Decisions, Decisions

It had been a rough week. After returning to work, Brian had been forced to reconcile with the time he had taken off to enter the Prytaneum and take that little trip to the Swiss Alps. Reasonably enough, the Chief had given him a bit of a talking-to. It wasn't particularly violent (thankfully police officers were far more forgiving than army officers) but it had been stern and to-the-point. To make a man unattached to the Chosen understand their particular set of new life-guidelines, however, was a bit difficult, especially considering that Brian couldn't actually tell the man what was going on. He'd told everyone that he was finally going to school, which had made sense right up until he'd returned to his full work-week. Night classes, he'd told them. Weekend classes. As this was far more believable than being called by a god to join a team of warriors and more pleasant than thinking he had gone rogue and joined a drug cartel, most everyone believed him. Unfortunately that meant he had no explanation for his insistence that every so often he'd need to take short-notice leave and be gone for a day or two to another few weeks. He had no idea what they were up against. This whole new conversation had brought on another stern talking-to and Brian had been forced to relent. No, Sir, he did not want to be demoted. No, Sir, he wouldn't be leaving any time soon. Yes, Sir, he understood the importance of his position.

Over the following few days he had recovered somewhat from his melancholy. A distracted cop was less observant, less quick, less forgiving. In that way, being back to work helped. On the other hand, Brian found himself noticing things he hadn't paid much attention to before. After all, with his job he was legally bound to arrest someone for this or that and charge them for even the smallest infraction. If someone was terrified and weeping, or panicking and struggling, your partner was bound to scold them or heave a shoulder into their chest and punch them to the ground. He had taken up policing because he had presumed it less violent than the military. Now he wasn't so sure. Of course some people needed to go away. Some people needed to be taken down. He worked in a high-crime area and his superiors insisted they all follow the full extent of the law and "clean up the town." It had never sat entirely well with him that even minor offenders were charged and oftentimes sent to prison to harden up and come back out to offend again. That was the pattern, after all. Now it seemed even more ridiculous. He felt like a mindless tool at the hands of the state. Do you understand your rights as I have read them to you? Open door, cushion head, ignore pleas, drive to station, drop criminal, head back out. He loved his job. Really he did. It was the times you truly helped someone, the lives you'd saved, the parents so thankful they'd weep with joy and the children given comfort that made it worth it. Automation just didn't seem like the right, and he couldn't reconcile with himself the uneasy feeling in his gut as he drove a nineteen-year-old in to county for the third time this year.

Reason stood then that he should reconnect with his buddies. He needed some time out, that was all. It was incredibly pleasant to lose yourself in a night at the bar or at a friend's barbecue. Brian always returned home in a better mood, and even took the time to visit his family for one good long evening after a shift. He realized how much he had missed the contact with his parents and his sisters, but in the end he had to head back to his apartment.

His apartment was the problem.

His apartment seemed bigger now. It seemed more empty. It felt just a little bit like a prison. There was no beach, no yard, no grounds, and he didn't even have a fish to keep him company. He hadn't bothered to turn on the lights as he made dinner. Now Brian sat on the couch, watching some late-night programming disinterestedly while eating a ham sandwich and the remaining crumbs of a bag of Doritos. In two days he'd be heading back to the Prytaneum for a weekend to spent almost no time with people who were his friends even outside of battle, and that was if they had the time to spend with him. Then it'd be back to the grind, to the gym, to work, to his mostly-empty refrigerator and a big hollow apartment.

Brian sighed and let his head fall back, then surveyed the room around him. The hall was dark. He wasn't sure when he'd go to bed, but it didn't seem like priority any more. The kitchen light was still on above the ill-used stove. His bathroom looked cavernous in the dark. For the first time in his life, Brian Watterly did not feel like going back to work. Maybe Cat had been right. Maybe there wasn't enough time left to devote to your career after you'd been chosen.

Well, it all could only mean one thing: he had a bit of a tough decision to make.
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