Work Text:
Trappa, Pat, Rap, Tat!
That was the sound of pencil lead drumming on a mahogany desk. It was completely overshadowed by the screaming and pushing going on around the small, simple cubical where it lived. The man making the sound was trying his hardest to think of what to write for this report on the Matihlda Hampterton case. That man was Homicide Captain Elliot Mason... Sitting at his desk in the middle of the station, Mason was quiet, quite fond of the noise and chaos that was happening around him. He could've had five offices of his own for all the shit he's done for the station...! But he didn't want them. Didn't care for it. However, a part of the chaos did 'annoy' him... One Lieutenant Oscar Floyd, a very childish but sweet guy. He always had good intentions, no matter the situation, but he was clumsier than a baby. Mason would constantly end up having to "babysit" him throughout the day, or else he might accidentally burn the entire station down. Not that he really minded... Mason actually didn't mind caring for him, despite how Mason had always portrayed it. Elliot would always act as if he hated looking and cleaning up after him. He had always been a good actor... And an even better liar... However, now that the man-child was getting married, Oscar had started becoming a lot more mature, sort of... He still acted like an idiot 24/7
Mason sighed, writing off one of his subordinate's requests and going back to finishing up the case's report. Looking up from his paperwork, he began to watch none other than Oscar stumble through the foyer door. The Lieutenant pushed his way towards the cubicles, wobbling all the way to the first row and stumbled through a group of new recruits. Mason shot a death glare at the three stereotypical pompous high school cheerleaders as they gave disgusted looks to the kindhearted but extremely naive man. Mason's glare shut them right up. As Oscar continued to push through person after cubicle, Mason quickly realized what was causing this behavior. The lovable man-child's baby blue eyes were bloodshot and dilated, his arms drooped past his sides, and it was obvious he was stumbling around. It seemed to Mason that Floyd was drunk... Drunker than Mason has ever seen him be. Oscar never got drunk on the job, he cared too much for his job for that, except for the one time when Meryl lost her eye, he sat at her bedside in the hospital with smuggled in alcohol... But everyone knew that was an exception. Mason assumed someone must've influenced him, he could really be peer pressured really easy when Mason, Ramsey, or Meryl's not around to regale him with wisdom. Mason's mood dwindled when he saw that, that he couldn't protect Oscar that time.
It was quite obvious Oscar was coming to him, he had already pushed through a dozen people and fallen at least twice to get where he was then, and was only a few meters away from Elliot now. Mason watched him the whole way and when Oscar stepped next to his cubicle, the homicide Captain relaxed into his chair, looking up to the drunk giant in front of him.
Oscar stood in place for a moment, staring down into the floor with blank eyes, seemingly unaware of where he was. Then it abruptly came to him, jumping out of his skin. His speech sloshed around like a fish on ice, it was more incomprehensible than normal, and yet Mason still understood everything the drunk said. He had known him that well. "Ey, Ellishit'...! Do... do ya-" Oscar then interrupted himself with a hiccup "Do yash wanna go ter mi backler perti?" He said pointing his index finger at Mason judgmentally, as if his friend didn't already know who he was talking to.
Mason sighed, straightening his back and leaning on his desk, holding his head with one of his hands... The man with the perfect memory had seemed to have forgotten about that. It was even more odd considering the amount of invitations he had received naught a day earlier. His mailbox still might be full of them. Mason didn't want to decline the man-child, he truly believed Mason to be his bestest friend, and Mason lied to himself that he wasn't his... But he had work to do... "Oscar, I can't, I'm sorry... Remember that case I was working on? I just finished it." Mason recalled Oscar often enjoyed details, so he decided to just feed him some about the case, it might help his alcohol addled mind a bit. "It, uh, was simple really, another case of an angry ex. Was fed up with the relationship, left her crazy toxic girlfriend and well... If I'm on the case, you know how it ends." Oscar began to nod, seemingly understanding what Mason was saying so far, so Elliot continued. "And you should remember my routine right? After a case well done I'd start up a cold case, remember right?" Mason felt bad just telling Oscar that. He wasn't lying, it was just he didn't mention that he did it so he could feel something and that was effectively overtime.
Oscar stood still, silent and a tad confused. Mason dared not say anything else, fearful he might make it worse... "Huh?" He said not really in a reply. Then Oscar took a minute to understand what Mason was saying and with some drunken thought, the Tyran managed to conjure up an actual reply. His bloodshot eyes widened and his pupils grew large as he pushed out his bottom lip extensively. Oscar held his hands together, begging Mason. "Pweeeeeasee...?" He asked, wearing sickeningly cute puppy-dog eyes.
Mason couldn't believe it, this giant of a man was giving someone who was apathetic and effectively a dwarf to him puppy eyes! It was something so simple...! Yet something so damn effective... Oscar knew it would work against him, even if he was intoxicated...
Mason sighed once more, laying his pen down onto the desk. He started to weigh his options, he had folded. "Oscar... I-" Before Mason could finish a word, his head suddenly felt heavy, like hundreds of pounds of regret and guilt were just dropped onto him without warning. Mason cradled his forehead in his palms, his elbows digging into the rich mahogany wood of the desk, most likely bruising them. He couldn't understand what was happening, why was he feeling this unimaginable guilt? As the last milligram of the special psilocybin that was in his new cigarettes disappeared from his system, Mason felt his body crash. Not from the drug per se, but what it's presence had built up in his brain. He knew what was happening to him again...
