Work Text:
Head down. Don’t talk to anyone, just keep walking.
Pushing the door open to the police station, Thatcher forced a smile into his face as he walked in. He pulled his hat down to cover his face some more as he saw the eyes of everyone he walked past turn to look at him.
Ignore them. Just get to your desk and it’ll be ok-
“Hey Thatcher!” Trying not to wince, Thatcher turned to look at the officer who called his name. “Chief wants to talk to you,” said a younger officer leaning on a cubical. Thatcher gave a small “thanks” before beginning to move towards the chief’s office.
So much for not talking to anyone.
Thatcher knocked on the door to the chief’s office, getting a gruff “come in” in response. He opened the door and walked in, taking off his hat. The chief motioned towards the chairs in front of his desk, “Please, sit.” “Is there something you needed from me sir?” Thatcher asked as he sat down.
The chief let out a sigh, “I’m sure you already know this, but things have been difficult for us since word about your incident with that alternate last month.” Thatcher’s grip tightened on his hat, “Sir, if you have to fire me or-” “No no no, nothing like that,” the chief said with a slight chuckle, “Nothing like that. I want you to give a speech to the rest of the officers this Friday.”
“You… what?”
“Listen Thatcher,” the chief leaned towards Thatcher, “You’re the only officer, hell one of the few people we know about, who’s survived an alternate attack. You know first hand what they are like, why we shouldn’t go help anyone and the cost it’ll take to do so.” Thatcher bit the inside of his cheek as he nodded. “So I thought getting you to give everyone a little speech, let them know that we’re all doing our best here.”
“With all due respect sir, I don’t think I’m the right person for this job-” Thatcher tried to argue but was cut off by the chief. “Nonsense! Everyone in the station looks up to you, so this speech will work best if it comes from you. Again, I’m giving you until Friday so you’ll have at least a day to work on it.”
“Sir I-” “Please Thatcher,” the chief begged, “I’ll even throw in some good words for you so you can get Employee of the Month, I just need you to do this for me.” Thatcher hesitated, fidgeting with his hat for a moment before forcing a small smile on his face, “Of course sir. I’ll get that done right away.” The chief visibly relaxed, “Thank you. That’s all, you’re free to go back to work.” Giving a small nod, Thatcher got up and left.
Head down. Don’t talk to anyone. Get to your desk and work on this stupid speech.
Finally making it over to his desk, Thatcher sat down and leaded back in his chair. On instinct he looked over to his right to a desk covered with slightly wilted flowers. The desk of his closest friend Ruth Weaver-
No, don’t think about her. It’ll just make things worse. Keep it together Thatcher.
He took a breath before grabbing out a notebook and writing down ideas for this speech. Thatcher paid no attention to how much time had passed from when he started writing to when his radio went off. “We have a 10-74,” a woman on the radio said before giving out the address. “I got it,” Thatcher replied as he stuffed his notebook in his pocket and started to leave the station. “Really? You don’t have to, someone else can take this,” replied a different officer. “Already leaving the station,” Thatcher said in response, getting into his car.
It didn’t take him long to reach the given location, a small little corner drug store which currently had a smashed store window. He parked and got out of his car, heading towards the store. “Lieutenant Thatcher Davis, Mandela P.D.,” he announced as he walked into the store, holding up his badge as two men in the store turned to look at him, “Who’s the owner of this establishment?” The man on the left raised his hand as Thatcher pulled out his notebook, “That would be me.”
The process went by in a blur and before he knew it he was leaving the store. It took him a moment to realize what was wrong with his car but when he did he let out a groan. Someone decided to take it upon themselves to graffiti his car and write the message, “Do more to protect us” on the hood. Probably the 5th time that week one of the police cars got a message like that.
Great, like things couldn’t get any worse.
“Whoever gives out the least amount of tickets has to pay for the other’s drinks tonight,” said a male officer as he held the door open for a female officer. She rolled her eyes as she walked out, moving around Thatcher as he walked past her, “Oh you are on. Just don’t be all butt hurt like last time when I beat you again.” Thatcher gave a small “thanks” to the male officer as he kept the door open for him. He heard the male officer scoff as the door slowly closed, “I was not butt hurt!”
