Re: Marvel: Cris & Sam
And there it was. The break.
Snap.
Cris ignored the guilt he felt for it, he ignored the nasty ache at the back of his head. He kicked the chair out of the way with a screech of metal on old linoleum, and he jerked the door open without caring about the bounce-back of handle on wall. He pushed Sam out with a hand to the small of her back, and he followed behind her.
The whole squad room watched them pass and he didn't even bother to offer up some excuse, to warn them about the bloody shirt, and how it was just for his head. He walked behind the girl with her hair loose and her face tear-stained, and he jostled her forward if she lagged. Down the stairs, out the front of the building, onto the street where the sun still shined, like some kinda bad joke.
It wasn't even 24 hours before they were walking down the street in Vegas, sex-drunk and looped together, and now they were here. Outside, Cris took a deep breath and he matched his steps to Sam's, by her side. She might react stony-faced, cold, or she might shove him away, but Cris put his arm around her small shoulders, and he pulled her up alongside him. He could scream, the heat of anger could still lick along his skin, and still, regret would come, as it always did, another inevitability in a long, long list.
After a block, a block and a half, he finally spoke again. His voice was gravel and rough, but the fury had died somewhere on the steps of the precinct.
"What d'you want, hm? Don't tell me it doesn't matter, just answer the question."