The screams of a few of the missing people they were looking for, the screams he caused. He failed them. Killed them. Couldn't protect those that, that... thing, kidnapped before they did him and his friends, at least those that he was responsible for. He was too stupid to help them, too idiotic, too slow to get them out of those death traps. Elliot knew his friends were doing better than him, being heroes, as he fumbled around like a dumbass. He was right, in a way. He had to meet those his friends saved when he fled, the guilt that was piling over him... And then, once Elliot had failed the last person he was meant to save and the screams of bloodcurdling pain stopped, the garage door on the far side of the room opened. The exit had opened. His relieved smile was gone in but a moment as Elliot heard the screams of Cal, the youngest in the group of officers and his childhood friends. He was screaming his name... There was no hesitation, Elliot bolted for the exit, hoping to get Cal out with him. He stepped into a long and dark corridor, despite the screams filling his ears, he looked to the right as if he had no choice. Sunlight creeped out from under a door on the far wall. Freedom was right there... Elliot remembered, no... as if he was there again... He had to look left now. The sound of Cal's screaming then looped on itself as an industrial light popped on from the far left. Elliot didn't want to look, he forbade himself not to! But it was so hard... Elliot struggled, feeling himself spinning and slipping, his will being torn apart in front of him. Even then it was strong, but it wouldn't be enough to not give into this... The smell of death was intoxicating, it beckoned him in. Tears, black tinged tears, streamed down his face, he was struggling so hard he just began to cry. He didn't want to remember, he didn't want to see it again, he didn't. Elliot sobbed even harder as he felt his neck begin to turn on its own. He didn't want to see it... Not again... He didn't. He didn't. He didn't, he didn't, hedidn't, HEDIDN'T...!
Then it all went away... Mason was back in the precinct, more confused than Oscar had been just a moment ago. There was no feeling in him, but fragments of it soon began to slowly return little by little. First was his body, specifically his shoulders. He could feel a hand laying softly on his right shoulder, soft and delicate yet firm, familiar... Then the feeling to his lips. He felt a familiar shape lying still in between them, Mason moved the shape around with his teeth just to be sure... It was... It was a cigarette and a lit one at that, the two things together must've pushed him out of the episode. Getting his bearing, Mason looking up and to his right, just like where his exit had been in his "dream" of sorts. And there he was... Oscar, in a fit of drunken concern; his hand delicately sat on Mason's shoulder. His naïve, innocent face was welcome. In fact, it was more than welcome, it was needed... Even if Mason didn't want to admit it.
Oscar took a moment to realize his friend was back in the land of the living, but when he did he was quick to respond, unusually comprehensible. "Mason, you uh 'ahright buddy...?"
Inside, Mason scoffed, but he wouldn't dare actually do it, if Oscar was drunk or not. Because truthfully? He wasn't. Mason was not okay, but didn't want anyone to know that. Truthfully? Mason should not be his friend, he didn't deserve one, not after that. Truthfully? For the past nine fucking years now he acted like an uncaring asshole to anyone and everyone. He had all the desire to get better, but not the motivation. He fed himself excuses and lies, hid behind the cigarettes just to function. He couldn't handle emotion. He was the opposite of alright...
But...
He couldn't break in front of him, not Oscar. Not now. He wouldn't crumble.... So, Mason lied. Like he had for years.
Mason gulped down the guilt that sat in his throat, which wasn't the greatest idea as there was now a big ball of regret sitting in his stomach. He could feel his eyes tremble, but he managed to keep it in. "Yeah... Yeah, I'm fine Oscar..." Mason felt sick to the stomach to lie to a gullible person like Oscar. He was a natural liar and a gifted one at that. Lying usually gave Mason a rush or a high, he was a natural actor after all. He could act like the president of the fucking United States of the Sand without anyone knowing he was just a pitiful broken man. So he had to do something to weigh down his guilty conscience... Anything.
"Oscar, I'll..." He couldn't believe he was doing this... "... Go to your party ok...? But I need some time alone right now, I have work to do."
Oscar's bloodshot blue eyes sparkled and his moustache twitched, signalling the return of the drunk idiot. Blinking, he began to itch his side burns he had just started growing out again. "Oh yash yash, er kerse, er kerse, s'ory fer... Hpmh, that..." He said as he quickly took away his hand from Mason's shoulder. He must've believed that was his doing. Mason felt sick to his stomach again, even more now. He had just gaslighted Oscar...
And so, Oscar stumbled off from Mason's desk, probably to go fall asleep on the staff room sofa or to annoy Ramsey. He drunkenly sauntered through the orderly craze of the station, causing even more chaos and making it not so orderly. Then Mason... smiled...? It was a remorseful smile yes, but a smile no less... Even under all the angst and apathy there was someone that cared deeply for his friends, even if he believed he didn't deserve them.
Mason itched his hairy jaw, a scar was coming back... The one that held the most painful memories. He ignored the pain his nails had brought him and picked up the carton of cigarettes that laid on his desk as he stood up from his chair. He couldn't bear another minute of the screams...