sroni

It seems like other people should have, but when I do a search, all that comes up is a Castle fanfic and a Southland fic, both titled “End of Watch”. Which is weird, because I have had these characters in my head since I came out of the theatre the weekend the movie came out. I got tired of looking for this story and decided to write it. Notes will be at the end.

Used to Be …

You used to have a partner. Sometimes, you can almost remember him, but then the wisps of memory just kind of … go away and you can’t remember him anymore, but his voice stays with you. Most people call you Carrie Anne because that’s your name, but in your head the voice of your partner’s ghost calls you “Boot”.

Your name is Carrie Anne Sook. You used to be a police officer. You used to have a partner. You used to be pretty. You used to be able to sleep through the night.

There are a lot of things you used to be that you aren’t anymore. Now you’re just an empty space where a person used to be. You’re a blank canvas and people have to tell you about yourself because you don’t remember you or anyone else. Two guys that you used to work with, back when you were a cop, would visit you in the beginning. You begged the nurses not to tell them that you didn’t remember them, because you just needed someone who would treat you mostly like normal. The guys gave you invaluable information about your partner without even knowing they were doing so and you’ll never be able to explain to them how much you appreciate it. The one with the kind eyes tried to assure you that it wasn’t your fault, but his kind eyes couldn’t lie and you saw the truth that he tried to hide.

You might not know what happened, but you do know that it was your fault.

Months later and you’re shocked by the newspaper. The one with the smile has been killed, leaving the one with the kind eyes without a partner. You insist on going to the funeral; you don’t remember him, no, but he visited you when he didn’t have to and he and his partner tried to make you feel better. You hesitate for a moment over your dress blues — once a cop, always a cop, make us proud, rookie — but only for a moment because you used to wear the uniform but the you that you are now never did. Instead, you wear a simple black dress that doesn’t fit quite right because you’ve lost weight since getting out of the hospital.

Your father used to be a cop. You’re pretty sure that’s why you wanted to be one, too, but, of course, you don’t really know. You just wish you’d been able to make him proud instead of being a disappointment. People recognize him at the funeral and ask him how he’s doing. No one recognizes you, and that’s how you want it. You used to be a cop but you aren’t that girl anymore, and you don’t know how to talk to these people that might remember you better than you do.

The one with the kind eyes fell apart while he was speaking, so you seek him out, cookies and coffee in hand. You fell apart, too, when you lost your partner and your life and yourself, but you had the luxury of doing it in private. You know that a few treats from the buffet table won’t fix it, nothing will, it’ll be an aching gap that he won’t even be able to put a name to, or maybe he will and it’s just you who doesn’t have a name for that hurt, but you hope that the offer of comfort will help, at least a little. You find him and pass the cookies and coffee to him, trying to find the words to say before giving up and just saying, “I am so sorry,” before fleeing.

This is so stupid. They didn’t even know you before you stopped being you, and they didn’t know you afterwards, either, but they were nice to you and now one of them is gone and the tears are hot and heavy, clogging your throat and streaking your cheeks.

No one recognizes you, not after the reconstructive surgeries, and you prefer it that way. The anonymity means that you’re able to escape to the courtyard garden without any prying eyes, and you do, collapsing onto a bench so you can cry and get these tears out.

You don’t cry loudly, but you make enough noise that it’s some time before you realize you’re not alone. Your hand automatically drifts to your taser — you were deemed too emotionally unstable for a handgun license — and the guy that followed you puts his hands up. “Whoa. I was just checking to make sure you were all right.” You relax a little, but only a little because you’re not stupid. You see an almost-smile and hear the voice of your partner calling you a good girl with a laugh. “Are you okay?” One eye doesn’t quite track right and you mentally note it down in case you need to take advantage of his blind side and your partner’s voice calls you a good girl again.

You give a hard shrug, before finding words. “Is anyone?”

He sits down on a bench across from you, folding long legs in front of him. “Did you know him?”

You chew your lip, trying to think of how to answer. Absently, you recognize you’re tasting blood. “I used to. I don’t know how well, because how well does anyone know anyone? But he … he was nice to me at a time I really needed it, and I’m sad he’s gone. The world could use more nice people.”

The almost smile came back. “He was an asshole, him and his partner both.” His voice is respectful, in spite of the words he is using. “They were a pain in the ass and one step away from a lawsuit. But they were good people and good cops.”

“You used to work with them?” You can’t quite keep the surprise out of your voice. You knew that most of the cops in the city, former and current, would be coming out for the funeral, but you hadn’t been getting the cop vibe from him.

