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In and out. In and out.
Holden could still feel the chalky residue of valium as he swallowed away the air drying his tongue. The pavement was hard under him and the car against his back cooled the gathering sweat through his suit. With each passing minute, he could feel the panic dulling slowly—the sounds of Bill and Shepherd talking in the distance echoed through the spacious front yard while he tried to slow his breathing.
He remained hidden for longer than he was comfortable admitting, grateful that in those moments it was only Shepherd who had witnessed his lapse and finding solace in knowing he wasn’t a loose-lipped man. Holden wished it was colder out—that the slick sheen over his forehead could be cooled by the air—but instead he sweltered. His tie felt too tight and his jacket too heavy as he tried to gather himself enough to attempt reconciling the impression he left during the celebration. The voices had long since faded into the lively home behind him and he was left alone in the dark.
Was it a celebration? Not in earnest, he realized. Shepherd’s words stung their way back into his mind.
“Do you honestly believe I’m retiring?” Shepard seethed, “You vainglorious little shit. I’m being forced out because someone needs to take the fall for your insubordination, reckless lack of judgment and titanic vanity.”
A shaky breath escaped him and he braced against the car door, hoisting his heavy body to stand on wavering legs. He closed his eyes against the memory of his speech and the awkward tension that swept over the room as he spoke; it needed to be rectified—he was determined not to let this end with such humiliation. Holden steadied, his open palm flat against the car’s edge for support while he tried to collect himself. His head was spinning and he brushed it off as the aftershock of his panic attack. Pushing off the car, he brushed off the back of his pants and his suit jacket, tugging everything down into a presentable condition. At the very least, he would prove Shepard wrong:
“Jesus. You - really - are - a - pussy.”
Holden grit his teeth at the venomous accusations of the former Chief and stepped out from behind the car, the hard heels of his shoes scuffing across the solid ground beneath him. He wished he could feel as solid, but his legs felt weak and he couldn’t focus.
The front door was approaching and another agent stood outside smoking a cigarette. At first, he thought it might be Bill but the momentary hope was dashed as soon as his hazy vision focused on their narrow frame. Clearly his partner was deep in the party, unaware of the altercation that had transpired outside.
As he reached for the door he realized the handle had appeared closer than it was—his hand felt for it and missed, catching only air and causing him to stumble forward. Holden felt the curious eyes of the man beside him. He knew the agent's name but for some reason, he was drawing a blank.
“Careful Ford, wouldn’t want to ruin their nice white paint with your face,” the agent chuckled with a nod to the door, “Have fun in there,” he added.
“Thank you,” Holden snapped, grasping the handle urgently. He could feel embarrassment seeping into the colour of his face and he pushed the door open, slipping in through the gap.
It was louder than he had expected. The air of professionalism had taken its leave when the speeches ended and all that remained were hard-worked agents honoring a man’s many years with libations. There was laughter and music which Holden realized sounded much slower than it should— in fact, everything was much slower than it should be.
His delayed reaction to someone bumping into him earned him confused looks. He offered apology with a silent, raised hand and kept moving deeper into the room. He reached the bar, flagged down a drink and nodded his thanks. Gripping the drink like a lifeline he wove through the room; glasses were clinking in cheers around him while people told stories of life, work and death. Tonight was as good a reason as any to take a step back from the hardships that plagued the crowd.
“Holden?”
Holden turned to see Wendy approaching him, a glass of wine perched delicately in her hand.
“I thought you were gone. After your speech you left quite abruptly,” she paused; they both recognized the topic being referenced and she changed subjects, “Are you enjoying yourself?”
Holden smiled with pursed lips and nodded, “It’s nice to see Shepard being so appreciated.”
“Of course. He’s an accomplished man, this is the end of a highly respectable career.”
“I survived a war, the streets of Baltimore and Hoover, and I’m finally being finished off by you?”
“Absolutely,” he let out a shaky sigh, glancing about the room for an escape, “Wendy, I hate to cut this short—”
“Holden, are you feeling alright?” Wendy interjected before he could excuse himself, eyeing him with concern, “I saw you follow Shepard out, if something happened. . .”
“I’m fine, I appreciate the concern,” he tried a more genuine smile this time, “I hope you enjoy the party.”
