Like Fire and Powder

11. A Second Chance

Tell me, what else should I have done? / Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon? / Tell me, what is it you plan to do / with your one wild and precious life?

-- Mary Oliver, "The Summer Day" (16-19)

〇〇〇

A hand on your shoulder made you blink, and you looked up to see Connor -- and then, farther away, Gavin and Nines. They'd all stopped their bikes on the side of the road, blue and red lights flashing obnoxiously. You noticed Gavin making a phone call -- to either Fowler or the backup you'd had on standby.

But getting more people here wouldn't matter. Rex was long gone.

"(Y/n), what were you thinking?" Connor asked, narrowing his eyes. He stepped in front of you, blocking your sight of Rex.

Connor was about to say something else, but you turned away from him, staring across the highway. You put your gun away slowly, thinking to yourself. Trying to get in touch with your emotions, your racing thoughts. You couldn't comprehend why you felt numb, but you did.

Connor walked in front of you again, and you looked up at him. You could practically feel the beginnings of annoyance spark in the back of your mind, but you wouldn't break, you wouldn't snap at him. Not like last time.

"You could've been killed," Connor said, and he allowed his upper lip to curl back. He stared at you incredulously, raising his hands. "What were you thinking? I was yelling at you to stop. We weren't even permitted to do something like this. Our original operation--"

"Was to gather intel, I know," you cut him off. "I'm sorry."

"I don't think you are," Connor said, and you blinked, surprised.

"Come again?"

"Your actions were dangerous and reckless, with no regard for your life or the lives of others," Connor said, raising his voice. "You're lucky no one was killed in that car accident, detective. It would've been your fault."

"I was chasing after the bad guy," you said. You wanted to feel angry, to let the previous spark of annoyance light you up, but it was already fading away.

And then you felt . . . disappointed. Exhausted. "And I'm not in the mood to be lectured by my partner. That's Fowler's job, not yours."

Connor's eyebrows knitted together as he fixed you with a serious stare. "You could've been killed, (Y/n)."

"Yes, yes. You already said that," you said, turning back around. You stared at Rex's body, at how it lay against the airbag. You briefly wondered how long it would take for him to come back -- if he came back.

No, you argued with yourself. He said he would. It's only a matter of time.

"Are you even listening to me?" Connor asked, exasperated. He moved in front of you again, and you blinked slowly. "You--"

"Yes, Connor, I could've died," you said evenly.

You looked down, your mind racing a million thoughts per second. You could feign anger and end the conversation early, but that would jeopardize your already fragile relationship with him. Or you could say something bitter and self-deprecating, ending the conversation early while simultaneously making him feel guilty.

A voice echoed in the back of your head, Manipulative, much?

But the truth was that . . . you were so sick and tired of second-guessing every thought you had. Of battling against old habits. Old personalities. You sighed heavily and crossed your arms, regarding Connor with a tired expression.