Chapter Text
It had been raining the entire day- of course it had.
Will huffs out a brief sigh, glancing at the windows, which are exactly as covered in rain as they had been earlier this morning. If anything, the steady drumming of the storm has increased. He isn’t looking forward to walking home in that.
The workday is coming to an end, and the other members of the office have begun gathering their things, but Will’s eyes stray to one desk in particular amid the shuffling of papers and shrugging on of coats.
He has not spoken to Kym Ladell all day.
Nor has she spoken to him.
He hasn’t attempted to approach her yet- only shot furtive looks her way- quick, searching glances, looking for some telltale reaction, a glance his way, anything.
Anything other than this silence.
(Kym has looked at him, too, when he couldn’t see- sometimes appearing angry enough to shoot him on the spot, other times hopelessly, confusingly sad- but Will does not know this.)
After a day of it, a day of unbearable quiet, a day of deliberating on talking to her, Will resolves to do something, say something- she deserves that much.
But as soon as their workday officially ends, Kym Ladell exits the room with naught but a flourish of her coat, seeming not to hear anything around her- Lila’s or Lauren’s farewell, or Will calling after her.
And Will heads after her.
(Doesn’t this feel familiar?)
He finds her lingering by the front steps of the precinct, under the overhang, staring mutely out at the rain, hesitating to go out into the storm.
“Haven’t you got an umbrella?” he asks, and then mentally berates himself for opening the conversation with that.
“No,” she says, not seeming surprised by his appearance. She doesn’t turn her head to look at him.
“I can-” he offers, rummaging in his coat pocket for the small umbrella he carries around on occasion, cursing softly when he comes up empty. “Hold on-”
“No-” and now Kym is looking at him, because she’s turned around and backed a step away, away from his outstretched hand, entreating her to wait. “No, I’m fine. Leave me be, William.”
No nickname. No Will, or Lieutenant, or even Willame- just his name, simple and flatly spoken. Why does it hurt so much, to hear her say his name like that?
“I just-” he stops, one hand straying absently to the band on his finger, twisting it around. He sees Kym’s eyes harden as she tracks the movement. “I feel like I owe you an explanation.”
“Yeah?” Kym’s eyes flick back up, eyebrows arching as her gaze moves from the ring on his finger to his face- not quite meeting his eyes. She crosses her arms, looking both impenetrably fortified against whatever he has to say and impossibly vulnerable , silhouetted against the falling rain. Will stomps down a brief urge to wrap his arms around her- judging by her stormy expression, that would end anything but well.
“My father,” he begins uncertainly. “He’s been- he wants me to- and my mother, she wanted to see, before she-” He’s dancing around the point, avoiding the words that would sound all too permanent, if he were to speak them out loud.
“They want me to get married,” he blurts in a rush. “My father, he wants me to- uphold the family line, or something like that. And my mother has said she’d like to see me happy, before she-” his voice catches- that word, he is still unwilling to say, not ready to admit- and breaks off into a tense silence, punctuated by the sound of falling raindrops.
Kym looks at him for a long moment, scrutinizing his face and the golden band of his engagement ring before replying.
“Are you happy?” she speaks finally, folding her arms tighter. Will finds he doesn’t want to meet her gaze, piercing and almost accusing.
“What?” he asks, numbly.
“Are you happy, William?” Kym’s voice is nearly steady, with only the barest of quavers to it, a hairline fracture in her armor. She takes a step closer, challengingly, and Will swears her eyes are going to burn right through him, melting the ring straight off his finger and leaving him singed in the face of her anger. Why is she so angry with him?
“I-” he begins hoarsely, already knowing that argument is useless.
“Because based on what you’re saying,” Kym begins, “it sounds like you’re not doing this for yourself at all. Are you happy?”
“I- why are you-” he notices that her fists are clenched.
“Obligation to your father,” Kym says slowly, tension showing in her shoulders, in every telltale line of her small frame. “Some kind of twisted pity for your mother-”
“Shut up.” Will feels a sudden vicious jolt of anger at those last words, and he steps forward too, jaw clenching as he meets her gaze at last, facing her down. He’s not angry with her , not really- where is this anger coming from? “You don’t know anything about this. You don’t get it-”
“I know enough,” she says. “I know enough to see that your mother cares about you, and wouldn’t want you to enter a loveless marriage out of pity for her- some kind of pathetic attempt to fulfill her last request.”
