Pull
Title: Pull
Rating: R for language and violence
Warnings: Banged out in the last forty minutes!
Summary: Stephen Holder finally made it. He was now officially a detective on Homicide, and he planned to wear his badge with pride. At least that was his plan until he stumbled over the detective he was supposed to replace.
Disclaimer: Jesus, I wish I could claim some hand in the television series.
Holder didn’t make eye contact as he marched down the hall towards his new office. In the fucking Homicide Unit, thank you very much. After all the shit he’s endured and had put himself through, he’d finally received his payday.
As far as Holder was concerned, Gil was not only the father he’d never had but also the mentor he’d never deserved.
And yet here I am, Holder thought, barely able to hide a smug grin as he rounded the final corner towards his new life.
Even the goddamn sunlight looked crisper here, in Homicide.
Holder held no illusions about his new job: being a Narc for years had smoked that right out of him. But Homicide? Homicide was what Holder dreamt of when he was a rookie. When he’d said ‘yes’ to every assignment, even the shittiest ones, in Narc.
And the dream he’d let go when he’d hit rock bottom: a dust head; junkie; jitter shitter. He was all that and worse. Then Gil came like a fucking avenging angel and straightened him out.
Gil, I owe you one, Holder thought passionately. And I’ll make you proud, man. So fucking proud you were my rabbi.
The impassioned thought vanished like his pride when Holder took a peek into his office and saw the current occupant.
She was tiny, compared to him. Like any other man Holder could, in an instant, trace the figure beneath the bulky sweater and jeans. He quickly calculated her weight to be at least forty pounds less than his, and probably a foot shorter when it came to height.
But she was solid. So fucking solid that Holder could almost see planets rotating around her, drawn to her gravity - to her person.
Gravity ... Gravitas: he remembered the word from his sister’s word-a-day calendar.
This woman had gravitas - so somber and intelligent even when she was flustered by the personal call she was fielding. He could easily see her take control on the field: In a command center if the shit got bad. And Holder just knew there wasn’t a man out there, above or below her rank, that had the balls to say no when she leveled her gaze on him.
Because, let’s be honest, who’d want to disappoint her? Who’d want to be cut loose from her circle?
And if anyone did, then Holder would suspect that person of being paid under the table or being actively screwed on top of it.
Holder knew women were scarce in all the police departments across the States, probably across the fucking globe if truth be told, and that they had more shit to shovel, more hell to deal with than any sane human being could possibly imagine.
So, Holder knew this woman, this tiny flame of a human being, must have had it twice as hard as he did coming up the ranks.
And here she was, leaving Homicide for better hunting grounds.
Holder suspected the department loathed to let her go, especially after they’d gotten a good look at his files. Gil was respected but even he couldn’t erase everything Holder had done.
She probably never met a temptation she couldn’t turn away from, Holder concluded as he watched her slim, freckled fingers play around the desk and the cell she cradled against her ear. She probably never smiled and lied in order to get what she wanted. Oh no, not this one. She’d tell you the ugliest truth but you’d probably be grateful to hear it because you just knew she’d do something about it.
Compared to her Holder was a fucking ghost.
He closed his eyes and pushed into the office, feeling the ineffective weight of his body being forcibly propelled forwards by his now-dampened will.
Then she looked up at him and Holder felt the pull. Suddenly, being weightless didn’t seem bad at all.
Rating: R for language and violence
Warnings: Banged out in the last forty minutes!
Summary: Stephen Holder finally made it. He was now officially a detective on Homicide, and he planned to wear his badge with pride. At least that was his plan until he stumbled over the detective he was supposed to replace.
Disclaimer: Jesus, I wish I could claim some hand in the television series.
Holder didn’t make eye contact as he marched down the hall towards his new office. In the fucking Homicide Unit, thank you very much. After all the shit he’s endured and had put himself through, he’d finally received his payday.
As far as Holder was concerned, Gil was not only the father he’d never had but also the mentor he’d never deserved.
And yet here I am, Holder thought, barely able to hide a smug grin as he rounded the final corner towards his new life.
Even the goddamn sunlight looked crisper here, in Homicide.
Holder held no illusions about his new job: being a Narc for years had smoked that right out of him. But Homicide? Homicide was what Holder dreamt of when he was a rookie. When he’d said ‘yes’ to every assignment, even the shittiest ones, in Narc.
And the dream he’d let go when he’d hit rock bottom: a dust head; junkie; jitter shitter. He was all that and worse. Then Gil came like a fucking avenging angel and straightened him out.
Gil, I owe you one, Holder thought passionately. And I’ll make you proud, man. So fucking proud you were my rabbi.
The impassioned thought vanished like his pride when Holder took a peek into his office and saw the current occupant.
She was tiny, compared to him. Like any other man Holder could, in an instant, trace the figure beneath the bulky sweater and jeans. He quickly calculated her weight to be at least forty pounds less than his, and probably a foot shorter when it came to height.
But she was solid. So fucking solid that Holder could almost see planets rotating around her, drawn to her gravity - to her person.
Gravity ... Gravitas: he remembered the word from his sister’s word-a-day calendar.
This woman had gravitas - so somber and intelligent even when she was flustered by the personal call she was fielding. He could easily see her take control on the field: In a command center if the shit got bad. And Holder just knew there wasn’t a man out there, above or below her rank, that had the balls to say no when she leveled her gaze on him.
Because, let’s be honest, who’d want to disappoint her? Who’d want to be cut loose from her circle?
And if anyone did, then Holder would suspect that person of being paid under the table or being actively screwed on top of it.
Holder knew women were scarce in all the police departments across the States, probably across the fucking globe if truth be told, and that they had more shit to shovel, more hell to deal with than any sane human being could possibly imagine.
So, Holder knew this woman, this tiny flame of a human being, must have had it twice as hard as he did coming up the ranks.
And here she was, leaving Homicide for better hunting grounds.
Holder suspected the department loathed to let her go, especially after they’d gotten a good look at his files. Gil was respected but even he couldn’t erase everything Holder had done.
She probably never met a temptation she couldn’t turn away from, Holder concluded as he watched her slim, freckled fingers play around the desk and the cell she cradled against her ear. She probably never smiled and lied in order to get what she wanted. Oh no, not this one. She’d tell you the ugliest truth but you’d probably be grateful to hear it because you just knew she’d do something about it.
Compared to her Holder was a fucking ghost.
He closed his eyes and pushed into the office, feeling the ineffective weight of his body being forcibly propelled forwards by his now-dampened will.
Then she looked up at him and Holder felt the pull. Suddenly, being weightless didn’t seem bad at all.