Woody knew it was going to be a long day as soon as he got the news that Anderson wouldn’t be coming in for his shift. Buzz had shown up and Woody did what he had been doing for the passed few weeks. He ignored him as much as he could.
Then the call came in and a worried mother had unknowingly asked for the two people who should not have been placed in the same car together. But a kid was missing and Woody wasn’t going to sit back at the station to let Buzz take point on this one. Instead he pressed down on the gas pedal and managed to get out of the car before the Deputy could say anything that was not about the call.
The air was a tad bitter, probably more so for himself than Buzz, and he shivered against the breeze that shifted the leaves both on the branches and that had already fallen for the oncoming winter. So he was a tad miserable, but that didn’t really matter did it? There was a kid out here on his own looking for his way home and here he was bitching about nothing.
He cast Buzz a sideways glance when he finally spoke but Woody had been waiting for that. He just hadn’t seen him resorting to something like small talk. Buzz had always been the blunt sort, the guy who didn’t try to side step the elephant in the room but instead walked up to it, pointed his finger at it, and announced that there was, in fact, an elephant among them.
“Fine.”
Fine.
To most this was nothing. Less than nothing, it would have been a shrug off and a cold shoulder and a warning to back off. But to Buzz it was a foot in the door that had been shut for weeks.
He was not stupid, though much of the time people perceived him to be due to his blunt nature and way of seeing the world as it was presented to him. It was true that he did not understand the things that sat below the surface and that much of the time words designed to by clever tongues and bitter hearts would have no effect on him.
Buzz knew that one word did not mend a friendship nor did it mean that Woody was even so much as warmed up to him. It was a start, an opening. It was something.
He couldn’t work off of nothing, the silence and being ignored completely, but he could work with this.
His torch passed over the treeline, shadows being cast further back into the forest only making him have to squint harder through the disappointing weather. “Do you mean fine in the way of its definition or in the way that when people reply with the word they really mean it as a polite response even though it is a lie?”
A few things had led up to himself and the Sheriff walking down the side of the road that led into down by the light of their torches.
Anderson calling out for his shift, allowing Buzz to come in at the same time as Woody which had been a rare occurrence these days. A call coming in from a woman saying she needed help searching for her son, who had taken their car to the Next Town Over, stopped to change his tire on the way back into town and had yet to come back home. Buzz having picked up the phone for the call. The woman asking specifically for the Sheriff to also be apart of the search.
Buzz, while hoping that no harm had come to the missing boy, had been pleased by the turn of events. Trying to get Woody to talk to him had proved a harder task than he had originally thought. He never allowed Buzz a moment to get a word in edge wise, clipping their conversations down to the bare minimum of what was needed to pass between them for their jobs. This would be an opportunity that he would not take lightly.
They had found the car the mother had spoken of parked on the side of Main Street just outside of Swynlake, but her son was not in the vehicle. Both he and Woody had exited their patrol car to investigate, finding nothing but foot prints in the mist softened Earth that they had agreed to follow.
The trail had ended awhile ago, but they continued in the general direction on foot, knowing they might miss something had they taken the car. The quiet bore down on Buzz, nothing but the sounds of their boots and rustling of forest vegetation to their left.
Eventually, he cleared his throat. “So, Sheriff...how have you been?”
Peg whirled around, squirt bottle raised in steady caution.
What a prick–what an absolutely piece of shit–what a–what a–
“Look.” They snapped. “Whatever it is you’ve fucking done–you’re not his friend. You don’t get to decide that, and you sure as bloody hell don’t get to decide what he is or isn’t allowed to do.”
Peg had run away for all of six bloody months. they didn’t like it that Woody didn’t want anything to do with them in the way that he had before, but it also wasn’t like they could blame him. They’d been a shitty person–a shitty partner, and they were still trying to deal with that. Still trying to wrap their head around how to… Not. Be that.
“If you’re his bloody friend, you’ll take the time to fucking step back and bloody work on yourself, mate. Woody doesn’t give up on people for no reason, you know? And he’s allowed to take whatever kind of bloody time he wants to grieve–even if it’s not what you fucking want, cause I’ll be honest with you, mate, if you’ve fucked up this bad, it really doesn’t fucking matter whatever it is you want.”
Buzz looked at them, eyes flickering back and forth between theirs in search. Of what, he did not know, but what he found, he didn’t like.
“You are wrong. I am his friend, and if what he’s doing is harmful, then I’m not going let him do it any longer.”
Friends had their ups and downs, but the point was to work through the disagreements, not shut a person out. Isolation only led to bad things. Waiting was not in the cards for him. He didn’t have another year to work on allowing Woody to come out of his shell. He did not have time to sit there on the sidelines while he watched the Sheriff to lock himself up in that office, in that house, in that mind of his, again.
“But you are right, it isn’t about what I want,” he said, looking away as he began to process his thinking. What had they done, and what had he done to have been “demoted?” Why did Woody no longer trust them as he once did?
They had left.
“It’s about what he needs.”
And what finally broken down that wall of Woody’s? What had made him reveal himself to Buzz in his kitchen that night?
Persistence. The ever present reminder that Buzz was going to be there. So, when he had not been, something severed.
“He’s just too stubborn and selfless to say it.” With a firm nod he turned his attention back to them. “Thank you. You’ve been most unhelpful. I will allow you to-” he pointed at their cleaning supplies, “-get back to work.”
Listening to him talk was like tying to walk across carpet in cleats–or through grass in a pair of stilettos. Every word seemed to snag a different part of Peg, tripping them up and reminding them of the shitty situation they were in in the first place. You know, the one they preferred not to think about if at all possible.
But then here was this bloke, their ex’s coworker whom they’d only ever spoken to once before, insisting that they could help him in this fucking fruitless quest.
Honest to gods, he was kind of pissing them off.
“You bloody thought about the fact that maybe this isn’t something you’re meant to fix?” Peg offered, moving past him to get to the next machine on their list. “S’just not bloody worth it, mate. If he wants you around, he’ll tell you. I don’t know how else to do it.”
While he had been expecting some signs of resistance from them, he had not been thinking he would run into a wall. Obstacles to make this harder? Yes. Denial? No. Buzz did not let up, following after them.
How could someone who had been let in to Woody’s life like they had, probably beyond what he had allowed Buzz to enter, reply with such a statement? Or maybe their relationship had not been what he had originally thought it to be. Then again, if it had taken Buzz more than a year to get to where he had been he could not imagine that level of intimacy had been given so freely.
“No,” A definite statement rather than just the word. “No, I am not giving up.”
It had been sometime since he had felt this way about anything. Not since he had gone to his father with the thought that he needed to follow in the man’s footsteps to become a police officer.
“I am his friend.” Buzz paused. Then shook his head. “Whether he likes it or not I am not giving up on him or am going to allow him to isolate himself any longer. I came to you because I thought you cared about his well being as much as I do. If this is incorrect information I will leave you be, but if it is not, then surely you would want to help.”
What was the deputy bloody doing asking them about Woody of all god forsaken people? In what world did they have a relationship in which they talked about the people embodying the sore spots in Peg’s life? Since when was Peg the fucking expert on everything Woody’s emotional health?
That didn’t… This didn’t–
“Mate.” They… Laughed? It took them by surprise even as they did it. It was tinged with self-loathing. Oh if only this guy knew. “Mate if I knew shit about shit I wouldn’t just fucking be Woody’s friend right now.”
They rolled their eyes at him. It made sense in their head.
“I’ve been fuckin’ demoted, mate. I can’t help you if all you were was a friend. I’m still tryna fuckin’ navigate that path myself.”
He replayed their answer several times, going through it with a finally toothed comb until it laid in a way that looked good to him. This procedure took a moment and then he came back to them with the result that he was very confused.
And it wasn’t just because of their over use of profanity.
“Demoted,” Buzz repeated, then nodded because, yes. Yes! That did seem to be the right word. “He has demoted me as well. But more so than he has you since he still speaks with you, doesn’t he?”
But he was not going to leave here without some sort of answer. They had been the only solution he could think of to his problem. He sighed and the air hurt his lungs from the amount of emotion that was stuck in his throat at the thought of failure on the other side of the gym’s door.
“Please,” he said, looking at them with unwavering earnesty. “I need to fix this and you are the only person I can think of to help me.”
