From Far Away

Bobby Ryan has always hated precincts.

There’s been something about them, from the first time he stepped into one as a child. Everything is… gray. That’s the best way to put it- the only way. Gray and austere, intimidating, no sense of comfort. Even the people look as though they’ve been welded into the concrete and metal of the building, lacking warmth, lacking everything.

“Hey, man,” he calls to the cop he always talks to. Andrew looks up from his paperwork, grinning.

“What did you do this time, Bobby?”

“No, nothing. Just a little traffic ticket, that’s all.”

Andrew walks over and takes it from him. He whistles at the number. “Phew. 65 in a 45? Impressive, man.”

“I didn’t realize I was going that fast.” He shrugs.

“Yeah, you never do. So what d’you want, to pay it? To fight it?”

“Well, if I can…” Bobby grins, blue eyes twinkling.

“No, you can’t, but I would have told you that anyway. Come on, I’ll take care of it for ya.” He leads Bobby over to his desk. Along the way, another sergeant talks to a harried young woman, while others do paperwork, make copies, and listen to their radios for anything important. Business as usual, Bobby supposes. Pretty boring, yet… it still reminds him of a different time. A time when he had another name, another life.

As Andrew goes through the process, Bobby finds it difficult not to be nosy; he listens in on what the woman behind him is saying. Most of it is in hushed tones, rapid and angry. The sergeant is attempting to reason with her. “Look, miss, we can put in a restraining order, but-“

“Okay, so what will that do? It’s a piece of paper. What do I do, throw it at him?”

“No, you call us if he violates it. We’ll have it on file here, we’ll know who he is and we’ll dispatch a car to the scene-“

“Thirty minutes after he’s done mutilating everyone in my family. Do you not understand?” she snaps, the words coming out like bullets, harsh and so fast it sounds almost like one full sentence. What the hell has she gotten herself into? he wonders. This doesn't sound like the usual "he stole my dog" complaints.

“Miss, I don’t know what else you would like for us to do.”

“Just get someone out there to help my mother. Please. Keep an eye on her, that’s all we ask.”

“Miss, that is a high-risk area already. If we put a cop out there every time we had a complaint, we’d be put out real quick.”

“This is not a COMPLAINT, you-“ She stops mid-sentence, and suddenly she whirls around to face Bobby. Her dark hair flies around her face. Her hazel eyes narrow as she stares him down, and her lips tighten. Immediately, he feels like a child who’s walked in on his parents having a conversation about him, or doing something his eyes weren’t supposed to witness. A cold clanging starts going off inside his body. Turn around, stupid. Just turn around.

“Do you mind?” she spits out at him. “I’m trying to talk to someone.”

“N-no. Sorry,” he stammers, turning quickly to face Andrew again. The officer is amused, but keeps quiet, to Bobby’s relief.

“You’re all set, dude,” he tells him, and with relief, Bobby rises. “Talk to you soon?”

“Yeah, sure.” He shakes the cop’s hand and scrambles to go, trying hard to avoid the poisonous look in the girl’s eyes as she watches him leave. A few more words pass between her and the officer, and suddenly he hears the scraping of wood against tile. “Goodbye,” she snaps, shoving past Bobby to get out of the precinct. Something falls on top of his foot as she slams the door as hard as she can behind her.

Bending to pick up whatever it is she’s dropped, a slight voyeuristic thrill goes through him. It’s her wallet, with license (Ashley Bayer, five feet three, born March 2, 1990), cash, everything. Something valuable, indeed; something she’ll need returned. “Hey, wait!” he calls to her, rushing out the door. “Hold up!”

She’s starting to reverse out of her parking space when he bangs on her hood. She screams and blares the horn, and before she’s able to recover, he sees the terror in those hazel eyes. Jesus, he thinks. She was serious in there.

She rolls down her window, her scornful look back in place. “What the fuck do you want?” she yells. “I almost had a heart attack because of you.”

“Well, I do that to people, I guess. At least, when I want to give them back their belongings.” He holds the wallet out through the window, and she stares at it for a second before she snatches it from his hand.

“You better not have ripped it off,” she grumbles.

Bobby tries not to, but the laughter is too powerful- it starts spilling out of him like champagne foam. He leans against the car, cackling, while she stares. “I’m sorry, I can’t, it’s just- sweet Jesus, why the hell would I want your money?”

“Ummm, I don’t know, just because it’s like an asshole guy to take off with my cash?” Ashley snaps. “Can you get the hell off my car, or do you want to be my new hood ornament?”

“Oh, sweetie, you don’t know me at all,” he says, and stands up straight.

“Why would I? I just MET you. Unfortunately.” She puts on a pair of black sunglasses and starts to pull away, leaving him there still chuckling. In her rearview mirror, she watches him while pretending to wait for traffic to clear. Sobering up, he’s making his way back to his own vehicle when she decides to pull up next to him.

“What? Last chance to make sure I don’t have anything?” He holds out his arms. “You can check, but I promise, I’m… what?”

“Okay, then,” she answers him. “Who are you?”

He grins, holding out a hand. “Name’s Bobby. Nice to meet you.”

“…Ashley.” His hand is big and rough. She can feel calluses along the palm. “I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but I don’t think I know just yet.”

“Oh, trust me, it’s been a ball meeting you, hon.” He opens his door. “Now, would you like to have lunch? I’ll treat you. Just had a windfall.”

“Oh, shut up,” she snaps.

His blue eyes crinkle, accepting her outburst as agreement. “Follow me.”