Fandom: due South
Characters: Ray K
Word Count: 300 words.
Notes: I was writing this as my ds_flashfic challenge piece (write a story which contains the line 'nobody move or the [x] gets it' in some form) but I couldn't get past 300 words, so I wrote something entirely different for the challenge and saved this for my own journal.
"Nobody move, or the beer gets it!" Ray mutters before letting his head slam down onto the bar. He continues to speak but his voice is thick and nasal. "It was like I was gonna have some actual, uh, tangible success there, y'know? But I blew it, I always blow it. I suck."
The barman doesn't say a thing this time. Too many situations where he's been threatened with a kick to the head have taught him that when the good Detective gets into a funk, it's best to leave him grooving. Ray lifts his head and takes a swig from the bottle enclasped in his hand. He stares blearily around him, eyes not concentrating on anything specific.
"You know what I'm gonna have to do, don't you?" he asks smoky air. "I've gotta'pologise. I've got to go back and say I'm sorry. It was a mistake. I can try again. Can you try again? I can try again."
The barman wipes down another glass. He pours a drink for a tall man who comes and sits next to Ray. Ray swings around to see if it's anyone he knows but either he's too drunk to tell or this person's a stranger. He takes another drink of beer and then decides to stand.
When Ray picks himself up again he hobbles over to the payphone. Ordinarily he might use his cell but he thinks its still at the Consulate. He's not sure it's a good thing he knows the taxi number off by heart but he doesn't really care.
His apartment is warm. Ray is compelled to start stripping off layers. His coat goes first, then his holster, then his shirt. He collapses onto the sofa, careless, topless and legless. He tells himself he's not going to cry. He lies.