Yah know, Errol really had thought he wouldn’t have to have this kind of talk here. In a small town. He was proven wrong, unfortunate as that was. He’d heard about the train heist that was stopped by Pendragon and Pride, the team they’d made, and the fact that Lightyear had been nowhere in sight, coming in too late to do anything but watch as the rest of the officers apprehended the suspects and carted them off to booking.
The ensuing fallout was to be expected but, honestly, it was all just an enormous headache. In fact, they were a migraine, waiting to explode behind his eyes.
Rubbing at his temples for a moment, the sheriff dropped his hand to give the man across from him a hard look. He’d called them in one at a time, hoping that it would curb the bickering.
“Right, boyo, yer gonna explain yerself. Now. Why’d ye leave? Yer partner needed ye, and ye weren’ ‘ere.”
Upon first thought, Buzz had not been dreading this moment. He had known the consequences of his decision to follow through with the Drunk Driver Case and had gone because he thought he had been doing the right thing and would be able to make his superior officers see this, too, when he returned with the assailant caught and arrested.
It wasn’t until now, that he was standing at attention before the High Sheriff, that he felt the heavy, cold weight of trepidation sitting in his stomach.
“Sir, it was never my intention to leave Sheriff Pride or the team alone to deal with a situation as monumental as the one that transpired here,” Buzz said, his tone even. “I was following up on a case that took me outside of town and was unfortunately unable to be present during the time of the crimes transpiring.
“I was doing my job, sir,” he said. And to Buzz, he thought he had been doing the right thing at the time. Going to get the bad guy, bringing him to face justice as it should be.
The days in which Peg spent most of their hours at the gym went by in a flash. Something about the whirring of machines, or the dull sounds of dude-bros made the world seem to turn faster. This was the normal Peg had known for years, and so even if nothing else felt right, they could slip back into some sense of familiarity under the fluorescent gym lights.
Here, the expectations was that they’d work the front counter til 10, teach their classes in the afternoon, then go home, if they were so lucky as to not have the closing as well.
It was a mundanity that let them think, fill out forms, look up A-Level requirements.
What? The gym was about self-improvement, right?
So that’s what Peg thought about even as they absently wiped down machine over in the weights corner. It was the first thing stopping them from jumping back into the present when they were approached.
“I–yeah?” They stood, wiping their hands on their pants. “Yeah. If you’re asking about the leg machine in the corner all I can tell ya is that Phil’s already called the guy about getting it fixed but he probably won’t be here before monday.”
He blinked. Leg machine? Monday?
“I- no, this is not a matter of the gym,” he said, tone touched with enough confusion to color the words before it disappeared, no longer his concern. “This is about Woody.”
He allowed for a pause, then started again not wanting them to misunderstand him again as that would only be a waste of both of their time, “Pride? Woodrow Pride. The Sheriff. From my understanding, you were together romantically before you departed resulting in of concerning behavior for the Sheriff in the following weeks.”
So much so that Buzz himself had noticed. It had been odd. It had been like seeing the man break down in his kitchen, doubt spilling from his lips and allowing for Buzz to finally see what had been there the whole time. A man who cared just as much as he did about people and about the job. Someone he could call his friend.
Though he no longer knew if he had that right. But that was why he was here.
“You have since returned and are on good terms with him, yes?” he leaned forwards, eyebrows furrowing as he looked at them with focused curiosity. “How did you do it? Earn back his friendship?”
The emotion, he found, was rather unsettling. It was not new, of course, he was well versed in the many variations of sadness as he had experienced his fair share within his life time. This form of it was different, though. It was new so it had taken him a few days to understand what it was that he was feeling.
The next steps had been identifying the source of his sadness. Once he could properly understand the cause he would be able to fix the problem and stop feeling sad. It had been rather easy, all he’d had to do was look up from his desk and spot the Sheriff across the office.
Woody. Woody was the reason he was sad. With that information he came to the conclusion that his form of sadness was a kind of grief. He felt loss.
The solution to that problem would be to get back the thing he had lost. That being Woody’s trust and friendship. The problem there was that he did not have any experience with that. He had earned it once, but did not know how to regain it. But he knew someone who did.
Buzz walked into the gym once he had gotten off shift, eyes scanning the building until he found who he was looking for. He approached Pegasus Hippoi, “I am in need of your help. Do you have a moment?”
Stepping out of the patrol car was possibly the hardest thing Buzz had ever had to do in his life. Including the time he had to go to rehabilitation after returning home from America.
“Where is he?” he asked Davis, the first person he sees when getting passed the fire truck and brigade. She gave him a look, as if she was thinking about not telling him, but wound up pointing to the Sheriff anyways, knowing that Buzz would have with or without her help. His organs clenched uncomfortably as his boots sounded out against the gritty back road they were on, eyes fixed on the closed door. He felt as though he could have legitimately thrown up and he did not know why he was heading towards Woody and the pending angst when he could have been back at his flat already.
He did know, actually. He had to make this right, but for the first time in his life he found himself questioning what that was. Was approaching the Sheriff the right thing to do? Or was hiding away and prolonging it to give him space? Buzz passed by several other cars, rounded around an ambulance where paramedics were helping a woman with a leg wound, and suddenly, there he was.
The Sheriff was sitting in the driver’s seat of his car a few meters over. The side of his face that Buzz could see was smeared with dirt and grime, and there was a horrible matted streak of red running down the hairline at his temple.
It was over.
He had missed everything. The only assailant left were the ones sitting in the patrol cars being taken back to the station.
“You’re late, Deputy,” someone said behind him. He turned to find Brown looking at him, frowning.
“Excuse me,” Buzz snapped. “Why do you look as though you’ve just come on shift when the Sheriff has a head wound? Were you even apart of the situation or were you otherwise caught up with your relationship?”
Brown looked affronted, pushing off the patrol car he was leaning against,“That’s rich coming from you. Maybe he looks like that because he was the first one prying open the train doors when Pendragon was able to stop it, going in without any backup?”
“He wouldn’t.”
“He did.”
“He would have had good reason,” Buzz bit out.
“Yeah,” Brown narrowed his eyes, stepping closer. “Almost like he had a whole team to direct on his own, a guy on the inside to keep track of, the media to keep away, and you weren’t there to back him up.”
Without even thinking Buzz matched Brown’s movements until they were only a few steps away from one another.
“Enough!” They both turned to find a woman dressed in the fire brigade’s uniform approaching them. Miller, his brain supplied. Behind her he could see Chief Denim approaching. “Brown, get back over here and help us.”
He opened his mouth to argue, and Buzz left them to it, their attention fixed on one another, taking the opportunity to get to the Sheriff before the Fire Chief did. He jogged around the other cars and stopped not three meters from him.
“Sheriff,” he said, taking another step closer. “Sheriff.”
WOODY
As soon as the bickering started Woody cracked an eye open to see just who could have enough energy to start up that kind of shit. It didn’t take him long to focus in on two figures.
Oh. Buzz was here.
Imagine that.
He stayed sitting in his seat and closed his eyes again, drinking in the moment before the storm would come pouring down on him. He didn’t want to hear Buzz’s voice, the excuses that would come out of it, or look at his face that was sure to have that stupid earnest look on it that he always had.
Then he heard the crunching of footsteps approaching and his resting period had been cut short. Then Buzz started to call out to him, like he wanted to say something, as if he had any right coming here now and thinking he could start up a conversation.
He was exhausted. He felt like he had been wrung out so many times that there was nothing left. If something else were to happen just then, another call, he didn’t know that he would have anything left in the tank to give. Not that it would stop him from doing something about it.
“Just don’t,” Woody said, getting up and out of his seat. He kept his eyes away from where Buzz was, unable to stomach it. He shook his head.
Here was the worst part, Woody was relieved to know Buzz was there.
He was there, and he was alive. Moving enough to walk and to talk. It made that the tension in his chest release. It had been there ever since he had heard that Buzz was in Andover taking care of the drunk driver case without anyone else from Swynlake there to back him up.
Woody didn’t have to keep worrying about him anymore. He could just be angry and not hold it back for fear of all the things that could have gone wrong. No one at that other station knew that Buzz would do anything to help people, even if it meant stepping in front of a bullet. He would do it without a second thought and it had scared Woody to think he wouldn’t have been there to keep that from happening, to have been the hand on his uniform sleeve pulling him back out of the way.