Holden turned, knocking back some of his whiskey as he distanced himself from Wendy, feeling her eyes following him as he was lost in the crowd. A few people nodded at him in passing but he failed to return their looks; He felt an overwhelming confusion blanket his mind and he tried to push through it. The room felt like it was walled with people and he started to feel his chest tighten. Before he could stop himself he was rushing through the guests and stumbling into the restroom. He slammed the door behind him and rested his back against it with panting breaths.
Delirium was setting in. He put his glass down on the counter and braced himself against the edges. Glancing up into the mirror he noticed a tendril of hair curling onto his forehead and swiftly swept it back with the others. His reflection was spinning. He twisted the tap to life and scooped up some water, splashing it over his face as he breathed heavily over the swirling drain. Reaching into his jacket he grabbed the small bottle for the second time that night, convinced that the first dose hadn’t done the job. As he thumbed at the lid he noticed the label poking free from under his hand.
Warning:
Do not exceed dosage as recommended by prescribing physician.
Do not mix with alcohol.
Holden closed the tap and jerked back from the sink, physically trying to shake the disorientation from his head as he saw the room around him begin to tilt. The bottle dropped onto the counter as he felt the slowing beat of his heart, his mind swirling with the room around him. He fell back against the wall and sunk to the ground in a lifeless crouch. “ This was a mistake.” He fought desperately against the darkness enclosing his vision as his body slid limply into the floor.
“You really are incredible. Is all that fresh-scrubbed earnestness just an act? Or are you truly oblivious to the wreckage you leave in your wake?”
A hard knock jolted Holden awake—his legs were sprawled out in front of him on the bathroom floor and he scanned the room with confusion. Another knock and he urged himself up. He tried to adjust himself before he opened the door, tucking the valium back into his jacket and fumbling for his drink. The contents sloshed over the edge onto his suit and he pulled the hand towel free from its hook, scrubbing at his jacket to try and manage the stain.
“Just a second,” he called to the door, his voice was shaking along with the rest of him. A half a glance in the mirror showed a disheveled man staring back. Jamming the towel back he yanked the door open to see a woman staring back at him with impatience and a man beside her with his fist poised for another hammer against the door.
“Sorry,” Holden attempted some courtesy, stepping aside and out from the room with a clumsy hand still trying to wipe his jacket clean.
He could feel their judgmental gaze as he stumbled away, taking a moment to lean against the adjacent wall. With uneasy steps he shuffled his way through the house, narrowly dodging other guests as they weaved around him. He was lost, confused and unable to find his way—it shouldn’t have been that hard to get out but still he traversed the winding space as if he’d been dropped into a maze.
“You arrogant self-serving twerp.”
Holden kept moving at a crawling pace, stopping every few feet to stand against the wall as someone passed by. Their faces were flesh-toned blurs but he tried to smile in case they were looking.
“I put in 27 years.”
A few more steps; he had to be close to the door by now. His heart was slamming in his chest. His head spun and he tried to keep a grasp on himself enough to not fall to the ground in front of his colleagues. Depositing his drink on a passing table his eyes tried to blink away the haze. He just needed to get out, to get in a car, a cab or walk home if he needed to.
“I’m leaving everything I worked for with the giant stain of you all over it.”
“Jesus Christ,” he heard from behind him, the familiar baritone seeped in judgment, “Are you serious?”
Holden turned to see Bill, whiskey in hand, staring down at him with unmistakable disappointment.
“How drunk are you?” his partner added.
For a moment he felt a wave of relief wash over him—he forced himself upright in the presence of the other man and tried to open his mouth to offer an explanation.
“Not a fucking chance,” Bill interrupted, “Outside. Now.”
He felt his partner grab him by the elbow and drag him towards the exit. Allowing himself to be pulled with limp protest, he stumbled behind him until the stuffy interior broke way to the night air. The two agents continued down the front step and out into the yard. Holden braced himself for another chastising.
“You’re embarrassing yourself, Holden,” Bill spat, “First that speech and now this? You’re making an absolute mockery of yourself—of our department.”
“I’m not. . .” Holden tried to focus, to maintain eye contact, “I’m not drunk Bill.” He heard Bill scoff in disbelief.
“Bullshit. Look at you, you can hardly stand.”
He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed, trying to unscramble his thoughts—trying to find a version of tonight where Bill wouldn’t know about his episode. “Shepard laid into me, I’m. . .”
