Vox Nihili // Claude & Hunter
Hunter had done little but obsess and pour over the as yet unsolved murder of the commissioner since the shooting occurred. He hadn't even been there, but he could hear the frantic cries of innocent civilians as they searched for loved ones, calling for help, felt the gunshots resonate throughout his skeleton when he closed his eyes. It was the same question that repeated itself in his mind as he lay awake at night, staring at the vast ceiling. Where were you? Where were you? His lack of sleep and constant worrying had begun to take its toll on his body, weakened him with fatigue while his resolve only grew stronger. Without suspects in holding cells, solid evidence in the record room and a damn good place to start, he couldn't rest. Sleep evaded him night after night. If he wasn't consumed by work, he was worrying about Meghan, even while she slept peacefully, safe and sound. He hadn't been there when the shots were fired, but the morals he had been built on had taken a hit. If he couldn't keep people safe, did he even deserve his badge?
Something needed to be done. Of this, the entire force seemed certain. As if it hadn't been personally already with the commissioner dead and a stranger set to take his place any day now, Max had been hit, and there wasn't a person on the force who didn't adore Max. He had been chasing leads that led nowhere like a dog after his own tail, all the while a theory growing in his head. He had no concrete proof, but were the suspicions of a good officer not enough? It might not have been enough to make arrests or grant search warrants, but it seemed irresponsible to keep to himself, lest he be right. So he had carefully begun conducting his own private investigation, which yielded no results. He wasn't aiming high enough. When had he ever been someone not to take risks? He did what was necessary in the name of upholding the law, but more so than that, of justice. Was justice not more valuable than mercy? That was something he and his father had disagreed on before. It was yet to be seen who was right.
When the assistant commissioner came walking through the bullpen, briefcase in hand, on his way out the door for the night, Hunter saw his chance. Waging a silent and brief war with himself, he got up a moment later and slid on his coat, then followed after him. He walked quickly to make up for lost time, but kept his distance in the hope that he might not notice he was being followed and give the brazen young officer a thorough talking to. Emerging in the lobby, he lost sight of him and nearly gave up before catching sight of the door closing. The sensible part of him knew it was a mistake, but in his single-minded pursuit of what he deemed to be right and necessary pushed him onward. He was a man who followed his heart, after all. When he finally caught up to him in the parking garage, about to get into his car it seemed, he called after him. "Mr. Fitzgerald!" He paused to catch his breath. "Do you have a minute? I need to talk to you."