He couldn’t look at him, though. Even as he stood and stepped away. He could only walk passed him, turned away so as not to catch even a glimpse of the Deputy, when Chief Denim called out his name.
BUZZ
His eyes assessed the Sheriff’s movements as he stood, looking over him for any other visible damages or wounds besides the drying blood on the side of his face.
It was odd.
He found that he was usually very bad in situations like these. Emotional ones, that was. Things usually passed by him, too fast for him to understand, too messy for him to be able to make out in the allotted time he was given. Much of the time it took him further analysis of the situation to come to the correct conclusion, and even then there was the same probability that he got it right as someone tossing a coin up into the air and expecting it to be one side or the other.
But this time he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, what was happening here. It was clear. It was blatant. So much so that even their officers knew and perhaps even the fire department, too. Anyone who saw them now probably knew.
It was this: Woody was so stubborn. As in incredibly, painfully stubborn. He does not back down. He listens to everyone, legitimately considers their points, and very rarely he agrees to compromise on one detail or the other but the bigger picture, in his head, never changes.
Woody was brave. Not just the jumping into a knife fight without a stab vest kind of brave either, or even being the Sheriff in a town that wants to kill everyone, kind of brave. This is routine for him, so it is stuff he does without thinking, just regular parts of Woody. It comes from when it is winter in the UK, snowing, and the man from Texas, USA, doesn’t say a word about it. It comes through when he allows Davis to take point despite the civilian who called them complaining about getting a woman officer.
Woody was quiet, his emotions hard to read sometimes as he kept it behind a stoic face and it took someone with an axe to hack away the carefully placed barriers to finally see everything hiding behind it.
It was also this: Woody was very easy to hate. He was stubborn, so much so that he made Buzz look like a saint. He was brave, so much so that he got himself injured and pretended like he didn’t and just expected everyone else to act the same even though he was bleeding out. He was quiet, his emotions hard to find, so much so that when one did find them it was overwhelming with how intense they truly were. It made one wonder how someone that quiet could feel that much without giving away the game. He was easy to hate. He made it so simple.
It was very disappointing to find out that now, when he was making it easy to hate him here, that Buzz did not. Not even a little bit, and it was terrifying to think that Woody might actually hate him instead.
“Don’t leave like this,” Buzz said to Woody’s back. He wanted to mean don’t leave this argument that we are meant to be having right now but he knew he meant don’t leave me here.
WOODY
Woody laughed, bitter.
Frankly, he felt like an idiot.
This always happened and he never learned. People left. It’s what they did. They weren’t meant to be tethered to someone like him. Even after all this time, after Peg, he had still allowed himself to think Buzz would be different.
To have something, to believe in it so much, only to have it disappoint you...it was painful. He had thought he would be used to it by this point, having felt that same wound over and over and over again in the same place, in the same exact place with a precision of a scalpel severing into something that was desperately trying to heal before it could happen again, it was excruciating.
It was unfair, of course, to place his last bit of hope on one man. That last scrap Buzz himself had found and took when Woody thought it was all gone, after Phoebus and Peg and Peach. Somehow he had scraped the bottom of the barrel and pried it out of him.
Woody laughed because Buzz said that to him, to Woody, of all people. Woody, who had never left anyone in his life. Who stayed put, who took root in every place he had ever been in despite knowing he would be torn away a few months later in the foster system. Woody, who had been here when Buzz had been off galavanting through who knows where when Woody had just needed him here.
He laughed because even though Buzz had left and even though he didn’t tell Woody and even though he was here saying that to him and even though he was accusing Woody of being the one of leaving, he wasn’t going anywhere.
“If I haven’t left because of your shit by now, I’m not going to,” he said on a smile. Exhaustion found him all over again and he swallowed, throat dry. That’s the most he was going to get out of him. He kept moving until the approaching fire chief reached them.
BUZZ
Before he could even reply to that Chief Denim was there. He ducked his head, keeping her from seeing the look on his face.
This was bad. Very bad. So bad that even Buzz could understand that. How could it be that just hours ago he had never felt so happy? Elated to have caught the culprit in the case he had set out to solve. The man was currently going through processing and would no doubt be charged with evading arrest, along with many other things to add to his file. Buzz had done that, had caught him, had brought him to justice.
And yet he could not find that happiness in him now. It had been lost to his system ever since he had looked at the news, read the headline. All the way on the drive over it had been replaced with other emotions. Negative emotions. Ones that were going to eat him alive if the Sheriff didn’t so much as look at him. He kept his head ducked, even turning away as he felt the Chief's eyes on him.
“We’re going to head out, Sheriff, get the trucks back into town. They said they’ll have the train back up and running in a few minutes, get it down to NTO to get cleaned up,” she said. Her eyes moved beyond him, searching for something. Her eyes lingered on Lightyear, just over the Sheriff’s shoulder. They traveled up and down his form, but didn’t pay him any mind besides that. She looked back to the Sheriff, “Where’s Chisolm?”
WOODY
“Inside with mine,” he said, nodding towards the train.
He was aware that she was looking at Buzz, aware that she probably had questions but was kind enough to keep them to herself. For now. By the time they all got back to town everyone here would know the story. That the Sheriff was bad at his job, so much so that his Deputy didn’t even listen to him when he gave him orders. That the Sheriff couldn’t even get an ounce of loyalty from someone who was supposed to be his partner.
It was a wonder he hadn’t been run out of this town sooner. Yes, crime happened everywhere. Yes, people got hurt. Yes, sometimes there was nothing he could do to prevent it and he shouldn’t shoulder the burdens of bad people doing bad things.
But he did, because if those bad people thought that there were going to be consequences for doing those bad things then maybe they wouldn’t do them.
His Deputy saw that. His Deputy had said they would be able to work through it. His Deputy had left, working something else out on his own, not caring about the town he had sworn up and down was his responsibility, too.
He sighed, “Need anything else from us?”
BUZZ
Denim shook her head, eyes tracing over the Sheriff’s cheek. “Meet us at ours when we’re all back in town to go over everything. And Sheriff, you need to get that head wound looked at. I’ve got plenty of paramedics standing around willing to do so.”
His stomach was churning and his organs felt swollen and displaced as he stood there, because he knew what he had done, and that Woody had been right.
He could handle anger, could easily deal with being yelled at. He would even take a punch to the face. It was the expectation of disappointment that was making him feel twisted and uncomfortable. The Sheriff and his unnatural ability to make him feel bad, no matter how good his intentions were. The universe had conspired against him with those two men hijacking the train. If they had waited even half a day later then everything would have been fine. He would not be panicking that his team would never speak to him again, he would not be about torn apart with anxiety and terror of Woody’s impending rejection.
But he could not blame this one on Woody. At the end of the day it had been Buzz’s bad call and recklessness and inability to sit still.
It felt a lot like when he had been cut from NASA. Unable to do anything but accept it. Having to call his parents to tell them their son was unworthy, that he would be coming back home. The only difference from then and now was that he knew he could not succumb to the same thoughts he’d had then. But it was getting harder and harder the louder that voice inside his head became with the silence Woody was giving him.
WOODY
He reached up to touch at the blood in his hair, pulling it back to find it dying his skin red.
Normally he would argue. He would say no, he needed to stay standing and not step away from all the work that needed to be done. It wasn’t even that bad. Probably. Maybe it felt like his head was swimming and maybe he could feel his pulse in his skull as if someone was taking a hammer to it in time with his heart, but that had never stopped him before.
This time, though, it was an excuse to get away from Buzz. It was something that Buzz couldn’t follow him to because surely he knew not to get in a paramedic’s way when they’re trying to work on a patient. It would offer him more time to think about what the fuck they were going to do now that this had happened. It would give him a second to breathe and not have to hear Buzz’s voice or look at his face.
So today he would take the excuse as an out. He nods to the Fire Chief, allowing her to reach out for his shoulder and guide him towards a waiting EMT. Woody sat down heavily on the back of the fire truck, elbows on his knees, and head bowed, eyes staring down at his hands.
BUZZ
By the time everything was cleaned up, all the passengers aboard taken care of, and the train had been released to travel back to one of the stations, in this instance the Next Town over, it was well into the night. Buzz had made it halfway to his desk when something in his mind changed.
