bother me the way it should. It doesn’t bother me the way it bothers you. Being desensitised is no way to deal with it. It’s not a healthy way to deal with it.”
“You grew up in a rough area?”
Something flashed in his eyes, so quick she couldn’t recognise it. “This isn’t something I like to talk about but if it can help . . . I don’t know how, but . . . My dad was a drinker and when he was drunk, he became violent. He used to beat my mum. I had to protect her and sometimes that meant taking the beating for her. The threat of violence was always there. I started to expect it and it didn’t take long before I became use to it.”
She tightened her grip when he tried to pull away. “I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t tell you so you can be sorry. I’m telling you because you can’t deal with it the way I do.”
“Is that why you were so quiet after the Pacetti case? You interviewed the son and got him to confess. Did you tell him about your father?”
“Like me, he was just trying to protect his mum.”
“Not like you. You didn’t have someone kill your father.”
“I thought about killing him once. More than once. Call it a moment of weakness.”
“Everyone has moments like that. It’s a natural response born from anger.”
“You have to deal with this, Ellie, the best way you know how.”
“I don’t know how.”
“You had to protect Lea, just like I had to protect my mum. You did the only thing you could under the circumstances. It was a kill or be killed situation. Lea’s life . . . your life or his, it’s as simple as that.”
“I don’t know if simplifying it would help.”
“Try it. Ask yourself what would have happened if you hadn’t shot him.”
“Lea would have died.”
“And you would have died. Now what would you feel more guilty about? Lea’s death? Yours? Or his?”
“Lea’s.”
“What would you prefer? To feel guilt over the man you had to kill or the guilt you would feel if he had killed her?”
“The guilt of killing him.”
“You only had two choices, Ellie and you chose the right one.”
She nodded, emotions almost overwhelming, eyes filling with moisture.
“When that intelligent brain of yours starts telling you to feel guilty, ignore it and think of the lives you saved. Can you do that?”
“Mrs. Peterson--”
“She died before you knew he was there. Nothing you could have done.”
“It’s hard to convince myself of that.”
“You don’t want to convince yourself. You want to wallow in guilt because you think it’s the right thing to do. You think that if you don’t feel guilty there is something wrong with you. You don’t want to be okay with what you did, you want to punish yourself. Here’s the thing, Ellie, you shouldn’t be punishing yourself for saving someone’s life, as though Lea’s life wasn’t worth saving.”
Telling her what she needed to hear. He was right. Again.
“Do you get what I’m saying?”
Her voice soft, she said yes.
“Now, can you do what I asked?”
“I can try.”
“I don’t want you to try. I want you to do it.”
“I saved a life today.”
“Yes you did.”
“I saved someone’s life.”
“Your latte’s gone cold.”
An embarrassing snort of laughter, an unusual and rare response for her. Released her grip on his hand, his fingers still, no longer tapping against the table. Lifted her hand, the chill in her limbs finally retreating and wiped the tears from her eyes. Realised she felt a little better, less guilty. It was a start. A good one. She looked at Luke, really looked at him. His eyes, the pale freckles across his nose, the lines creasing his forehead as he lifted his eyebrows to question her but he didn’t flinch with embarrassment, comfortable with her scrutiny. It was still there; the sadness she had seen earlier. She wanted to know, needed to know what had caused that sadness . . .
Now it was her turn.
“Is your mum still alive?”
“No.”
“Did your father--”
“Natural causes.”
“And your father?”
“You’re still going to psychoanalyse me? Now?”
“I’m not ready for our conversation to end,” said Ellie. “Not yet. It’s helping. You’re helping.”
“By talking about my past?”
“Only if you want to talk about it.”
“You don’t owe me any favours. I wanted to help.”
“I know and I’m grateful. This is what friends do for each other.”
“Friends?”
“Yes.”
“Four.”
“Four?”
“I’ve killed four. Three men and one woman.”
A switch in their conversation, Ellie expecting him to talk more about his father.
“Why did he deserve it?”
He leaned back, away from her and folded his arms across his chest. An obvious defensive position but she wasn’t sure he was aware of it. “What?”
“The first man you had to kill while defending others. You said he deserved it. Why?”
“This isn’t how it works, Ellie. I tried to make you feel better about what you had to do and yet here you are, trying to make me feel bad about what I’ve had to do in the line of duty.”
“I only want to help.”
“Help? How? By trying to make me talk about something that kept me awake for months--”
“Quid pro go. You helped me and--”
“Yeah, I know how it goes. Why?”
“I can see sadness in your eyes. A sadness you’ve lived with for a long time. I want to help.”
He returned to his previous position, leaning forward, arms on the table, hands in a less comfortable embrace, the knuckles white. “How about, I just write you a check now. Would that make you feel better?”
“Why did he deserve it?”
“We’re done, Ellie and the next time you want help dealing with your guilt, ask someone else.”
He stood up, an almost violent move, pushing the chair away with the back of his knees before walking away. She could see his anger and it wasn’t going to stop her. She stood and moved to intercept him, stopping him. Mirrored his movements when he stepped to her left, then right. A stalemate. Ellie wasn’t afraid of him, Luke not the kind of man who would hit a woman, wouldn’t use any sort of force unless it was necessary.