The conversation became muffled as Thatcher walked away.
How many times had we done that sort of thing when we were starting out? Friendly little competitions, late nights hanging out. Why couldn’t things stay the same? Why did these alternates have to show up and mess everything up? Why did I leave her behind? Why didn’t I die with the rest of them? Why-
“Thatcher?” His thoughts were broken by another officer tapping his shoulder. “You doing alright?” they asked, “Water’s starting to spill out of your cup.” Thatcher blinked before remembering that he was currenting at the water jug filling up a now overflowing cup, which he quickly moved out of the way. “Sorry about that,” Thatcher mumbled to the other officer before walking off.
Good job Thatcher, you’re falling apart at work. Just… make it through to the end of the day. That’s all you have to do.
All you need to do is survive.
Going home no longer felt the same. No feeling of relaxation after having a long day at work. No feeling of calm after dealing with dangerous situations all day. No, the only thing that remained for him was the reminders of his failures. Kicking off his shoes and walking through his empty house reminded him of walking Jude and Lynn Murray’s (names that he only learned on his own a week after the incident, no one bothered to tell him what it was) house with Ruth. Going into his bedroom to get out of his uniform reminded him of seeing Mark Heathcliff, with his glazed over eyes staring at the ceiling and laying in a pool of his own blood on the floor.
Thatcher attempted to shake the thoughts off, sitting down on his bed. There was no use in thinking about that stuff. What was the point? He couldn’t do anything then, he couldn’t do anything now. All Thatcher needed to do was move on from it all.
He mindlessly wrote the speech out, putting down ideas that sounded good or could have some positive effect on the others. The chief wasn’t wrong that the others looked up to him. Thatcher just had to be strong to show them it’s possible. He just had to push aside these other issues he had for now and focus on doing what was right.
The Mandela P.D. did say, “Every day gets brighter.” Maybe something about that was true.
“And now I would like to bring to the podium, Lieutenant Thatcher Davis!” A thunderous applause came from the audience with a few whistles thrown in as Thatcher walked up, placing his notebook on the podium before him. He cleared his throat, “Hello everyone.” The audience gave a few “hi”s in return.
“As you all know I’m here to talk to you all today about alternates,” Thatcher said, seeing how uncomfortable a few people got at just the mention of them. “I know many may not be happy with the Mandela Police Department’s policy of not helping, but it is truly for the best. No amount of training or preparation could truly prepare you for what they are like. It’s best to remember: nothing is worth the risk.”
He hesitated at the next line he had written down.
Come on, you wrote this. You practiced this. If they don’t know then it’ll keep happening, you need to say it.
“I myself made the mistake of this and it cost the life of another officer, Sergeant Ruth Weaver.” Thatcher dug his nails into the palm of his hand as he forced himself into a neutral expression, “Despite knowing there was most likely some sort of alternate in a house, we still made the mistake of entering. Because of this Ruth…” Say it. You know what happened so say it. “Ruth died at the hands of the alternate. And though I was able to get away, the alternate still took on my appearance and I got to watch a perfect copy of me walk away.”
The audience started to murmur at that but Thatcher continued, “If neither of us had made this mistake, then… Ruth would still be here today and there wouldn’t be an alternate version of myself walking around. So I implore you all, if you ever get a call that you think could be about an alternate do not do anything. If you’re ever in a situation where you think an alternate is around, run away and remember the T.H.I.N.K. principle. We don’t need to put more unnecessary lives at risk. Thank you.”
The applause felt mute to Thatcher’s ears as he moved to sit back down in his seat. He felt a tap on his shoulder as he sat, turning to see it was the chief. “Come to my office after this is all over,” he told Thatcher in a low voice before he got up and went to the podium again. “Lieutenant Thatcher Davis everyone!” the chief said with a cheerful smile, gesturing back towards him.
Thatcher forced himself to slightly wave back.