He was turning over all of his thoughts, trying not to dwell on any single one in particular due to them being painful enough in their vague and blurry stated, let alone if he focussed on them enough to become clear. He remembered but did not think about the day he had been told to leave NASA, passed over the memory of meeting Woody when he came to this town, and he abruptly remembered what Woody said to him not ten minutes ago.
Something about not leaving Buzz, even if he wanted to.
He didn’t want to think about this, but he found that it could not be helped. His stomach churned uncomfortable and the hope that began to spark in his chest as the words replayed in his mind were sharp, painful shards piercing him in placed that he would usually refuse to acknowledge to be vulnerable. This was uncharted territory for Buzz and delving into it highlighted exactly why he would have normally chose to not pay attention to his emotions.
He could not hide from this. From Woody. If he ignored it, if he hid away, then it would be like losing being an astronaut all over again. The situations may not have been comparable, but Buzz had been heartbroken when he learned he would not be going to space. If he lost his job as an officer due to him breaking the friendship between him and Woody, Buzz was convinced he would die.
He stopped mid-step on the tile of the office floor, making his way out and toward the Fire Department. It almost killed him doing that much, but he had to know, he had to see Woody and know if this was the end or not.
After that he would just have to see what form the after would take.
He entered the building, tearing open the door and finding the first person coming out of a room to ask where the Sheriff was. He pointed to the door that Chief Denim was coming through.
Buzz walked towards it, not paying attention to her but stopped when she caught him by the bicep. He looked up to find a stern expression on her face. A warning. Buzz continued to look at her, pleading in silence for her to allow him to enter the room. Something shifted in her expression and he could feel her fingers loosening on his arm.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Lightyear,” she told him before releasing him completely. He could not reply as he did not know how, and instead entered the room so he would not have to.
WOODY
The drive back to Swynlake had seemed much farther than when they had been following after the train in the first place. He had not driven, told he could not with the concussion he had been diagnosed with, and had been squished into the back of a patrol car with two other people who had decided to return to Swynlake instead of being taken to NTO.
He had walked across the street to the Fire Department, as he had promised to meet with Chief Denim when everything had been squared away at the scene, and entered. Pointed toward a meeting room he plopped himself down in a chair to listen to the debrief by the Chief and the other Superior Officers. He answered all of their questions that were thrown his way, gave details on the situation they had been missing, and reassured them that when the two men had been processed that they would be alerted to the status on the situation.
Luckily no one had been hurt, the men had been apprehended due to Officer Pendragon, and the situation had turned out okay.
This time.
Woody stayed sitting when everyone else had been dismissed, sharing a look with Chief Denim as she was the last one to exit the room. She nodded at him and then left, too, leaving him alone.
For about ten seconds.
He could hear her talking to someone just out of the range of the door frame, his Deputy’s name ringing out. Woody kept his eyes on the table in front of him, refusing to look up when he heard footsteps closing in on him.
BUZZ
Buzz knew that Woody knew he was there.
He was sitting in a chair at a conference table, eyes fixated on it.
Buzz did not move into the room. He stared, unblinking, at the Sheriff because he knew that the moment he entered then it was all over. A part of him thought that it might be better to get the inevitable out of the way sooner rather than later. The rest of him planned on standing in the doorway for the rest of his life.
It was only after six minutes of standing and silence that he realized that he was waiting for the Sheriff to acknowledge his presence, either by saying something or simply by raising his head to look him in the eye. It is that thought that which finally propels him through the threshhold, even if he does not want to be the one to make the move, he knew how stubborn Woody could be, especially when he was in a mood.
And if Woody ever had deserved a moment in which to be in a foul mood, this would probably be it.
Buzz stepped over to stand beside the chair the Sheriff was settled in, his hand grasping the chair tucked underneath the table beside him, trying to summon his voice of reason to use at its full self-defence capabilities.
Unfortunately it died the moment he turned his eyes onto the Sheriff once more. He stood there for a long moment, at a complete loss. Voices and footsteps filtered in from the open doorway. Someone called out for help with a printer, a voice responded. A bitten off curse, the ring of a phone, the rattle of a door closing heavily.
“I have no idea what to say.” he finally admitted, voice sounding too loud in the small space between them.
WOODY
Woody forced himself to look up when he felt Buzz settle in beside him, unmoving for a few silent moments. He was not going to be the first to break it, to allow Buzz to think that he had anything to say to him on his own device. He pushed the chair back so he could get the full view of the Deputy, eyebrows raised at the admission. Something he never, in all of his life, thought he would be getting from Buzz Lightyear.
“An apology would be a good place to start, but I don’t know what good it’ll do,” he muttered, and that was it. That was all he was going to offer. There was no olive branch to be extended. Instead he turned his attention away from Buzz again, twisting the fabric of his shirt sleeve between his filthy fingers. He heaved out a sigh, his whole back shifted with the force of it.
This conversation is not what he had wanted, having thought Buzz would stay at the station or go home after everything had been moved, all the civilians back home. He thought it would wait for a couple of days until he had been given time to process everything.
Then again, this was Buzz, so how could he have expected to not have it thrown back into his face so soon?
BUZZ
He waited after Woody spoke, thinking there would be more. But there was nothing, just a large release of breath. This was worse than he had thought. Woody, who was no older than him, did not look so young now. He seemed older and weary and resigned, as if the world and all the negative things within it had finally got to him.
“Will you unpack your anger on me now?” he asked. “I cannot take the silence, again, Sheriff.”
WOODY
Woody laughed at that, the shock he felt as a result forcing it free from him. It was strangled, bitter, resembling the same thing he had responded with when Buzz had first turned up. He glanced up, just to confirm that Buzz was being serious right now, only to find that stupid sincerity that was always on his face. He shook his head, bringing a hand up to rub the rueful smile off his mouth.
“I’m not going to yell at you,” he replied, thinking it to be true. There was no fight left in him, he was barely keeping it together having this conversation alone. He could not be bothered to lay it into Buzz. There was nothing more to say.
He had left. He hadn’t been there when they needed him. End of story.
BUZZ
“Someone should, and I would rather it be you,” Buzz said, staring at the Sheriff. He knew he could not have the officers under him yelling at him, it did not make sense. And he most certainly did not want to hear it coming from the High Sheriff. It would only make sense coming from Woody.
“I came here to face the full force of Sheriff Pride, as is deserved. I told you, I cannot take your silence again. There must be something else you have to say to me.”
WOODY
That struck Woody as being odd. Not so much the blunt request, as that was what Buzz did best, but the request itself. He wanted to be punished, knew that what he did was wrong. It infuriated Woody that he thought getting yelled at would be enough to get him off the hook, that it would fix everything he had done wrong. He knew he was in trouble, but it was as if he didn’t know why, couldn’t figure out why Woody was so angry with him this time.
It made sense, of course. Buzz was not prone to picking up on subtleties. He guessed that was why Buz wanted Woody to lay into him here, so he could hear from word of mouth what it was he had done wrong. Maybe Woody would have told him in the not so distant past, have taken mercy on the guy.
But not this time, if Buzz wanted to know what he did wrong and how to fix it he was going to have to figure it out for himself.
“Go home,” Woody said, his voice tired and distant.
BUZZ
His heart plummeted. He reached up to grip onto his stab vest, forgetting he had taken it off in the office. His hand dropped uselessly to his side, fingers curling up as he fought down the urge to reach forward.
“Okay, he said. “Yes, sir. I would like to inform you that I will be taking full responsibility for my actions, and ruining this situation. I…”
He hesitated to explain himself, but knew he needed to get it out in the open, even if it did him no good. “I could not sit there and do nothing when we were given the chance to take action. You know I cannot.”
WOODY
And after all that he said he wasn’t just going to give Buzz the answer, his annoyance with the man, those words grating on him like nails on a chalkboard, won out instead.
“I’m not mad at the face you went,” Woody said on the heels of the Deputy’s words. He shook his head, irritated, “Did you know that the train was going to be hijacked?”
BUZZ
It sounded as if Woody was annoyed and Buzz clung to it like a life vest in the middle of a roaring ocean. Anger was better than indifference any day. Anger equeled feelings, indifference was nothing at all.
“No,” Buzz replied, a tad confused. How could anyone predict that unless they were the perpetrators themselves? It was an impossibility. Why would the Sheriff be asking him such a question. Surely he knew that Buzz would never be involved with people like that.