“Luke, why did he deserve it?”
“I really don’t want to talk about this, Ellie.”
“Simplify it,” said Ellie, stepping closer. “What would you rather feel? Anger at me for helping you through something that still bothers you years later, or the sadness you live with every day? You’ll get over the anger, Luke, but you won’t get rid of the sadness until you talk about it.”
He turned away from her. One hand resting on his hip, he rubbed the back of his head with the other, long fingers brushing through his short hair. He was going to break, she knew with a certainty. He turned back, a grimace of anger on his features. Dropped his hand to his side and said, “If I didn’t know any better, I would think you set me up.”
“It’s the last thing I would do,” said Ellie. “You know it helps to talk about things. You knew I would want to talk to you about what happened today. Not someone else. You. But you didn’t come to me. You waited until I was ready. How you knew I was ready to talk, I don’t know but you went into the break room knowing I would follow you.”
A shrug. “Well, I am a detective.”
She smiled, couldn’t stop herself. He made her feel better without trying. “You said some things that concerned me. “Why did he deserve it?”
“She. And the why doesn’t matter. It’s what happened after.”
“You had to kill a woman.”
“Yeah,” said Luke, laughing at the absurdity, the sound full of contempt. “Yeah, imagine that. The bloke who would take a beating to protect a woman kills one.”
“You felt guilty about killing a woman?”
Pressed his lips together. “No. I didn’t. That’s what got to me. I struggled with the fact that it didn’t bother me to kill someone. To kill a woman when I’d spent years trying to protect one. It kept me awake for a long time.”
She moved closer. He took a step back. “What helped you to deal with it?”
“I spoke to someone. He told me about desensitisation to violence. Not an experience I wanted to repeat. I didn’t go back. Be grateful, Ellie, that you feel something. It’s what makes you human.”
“It wasn’t--”
“Are we done?”
“No.”
“What else do you want?”
“May I?”
“May you what?”
She refused to smile at his confusion. Reached out with open arms but waited for his consent, for him to step forward into her embrace. “And you said you were a detective.”
“I’ve got the warrant card to prove it.”
“Then detect what I want.”
“I know what you want.” Straightened a tie that wasn’t crooked and looked to his right. “You do know Sebastian is watching us. He already looks like he’s ready to throttle me.”
She kept her gaze on him, giving him her undivided attention. “No strings attached. I promise.”
His gazed snapped back to her. “Okay, but we can’t make a habit of this and don’t think I’m not angry that you turned the tables on me.”
“Believe me, Luke. Your admittance has helped more than you think.”
“And put me in a bad light.”
She stopped waiting. Moved forward and wrapped her arms around him, her face pressed against his chest. It was a long moment before he returned her embrace. She felt comfortable, welcomed. The guilt was no longer a burden, now an emotion she was grateful to have. Not to feel when it came to taking a life in the line of duty . . . it drew her emotions into a new perspective. Tightened her embrace.
“You’re a good man, Luke. You feel emotions through other means, so please, don’t dismiss yourself because you can’t have an emotional response to violence. That isn’t your fault.”
Felt a shattered breath on her neck. She wasn’t going to let him go, not until he was ready. She had asked him to help her through an emotional crisis, only to find he needed help in return, even if he didn’t willingly admit to the need. Maybe, in his own way, he had set himself up, giving no opportunity to refuse to speak if she had asked, if she had pushed, and push she did.
A very intuitive man.
She was patient, a few minutes before he let go. Looked up at him, his emotions evident, natural. “Feel better?”
He nodded. “You?”
“Yes,” said Ellie, a smile emerging as proof.
His body language awkward, uncomfortable as he moved away toward the door. “Right then. I’ll let you get on with it.”
“Luke.”
He stopped and looked back at her.
“Thank you.”
His awkwardness was endearing. “For what it’s worth . . . when we work together in the field, not that we’ve done that very often . . . have we worked together in the field?”
“No.”
“When we do, I won’t have any hesitation trusting you to watch my back.” He looked away, nodded, opened the door and walked out.
A sudden realisation. Luke Wilkinson had never dismissed her, always treating her like an equal. Like a fellow police officer. He treated her the same way Sebastian did, with respect. She watched him as he moved past the others, an audience she wasn’t ready to acknowledge, his back straight, his body language confident. Where he was going, she didn’t know but she was glad when Arabela followed him.
Speaking to Luke had been the right thing to do. For both of them.
The End.
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Date: 2018-03-06 11:03 pm (UTC)Firstly, thank you, as always for the icons!!!! Love them :)
Damn sinus infections. I know what they feel like. Hugs you!
**MAD HUGS**
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Date: 2018-03-11 01:43 pm (UTC)Glad you enjoyed the icons. :)
Yes, damn sinus infections.
Thanks for introducing me to Crossing Lines.
I have now seen almost all the eposides.
I just saw the episode in which Ellie had to shoot someone. Gives me a deeper appreciation for your fic, "I leave a dagger in you." :D
{{{MAD HUGS TO YOU}}}