@rowanthaneā
Heād barely slept since heād returned home from the police station, finding himself watching the ceiling fans spin rather than able to drift off to sleep. All he can think about is the interrogation room, the questions they fired at him -- Lettie, the murder, the bruises around his throat and the reason heās limping. Itās the expected list of questions, asking why heās injured, where he was that night, etc. He gives the bare minimum, refusing to speak until his lawyer is present. He knows too well how all of this works -- Theyāre trying to scare him, to get him to panic and say something when they mention his family, when they bring up Rowan raising Benny alone while heās rotting away in prison. Heās been through this scenario too many times to count -- Sometimes with Henry Fisher himself, in the time when heād committed petty theft as a teenager. Heās done this song and dance enough times in his life to know just what to say, how to hold himself, who to push and when to stay silent. It mostly turns into the latter, this time around having turned into a stare down with the ATF agent sent to interrogate him.Ā
Andyās always done well to keep his cool in front of most people, to hold his poker face and not let anyone into what heās thinking. Thereās only a couple of people who see past it -- Mostly being Rowan, who seems to be more observant than he is. Heād spent roughly twenty-four hours to the dot in the holding cell, him and Maddox (with a surprise appearance from Ryder by the end of it) on a rotation for interrogation. And then -- It was over. One of the ATF agents unlocked the door and said Youāre free to go,Ā without another word. The second heās in the car with Rowan, his hand holding on tightly to hers, his head begins to swim. Itās as if heās been holding his breath while in the holding cell, and now -- He can come up for air again, and now let himself drown in the aftermath of it all. Thereās a reality that comes with it all, knowing that they only let him and Maddox go because they got something out of Lettie. He knows where this is headed, that sheās surely going to be the one to be hauled off to jail because of a choice he made. Not to mention, the threat of CPS arriving at their door after his arrest is bound to become a reality, given that they want nothing more than to see Andy trip over his feet and give them a reason to take Benny out of the hands of his felonĀ uncle.Ā
No matter how this all plays out, someone loses -- Whether itās him, Rowan, or Lettie, or a cruel combination. He canāt help but take responsibility for it, bearing the weight of it on his shoulders knowing that none of this would be happening if he had just sucked up his pride and said no to the job. No amount of money was worth this. That night had blown up in his face in a way Andy had never seen, easily up there with the job heād botched and gotten sent to prison soon after. He knew that was a different case, but either way -- The consequences were greater than the guilt of taking someoneās life for a pay day. It replayed in his mind each night, as he tried to go over each detail he could remember. Each time, his mind drifted back to Lettie and her inevitable fate -- Sheād be sent to trial, and convicted soon enough if the ATF had any hand in it. He had a feeling theyād be quick to push her getting locked away, hoping for some sort of payday for having gotten something out of this bullshit set up in Olympus.Ā
Tonight was no exception compared to the last few, there was a dull throb from his leg (Getting off of crutches and insisting he was fineĀ typically came back to bite him in the ass by the end of the night), and thoughts of Lettieās arrest filling his mind. He could only analyze the situation so many times before his imagination takes hold, creating even worse scenarios for this turn into it. He makes a mental note to get into touch with his contacts in the womenās prison, to cover his bases if she ended up behind bars for the long haul. His eyelids feel heavy as he watches the ceiling fan spin, an arm anchored around his wife. His free hand absentmindedly strokes Rowanās hair as she sleeps, finding a comfort in having her curled into his side -- Though it doesnāt last long before heās consumed with his own thoughts again. Part of him wants to wake up Rowan, to hold her close and tell her every thought running through his head. But thereās something that stops him, not because heās worried she wonāt understand -- But that his own pride wonāt let him be open, still finding it difficult after nearly two decades by her side to be the one to initiate conversations like this. Instead, he remains still, trying to focus on his breathing or the feeling of his hand stroking her hair to distract himself.Ā
It doesnāt work, though. Heās left still staring and awake, before he finds himself moving slowly to get up. Maybe a glass of water and a short walk will be enough to get him to relax and let his shoulders down. Slowly, he untangles himself from Rowan, careful not to wake her or bump his leg while getting up. Christ,Ā heād never slept well before, but this is just getting ridiculous. Part of him is tempted to make himself a drink, to help loosen himself up and relax -- Or maybe enough to knock him out. But a glance back at Rowan is enough to keep him from turning to that direction, silently making a game plan on how to get to the bathroom without running into anything in the dark room. Heās healed well enough to be alright without crutches, but heās never been one to slow down or take it easy despite an injury -- So he tries to return to his every day life despite only being a few weeks out of surgery. It ends in the same thing -- If itās not the crisis of the week keeping him awake, itās his leg. By this time of night, heās full on limping, holding on to walls and counters to keep his balance, despite insisting heās fine. It comes back to his pride yet again, determined to not let himself return to the helpless feeling thatād plagued him for the last month, not wanting to let an injury be another thing to add to his list of concerns.Ā
The second his feet hit the floor, though -- Itās apparent heās not going to be able to get across their bedroom to the bathroom with ease. He tries to put pressure on his bad leg, hoping to use it like he had that morning, just to be met with an immediate twinge of dull pain. Had anyone been able to see him, theyād easily insist on him sitting down, but instead, Andy attempts to make it across their bedroom. Thereās a water cup in the bathroom, he justifies to himself that itās a shorter walk to the bathroom than it is to the kitchen -- And if he makes it to the kitchens, heās going to be tempted to go for three fingers worth of whiskey than a glass of water from the tap. So he moves slowly, biting his tongue as he limps, dragging his injured leg along with him. With his jaw clenched, he tries to be as quiet as possible, deciding silently to just crawl into bed from Rowanās side once heās done, to spare himself a longer walk. He holds his breath, seeing the finish line as he makes it to the doorway of the bathroom -- Just to hit the ankle of his injured leg on the door frame.Ā
He loses his balance before he can do anything about it, hitting the knee of his injured leg against the cool tile of the bathroom floor, unable to catch himself before heās hitting the ground entirely with a loud crash and yelp, a string of curses following.Ā So much for keeping quiet, he thinks as he tries to steady his breathing and let out a yell over the pain now shooting up his leg. He finds himself laying on his back for a moment, working himself up to pushing himself up into a sitting position, hoping to wait this wave of pain out before attempting to get up and return to bed. Part of him just considers accepting defeat and just letting himself lay there until he inevitably falls asleep -- Until he hears the sound of Rowanās voice, the sound of her feet reaching the ground.Ā
Son of a bitch,Ā he curses, hating that heās woken her up for something as stupid as him tripping on his way to get water.Ā āMāfine, Ro.ā He calls out to her, pushing himself up into a sitting position with a clenched jaw, trying to ignore the pain beginning at his ankle and shooting up his leg. The sound of his labored breathing is a dead give away to what heās feeling.Ā Once heās leaning against the cabinets, out of breath, thereās a wave of emotion that comes with it -- Within just a month, everything had gone to shit, and to add insult injury, he canāt even get to the fucking bathroomĀ on his own without falling like a fucking old man. Itās almost laughable, the pain coming from his leg making it harder to remain calm.Ā āGo back to bed, baby.ā His voice cracks at the nickname, kicking himself for the slip up. His hands rub over his face, rubbing at his eyes to keep the moisture threatening to spill over from making itself known.Ā āIāll be out in a second.ā He ends with, his voice laced with emotional and quieter than last time, as he attempts to remain calm.