WOODY
“And did you get the drunk driver hit and run, guy?” he asked in the same tone, waiting for Buzz to catch on.
A tall order, he knew. But Buzz was smart and Woody knew, somewhere, that he would be able to use that brain of his to figure this one out. Hopefully.
BUZZ
“Yes,” he said, on the defensive immediately. His brows furrowed at the Sheriff, still unaware of what was trying to be said here. He pleaded with his eyes for Woody to come out and say it, like he had grown accustomed to him doing these past few months. No more hidden layers or messages, no more communication lost to misunderstandings.
It seemed as though they were right back to where they started.
WOODY
Buzz stared at him in his earnest confusion, those dark eyes bearing down on him. He sighed, pushing his chair away so he could stand. If he still didn’t understand why Woody was upset then maybe that was just how it was going to be. But he couldn’t sit there and hold the Deputy’s hand through this one. Not this time. He was done, tired, head pounding to the beat of his pulse. All he wanted to do was get back to the station, sort everything out they needed to for the night, and leave to get to his bed.
He had no more time for Buzz Lightyear, he was going to have to wait, just as he had made Woody wait.
“I’ll see you back at the station,” he said softly.
Woody brushed passed the Deputy and exited the room to get himself back to work.
BUZZ
He watched the Sheriff go, unable to get his mouth to say anything as his mind was stuck on an endless look of asking What just happened?
He was at a loss. He did not know why the Sheriff was upset if he was not mad that Buzz had gone to finish the job he had been ordered to drop. What other reason was he upset? He racked his brain, looking for an answer, only to come up empty. There was nothing.
After a few minutes he took to compose himself, he followed the Sheriff back across the street to the Police Station but kept his head down, going right to his desk in order to get started on the paperwork the carnage of today had brought forth for them.
In which Buzz accomplishes his mission but finds that he isn’t as happy about that as he would have thought. (Part 2. Part 1.) (Trigger Warnings: mentions of alcohol and drug use.)
Detective Shipman was a very stubborn man, Buzz had decided. Stubborn, calloused, and eccentric.
Buzz had managed to learn several things about him since reading that he had been the one assigned to the case. His first name was Carlos, he was 47 years in age, was 5’11’’ in height, had a daughter who liked to text him often, was a fan of Real Madrid, and did not enjoy being questioned.
He did not drink coffee just a lot of alcohol, he did not have any problems telling Buzz what he thought, he cursed quite often, and he did not smile often unless he was speaking with his daughter or the other Detective he shared an office with. Or maybe it was just that he did not like Buzz, which he mentioned quite often. It did not phase Buzz, though he did as why the Detective felt the need to say it as frequently as he did.
“Just to remind you,” he had said and Buzz supposed the answer made sense, though it still confused him.
He amended that it would not affect the investigation.
Detective Shipman also seemed to find it necessary to keep things from Buzz despite agreeing to allow him to work on the case. He knew this due to the alerts he would receive from updates to the Livingston file that the Detective did not share with Buzz. He asked every time, waiting for the expression of surprise to pass. At first the Detective was reluctant, but after figuring out that he could not hide anything from Buzz he began to accept that he was in it for the long haul.
They had driven to the location Livingston’s mother had given Buzz, but it was empty save for the flies. An officer was then posted outside the house on his insistence, but had yet to report on seeing anyone enter so far.
A notice had been put out, if anyone had seen him they should call in to report his whereabouts.
Currently they were in a pub, one that Livingston had frequented and had been last seen drinking in before his second arrest.
“Hello, I’m Deputy Buzz Lightyear with the Swynlake Police Department,” he said to the man behind the bar.
“Evening Leo,” Detective Shipman greeted after a short pause and exchange of looks between himself and the man, Leo. “You seen this guy poking around here recently?”
The Detective presented his phone, a picture of Livingston displayed, to Leo. He leaned forward, pressing one palm against the counter so he could squint at the picture to examine it. Buzz watched, head tilting slightly.
“Oh, Charlie?” he said, pulling back. Leo raised his eyebrows at the Detective, who nodded, and let out an annoyed sound. “No. He knows not to come back here after what he did to Peter. I haven’t seen him in weeks. Thought he fucked off to some other town to terrorize them.”
“You would not be far off,” Buzz answered. Both men turned to look at him, he could recognize the negative expressions on their faces but they didn’t bother him. “He came to the Next Town over where he proceeded to drink and drive, resulting in an accident that placed a young man in the hospital with serious injuries. Terrorize may not be the correct verbage for what he has done, but yes, you are correct in your thinking.”
There was a moment of silence, both the Detective and Leo continued to stare at Buzz until slowly returning back to one another.
“You know anyone that might still be in touch with him? Someone he might owe money that’s keeping up with him or something?” Detective Shipman asked. Leo shook his head.
“No one that I can think of, sorry Carlos. If I did I would be tellin’ you, I don’t want that maniac crawling in here any time soon. Peter just got his cast off, I don’t want him going back into the hospital trying to fight that guy off.”
“I know, Leo, I know,” the Detective sighed.
“Can I get you anything?” Leo asked, indicating to the various drinks around him. Buzz watched, confused as to why it seemed as if the Detective was considering the offer.
“It would not be wise to drink while on duty, Detective.”
“Shut up,” Detective Shipman snapped. “Yeah, gimme one for the road. I’ll need it having to deal with this asshole.”
Leo chuckled, shaking his head as he turned away to fetch whatever drink it was that the Detective had been referring to. Buzz frowned. Yes, a stubborn man indeed.
His phone buzzed in his pocket and he turned his back on the Detective to examine it.
“Detective,” he said, turning back, his eyes still reading over the report. “I’ve just received a report of a possible sighting of our suspect. It’s only a few blocks away. We need to go.”
And he did not wait on the other man to reply, not so much as looking up from his phone screen as he made a line for the door.
Behind him there was a string of curses that were said, followed by a short pause and the sound of glass hitting a hard surface.
The apartment complex was not a very nice building. In fact it was not even accepting applications for residence so much as it was waiting to be torn down. The windows were either boarded up or broken. The paint on the walls were scratched up, the paint cracking away and graffiti filling every space that was available. The ground was either suspiciously wet or had a pile of trash sitting on it. Tile was ripped up, odd pieces of furniture were strewn about. The ceilings had water marks or the plaster was coming down.
But, by some form of miracle, the lift still worked. Though it reeked and the light flickered above them every few seconds.
“What did the report say, exactly?” Detective Shipman asked as they stepped out from the lift, turning right down the hallway.
“Not much,” Buzz replied, following behind, “just that someone reported that they heard strange and loud noises coming from the building. No one is supposed to be taking residence here, and no one has lived here for three years, but the person said she saw a man fitting the description of Livingston.”
“For fuck’s sake,” the Detective said, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. “Strange and loud noises? Lightyear, if we walk into some kind of weird kink session I’m getting your ass sent back to Swynlake before you can even blink, you got that?”
Instead of answering, as there was no point in pandering to the Detective’s odd form of conversation, Buzz knocked. When no one answered he looked to Detective Shipman who shrugged and flicked his head towards the door, suggesting he should do it again.
Buzz did, with more force this time. “Hello? This is the police, if any one is there you should answer the door.”
After a moment there was a large crashing sound from inside.
He checked the knob. Upon finding it locked Buzz took a step back. The door was a push door. There was no doubt it was hollow, due to the whole complex showing that it was of low budget. He aimed for the area just beside the lock and thrust the heel of his boot into it. The first kick weakened it, the wood caving in slightly, and the second kick sent the door flying back allowing Buzz to enter the flat.
The inside was worse than the outside hallway. The lighting, though, was a tad better due the the three windows on the far side of the room having no blinds or curtains to block the sunlight from filtering through.
The main room was both the living and kitchen area, the makings of broken counters and abused appliances showing how unlivable these flats had become. The fridge no longer had a door, like most of the cabinets. The living area had only buckets riddled around, and one area that looked like it had been used to start fires, judging by the burnt wall paper and unsafe fire pit. It was empty, though, save for the Detective and himself.
And maybe cockroaches that had scattered at the noise.