“You’re what?” Bill took a step towards him.
“I’m the reason he’s retiring, Bill, he’s being forced out because—”
“Save it, I don’t want to hear it. I expected better from you Holden.”
Holden quieted, everything was spinning and he couldn’t focus on the blurring visage of his partner. His heart was hammering in his chest again. His face was flushed and he started pulling in rushed breaths.
“I need to leave,” he blurted, trying to turn away from the second altercation of the night and walk toward the street. Everything shifted again and he fell, barely catching himself against a car.
“For Christ’s sake, people can see you. Wait here,” Bill grabbed him and pulled him up before he disappeared back into the house leaving Holden to rest against the vehicle.
A few minutes passed and Bill reemerged; he had a cigarette already burning and was sucking back long drags and huffing them into the night air. Holden barely saw him approach before he felt a firm hand around his elbow again and was being hauled down the driveway.
“What are—”
“Shut up,” Bill snapped, continuing to drag the smaller man behind him.
They arrived at Bill’s car and the larger agent pulled open the passenger door, practically throwing Holden inside before slamming it closed. Without a word, Bill settled into the driver’s seat and started the car, lurching it into reverse he peeled out of the driveway and into the street. The radio had sprung to life along with the ignition and Bill had snapped off the volume, forcing silence in the cab aside from the roar of the engine.
Holden tried his best to stay alert but the approaching road ahead made his eyes blur and roll. He felt his head lulling back against the rest behind him and didn’t notice the rage-filled glances of his partner beside him. Bill’s cigarettes filled the car with smoke, one after the other, without interlude.
“Just once,” Bill broke the silence, “Just this once I needed you to not be so—”
“Just stop Bill,” Holden slurred.
“Excuse me?” He snapped. Bill hadn’t realized that Holden had lost consciousness beside him, but the moment it registered his anger fell aside and he reached over to shake the younger man’s shoulder.
“Holden,” he jostled him harder, “Holden!”
The younger agent was unresponsive and Bill let out a nasal sigh; his foot throttled the car faster and the vehicle rushed down the road towards Holden’s apartment.
“Don’t fucking puke in here,” he knew he was the only one listening.
They were driving for quite some time and Holden still hadn’t moved aside from the hard turns that forced him to rock with car. Bill watched him in glances while they sped through the city; he blew a couple of lights for the sake of urgency and finally pulled up to the front of Holden’s building. He threw the car into park and tried one last time to shake his passenger awake. Bill was hopeful when he saw Holden’s face scrunch at the disruption. He shook him again, more forcefully this time.
“Holden,” he urged. This earned a quiet moan from the younger agent, “Ah, Christ, wake up Holden.’
Holden finally stirred enough that Bill got out of the car, rounded it and opened the passenger door, ready to catch his partner as he slumped out with the loss of support.
“Where am I?”
Bill was starting to worry, he had never seen his partner this inebriated and frankly, he didn’t even think Holden could drink that much. He started to pull him out of the car and was relieved to see his feet try and bear some weight as he was hoisted up.
“I just need you to walk with me, okay?” He pulled Holden’s arm to brace over his shoulders and wrapped a firm grip around his waist.
Holden offered a weak nod and managed disoriented steps beside Bill while they sluggishly made their way towards the doors. With great difficulty they finally made it; Bill had mostly dragged his partner and realized once they arrived outside that he needed to get in. When he had dropped Holden off after the Kemper incident he remembered a doorman, but maybe it was too late. A part of him was grateful for Holden’s sake that no one was here to witness this.
“Where are your keys?” he demanded, trying to jostle an answer out of Holden.
When it yielded no result he started to mutter to himself in frustration and dug around in Holden’s pockets. He pulled free the bottle of valium and faltered, his eyes darting from the bottle over to the man hanging from his shoulder. Their conversation earlier sprung to mind and it clicked.
“Shepard laid into me. I’m the reason he’s retiring Bill, he’s being forced out.”
Holden wasn’t saying it outright, but Bill realized what he should have earlier—this wasn’t just alcohol.
He dropped the bottle into his own pocket and finally found the keys in Holden’s pants. Yanking them out he shoved the key into place, hauled open the door and pulled his half-conscious partner into the lobby. He offered silent thanks that Holden didn’t live in a walk-up and pushed the elevator button deep into its recess.
