Norman Jayden (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
leanonstuff) wrote2011-01-01 01:38 pm
leanonstuff) wrote2011-01-01 01:38 pm
PSL Post for lieutenantantichrist
[The killer was dead.
Norman had watched him fall after nearly swapping fates, a gruesome end for a truly deranged man. The following days found him swamped with attention, from media to the local cops and his fellow FBI agents, his head was swimming every time he had a moment alone. It was really a blessing when he was granted a few days off both to recover from his injuries and as a 'congratulations' for quickly solving a case that had become serious national news.
For the first time in awhile, as Norman lay on his DC apartment bed surrounded by a rare quiet, he felt pretty damn good about himself.
That was, until he took his next hit of Tripto.
He tried to get rid of the stuff, he really did. Flushed it down the toilet, hid it around the apartment, threw it out the window (not one of his better ideas), but somehow he always ended up with another vial in hand shortly after. Norman knew that the drug wasn't the sole problem too, maybe not even the most serious, but he couldn't part with ARI. He needed it for his job- how else would he have found Shaun in time?
Bleeding eyes haunted his dreams, more so since he knew such a thing could happen in reality again if he wasn't careful. As it turned out, all that time alone with his thoughts wasn't as nice as he'd hoped, and as such it was actually a relief when he returned to work. Norman knew that working for the FBI wasn't all glamorous; in fact, sitting behind a desk doing paperwork was more common for his job as a profiler than it was for most. He was well aware that he'd have to return to Philadelphia in order to officially close the case, as much as he loathed the thought of having to interact with Blake again. Maybe they wouldn't have to see each other, if he was lucky.
A few days later he found himself back in the precinct, only to be greeted by cheers, hugs and hearty pats on the back. Unexpected as this much praise was, Norman couldn't help but smile and make a couple silly quips to those who congratulated him. The first night there a big group of them went out to a local bar, apparently it had already been rented out for them that day, and brought the agent along to buy him drinks and continue lavishing him with praise. It seemed that they all wanted to be his friend now, something that admittedly felt pretty good for awhile but quickly became tiring. When the officers who had been chatting with him became distracted, Norman took his drink and retreated to a darker corner of the bar for a little break from the spotlight.]
Norman had watched him fall after nearly swapping fates, a gruesome end for a truly deranged man. The following days found him swamped with attention, from media to the local cops and his fellow FBI agents, his head was swimming every time he had a moment alone. It was really a blessing when he was granted a few days off both to recover from his injuries and as a 'congratulations' for quickly solving a case that had become serious national news.
For the first time in awhile, as Norman lay on his DC apartment bed surrounded by a rare quiet, he felt pretty damn good about himself.
That was, until he took his next hit of Tripto.
He tried to get rid of the stuff, he really did. Flushed it down the toilet, hid it around the apartment, threw it out the window (not one of his better ideas), but somehow he always ended up with another vial in hand shortly after. Norman knew that the drug wasn't the sole problem too, maybe not even the most serious, but he couldn't part with ARI. He needed it for his job- how else would he have found Shaun in time?
Bleeding eyes haunted his dreams, more so since he knew such a thing could happen in reality again if he wasn't careful. As it turned out, all that time alone with his thoughts wasn't as nice as he'd hoped, and as such it was actually a relief when he returned to work. Norman knew that working for the FBI wasn't all glamorous; in fact, sitting behind a desk doing paperwork was more common for his job as a profiler than it was for most. He was well aware that he'd have to return to Philadelphia in order to officially close the case, as much as he loathed the thought of having to interact with Blake again. Maybe they wouldn't have to see each other, if he was lucky.
A few days later he found himself back in the precinct, only to be greeted by cheers, hugs and hearty pats on the back. Unexpected as this much praise was, Norman couldn't help but smile and make a couple silly quips to those who congratulated him. The first night there a big group of them went out to a local bar, apparently it had already been rented out for them that day, and brought the agent along to buy him drinks and continue lavishing him with praise. It seemed that they all wanted to be his friend now, something that admittedly felt pretty good for awhile but quickly became tiring. When the officers who had been chatting with him became distracted, Norman took his drink and retreated to a darker corner of the bar for a little break from the spotlight.]
no subject
Nah, I'm shit at the whole small talk part. Or having any idea who might be interested.
[Actually, that wasn't entirely true. There were always places to go where he could be fairly confident he wouldn't make a complete fool of himself, but actually getting up the nerve to go? Really, really unlikely.]
Not that it's any of your business. [If anyone was likely to give him hell for his personal life, it would be Blake, he was sure of it.]
no subject
Jesus, Norman. You've got a goddamn red carpet in front of you, and you're gonna waste it?
[He made a point of ignoring the fact it wasn't any of his business. If Jayden didn't like that, he could leave. Nobody was forcing him to stay chit-chatting with a broken down old cop who'd blown everything.]
If I had half your luck, I'd already be on my way home with-
[The handsome, sophisticated-looking guy talking to the bartender. But Norman didn't need to know that.
Blake covered his lapse by jabbing his finger at him.]
Listen, you're buying a drink for somebody, and your choice is either one of them or me.
no subject
That also meant he was a bit stuck when Blake offered him two choices. Sure, he could decline both, but he might end up fucked over by doing so.
His eyes flickered down at Blake, then over to the bar. He sighed that time, placing his current glass down on the table across from the lieutenant.]
I'll get you a drink, then.
[He scurried off before anything else could be said and got the bartender's attention. Norman ordered something with more of a kick this time, whiskey, one for himself as well. He brought the glasses back to the table and sat down, a clearer commitment to his use of time over here than before.]
no subject
You can't even give me the fun of watching you get shot down.
[Not that he would. Blake wasn't kidding about how everybody was fawning over this bastard. All he'd have to do is nod, and that- well. That needled Blake deep.
He swirled his drink around, regarding Jayden. The real thing wasn't living up to the cocky, swaggering jackass he'd told off a hundred times in his head. The aftermath of the case had cut him off from all his old comrades in arms. Now they barely looked at him. He didn't have room for the word loneliness. What he felt was spoiling for a fight.]
Look. If what you're waiting for is for me to grovel and kiss your ass like the rest of them, you're gonna be waiting a long time.
no subject
No one's done that yet, thought I made it clear.
[He could take the mature route here and say something intelligent, meaningful. Instead he decided to be an asshole, because Blake always seemed to bring out the worst in him.]
But if you wanna do that in the privacy of my hotel room, I'd be all for it. [It was a joke, a jab, and yet... not entirely untrue. As much as he'd dislike to admit it, Blake fit his type pretty well. A bit too well.]
no subject
Blake was halfway through a sip when Jayden surprised him by showing some teeth. His swallow went wrong, and the whiskey burned right down to his fingertips.
There was only one reason he'd go there: Norman knew. It wasn't exactly a big secret, but Blake had thought his buddies would have the common damn decency not to share anything personal about him with this asshole.
He leaned forward over the table.]
Who told you?