He nodded. “Used to. My partner and I, we took a call. Had no idea what we were getting into. I got nailed in the eye. She got it worse. Two careers over, just like that. Poor kid. The worst of it was, everyone assumed it was her that screwed the pooch.”

You’re pretty sure that the world is full of people who walked out of bad situations. Some came out stronger, some came out all right, but a lot didn’t, like you, and your heart goes out to his partner, whoever she is. “It … it wasn’t her fault?”

“Absolutely not!” The vehemence in his voice surprises you, and you jump back a little and he softens a little. “Sorry about that. Most of my unit was convinced that it was because of her I got a fucking Ginsu lodged in my eyeball.” He winced. “Sorry again. I try to not curse in front of ladies. No, she wasn’t to blame. I got jumped as soon as I got out of the car because I was paying attention to the wrong person. I fucked up, sorry again, but they still treated her like she was the screw-up. I’ve tried telling her I’m sorry, but I haven’t gotten any responses.”

— someone sitting on your chest, pain, the taste of blood, make it stop make it stop, oh God you don’t even know if your partner’s okay, of course he’s not okay he had a knife sticking out of his eye, please let it stop —

“Your partner.” You lick your lips even though your tongue is just as dry and you can’t make yourself meet his eyes. “You used to call her Boot.” Boot is slang for Rookie, you know that, it can’t have been unique to your unit’s —

But his eyes widen in recognition and he breathes out, “Sook?”

You’re crying all over again, ducking your head to hide your face and tears. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it was all my fault, I —”

“You stop that now.” He’s directly in front of you now, his voice gentle but commanding when he cuts you off. “You don’t need to apologize to me. Unless it’s about not responding to the emails I sent you. You didn’t mess that call up. I did. And I’ll be damned if I let you take the heat for something that isn’t yours.” He makes you look at him. “I will let you apologize for the emails, though.”

You can’t hold back the sniffly laugh. “I couldn’t remember my password. … Or my username,” you admit quietly.

“Sook.” He’s being gentle again and you’re not used to this gentleness to his voice. “What the hell happened?”

You shrug, giving a bitter almost smile. “Hell if I know. I don’t remember anything before waking up in the hospital. I’m having to get to know people all over again and figure out who I am.”

He covers one of your hands with his. “What do you know?”

You let out a long breath. “Pitiful little. My name is Carrie Anne Sook. I used to be a cop. I like the color yellow. I like dogs, and want to get a German Shepherd. I can’t sleep through the night. I like gardening but I think I might be growing weeds instead of flowers. I like coffee but only when it’s super-strong. I like mysteries but not murders, and I hate horror films and I cry at Finding Nemo. I like cooking and Italian food and I used to have a partner.”

He looks away before he speaks again. “You could have a partner again. If you want one.” You give him a look of surprise and he explains, “I’m still getting used to civilian life. We used to talk a lot in the squad car, and I remember most of what you told me. You talked about your dad a lot. I’d like to help, if I can.”

Something in your chest eases, that unnamed gaping pain hurting a little less, but you still have to ask. “Why?”

He lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m not adjusting well to civilian life at all. You’re not the only one who can’t sleep through the night. I had PTSD from before we were partners and it hasn’t gone away just because I’m no longer on the job. You … You weren’t really cut out to be a cop, and that’s the truth, but you didn’t deserve this and that’s the truth, too.” He stands up, his knee letting out a crack as he straightens. “I used to help people and I miss it. But I let you down and I owe you to try to help.”

You stand as well, shaking your head. “No debt. No owing. Even tallies. Just two … friends? helping each other as best as they can.”

“Been a while since I had a friend,” he admits in a low voice.

You assure him with a bright smile and upbeat voice, “Oh, don’t worry! I’m a much better friend than I was a police officer.” You shrug, the smile and cheer fading. “I’m pretty sure, at least.”

It does the job because he’s laughing and you join in.

Your name is Carrie Anne Sook. There are a lot of things you used to be that you aren’t anymore. You used to be a cop. You used to be pretty.

You used to be alone.

Hey, not every “used to be” has to be a loss. You have your partner back. You can live with the rest.

End

Okay, so a few things that should be known: Sook is the actual name of the rookie cop that was called Boot. Yes, Van Hauser is being more open than he would have been in the movie but I figured he’s been in therapy since getting stabbed in the eye and, in this version, at least, he feels like he’s responsible for her getting as badly hurt as she was, hence being more willing to talk to her and not simply shut off. Keep in mind, in the movie, we only saw him interacting with Brian and Zavala, so who knows how he’d be with his partner.

Also, I found out that the actress who played Sook was Chao-Ahn from Season Seven of Buffy, which really surprised me, because my mental picture of Sook was a brown-haired Caucasian girl.