Buzz worked his way through the small apartment, entering the one door that led off into a bedroom with a bathroom and closet. There was no furniture inside, just a pile of blankets in one corner. He moved into the bathroom. There was nothing in their either that seemed to be of function. The toilet itself had been removed, the bathtub had a portion broken off. The sink still stood, but water leaked from one of the faucets and the bowl was blackened with something wet and slimy.
“Clear,” he called out for the Detective, who did not acknowledge him.
A bucket, much like the ones in the main area, was on its side with a large crack. It held no dust a top it, and underneath was scratch marks that had not been covered in trash or fallen ceiling tile. In fact, it looked as if the bucket had kicked up the muck that had been under it when it tipped. Buzz crouched down to examine it.
Something fell on his head.
He looked up.
The ceiling above was, for the most part, in tact. The portion above him though, had a hole in it. The plaster had fallen.
Buzz raised back to full height. He used both hands to shake the vanity, testing its sturdiness. When it only budged a little he raised one foot on top and pushed himself up. With small steps he edged himself forwards until he was just within reach of the hole in the ceiling. He reached a hand through, feeling around until his fingers brushed an object. Getting a better hold of it he pulled it down.
It was a box. Small. Metal.
He hopped down from the vanity, turning to rest the box where his feet had just been, and worked the lid off.
The contents inside came out one by one as he set them on the counter space. A fake I.D., a small bag with contents at the bottom, and a syringe. Buzz replaced the items back in the box, pressed the lid back on properly, and returned to the living room.
“Detective Shipman,” Buzz said, grabbing the man’s attention from where he was cringing at the kitchenette. “I believe our suspect has also been doing illegal drugs.”
He moved forwards, handing the box over to the Detective.
A creak came from above them.
The ceiling within the living room was in far worse condition than that of the bathroom and bedroom. It was almost non existent save for metal beams and a few portions of plaster that clung to the edges like the beginnings of someone’s puzzle.
Buzz looked upwards. The creaking ceased.
There was a single chair in the corner of the room, next to where the fire pit was. It was upright. The upholstery was still intact. A blanket sat in the seat. It did not have dust or dirt covering it, though it looked well worn in as stuffing was coming from a broken seam.
He moved away from the Detective, who was trying to pry the lid off the box and cursing under his breath as he struggled to do so. The creaking began again as Buzz moved closer to the chair, making him look up.
Something moved and the sounds of wood splintering broke through the apartment. Within the next second that something came falling through the hole that sat above the chair, using Buzz to break its fall.
He moved with the fall, allowing his hip to hit first, then his shoulder, his legs flying into the air to stop his momentum from going any further. His face hit the floor, his cheek bone breaking over his skin, making it sting as it touched the filthy floor. When he opened his eyes, protective reflex, he saw that the something was, in fact, a someone. They had scrambled to their feet and was running out the front door. Buzz stood, and was on the move behind him.
“Get him!” the Detective shouted, belatedly, as Buzz was already in the hallway, following the suspect down the hallway and into another apartment.
“Stop! Police!” Buzz warned, but the suspect did not do as they were told. Instead they ducked out a window where the rooftop of the adjoining part of the apartment building was waiting for him. He had no choice but to follow.
Next to the apartment was another building, that stood at least seven feet taller. There was no gap between them, they had been built right up against one another to share a wall. The suspect had already crossed the roof and hopped up onto a large stack of wooden pallets that lifted him to a height where he could jump to grab the edge of the other roof and pull himself up.
On the far side was a ladder made of metal that was attached to the other roof. It would take more time, though, it would cost him precious seconds. Buzz ignored it in favor of following behind in the suspects footsteps. He jumped up onto the pallets, using his momentum to jump again, grab hold of the roof and pull his body onto the other roof top without losing his footing.
They were still running, the next buildings were houses, all built squished together with steepled roofs. The suspect did not look phased as they jumped down several feet to land onto it, continuing to run across the slim portion that was flattened where the angled roof met, their arms flailing around in an effort to keep their balance.
Buzz pursued, not glancing left or right to survey the height on either side of him, having to jump over chimney after chimney that stood in the path way. Eventually the roofs would end, eventually the suspect would have no place to go.
Or so he had thought.
At the end of the stretch of houses Buzz watched as the suspect fell, and then proceeded to slide out of view. When he approached the edge he slowed himself down so as not to fall forwards, and peered over. To the right of him was the suspect, working his way down a ladder that led to a fire escape. He moved them, getting down to slide across the roof top and catch the ladder, swinging around to climb down at well until he reached the fire escape to descend it.
His boots hit the pavement and didn’t stop moving, as the suspect had run off down the street and Buzz was not going to be out run.
Down the sidewalk they want, ducking and weaving passed several other civilians that cursed at them or gasped in shock. The suspect passed over a street unscathed but by the time Buzz got to it, a few seconds later, the nose of a car getting ready to pull out onto the main road was in his path.
Going in front of it might mean getting hit and would waste time. As he approached he jumped, using the hood of the car to slide across, and landed back on his feet on the other side. He pumped his arms harder, corralling his thoughts to keep going. He could not fail, not here, not when the suspect was so close.
He had not been able to see the suspects face, they had a hood up to block his view of them even now, but even if they were not Livingston they was still a case to be made against trespassing and illegal drug use.
He focused on his breathing, in his nose, out his mouth. In, out, in, out.
The suspect turned a corner and Buzz followed after him. The street was far busier, the population having been increasing throughout their pursuit through the streets. They had reached a stretch of stores and restaurants that had people walking, driving, biking. Not as many as a city, but enough for the suburban neighborhood around them.
They ran across the street, dodging a car that slammed on their breaks. Buzz ran passed it, the driver watching him in shock.
Buzz followed the suspect into a parking lot of a grocery store, watching as he disappeared between two cars to lose him momentarily.
That wasn’t going to do. Buzz then stepped up on top of a parked car, and peered around. He spotted the suspect several vehicles up the row forcing a woman out of her car. Buzz jumped from one car to the next until he was on top of the car the suspect had gotten into. He slid down onto the hood, turning to look inside the windshield.
“Charles Livingston,” he shouted upon seeing the suspect’s face. “You are under arrest for several crimes. Get out of the vehicle.”
He watched as the suspect shook his head, looking away from Buzz in order to shove the stick shift into drive.
“Get out of the vehicle,” Buzz repeated, but taking hold of the grill between the hood and the wind shield just in case. There were several options of what he could say in an effort for this chase not to continue. Force. Logic. Or- “Your mother wouldn’t want this for you, Charles! You are doing her a disservice by continuing to run!”
Livingston stopped, his head bowed for a moment longer and then he slowly looked up to meet Buzz’s stare through the glass.
Emotion. Guilt. It would seem Buzz had chosen correctly.
“She’s worried about you,” he said, releasing his hold on the car. “She doesn’t know where you are and she told me she wanted you safe. That she did not want you to hurt anyone else, Charles.”
Slowly, cautiously, he got down from the hood, put kept a hand on the car. Not that it would do anything should Livingston reverse out of the parking spot.
“You have been living alone in a condemned building,” Buzz continued as he stood in front of the driver’s side window. Livingston peared up at him through it, eyes glassy. He wrapped his hand around the door handle, pulling gently. It was locked. “You cannot keep running. You have only harmed yourself and others around you with your behavior. Step out of the vehicle.”
“I can’t,” Livingston yelled. “I can’t.”
“You can,” Buzz insisted. “No one else has to get hurt. The longer you run the worse it will be for yourself and for your mother. Allow me to help her, Charles. Please. Get out of the vehicle, or I will be forced to add auto theft to your arrest.”
After a long, tense moment, Livingston folded. He punched the steering wheel a few times, and ran a hand through his hair before he turned to unlock the door. Buzz allowed him to open it himself and step out.
“Turn around,” he said, and Livingston complied.
“Sorry about your car,” Livingston said to the lady who had stood back to watch the situation with wide eyes. She didn’t reply.
With Livingston seated on the curb next to him Buzz phoned the Detective. During the several minutes it took for him to find them Buzz noticed several missed calls on his phone. Some from the station, and a few from Woody himself.
He did not think about it any further until later. Not until after Livingston had been processed and interviewed. Until the Andover department had thanked him and Detective Shipman had, begrudgingly, shaken his hand.
He had even gotten a smile from the man.
