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CODY
One thing you should know about me is that I've never wanted a partner. I've seen how it is when a shifter works with a non-shifter, and maybe some people need that, but I would hate the feeling of relying on anyone that much. Of needing anyone that much.
It made me shudder sometimes, seeing how close they could be. How much they relied on each other. It was like a marriage, finishing each other's sentences, cozily ordering each other's meals, sometimes even sharing a home and a bed.
Ugh. Now, I'm not saying I didn't want a romantic partner someday, because sure. That would be great. But to have to work with him as well as love him in my off hours? I couldn't imagine being able to stand someone that much of the time, frankly.
Even the best partnerships I saw felt a little too intimate to me. I would love to have a friend I could rely on and work with, but not if they had to babysit me, or if I felt like I had to check in with them before I did any little thing by myself.
I'd always been an independent sort of guy. I'd never say any of this stuff out loud, because it sounds like I'm looking down on people who do things differently, and I don't want to do that. But let's just say it was no accident I didn't find a partner to pair up with during training.
Most days, I didn't mind that. I liked relying on myself.
Then there were times like today, when the job got to me and nobody was going to notice or care. Except, of course, if I really broke down and had to walk off the job. But I was trying not to do that again. I'd felt like such a damned fool the last time.
And of course, it had been a big thing afterwards. My friends had to 'rescue' me and ended up talking to the boss and going to bat for me to have more breaks and such, so the sights and scents of homicide work didn't get to me in such a big way.
Don't think it was less embarrassing that a shifter and partner were the ones who had to intervene for me; they, who relied on each other, the babysitting I'd said I didn't want, had to step in for me. It was awkward as hell.
But I was better at it now. I'd gotten to a place where I could sometimes ask for what I needed. Because if I didn't do it myself, I'd have to rely on Tomas, and if I did that too much, someone in the organization was going to take note and insist I find my own partner to wipe my nose for me. Double ugh!
Justin Barnes, the cop on the job with me, looked at me sharply. "You okay, Millard?" His voice was almost a bark.
I cringed, wanting to look around to see if anyone had heard. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and shook my head slightly. "Need a minute," I mumbled. It was hard to meet his gaze. I was sure I'd see judgment there. I was supposed to be as strong as anyone else. I'd been hired specifically to do this job; I should buck up and do it.
I didn't need coddling. I just needed some damned space.
He jerked his head. "Go out the back, take a breather."
If I went out the front, I'd have to weave through the crime scene tape.
It was not a pretty homicide so far. The day seemed guaranteed to get much worse. But if I could just clear my head for a few minutes, it might help.
I nodded, trying not to look too grateful, or too green around the gills, and stepped gingerly past him, determined not to hurry.
Justin was married to a shifter. A sensitive one who couldn't do homicide work at all. He shouldn't give me those sharp, judgmental looks. He ought to know better.
I lit a cigarette, watching to see how hard my fingers trembled. I breathed in. I breathed out. I tried not to think about dead bodies and how they smelled. I smoked so hard my cheeks hollowed. The brick wall was cold against my back, but it held me up.
I needed to be strong. I needed to be stronger than this. I leaned my head back to rest against the wall, and closed my eyes and exhaled smoke, and tried not to think about death.
Why does it have to be so goddamn hard?
#
When I was finally off work, I headed straight home. I needed a shower. Maybe two showers. Hard to believe how dirty this job could make me feel. It was like the smell of death got under my skin sometimes, like I couldn't scrub it off or scratch hard enough to remove it.
I was getting twitchy in my old age. A shower would help. Eating something would help. Surely—surely—sleeping would help.
Unless I had nightmares about it, which I did, more and more these days. I didn't want to admit to anybody how weak and fragile I was starting to feel. Damn it, I didn't need a partner to survive—I wasn't that weak.
I just wasn't actually going to be strong enough to keep doing homicide work if this kept up.
Look, I realize this sounds snobbish. It makes it sound like I look down on shifters who need help. But I don't. At least, I don't think I do. I can admit that Riley is a bundle of nerves and a sweet guy who's great at his job, but can't do it without Tomas. Anybody would be lucky to have Tomas by their side. My point is they're both great guys and I don't think I secretly judge them for working together or anything like that. I just never want to be that dependent on anybody.
It's fine for other people, but I just wasn't built that way. Or at least, I'm not supposed to be.
But it was looking more and more like I needed to either find a way to get some help with this job, or get out of this line of work altogether.
Maybe I could work as a bartender. Or take up farming. Or do literally anything other than sniff dead bodies for a living.
Sure, that wasn't all I did, but it was part of it, and that part was starting to dominate my whole life, and becoming damned unbearable.
I needed to think. I needed to figure this out.
And I'd been chewing on it for a while now without any answers.
Looks like I was going to need some advice.
There were different possibilities for that advice. I could call one of their hotlines. They're supposed to be anonymous, and if I kept things vague enough, maybe they actually would be.
I'd put it on the back burner, but it felt very impersonal—especially since I had the sneaking suspicion any advice would be around getting a partner, which I still didn't want to do. I mean, I doubted it would change how difficult the job was becoming, but it would certainly tie someone else's career to mine, and that's a lot of pressure I didn't want to add to the mix.
I wanted to ask Tomas for advice. It was easy to go to him. He was sweet and cute and smart and sympathetic—a good friend, and a guy who'd be really damned easy to crush on if he hadn't made it clear that friends was all we'd ever be. He had a boyfriend now and everything.
But asking Tomas for advice about this would put him in a bad position. His job was to look after and work with Riley, but the captain expected him to help out with the other shifter at the precinct—me—when needed. Maybe that was Tomas's fault for rushing in to help me and trying to act as go-between a couple of times, but it also meant he wasn't exactly an impartial party.
He might even feel like he had to report me to somebody, and that was the last thing I wanted—the decision taken firmly from my hands. I knew there were rules about this sort of thing. I wasn't sure what they all were. But I wasn't supposed to burn out; there were supposed to be other options here.
I just didn't know if I could stomach any of them better than the problem.