Tim is no hero (grief) wrote in repose, @ 2018-06-30 14:12:00 |
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Entry tags: | *narrative, tim dawson |
Who: Tim Dawson
What: A narrative more about where he was than where he is.
Where: Jersey --> Capital --> Broody darkness
When: Slightly backdated? Detailing the day he left the hospital in Jersey
Warnings: N/A!
He couldn't have even said for certain when it was that he'd last gotten a decent night's sleep. There' been no sleeping on the way there to New Jersey, and that wasn't even due to the usual high voltage caffeine that Tim all but mainlined directly into an artery, but rather it'd been due to some cold brewed anxiety that didn't let up even when they'd all landed. He hadn't been back to this part of the country in years, and the circumstances that had finally brought Tim there weren't exactly warm and fuzzy. It shouldn't have been much of a surprise when in the end, he hadn't stuck around for very long at all. Only long enough to get leveled by gravity and guilt. In retrospect, he would be able to say that he wasn't surprised by all that happened. Disappointed, but not surprised.
On his way back to the airport, which was almost immediate after having spoken with Damian at the hospital, Tim was exhausted. Drained by jet lag and history and all of the itchy emotional stuff that cropped up when Steph had said that she needed him there. New Jersey really only functioned as a bad layover between his past and his future. Bad city lights didn't make either look particularly promising. There wasn't an afterglow. The flight back home to Repose involved a great deal of staring out the window, although it wasn't due to Tim feeling conflicted over what he was doing. If anything, he felt at peace with his convictions. Perhaps he shouldn't have been able to find serenity so suddenly… but it was there all the same. Even if there were a multitude of reasons to question it,Tim really didn't have the energy to do so.
It was upon landing, the plane jerking his brain back into place on its stem, that he woke up. Tim had not even realized that he'd fallen asleep, and although he lamented the lost hours that he could have gotten something productive done(even if it was just processing his guilt into an unrecognizable mound of emotional compost), it was probably a good thing that he got a few hours of shut eye. He'd been exhausted at the hospital.
Disembarking the plane, Tim felt clear headed and doomed. He knew that he would be walking into fire, a fire that would lay waste to the more recognizable elements of his life, but he wasn't weighed down by this awareness. He caught a taxi at the airport and pointed it toward the city. He was still packed with enough self-deprecating humor to reflect on the fact that this would have been the ideal time to develop a drinking problem, but he didn't go to a bar. And didn't even go home. He went to the station in the Capital where it was late and not many people were on the detective floor. He was grateful for the dark, comforted by shadows that danced around a couple shafts of lamp light that'd been left on from the desks of tonight's final stragglers. At the sergeant's desk Tim placed his badge, his department issue weapon, and a curt letter of resignation before leaving the department with no intention of returning.
Tim didn't catch another taxi. Rather, he pulled a jacket hood up over his head despite summer heat, and he ventured down the city streets. If Repose was home, he wasn't going home. He didn't really know where he was going at all, but South felt like a good direction as far as midnight treks went. Over grease-licked asphalt and boot-grinder gutters, he intended to walk until he disappeared.