Anniversary by Stacie

It was nearly midnight. The graveyard shift began to trickle in, their shuffling footsteps and stifled yawns echoing down the tiled halls of the precinct.

Detective Matthew McRae barely noticed them as they passed his desk, acknowledging the muttered "Hey McRae's" with a brief nod. He hurried through the rest of his paperwork, not feeling any satisfaction as he typed in the names of the gunrunners he'd brought in earlier that evening.

It had been a good bust. A big-time dealer and two of his henchmen brought down, without bloodshed, and enough evidence to keep them behind bars for decades. But he couldn't bring himself to feel proud of the bust. His typing slowed. Jamal Howard, age 18. Anthony Howard, age 15. Mika Snopes, age 13. Each had priors, and each had pockets full of more cash than he made in 3 months. He sighed as he finished the form and yanked it from the typewriter.

McRae glanced at the clock. 12:02. Without giving himself time to reconsider, he picked up the phone and dialed the number he knew better than his own badge number. It rang three times, then four, and he was tempted to hang up when a sleepy voice answered.

"Hello?"

McRae heard a slight worry in the voice, as only a midnight phone call can bring.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Matt," she said, sounding a bit relieved, at first. "What is it?"

"Happy Anniversary, Kel," he replied.

There was a long silence. His thumb rubbed the simple gold band on his finger, twisting it around. It was a bit loose. He'd lost weight since the Diquan Mitchell case.

"Matt, what are you doing?"

"It's tradition, remember? After midnight on our anniversary, I always call you." It sounded hollow even in his ears.

She sighed heavily. "It's a tradition I hated," she said. McRae heard her sit up in bed, a click as she turned on the lamp. "If you'd been here to tell me in person..." Her voice trailed off.

He could picture her just then, her thick brown hair pushed out of her face, her cheeks slightly puffy, light mascara smears under her eyes.

"I could come over," he said. "I'm done here."

"No!" Her answer was quick, too quick. He strained to hear if there was somebody else in the room with her. "No," she said again, softer this time. "I have to be at work early in the morning. There's a teachers' meeting on the paycuts before school."

"OK," he said. "Maybe after school, then? I could take you out to dinner."

She took a deep breath. He dreaded what she was going to say. "Did you sign the papers yet?" Her words hurled towards him like a freight train. He didn't answer.

"Matt? Are you still there?"

"Yes," he said, still twisting the ring. The dull gold caught the fluorescent light as he rubbed the ring back and forth, back and forth.

"Yes you're still there, or yes you signed the papers?"

"I'm still here."

"But you didn't sign?"

"No."

"Matt, we've been over this."

"I know." Once again, he thought of Diquan. He actually thought of Diquan a lot, unable to keep himself busy enough or drink enough to forget. You strung that kid along, no two ways about it, McRae. No, Diquan wasn't a boy scout, but you backed him into a corner. Diquan went to jail so his baby would be free. He went to jail so the woman he loved wouldn't. "Kelly, there's this kid, his name is Diquan, he's in jail, and I..."

"Matt, please don't do this. I see these kids too, every day in my classroom, when they show up. And if I could help more than I am, I would. But I can't live with it 24 hours a day, do you understand? I can't live in fear every time the phone rings that you've been shot, and I can't live in fear of turning on the TV and hearing a cop is dead. I can't do it anymore."

He heard the tears in her voice. "OK, Kel, it's OK. I'll sign the papers right now, and drop them off tomorrow."

"Thanks, Matt. I'm sorry it has to be this way."

"Yeah, me too." She hung up, and McRae sat staring at the clock for a long time. They had married right after Kelly graduated college. McRae was already a beat cop, full of piss and vinegar to stop bad guys. They were going to save the world together; she'd teach the young ones how to make the most of their lives, and he'd help show the grown ones the error of their ways. What a crock of shit, he thought, then shook his head. Maybe if they'd been able to have a kid of their own, things would be different. Maybe then the whole world wouldn't seem so goddamn hopeless.

He stood suddenly and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. He heard a slight ping as something hit the floor. His ring had fallen off his hand and rolled somewhere under the filing cabinets.

He started to bend down to find it, but stopped. He'd be back in a few hours anyway; he'd find it then.

Ten fucking years.

"Happy Anniversary, McRae," he said. He shrugged into his jacket and left the precinct.

THE END