Mar. 16th, 2006

WT App

Mar. 16th, 2006 03:55 am
det_montoya: (service weapon)
She's going on thirty-eight hours. Thirty-nine. Eyes are beginning to itch and ache. Her head's the weight of a bowling ball. A fire burns in her belly. Whether it's the sleep deprivation or the shots of Stoli, she's not sure. Doesn't really matter. It keeps her anger company. Right next to the lump of guilt.

From out of the bar, she stumbles. Snow hits her skin. That fuzzy warm feeling begins to fade. She remembers why she crawled into the bar in the first place. Her fatigue evaporates. Her rage mounts. As if with another person's ears, she hears herself scream his name in the echoing streets. "Corrigan. CORRIGAN!!!"

The trip to his apartment is a blur. She's suddenly in front of his door with no recollection of how she arrived. Next thing she knows... Her sidearm is in hand. The door splinters. Breaks. The flimsy chain snaps. She barrels through into Corrigan's place.

A detached voice registers in her mind. Breaking and Entering.

There's a woman rushing towards her. Butt of the gun to the temple. There's a spray of blood. A cry of pain. She slumps to the floor.

The voice returns. Assault with a deadly weapon.

Corrigan is retreating into the kitchen. He shakes with fear and fumbles for the nearest possible weapon. Into his hand, he pulls a carving knife from the butcher's block.

That's right. Make it worth my while.

"You gonna take it like a man, Jimmy? Or do I shoot you in the back, like you shot Cris?"

He cowers, slides onto the floor holding his head. The knife has dropped from his grasp. She steps forward and places the gun to his forehead. Her finger moves purposefully from the slide to the trigger.


Another voice replaces the monotone in her detached reality. "Don't. If he goes down, he'll take you with him. Don't go there, Renee."

Fuck you, Cris. Fuck you.

She stares down into Corrigan's pleading eyes.

She lowers the gun and walks away. In her wake, she leaves a sniveling man and a bloodied woman. They'll live to see another day.

Too late.

[Author's Note: Scenario is taken directly from "Gotham Central". All of Renee's quoted dialog is taken verbatim. Writer: Greg Rucka.]
det_montoya: (With Dee)
Clearing her brain has never been a strong suit. The events of the trial are revolving in her head. She'd been one of the many hampered in the back of the courtroom. Far enough away to be useless. Close enough to observe. And what she saw scared the sh*t out of her. Not Kyle. Not Muns. Dent. Harvey Dent. Movin' fast. Lookin' mean. Like something out of the past.

She sits down on the couch in her apartment and picks up the remote. The television flashes to life. The scene depicts a crowd of pressing journalists. In the center is Dent.

"--did Eddie say to you during the tussle?" The question is followed by clicks and snaps from the surrounding cameras.

She shakes her head in disbelief.

"Nothing of any consequence, just like most everything else he says..."

A finger descends towards the power button.

"Mr. Dent, how does it feel to be a hero?"

She stops. A hero? This I gotta hear.

"Well, I'm not going to start prancing around in a cape, if that's what you mean."


The remote plops down on the cushions next to her. She sits for a minute longer, just staring. A shuffling sound comes from the rear. She looks up over her shoulder to see Daria, wiping at bleary eyes.

"Hey baby. It's late. You coming to bed?"

A pause hangs between them.

"Na... I got some things to work out, Dee."

It's not the words but the tone. Daria's heard it before. Can't still the body while the mind is at work. She shuffles back to a lonely bed.

Renee's still sitting on the couch when the sun rises in the morning.


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