It felt like ages before the car arrived and they were climbing up the floors. Bill had never been to Holden’s apartment before, but thankfully he’d seen some paperwork recently that listed his unit number. Finally, they reached the fifth floor and worked their way down the hallway. Holden was moving a bit better now but he was still heavily reliant on Bill. They reached his door and Bill repeated the key and door, guiding the younger man into the dark entryway.
He reached out to the wall and found a switch, flicking on the light he was surprised to see the conventional and rather empty-looking space in front of him. He’d anticipated a meticulous place, sure, but he didn’t expect it to look so lonely . Bill looked over at Holden again with sympathetic eyes and moved him past the kitchen and over to the sofa. Holden slid limply from his grip and landed into the cushions with a muffled thud, letting out a groan as his head fell back behind him.
Bill stood in silence just staring down at his partner, monitoring the rise and fall of Holden’s chest. The young man seemed to be out of danger. He sighed and dropped the keys on the nearby counter before fishing out the bottle from his pocket and setting it down beside them. Wandering into the kitchen, he checked the cupboards and found some glasses; he filled one with water and set it down beside Holden, then turned back to the kitchen in search of something stronger.
Of course Holden was the type of man to have nothing on any surface but the bare minimum. Bill looked around for a few minutes, much to his thanks there was a whiskey bottle sitting in the back corner of another cupboard. He poured himself a generous glass and made his way over to the table and chairs on the far side of the room. Pulling one back, he sat down with a tired sigh and took a long sip of his drink.
Eventually, Holden’s eyes opened. Bill was lost in thought as he nursed his whiskey and didn’t notice his partner looking around the room with newly acquired confusion. Holden recognized his apartment but had no recollection of how he got there, in fact, the last thing he remembered was standing in Shepard’s yard with Bill. That’s when he noticed the man sitting across the room staring down into his glass.
“What are you doing here, Bill?” his words were slow and he still felt the effects of the night hanging onto him.
He noticed Bill jump a little at the sudden sound and shot a look over to him as he set his drink down on the table and shifted to face Holden.
“You’re awake. How are you feeling?”
Holden was taken aback by the question, “What?”
Frustration flashed over Bill’s face—if he hadn’t been watching he would have missed it. Bill stood from the chair, grabbed his drink and slugged it back.
“Never mind. I just wanted to make sure you’d wake up.” Bill started towards the kitchen and set his cup down beside the sink.
Despite his disorientation, Holden felt a pang of irritation at the misplaced glass—he’d never been good with other people in his space. His gaze swept across the kitchen as he followed Bill and that’s when he spotted his keys and the bottle on the counter. He sat up suddenly but everything shifted and he had to rest his head in his hands instead. He heard his partner sigh from the entryway and he knew Bill was watching him.
“Look, I’m sorry I came down on you so hard. I know you’re dealing with a lot right now.”
“It’s fine” Holden spoke to the floor, not lifting his head, “I made a mistake.” He realized at this point that Bill knew everything, or at least as much as he had deciphered, which was likely most of it.
“Did you know this could happen?”
Holden shook his head, “No, but I should have.”
“Don’t give yourself a hard time. It could have been worse.”
Nodding Holden pursed his lips and lifted his head, Bill was standing across from him leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
“I think I owe you a thank you.”
Bill laughed through his nose, “You owe me a hell of a lot more than that, but it’s fine, I’m glad you’re alright.”
“Right. Well, thank you.”
They stayed in awkward silence for a few minutes before finally, Bill said, “I’d better get going. Nance is probably wondering where I am. . .”
“Of course, right, give her my best.”
“Goodnight, Holden.”
Holden nodded again and watched as Bill turned to leave. He expected to hear the door open but was surprised by stilled footsteps on the carpet.
“Holden,” Bill called over from the door.
“Yeah?” His partner took a few steps back into the room so that he was partly visible to Holden from the sofa, the half of Bill’s face he could see was staring down at the bottle on the counter.
“Be careful, okay?”
“I will. Goodnight, Bill.”
Without further exchange, the door latched closed leaving Holden alone in the partial darkness of his apartment. He fell back into the sofa and let out the breath he was holding. He turned and noticed a glass of water next to him. Guilt panged deep in his stomach and he allowed himself to slide down onto the seat cushions. His eyes closed as he gave up on the night.