When he walked out of the evidence room he found the Inspector standing in his office’s doorway standing very, very still. His presence puts the rest of his officer’s on hold as well. His eyes were trained on Buzz.
“I thought Swynlake knew you were here,” he said.
“They most likely are aware of my absence now,” Buzz replied with a shrug.
“Shit,” the Inspector said. “You need to go. Now.”
Before Buzz can even ask he pointed at a television that was hanging on the wall. He glanced at it and then found himself turning his whole body, taking a step forward towards the screen.
The determined assurance that he had done the right thing slowly and pitifully died. His stomach twisted itself into a knot and he suddenly felt like he needed to throw up.
On the television is a video feed of Swynlake. Buzz recognized the train station.
And below the tag lines read Hostage Situation: Two Suspects with Weapons Take Over Train. They cut to a view of the train, stopped somewhere along the route. People getting off looking terrified. There are fire trucks and patrol cars and the people he knows well enough by now to recognize at a distance. They cut then to a shot of a reporter, giving them updates.
Buzz’s mind raced through all the things he considered wrong he had done in his life. He thought about the time he had punched a wall out of frustration. He thought about the time he had thought taking the M25 would make his route faster, about the time he had failed out of the NASA program.
Then he thought about Woody telling him they were off the case, and the look on Woody’s face when Buzz had been curt with him afterwards. He thought about how it felt to watch as Woody broke down in his kitchen before him and hear him apologize with his sincere tone and watery eyes. He thought about the late nights at his house after that, the conversations they would have outside of work that would touch something more personal and Woody would have a look on his face that made Buzz think he would say something more only for it to pass. He thought about the teasing or sarcasm and the smile that Woody would get on his face when Buzz would ask what he meant by it.
He thought about how Woody will have reacted when they got the call about the train being taken over by two men with weapons, only to find Buzz not there where he should be.
He imagined Woody flipping open that absurd flip phone he still used in the year of 2019, calling Buzz, ready to take on the situation alongside him if Buzz had just done as he was asked and stayed put.
Robbie stared at the man, his mouth falling open slightly.
This cur had the audacity to look at him and then continue scraping the metal across the ground just as loud, if not louder, than he had been before. A low growl built in Robbie’s chest and he had to bite it back before walking over and picking the furniture up off the ground and placing it where it needed to go.
It wasn’t a grand feat of strength. The other man had just been lazy and wasn’t picking things up properly and that made things even worse.
“Are you normally this unaccommodating, or is it my lucky day?” he asked, turning to look back at the other man.
Once again, Buzz was prompted to look up at the movement next to him. He found the young man from before taking it upon himself to help. Well, wasn’t that kind! Buzz smiled at him, having not caught on to the negative mood that had settled into the air due to the company he had managed to acquire.
“I do not understand the question,” he replied, stopping mid step from where he had been shuffling a table back into position. His brows drew together as he thought it over once more.
No, he still did not comprehend. “To what are you referring to, sir? Are you in need of assistance?”
Despite anything Vee had said to him, Robbie could not find a single charming thing about this pitiful English town. Things had begun losing their charm around the 1920s and it had been steadily going downhill ever since. No one trusted anyone anymore. Everyone was so self-centered. Humanity was crumbling beneath the weight of their own technology and Robbie was just so tired of watching it. It was boring.
The sun glinted through the trees and Robbie’s headache throbbed, a vicious reminder that he didn’t belong. Not only were the sun’s harsh rays prickling his sour mood, there was this other incessant noise–like a droning of some sort–weaseling it’s way into his eardrums and settling right on his very last nerve.
“Excuse me,” he said, turning around quickly. “Must you be so loud?”
Buzz looked up from the table and chairs he was moving. They had been scrapping across the ground as he tried to pick them up from where they had fallen earlier due to unforeseen circumstances they could not have been avoided. That being the gentleman on the bicycle that had come crashing through. To many the noise would have been considered annoying and unnecessary. Buzz took no notice of this.
He made eye contact with the young man who had just inquired about the noise.
“Yes,” he said, dead pan. He held eye contact for a moment longer, and then continued to pick up and move the cafe’s furniture as loudly as he had been before.
Titles: Gryffindor Seeker, Member of the Dueling Club
Wand: Fir, Dragon Heart’s String, 11.5 inches, and durable.
Patronus: Fox Terrior
Pet: A Norwegian Forest cat named Felis since he is a basic star loving bitch.
Best Three Classes:
Worst Three Classes:
Hogwarts, a Personal History:
Buzz Lightyear does not know it but he is living a lie.
Buzz Lightyear thinks that he is the son of a muggle and a wizard. His mother’s side of the family oblivious to what his father’s side is. He thinks his father is a business man like his father before him and that he, too, will one day take over to carry on the torch and reputation of the Lightyear name. He thinks his life is good.
He thinks there is nothing for him to hide, that he lives a perfectly average life.
And, for the most part, this is true.
He does live a normal life, going to school among the other students, planning on taking over the family business to make his father proud.
What he does not know is that his name is not Buzz Lightyear, but William Shepard. His parents are not his real parents, as they claim.
When he was a baby Melissa Shepard, his real mother, and Jonathan Shepard, had to give him away. Jonathan was an Auror, and due to a job gone wrong he needed to get everyone around him to safety. William was given to Jonathan’s brother to be kept safe for a few days until they could get everything straightened out. Unfortunately the people who had been coming for the Shepard’s found William and as payment for what Jonathan had done, they stole his child and raised him to be one of their own.
15 years later, as far as he knows he is still Buzz Lightyear and will remain that way until the day the truth comes out. As far as his parents are concerned, that day will never come.
In which Buzz acknowledges Woody’s decision, but given that it is a stupid ass decision he has elected to ignore it. (Part 1!) (No trigger warnings.)
Buzz did not try to hide the video feed he had up on his monitor. He did not click off the file information, nor did he tell anyone of what it was he was doing. Then again, no one asked either.
As far as anyone was aware he was preparing the evidence to be sent to the police department in Andover, and that is what he would allow them to believe.
He looked up, his finger hovering over the ENTER key, and over his shoulder to where the Sheriff’s door sat open. He was doing paperwork, hand moving back and forth across the page as he wrote in that messy handwriting of his that Buzz had learned to read with ease by now. There was a wrinkle in his forehead as his eyes skimmed over something and Buzz ached to be there, to be able to ask why he was making such a face instead of being forced to watch from afar. They had not spoken to one another since the disagreement that morning over the case and he was pretending that it didn’t feel like a lead weight in the pit of his stomach.
It was a tad off putting, if he were being honest, and he always was. He had absolutely no plans to get up and see Woody, no matter how much he wanted to. He was still so angry with the Sheriff for not coming with him to the address he had acquired that he could barely contain it. What was worse though, was the disappointment and disgust he felt in himself for allowing himself to be pushed and ordered about.
It was that anger that allowed him to turn back to the computer and press the key without any further hesitation. With the motion the computer sends the file to the Andover police while also saving everything to their own server. Buzz had become quite good with computer coding. At one point in his life he had thought it would be beneficial to him when going into the NASA program and so he had spent many years dedicating himself to it. Even when in university, despite his overall focus being on engineering he took the time to learn.
He enjoyed technology. It was easy for him to understand, all of it straight forward if a little complicated. There were no underlying meanings or double sided tones when it came to a computer’s coding. Buzz had caught on quickly and it had stuck with him ever since. It had even given him a leg up in the university, being able to show off his skills within that division. But he had not wanted to sit a computer desk all day and turned down the offers he had gotten within cyber crimes, instead taking on the position that most had passed up on. An officer position in the small town of Swynlake.
There were a few lines of code that had been attached to the file he had sent out. Code that would give him access to anything new that would be added into the file, should he need it for later.
Buzz stood from his desk . It was well into the night by then, meaning it was time for him to be off shift. He signed out, but instead of heading to the locker rooms like he always would, he went to the back door. No one questioned him.
He did take another moment of brief pause to look back at the Sheriff, still sitting at his desk. He stared at his form for a long moment and then continued on his way towards the door, pushing out into the warm summer air. He ignored the empty feeling that the lack of words passed between them left in his chest. Woody may have been right, in a way, but they had a job to do and he could not let his personal feelings get in the way of doing what he knew was right.
