Disclaimer: I don't own the character Dave Batista. WWE does.
Chapter Three -- LEAVE ME ALONE!
Dave's heart sank into a pool of frustration and disappointment as he stood before the man who gave him a glimmer of hope that had now died a silent death.
'How... how could I have been so stupid?!?' Dave thought to himself, appearing lifeless in contrast to the animation and vibrancy of the world surrounding him. 'I'm so pathetic! Look at what I've been reduced to. A drunken bastard who believed for a moment that his partner...'
Dave's internal dialog was cut-off by the now curious person in front of him who began to speak, surveying him with concern.
"Dave? Did you hear me? I said it's nice to see you". He waved his hands in front of Dave's eyes to try and get a reaction.
"Yeah Jackson I heard you." Dave's realization that the body that stood before him was not of his slain partner Roger Carrigan, but of a former colleague of his, Special Agent Jackson Walker, felt like a ton of bricks slamming into him. He wondered how he could have been so naïve to think that Roger was alive and had reached out to him, months after his death.
"Good. Hey why are you barefoot for? It's fucking cold as hell out here and you look like a mess. I knew I should have checked up on you sooner." Jackson said, shaking his head. "God you reek of booze, your hair is a mess, you look like you haven't shaven in weeks..."
Dave became furious. "Look Jackson, I didn't come all the way down here to hear you bitch about how I look OK? So what the hell do you want?"
"Calm down big guy. I just--"
"You just what? Came here to 'Check up on me?' Half the fucking bureau has already checked up on me. I wish you all would just leave me the hell alone. I'm fine. I don't need anyone asking me every 5 minutes if I'm ok." Dave was now becoming irate and starting pacing around the deserted sidewalk.
"Look Dave. I'm sorry that you're hurting over Roger's death, but you can't keep blaming yourself. It wasn't your fault."
"YOU DON'T KNOW THAT! YOU WEREN'T THERE! I WAS THE ONE WHO TALKED HIM INTO MOVING IN WITHOUT ANY RECONN AND WE GOT FUCKING AMBUSHED! I FUCKED UP!" Dave yelled, spit flying from his mouth.
"DAMMIT DAVE! Lower your voice, your attracting attention." Jackson said through closed teeth, trying to calm the larger man down. He reached his arm out and placed a hand on Dave's shoulder.
"Does it look like I fucking care? Let em look. Let them take a good look at the man who got his partner killed in the line of duty because of his own carelessness." He knocked Jackson's hand off and continued to pace back & forth, His breathing now shallow and forced.
"Dave listen to me, you have to get yourself some help. Talk to a grief counselor or something."
"Goodbye Jackson." Dave turned and began to storm off in the opposite direction. He'd had enough.
"DAVE WAIT!" Jackson began to sprint after him, twitching lightly as the cold blast of air whooshed across his face as he ran. He caught up with Dave as he was about to open the door to the lobby.
"Dave...I didn't come here...to upset you. I came...here to talk to you about...something, something else." Jackson was winded from chasing Dave.
Dave stopped and kept his head forward as he contemplated on whether to hear Jackson out or not. He surly wasn't in the mood to further be scrutinized by him, but was curious as to what Jackson wanted to talk about other than Roger's death. Or him for that matter.
"What is it?" Dave said annoyed, turning around to face Jackson.
"Look, I know you got this self-guilt thing going on-"
"Bye Jackson"
"WAIT! Sorry bout that. Anyways I think you should hear me out about this. I know you were fired from the Bureau. You're probably looking for a new job right?"
"I don't need your help or pity Jackson. I can take care of myself."
"Like hell you can. just look at how prim and pressed you are. Full of joy and everything."
Dave crossed his arms, becoming increasing heated.
"OK, OK, OK! Sorry. God I don't know when to shut up."
"Got that right."
"Oh yeah ha ha very funny."
"Dammit Jackson!"
"OK. Dave I do have a job for you, well more like I have a referral of sorts. There's this place that I want you to come to with me, tomorrow."
"No", Dave said, turning around to open the door. He ignored the pleas for him to stay and continued to the elevator. He stood there as he waited for the doors to open.
"Dave, listen to me. I really think you would be good for this job, not to mention the job will be good for you. You've been bottled up in your apartment for weeks now; you only get out when you need a damn drink."
"I'm not working private security like other agents who get laid off so forget it." The elevator doors opened and Dave stepped in and quickly pressed the button for the 6th floor. Jackson swiftly made his way into the elevator with him, further frustrating the already irritated Dave. Jackson was oblivious to how much Dave was restraining his anger. He didn't want to go off on the slightly older, balding Hispanic agent as he had a ton of respect for him. Everyone at the Bureau did. His fuse was becoming shorter by the second however.
"It's not private security. It's Law Enforcement, case solving. Just like back at the Bureau. In fact, you'll be doing most of the things you've been doing at the Bureau."
"Oh yeah Jackson? How so? Cause if I remember correctly, being fired from the FBI isn't really something other law enforcement agencies look too kindly on." Dave said mockingly.
"Technically you were suspended, but whatever. And FYI isn't another Law Enforcement agency. If anything you'd be working for the FBI again. Sort of..." Jackson trailed off.
Dave reached out and pressed the Emergency Stop button on the panel in front of him. Jackson jumped at the jerk of the elevator coming to a screeching halt.
"What do you mean I'd be 'sort of working for the FBI again'?"
Jackson took a deep breath and placed his hands on his hips. His calm demeanor now slightly tense.
"Dave, have you ever heard of something called 'The Unit'?"
...