Thread: We Were Meant to be Broken [El & Juno]

Why was he doing this? Why did he always let the bloody civil servants talk him into doing their jobs? If Brady could answer that question, he might have felt a whole lot better. Or worse. As it was, he could never answer that question which was exactly why he always caved. It never really mattered to him what precinct called. The long train-rides were always the same. He'd head out feeling really old and really tired. The excitement of getting the 'bad guys' to confess was pretty much nonexistent. Excitement in general seemed to be a hard thing to come by, especially nowadays. Brady was a lanky guy with long blond hair that would have looked quite lovely spilled over his shoulders if he ever bothered to comb it. He was sickly white with pale blue eyes and a perfect little ski-slope of a nose that sat above a narrow, sarcastic mouth. His youthful features often had the general populace mistaking him for being a tad younger than he truly was but this misconception was usually cleared when one got a proper look into his eyes. There was a graveness in them that spoke of years of hardships and something about the way he frowned led one to believe he intended to see himself through to the darkest hour. There was nothing fancy or particularly put together about the way Brady dressed. Plaid, hi-tops and ripped jeans seemed to be a reoccurring theme. It was hobo chic, if anything, but Brady had never really cared for his appearance. He had accepted long ago that he would never be more than a skinny bastard with the most unfortunate androgynous features. He could blame his Nordic roots for that. Either way, it was something he had very little control over. When the train lurched to a stop, it succeeded in waking Brady up from what might have been a power nap. The little boy who had been studying him for at least four stops now looked particularly interested when this young man grasped something that looked like his grandpa's cane and struggled to get to his feet. If his mother had been paying attention to him, she might have scolded him for staring so but Brady managed a parting wave before he got off. It was a strange sight. Of course, his limp wasn't terribly noticeable but the cane sure stuck out like a sore thumb. He was only 22 and already he was falling apart. The past five months had not been kind to Brady. He had gone from feeling like he was on top of the world to feeling like he was just hanging on by a thread. He didn't allow himself to properly mope, though. And he had one very good reason for that. As if on cue, his pants began to vibrate and he fumbled for his phone while attempting the stairs. The name Cynthia Rowe followed by a picture of a particularly cross looking crane jumped out at him. He furrowed his brows, wondering what the woman possibly wanted with him now and raised the phone to his ear. What up. What followed only surprised him a little but did quite a bit for his spirits. It definitely wasn't Rowe calling him, not unless she had somehow mastered the art of mimicking their daughter's voice and even then he didn't think she'd ever give him the satisfaction of being called daddy. But the joyful babbling that he heard was enough to get him to smile. Ever since Evanna had learned how to call him, she took every chance she got to steal her mother's phone just to talk his ear off. What are you doin' calling me again? There was nothing firm to his tone. On the contrary, Brady was highly amused. Dah-deeeee, she whined as if that alone could win him over. Brady snorted. Good answer. Unfortunately, Rowe seemed to catch wind of what was happening and attempted to pry the phone from Evanna's small but vice-like fingers. Brady held the phone away from his ear as the resulting shriek could have been heard a mile off. Deciding to take a different approach, he had the good fortune of overhearing someone as brisk as Cynthia Rowe sweet-talking her child in order to get her to cooperate. Daddy is working, sweetheart, she explained in a voice he had never heard, Can I please talk to him? The change in her mother's tone appeared to sway Evanna who was probably assuming she had won this round. Brady could only listen in patiently when Rowe offered a quick apology as if it were the greatest inconvenience in the world. Why don't you just lock it? Because knowing her, she'll just find a way to unlock it. Brady couldn't really argue with that. He had a truly remarkable child on his hands. Evanna began to make those fussy sounds again and Brady could almost see her making little grabby hands at the phone. That was one thing he could always rely on. Evanna never failed to make him smile. Okay, say bye-bye to daddy. Evanna frowned, looking thoroughly miffed. Say bye-bye, Rowe tried again. Brady waited. It could have gone any way. Either she'd agree or start bawling. Thankfully, she decided on the former and babbled a long, drawn-out goodbye. Bye, kid. You be good. I love you. When he finally hung up, the world hadn't exactly changed. It was still a mildly warm day and the streets were still busy as fuck but Brady felt better. It was the kind of feeling only a parent could truly understand. By the time he reached the precinct, his back was sweaty from all the layers he insisted on wearing. The cotton of his shirt stuck to his skinny body and his pale face looked slightly flushed. It didn't matter how many different precincts he visited. He always the got the same looks. Either someone knew him and made it obvious by frowning a lot or people stared at him as if they weren't sure why exactly he was there. On any other day, Brady might have felt the urge to offer a few choice words but instead, he headed straight for the interrogation room. He had gotten the low down. He had worked with enough homicide detectives in his short years to know how it played out. Well, the last one hadn't exactly been what he'd expected but he wasn't exactly planning on that happening again. He knew the facts well enough. For guy with an Eidetic memory, forgetting things wasn't the problem. There was no problem, really. He just wanted to get the job done and then get the hell out of there. He needed some quality JD in his system. That and maybe a exotic looking brunette on his lap. A guy could dream. By the time he managed to limp his way over, a really tall and scary looking bloke was standing there with all the air of a guy who had just gotten anally raped by some unpleasant news. Most people did look like that when they found out they'd be working with Brady. It was really kind of funny but Brady didn't laugh. He didn't even bother to acknowledge the guy's presence. Instead, he took a look inside and found a nervous looking dude seated alone. His wench was probably in the other room. Finally, Brady decided to bestow his precious attention upon this disgruntled looking gentleman. So, who rattled your cage? This wasn't exactly the kind of formal greeting any normal person would expect but the detective would learn soon enough that one couldn't expect anything less from Brady Fitzgerald.