No one was outside to stop him as he unlocked the patrol car or when he pulled out of that car lot. If they would have he would have told them the truth, but he would not have allowed them to stop him from driving out of Swynlake, the address from Ms. Livingston plugged into the GPS directing him through the night.
The drive to Andover was not long nor tedious. He pulled up to the police station not half an hour later due to the lack of traffic within the night time. Buzz walked into the building with his head held high and shoulders squared.
“Good evening,” he told the man sitting behind the glass at the front desk who was blinking at him. He had a round face with short cropped hair and light skin that was peppered with freckles. “I am Deputy Lightyear, Swynlake Police Department. I would like to speak with Detective Shipman, thank you.”
The man continued to look at him with his widened dark eyes, clearly confused, though Buzz could not imagine as to why, seeing as he had just told him everything he needed to know.
“Does she know you’re coming?” he asked.
“No.” The man, Buzz glanced down to read James on his name plate, does not seem to know what to do with this. Mostly he is wasting Buzz’s time. “Please unlock the door to allow me through.”
James hesitated, and he straightened up to his full height, slowly and deliberately, waiting for the man to argue with him. In the end he does not and the buzzer sounds, the doors clicking unlocked followed close behind.
“Thank you,” Buzz said, and continued through the door. The office space is much bigger than Swynlake’s is, which is only slightly irritating until he acknowledges the fact that Swynlake is smaller.
He strolled through the main area, eyes moving from desk to desk in an effort to match the person’s face with the picture he had seen of Detective Shipman earlier once he had read that she would be the one taking over the case. When no one matched he stood in front of a young officer’s desk and cleared his throat to gain their attention.
“Excuse me, officer, but where can I find Detective Shipman?”
She paused, giving him a once over, “And you are?”
“Deputy Lightyear of the Swynlake Police Department.” He would be lying if he said he didn’t love saying his title, love the way it announced him in such a hard to ignore way, as if the uniform and badge didn’t do enough on its own. The officer hummed, then pointed.
“His and Yearling’s office is down the hall, third door on the right,” she said, “but I think he might be a bit busy with his latest case. Might want to leave him be for a bit?”
“Thank you,” he said.
Following the directions he found the door and knocked three times.
“What do you want?” a voice asked from behind it. Buzz took this as an invitation and opened the door.
“Hello, Detective Shipman, I am here to assist you with the Charles Livingston case,” he said, stepping into the office. This one alone was bigger than the Sheirff’s. It held two desks, one of which a man, maybe a few years older than Buzz, was seated behind.
He had dark hair that was slicked back, the sides cut short that faded neatly. He wore a dress shirt and blazer, dark blue atop purple that complemented his tawny complexion. His eyes were sharp, cutting into Buzz as soon as he came into his field of vision.
Not that Buzz could feel the wound.
“You’re not authorized to be here,” he said. “So you can get out of my office and go back to your own town.”
“No,” he said. “I am here to help you, Detective.”
“You’ve already done that by sending over what you have collected. I sent you your thank you email. You have no right to be here taking over my case,” Shipman said, standing from his seat now.
He was taller than Buzz was and his stance was strong, seemed to hold no room for backtalk. Unfortunately for him Buzz had already made up his mind. He stepped further into the office, closing the door behind him.
“I respect that this is your case, Detective, but this was my case first,” he said. Shipman’s shoulders fell an inch, but his expression remained the same. “From what I can tell the Andover police have seen Mr. Livingston commit several crimes. All of them the same, and yet have done nothing to improve upon this behavior.”
“Hey, what-”
“Have you been able to arrest him yet?”
“No.”
“Have you any idea where he might be?”
“Maybe.”
“Then why are you not there now looking for him?”
“I have more things to worry about than-”
“Than a man who has continuously broken the law, a man who had now put someone in the hospital with serious injuries, who could have killed someone from the actions he chose to take?” Buzz frowned. “If you are so busy then allow me to ask why you do not want my help? I will gladly go to the location to see if Livingston is there.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
Shipman’s mouth formed into a tight line then, his head jerking to turn away from Buzz who waited patiently for his reply. “Look, Deputy, our area is a lot bigger than just-”
“I fail to see how that answers my question.”
“You don’t work here, we did not ask you guys to come over here to help out. This is our case now, we can handle it. I can handle it.”
“And yet you have not gone to check up on the lead as to where he might be?”
“No! I haven’t! It’s been-”
“Several weeks since the warrant for his arrest has been in effect. You have been the Detective on the case since then, yes?”
There was another pause, the two men stared at one another. Buzz did not flinch nor bow under the stare as he did not allow the deathly coldness of it to affect him. Eventually Shipman frowned but threw his hands into the air and sat back down.
“Fine, whatever, you want to help, Deputy?”
“Yes, Detective.”
“Then sit down and let’s start talking. And also hope that our CO’s don’t find out you’re doing this.”
Buzz sat, pulling the chair up to the desk in order to listen as Shipman began explaining the situation. He wondered if Woody had noticed that he was gone yet, and viciously clamped down on the thought because it did not matter if the Sheiff knew where he was, what mattered is that he was in the right place doing the right thing.
He was not going to lie, he was secretly and frustratingly nervous. He felt comfortable in his uniform, but he was in unfamiliar territory with unfamiliar faces. A lot could go wrong. Livingston could continue to roam free. Question filtered through as Shipman went on, hands moving enthusiastically as he did so.
But Buzz knew he would never know the answers to those questions unless he tried. And at least, he thought, Woody wouldn’t be there to see it if he did mess things up. Not that he was going to.
He was Buzz Lightyear and he would be damned if he allowed this man to continue being on the run any longer. With that in mind, he pushed all thoughts of the Sheriff out, and focused in on Shipman. Charles Livingston would be brought in, and that would be the end of it.
It would seem that nothing Woody was doing was working. The jokes, the lightness, all of it was going right over Buzz’s head. He held up his hands in what was supposed to be a placating gesture, but was not because it looked far too much like a surrender.
He studied Buzz then, another moment to take in the line of his shoulders and the sound of his voice. It was not like the previous tone he had taken, it was something else entirely, and it almost made Woody want to say screw it. He glanced down at the ground, thinking it over, about how the keys to the car were in his pocket. He pressed his lips together. Maybe…
“No,” he said, firm, both to Buzz and himself. While he now, finally, saw Buzz as his partner Woody was still the Sheriff and it seemed like Buzz was going to force his hand in holding that badge up as a reminder.
“This case is no longer ours. We are no longer taking part in the investigation unless they call back and ask for something else. We are going to hand over everything we have to them and hope that they can do their jobs and bring those people some peace in knowing he’s getting help.” His brow creased with sympathy for Buzz’s cause. He softened significantly, taking a small step forwards to touch his Deputy’s arm.
“I know you want to get this guy yourself, to make sure it’s done right, but it’s not up to us anymore. You’ve done all you can. Don’t worry, they’ll get it taken care of, alright?” he asked, trying yet again with a smaller smile and shaking Buzz’s arm, literally trying to loosen him up.
Woody was not going to agree with him. He let out a breath, eyes blinking in his confusion. His tone was solid. Finite. There was nothing Buzz could say or do to convince him that they should be doing this. It would seem that had become a running theme in the way he was policing the town, allowing anything to go. Letting other people take care of it. He would rather follow procedure than do what needed to be done. Was that the way it would be for everything?
The Sheriff stepped forwards and Buzz had to turn his eyes away, looking off to the side, in order to not watch as he smiled. And he knew the man was smiling because he could hear it in his voice, that kind smile that reached his eyes and softened the usual lines of worry. He had been hearing it, seeing it, more and more these passed few months. Then, it had felt like a relief to know the man could smile, it had made Buzz smile, too. Here, it just felt like a cheap ploy.
The hand on his arm should have felt grounding in a good way, but as of right now, with annoyance and frustration sitting right on the surface, it felt more like a mockery of what was usually a kind gesture Woody bestowed onto him.
Well, fine, if that was how Woody was going to see it then there was nothing Buzz could do to change his mind.
What he could do was do what needed to be done by himself.
“Right,” he said, stiffly. Buzz turned his eyes back to the Sheriff and pulled away from him. “If that’s it then, Sheriff, I believe I have work to do.”
He hurried away, no longer able to be in Woody’s presence as his muscles wound up and the heat in his chest only grew more uncomfortable by the second, just waiting for him to do something about it.
