Case by Case

An assault. A robbery. A case. Nothing new. The case was given to him by a fellow named West, some years shy of himself. He was bandaged and bruised, and the scent of dried blood followed him. That pungent smell indicated that the assault was no false claim. West recounted the events that led him to the detective standing across from him. The man brought his pleas for help to the local police station, to no avail. The sketch artist for the precinct managed to conjure up a picture for him, but West was left with no word pertaining to the case, only a single drawing of the stranger that attacked him.

"I heard'ja were a decent guy—" The man took a breath, fumbling with his hands as he talked. "—figured you were the only fella I could turn to, Mr. Conway."

Donovan had a hard look in his eyes, staring down at the sketch looking back at him from his desk. He knew this face, and he hated that he did. Unkempt hair, tinted glasses, and the tell-tale injured eye. It was all too familiar.

"You think you can find 'im?"

"I'll find your guy," Donovan sighed. "Rest assured." He couldn't revel in the fact that he said it with such certainty.

The detective found himself at the entrance to a familiar local bar. For once, he was actually apprehensive to enter. He used to frequent "Mugshots" with this certain someone. If he was going to find his suspect anywhere, there was no reason it wouldn't be there.

Donovan was trying to not jump to conclusions. He couldn't let what happened in the past cloud his judgment. Everything needed to be looked at from his objective point of view, or he might as well have handed the case off to someone else. Part of him was yelling at himself to do that anyway, but he needed answers, and this was the easiest way.

Donovan heaved a sigh. What had gotten into him? He gathered himself before pushing through the old doors. The age-old smell of alcohol struck his nose as he scanned the patrons of the establishment, easily picking out who he was looking for. He was seated at the bar counter alone, still wearing one of those gaudy suits with his bright-red hair. Donovan ignored the dread bubbling inside him and pushed it aside for a later date. He was attempting to not to pay any mind to how his coat no longer seemed to fit on his shoulders properly as he forced himself to walk toward the man.

He was behind the redhead now, awkwardly standing as if waiting for something to happen. It wasn't like this was his first case. Hell, it was like he had suddenly forgotten how to talk.

A stilted "May I sit here?" made its way out of Donovan before he even had a moment to think of a better response.

The venom in his words made Donovan flinch. He's had his fair share of vile things directed toward him, but it still always stung a little to hear it from someone like that. As much as he wanted to let the anger and choice words flow out of him, Donovan couldn't bring himself to give in. It wasn’t what he came here to do.

"Look, I'm not here to start anything." He took a seat at the counter next to Bob, not even trying to make eye contact and rather staring ahead at the glasses behind the counter. "I'm just tryin' to wrap my head around somethin'."

Donovan was caught off guard by Bob's outburst, unintentionally raising his voice in defense.

"No! I specifically came here to make sure that you wouldn't get jailed for somethin' you didn't do!" he rushed, now fully facing Bob.

The look on Bob's face at the idea that Donovan assumed him to already be the culprit made something in the detective's stomach twist.

Feeling the eyes of all the patrons on him, Donovan sheepishly cleared his throat and mentally berated himself for losing his grip so quickly. Had he always been this bad at talking to people? Averting his thoughts from all the attention on him, he quickly got up to follow Bob toward the exit.

That was until Donovan paused mid-step as he recounted what Bob had just told him.

Donovan hadn't mentioned anything about an assault yet. Bob only saw the sketch.

The detective regarded O’Neill with a hard look, the emotion leaving his face and being replaced with something colder. He walked after the man with newfound purpose in his stride.

Donovan reached a hand out to grab Bob's shoulder before hesitating, drawing his hand back and thinking better of it.

"Bob, will ya just— Look. We need to talk," Donovan pleaded. "Whether or not you're actually innocent or guilty, if you have any information at all, I need'ja to tell me."

That made something in Donovan snap.

"You think that I didn't actually think about this? That what could happen to you didn't once cross my mind?" he snarled, stepping closer to Bob. The intense green of Donovan's eyes were now bearing into him. "Pull your head outta your ass for once, Bob! If you don't cooperate with me, my problem is going to become another one of yours."

Donovan paused, realizing he was now close enough to Bob to see the latter’s blue eyes staring back at him through his tinted glasses, the redhead's eyes filled with an emotion the sleuth couldn't place. It wasn't the resentment Donovan had grown used to, and it made him falter.

Donovan inhaled through his teeth, running a hand through his hair.

"Don't you— Don't you see?" he pleaded, quieter now. He looked at Bob with as much honest sincerity as he could muster, worry written all over his face. "I'm not out to get you. Honest," he sighed, the tension leaving his shoulders as he did so. "But if you continue bein' stubborn about this, the police will get to you first."