“Kym.” He’s not sure when his hands started trembling, when his knuckles turned white, but they are , and his chest feels so hollow and he’s not sure why- “Stop it. Please stop-”
“Stop what?” Her voice raises, nearly jumping an octave in her fury. “Telling it like it is?”
“Don’t talk about my mother like that,” he says weakly.
“I’m not talking about your mother- I’m talking about you, William-!” Kym’s voice cracks, nearly reaching a shout before she cuts herself off, taking another breath.
“You,” she breathes, her tone more measured now, “are a coward. You’re too afraid to stand up for what you want- too scared to even wonder what that is, and whether it might deviate from your father’s plans.
“You’re a coward for rushing into an engagement, of all things, to get your father off your back. I don’t know who has the matching ring,” she spits, “but I feel sorry for her- you’re not being fair to yourself or to your prospective wife in any of this.”
“Stop,” Will says again, not even sure exactly why he’s pleading- if it’s because her words are striking a chord or because of the look on her face. She looks so angry, brow furrowed and dark, lips pressed together, jaw and shoulders and fists tensed. “Please stop.” His voice has started shaking along with his hands, and he feels a horrible warmth pricking at the corner of his eyes. He can’t look at her anymore, so he instead looks down, but that only brings the ring back into his view, and all he wants to do, suddenly, is hurl the thing away from him, off his finger, consequences be damned-
“Will-” Kym’s voice is much softer now, and he can hear a note of surprise in it, like she realizes she’s gone too far. (Except maybe she hasn’t, maybe this is what he needed to hear, even if it hurts so badly-)
He can’t see her face, looking down like this- but he can picture her expression, and wonders when exactly her face became so familiar to him, that he can see the concerned little furrow between her brows and the smallest parting of her lips in his mind’s eye-
“I’m sorry,” she mutters, and he glances up, surprised. “I shouldn’t have-” and she takes a step back, eyes darting evasively to the side before settling back on his face. For the first time that day, they are face to face, looking each other squarely in the eyes.
“I-” Will swallows heavily. He feels it sink down through his throat, into his chest, the all-too-familiar weighted feeling settling into every inch of him. “It’s okay.” He manages a shaky little laugh, fooling exactly nobody. “I might have- needed to hear some of that.”
“I shouldn’t have said those things,” Kym says, hollowly, almost automatically. “Your business is your own.” And it hurts, how gentle her eyes are when she looks at him and how cool her expression is. It’s almost eerie, how quickly she was able to lock away that anger of mere seconds ago.
“I just- sometimes, for some reason?” Kym says, giving a laugh that’s exactly as (not) convincing as his attempt had been. “I find myself worrying about you.” Will gapes at her, at her sad little smile, at the shock of her admission, and his chest aches and he wants more than ever to throw the ring away, wrench it off his finger- but he’s frozen to the spot.
And before he knows it, Kym has bridged the gap between them, one hand tilting his head down so she can brush a light kiss to his cheek. It’s cold and rainy, but Will is suddenly burning with the want to tug her down to his lips for a proper kiss- but he feels the ring on his finger, heavier than ever, and a split second later Kym is already pulling away, hand still cupping his cheek. She’s smiling, but it doesn’t look right.
“Take care of yourself, William,” she says, her voice deceptively light as she pats his cheek. “And let me know when the wedding is.”
Maybe that was a weak attempt at teasing.
It falls flat.
Before Will can say anything more, try to offer her his umbrella, Kym is darting off into the storm, puddles splashing in her wake. Will stands, rooted to the spot until her figure disappears, and then jerks himself back into motion, beginning his own trek home. The ring on his finger feels more like a shackle than anything else as he plods through the rain, fighting the urge to press his fingers to the phantom warmth lingering on his cheek.
(And if a few stray tears slip down Kym’s face as she makes her way home? Well. Nobody will be able to tell. It is raining outside, after all.)