So there is this:
–A folder of papers. Solid investigative work that she can NOT find fault with, no matter how she tries, and she’s tried. So very hard.
–And there’s him. Everything is normal to him, everything is all peaches and cream. He’s sitting on the top of a shit heap, and he doesn’t know that she knows.
–And there’s her: On edge, annoyed, pissed off, and unable to say one fucking thing about it. She wants to – how she wants to! – but she’s promised to bide her time. To wait. To follow orders, if and when they come.
He knows only that something is bothering her. That something is wrong. And that she’s hiding something from him. The irony of his ire about that little fact is not lost on the Detective. Here he is, hiding the biggest, worst secret in the world, and she can’t do a damn thing about it.
But seethe.
“Hey, Izzy, dude, you’re harshin’ my vibe.”
[silence]
“…Iz?”
“Get lost.”
“Jesus, is it your time of the month, or what?”
“Finn – I swear to fucking god…”
“Seriously, Izzy, something’s wrong. Why won’t you ….erk!”
He finds himself shoved up against the lockers, were he’s followed her. Again. The locker room used to be a place for them – a quicky in the shower, a slam bam thank ya ma’am against a locker, you get the picture – but now… now she just. wants. out.
She almost growls at him as she holds him there, her forearm pressed against his throat, her free hand grabbing his balls and NOT in the nice way he’s used too.
“Leave. Me. Alone.” She pushes him back against the locker, and in doing so, pushes away from him. There’s a moment of naked emotion across her face – fury, of course, but most of all… pain. Then it’s gone. Closed away. And she turns, and stalks out of the locker room again, leaving him to wonder what the fuck is going on, if she’s finally lost the last shred of sanity she possessed. And also, a relief she didn’t drag his balls off with her as she stalked off.
In the end, all he does is mutter under his breath. “Fuckin’ crazy bitch.” He then heads back to work, and Izzy gets her wish. He leaves her alone. He doesn’t even look her way.
…and in doing so, he misses the frustration, the pent up emotion she can’t let anyone see, and the pain of a friendship lost as she pretends to give two fucks about a game of solitaire on her phone. All because of a choice. A choice she never would have made. A choice she wants to understand, but cannot ask about. A choice that cost her the best friend and ally she’s had on the force since losing John.
His choice.
Her agony.