DISCLAIMER DISCLAIMER DISCLAIMER, yup, you know the rest XD
A/N: I hope you like it! i felt the need to write a fic from SWAT because there arent many(that have Gamble). yeah, its romance. i'll write something that isn't romance, I promise! just not now...or in the next few days. oh well. Now i havent seen it in a while but i remember the basics: favorite actor gets killed by cop, Michelle Rodriguez got shot, the dude was a traitor, their boss is a total jerk... yeah, got it all covered :) enjooooy!
Please review! :D
The funeral had taken place two hours ago in downtown Las Angeles, in a very quiet neighborhood. The sun was beginning to set in the October heat, and a rare, slight breeze rustled the year-round leaves on the trees surrounding the graveyard.
Theresa looked down at the small, simply grave stone, scowling. She hadn't cried. She hadn't sobbed. She hadn't felt anything but the sorrow of the situation settling into her bones. The tears would come later, she knew, when she was fully alone, within the safe walls of the house she shared with her older sister Thelma. Her shiny auburn hair was cut just below her ears, getting in her eyes every few minutes. Her skin had been darkened by the weeks spent at the beach with her cousins. She wore a tank top, light blue skinny jeans, and black ballet flats. At her feet in front of the grave was a single white rose.
Brian Gamble, a former cop and S.W.A.T. officer, hated getting sappy gift cards and extravagant bouquets of vibrant flowers, so she'd opted to just leave him a single white rose. He now lay dead beneath her feet, in a coffin bolted shut. Jimmy Street, the cop who'd gotten him killed, had explained everything to Theresa. She'd understood that it had been necessary to end him, but she couldn't accept the fact that he was six feet under. It just wasn't possible for her to process at the moment, even though she'd been at his grave for almost four hours. Not many had come to his half-hour long funeral, but she had come.
Even though she hadn't seen him in over a year, even though they'd broken up over two and a half years ago, she'd felt the urge to leave her vacation behind and come attend his funeral.
Despite everything, she still cared for this dead man.
Thelma hadn't questioned the request to return home, and had bought her a plane ticket. Thelma was wealthy and tried to help out her sister who was both a painter and a librarian, but most of the time she'd refused. But when her old friend, Chris, had called and told her the news, she'd had to come straight home.
She looked down at the grave, the toe of her left ballet flat nudging the freshly disturbed dirt. She squeezed her eyes, shut, remembering who he'd been...before he'd stopped being a police officer. He'd turned bitter afterward, and even then when they weren't even dating she'd occasionally see him on the street, usually headed to a bar late at night.
She turned away, refusing to cry here, in public. Things hadn't worked out. She'd left him, moved out in record time, hadn't seen him in a year...and she sorely missed him with all her heart. She wouldn't say she loved him still, because she was certain she hated his guts, even if she did care. It wasn't love that had brought her back; they'd been friends for two years before they'd considered a serious relationship. Good friends.
She walked away, towards the bus stop at the corner of the street as the sun sank lower, and the heat stayed where it was. She would go home, cry, and listen to her sister chat about her day at whatever big company she was in charge of, allowing her to distract her from the loss of her former friend...boyfriend.
As she exited the graveyard, she was unaware of a man dressed all in black walking up to the grave. He picked up the single rose she'd left the buried man, and walked away with it, glancing over his shoulder only once to glimpse the retreating form of Theresa Paile, her hair bouncing as she hurried to catch the bus as she disappeared from view, trees blocking his vision.
If she would have seen him, she would have screamed. Then punched him as hard as she could, because that was what she had always done...
When he had been alive.