That wasn't a- you know what, nevermind. [Fifty fucking miles of throwing his back out, sweating through his clothes, stopping to puke into bushes, wearing his boots into scraps and nearly losing his toenails, for fuck's sake.
Then Loken asks a question that Dixon doesn't have a quick answer to, but has a sincerely-held answer to. Dixon taps his pen against his lower lip, digging around inside for something to say, retrieving ideas and then discarding them as dishonest or incomplete, pausing way too long. He keeps coming back to the spaces between the words in his Chief's posthumous letter to him (he wishes he'd saved that letter from the fire instead of the case file). Chief Willoughby thought he saw something deep down and Dixon hopes it's actually there.]
no subject
Then Loken asks a question that Dixon doesn't have a quick answer to, but has a sincerely-held answer to. Dixon taps his pen against his lower lip, digging around inside for something to say, retrieving ideas and then discarding them as dishonest or incomplete, pausing way too long. He keeps coming back to the spaces between the words in his Chief's posthumous letter to him (he wishes he'd saved that letter from the fire instead of the case file). Chief Willoughby thought he saw something deep down and Dixon hopes it's actually there.]
I want to be a good man.