Culpable
AUTHOR: Kate.
DISCLAIMER: NYPD Blue and its characters are Copyright Steven Bochco Productions and/or ABC. No copyright infringement is intended.
FEEDBACK: To Kate
She woke up early, even for her. Sitting at the edge of her bed, messy from painful sleep thrashing, she decided to make breakfast. Then she came to the realization that she had exactly two eggs and a curdled half gallon of milk in her fridge. Oh dear. Throwing the breakfast plan out of the window, she settled on strong black coffee and a long, strong soak before work. Oh, work. Ugh. Distaste filled her mouth and it felt like a copper penny under her tongue.
She reached for the robe hanging on the peg on her door. Slipping it over her shoulders, she thought about last night for the first time that morning. Diane hadn't cried since Bobby died...she hadn't had real tears since Bobby died. It seemed that when he died, he took her distinguishing emotions with him.
And now to the problem of Denby. He was leaving her alone for now, that she was hugely thankful for, some privacy to collect her thoughts, but she found that she missed his smart-assed chatter. Now that she was alone so much and with Jill's tie up with Don, she didn't have anyone to talk to. Then again, she didn't even really talk when she was with Denby. It was more like Quid instead of Quid Pro Quo...he spoke, she grunted protests or consents. Still, it was something.
Something that might not even be real, her mind perked up. Something that by normal standards would get her shelved into some sort of place with padded walls and nice, tight jackets. She giggled a little. The thought of a mental institution had been a recurring thought that had not been that threatening to begin with. She had come awfully close to drifting into that desperate area, but something had saved her and pulled her from it's masses.
A great disturbance from last night still had her shaken, with just cause. Instead of crying solely for Bobby, she had said a name she wished sometimes would just burn to the ground. Denby. Or, as she had said, Harry. It was odd how she could feel such comfort from him and shudder at the thought of him. Her mind or whatever it was had created two different identities of Denby; one she preferred to be around, and one she would like to hit on the head with a large, solid object.
She wondered if it was some less-than menial task she had to perform. Learning tolerance, maybe? But she had a rather strong wall of tolerance that only Harry and, on occasion, Danny, had been able to topple. It had to be something. Both Harry...and...what was her name? Oh, well, whatshername, they had both told her that she had to do something, and Harry had mentioned that she had to 'change fate.' She didn't know what to think, because shortly thereafter he had made a comment about sleeping with her that was so obviously in jest it was unreal. She had dismissed most of that conversation in the end.
Diane was finding similarities between her situation and that of a tormented soul. On one side, she had her hatred for Denby and on the other side she had her sympathy and a sort of Denby himself. It was as if little voices of good and evil were on each shoulder. But who was the evil if the voice Denby was clearly the good?
Maybe that hatred you mentioned a little while back? You know, that hate that makes you want to hit me upside the head with a rather blunt object, I believe were your words. There was a touch of humor inside his words that Diane picked up on. No outrage or offense.
Smiling, she turned to the direction of where she thought she heard the voice and realized promptly that he was in her head. Still smiling, she got up and started the coffee.
"My exact words were...'I would like to hit on the head with a large, solid object.' You should pay more attention, Harry," she said as she got out the half and half.
Close enough, anyway. That wasn't my point. My point, if you listened carefully enough, was-
"Your point was that I was my own worst demon."
A pause, and she got a mental image of Harry licking his lips before he spoke.
Well, I wouldn't have put it so melodramatically, but, yes, in a way, you are. Who else is creating this animosity, if I never see you? Your mind is making this thing worse than it has to be, Diane dear.
A surge of anger woke her up a little. She jammed her hands on her hips and her eyebrows narrowed to a vulture line.
"I created all of this shit, did I?"
I didn't say it was all you, Diane. You're twisting what I say...
"Then phrase it better." She snapped at him and Harry was reminded of a turtle. "It's not my fault you fucked the Don situation, Harry-"
Okay, I admit to being guilty of some things, but that was not all my fault. All involved have to share part of the blame.
"Fine, I'll give you that, but you're being out of line. You're turning into the Harry I want to hit."
Can we at least move on to another subject now? I'm so sick of arguing.
"That's a shock," she muttered out of the side of her mouth.
Now, now, don't hold so much resentment towards me. It's bad for your health, you know.
"Uh huh."
And she went on drinking coffee.
To be continued.
