Aiden - Exhale

[iluvroadrunner6]

Fandom: CSI:NY
Title: Exhale
Author: iluvroadrunner6
Rating: FRT
Character: Aiden Burn
alphabetasoup Prompt: S is for Sedna
Content Warning: Spoilers for "Grand Murder at Central Station"
Summary: And now she was sitting in a bar, staring down into a glass of something the bartender had served her trying to diffuse the anger aimed at one person. She didn’t know who it was, but it was that one person and it was so strong, that it scared her.
Author's Note: Next in "Stuff of Legends" series. This is pretty much a stream of consciousness fic, so i tried to put myself in Aiden's head, and if you think I butchered her, or didn't get her right, I'm apologizing now. If you want to offer some concrit, do it nicely. I like concrit. I don't like flames. Aiden seemed very professional when Mac fired her, but everybody's gotta crash sometime, so this is basically me trying to write Aiden's.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of CSI:NY. They're owned by CBS.



“Trying to save herself, She grasped the sides of the boat, pleading with her father to pull her back into the boat. The selfish father, fearing for his own life, swung his knife chopping off her fingers. Sedna soon sank below the waves and was gone.”
-Sedna of the North

He had fired her. He had fired her.

Maybe she hadn’t begged hard enough. Maybe she hadn’t fought hard enough. She had just sat there, and taken it, she should have fought back harder, should have tried to prove her point more strongly. After all, he was the one who had told her to stay on the case until she had something but there was nothing, nothing and she could feel herself losing control of the situation, fast, and it was just that one moment.

She had held the hair in front of her, staring at it, feeling like it was the only way out. She could hear Stella’s voice in her head: “We can’t always get them all, we can’t always get them all,” over and over again, and Regina’s tearful pleas for her to get the guy this time, and then Mac. Telling her not to stop until they got the guy. Until he was off the streets. Until it was over.

And now it was. Not in the way she had wanted, not in the way she had planned, but it was over.

And now she was sitting in a bar, staring down into a glass of something the bartender had served her trying to diffuse the anger aimed at one person. She didn’t know who it was, but it was that one person and it was so strong, that it scared her. She had never hated someone so much in her life, and she downed the glass in front of her just trying to get it to go away.

Just breathe, Aiden. Just breathe. This was someone’s fault. She just had to find it.

Inhale.

Pratt—fuckin scum.

He pushed her to do this. Him and his sick need for power and control. Him and his goddamn ego, and how he was too careful to leave anything thing behind, and how he had fucked up not only Regina’s life, but now hers too because she was now being sucked into the blackhole of his victims just like everyone else.

Exhale.

No change. She signaled the bartender for another drink. She downed it.

Inhale.

Mac—the damn bastard.

He pushed her to this. He kept telling her, gotta get the guy, Aiden, gotta get the guy. Don’t stop till you catch him, don’t take another case till you find something, there’s has to be something, there’s always something. And she was going to give him something. She had it, right there in her hand. All she had to do was put it down. I mean, honestly, she knew it was the guy, he knew it was the guy, what would it matter where the evidence was coming from. Evidence was evidence. Pratt could be rotting in a damn cell right now, if her conscience hadn’t kicked in.

Exhale.

Nothing. “Another!”

She kept going through the rolodex of people involved. The people who had handled the case earlier, the chain of custody that was involved, the other CSIs that were off working other cases, not working with her, leaving her alone, leaving her vulnerable. With each drink, with each person, her vision became more blurred, and her language slurred and when she got around to trying to find away to blame this on Regina, she felt like she was going to be sick. Both from the alcohol she had consumed, and the idea that she was desperate enough, self-pitying enough to even think of trying to blame her mess, Aiden's mess, on the victim.

She stumbled into the bathroom, but she didn’t make it to the toilet. She stood over the garbage can, feeling the contents of her stomach violently wretch themselves back up the wrong way. She felt her stomach roll, dry heaving because there was nothing left to give. She then collapsed on the floor of the bathroom, chest heaving, and the voice she had been trying to drown the entire night came roaring at her.

Idiot. You idiot. There’s always another way, what the hell were you thinking?

I wasn’t thinking. That was the problem.

You were on a case. Why the hell weren’t you thinking?

I’d been on the case for a week straight. I was tired. Burned out. I made a mistake.

Made a mistake? Stop making excuses for yourself. You fucked up. Big time. Own up to it.

OK, I fucked up. What the hell do you expect me to do about it now?

I expect you to get off this goddamn floor and make this right. Do it the right way, and make it right.

“Make this right,” she whispered hoarsely to no one in the room, her throat sore from the purging of her stomach, “I gotta make this right.”