“What do you mean that I can’t talk about it?” Thatcher asked, furrowing his brow. “Look,” the chief gave a sigh, “No one else knew about that-” “And why didn’t you? I mean, it shows that it’s even possible for someone to survive an encounter with one of those things. We all just thought that it could only replace someone if they were dead, this new information changes everything-” “Thatcher!”
Thatcher forced himself to take a deep breath as he dug his nails into his pant legs. The chief straightened his tie, “I understand why you may be upset, but the investigation is currently ongoing and we don’t want that much information to get out. The fact of the matter is that like you said this is new information. We have no idea how alternates behave when the person they look like is still alive, and the fact that you’re an officer of the law makes things even more worrisome. So unless you feel like losing your badge, you’re not allowed to talk about what happened. Do I make myself clear?”
Thatcher didn’t respond, digging his nails further into his legs. “Do I make myself clear?” the chief repeated.
“... Why won’t you let me on the case?”
“We’ve been over this before-” the chief started before Thatcher cut him off, “That thing killed Ruth and is out there looking exactly like me! I deserve to be on that case-” “No!” the chief half shouted, forcing Thatcher back into silence, “I understand why you are upset. It’s not easy to lose a friend, but you and Ruth both knew that would always be a risk as a police officer. But we both know that if you would take this case it could be considered a conflict of interest. Now you will drop this and not talk about what happened with your alternate. Do I make myself clear ?”
“Yes,” Thatcher replied through gritted teeth, “Sorry sir. Is there anything else you need from me?” “Not at the moment. You’re free to go.” the chief replied. Thatcher gave a dull nod before he left the office.
All he wanted to do was throw out the trash and go to bed, ending the terrible day this has been so far. That’s all he wanted. But life had a funny way of screwing with him lately as currently as he approached it his trash can started rattling.
It’s the alternate. It’s back to finish the job. You should let it. You’re supposed to be dead anyways, not like it matters if you die now.
He could feel himself trembling as he slowly stepped closer and closer to the can. A part of him was hating himself for being scared over a trash can. After years of police work, after facing down an alternate with little fear, after spending the last month forcing himself to be strong for everyone else (and maybe even for himself), the thing that finally got him truly scared was a trash can. A god damn trash can.
What would Ruth say if she saw you now? Call you a coward for being afraid to open a trash can? Say she’d open the can if you didn’t?
With a shaky inhale and trembling hands, he grabbed onto the lid.
Guess this is it. Goodbye world and see you soon Ruth.
Thatcher, squeezing his eyes shut, took off the lid of the can and waited for a clawed hand to swipe at him, sharp teeth to bite him, for something to attack him. But nothing did. He opened his eyes again and saw the source of the rattling.
It was a racoon.
A racoon, who tilted his head at Thatcher before jumping out of the can and running away.
In a second he threw his bag of trash into the can and marched back into his house, tears rapidly forming in his eyes. The moment he shut and locked the door behind him, Thatcher let himself sit down against the door. He curled into himself, stifling a few sobs with his hands.
You were scared of a racoon. What a coward. I can’t believe you’re the one that everyone looks up to. Wouldn’t it be so much easier if Ruth was here? She could have been brave for everyone without forcing it. She wouldn’t have been scared of her own shadow, of every little bump in the night. She could have been the one who people looked up to. But now everyone’s stuck with you and your alternative, doing god knows what out there because you screwed up.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered between sobs, “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t know who he was apologizing to. Maybe it was to Ruth, for leaving her behind to be killed. Maybe it was to Mark, for no one coming to help him, or for the Murrays, who maybe could have survived if they acted sooner and their son (infant son, he was only just a year old, the poor kid) wouldn’t be missing right now. Maybe it was to countless other victims, who harassed him anytime he was in uniform for not saving their loved ones from alternates, or to the Mandela P.D., for not being the hero they thought he was. Maybe it was even to himself, for forcing himself to keep going despite having nothing left for himself because the alternate took everything he cared about.
At this point, as his sobs grew louder, he didn’t care. There wasn’t much for him to care about anyways.
He just hoped the next day would be brighter.