HARBOUR
By Jeannie MacTavish
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine (except for Lynn Collins), and no money is being made.
Alex puts down the phone and stares at her gun and badge, lying on the desk.
Breathe. Don't think, just do the next thing.
She goes to the office door and gazes out at the bullpen. Almost everyone who's on duty is trying hard to look busy, but Lynn Collins is staring right back at her over Polanski's shoulder. Lynn, who was her first real friend at Major Case, years ago; they've had each other's backs through a lot of crap since then, and Alex knows she's in dire need of Lynn's tough, clear-eyed perspective right now. She's just not sure Lynn will want to give it.
Alex tilts her head - can I have a word? Lynn nods briefly and gets up, coolly ignoring the curious sidelong looks she gets as she crosses the room.
"Congratulations," she says as she walks into the office, just like Bobby did.
Unlike his, however, her expression is veiled, neutral, and she sounds...careful. Alex knows why, and it's one more thing that's just fucking unfair about this whole situation. She shuts the office door and meets her friend's gaze as steadily as she can.
"Lynn. Don't, okay? You should have been the one to get this offer. I know it, you know it - hell, everybody out there knows it. You have seniority... your solve rate - "
" - is almost as good as yours," Lynn puts in, with a flicker of sardonic amusement. Alex brushes that off.
"...and you're way better at the politics than I'll ever be. You should be taking Ross's place here."
Lynn contemplates her for a few seconds, impassive. Then she lets out her breath and shrugs. "Yeah. But it'll be a cold day in hell before Moran promotes a black woman to Captain of Major Case, and we all know that too."
"Moran's a narrow-minded asshole with no vision," Alex snaps.
Lynn chuckles a little, but there's no humour in it. "He promoted you, didn't he?"
"Yeah, well. He had his reasons, and I don't think they were the right ones."
It hurts, deep down, far beyond the anger at what they're making her do to Goren. To get this offer, this recognition that she's dreamed about for most of her life...and then to realize that it's not because she earned it (even though she has). Not because her superiors care whether she's really the right person for the job (even though she is. Or at least she could learn to be, she thinks, given the chance).
"What are you talking about?" At least Lynn is starting to sound a bit more like herself. "Alex, look, I'm not gonna lie, I hate that I don't even get a shot, but - you've worked for this too. You'll make a good Captain."
Alex takes a deep breath. "Not any time soon. I just told Moran I won't be taking the exam."
"What?" Lynn looks honestly flabbergasted. "Why the hell not?"
"There was a condition attached to the job offer. They wanted me to fire Goren."
"No shit." Lynn's eyes go wide. "The Chief's been gunning for him for years - "
Alex can practically see the gears shifting and whirring as Lynn slots this new information into a dozen different files in her brain, assessing the implications and possible outcomes. She's a strategist, a diplomat; she's almost certainly exactly what Major Case needs right now, and there is no fucking justice.
"Yeah, maybe it was only a matter of time... Especially with Ross gone…" Alex grits her teeth and pushes past the welling up of grief that comes with that thought. "But the fact that Moran thought he could use me to do his dirty work… dangle a promotion like some stupid carrot and expect me to sell out my partner…"
She cuts herself off, staring blindly through the half-closed blinds, arms crossed tightly and fists clenched against a renewed wave of impotent fury.
"Wait," says Lynn behind her, understanding dawning in her voice. "When Goren left just now…You did it, didn't you? You fired him."
"I had to." Suddenly Alex is just so tired. "If I hadn't, the brass would've done it for me...they'd drag IA into it, probably charge him with something, take away what's left of his pension...at least this way I can try to keep that from happening. While I'm Captain pro tem." She spits the words out.
"Jesus," Lynn sighs. "That's a hell of a position they put you in."
"Well, I won't be in it for long. They're probably starting the search for my replacement as we speak. You should put your name in."
Lynn stares, and then shakes her head. "Hold on. I mean - yes, I will, obviously, for whatever good it'll do me...but. Are you sure you want to give it up? You'd be in a position to change things...do something about all the crap we're always complaining about."
"How?" says Alex. "How can I lead the squad when everybody out there is gonna know that my first official act as Captain was to give my partner the axe? That that's why I got the job?"
"Cry me a river." Lynn's expression is sympathetic but her tone says get over yourself. "When you've spent your whole damn career dealing with people who think you got where you are because someone had to fill a diversity quota, then you can complain to me, okay?"
Alex takes a breath, but Lynn keeps right on going, on a roll now. "And don't tell me you're falling on your sword for Goren. Like you just said, he's been on his way out for a while, and in my not so humble opinion, it's overdue. I don't care how good he is, that is a man in desperate need of a career change. And anyway: whether he goes willingly or not, I'm damn sure he wouldn't appreciate you holding yourself back out of some misguided sense of loyalty."
"Geez, tell me what you really think," Alex says, sarcasm a weak cover for the fact that, as usual, Lynn and her blunt, take-no-prisoners honesty are hitting all the marks.
"I always do. So? Answer the question, before I forget why I'm still here giving you this pep talk, instead of booting it upstairs to campaign for your job."
Alex rolls her eyes. "What was the question again?"
"Stop stalling. Are you sure you're turning this down for the right reasons?"
"Oh, god." Alex passes a hand over her face, trying vainly to clear her head. "I don't know," she says helplessly.
She can't keep her gaze from straying over to the desk, to her gun and badge sitting there. Lynn tracks it, and jerks back around to stare at her.
"Jesus, Alex, did you quit?"
"No!" she says hurriedly. "No. I - I was going to, when I called Moran just now. But then I thought - maybe I'm not thinking clearly, you know?"
Lynn just looks at her: no shit, Sherlock.
"So instead I told him I was unhappy with how this whole thing - Ross, Goren, all of it - had been handled, and I couldn't take the Captaincy under those conditions. He said, in that case maybe it's time for me to make a change too."
"Jerk," Lynn mutters under her breath.
"He told me to think about it, and get back to him next week."
Alex can see that the subtext is as clear to Lynn as it was to her, on the phone. Transfer, quit, stay put...If you don't want what we're offering, we don't give a damn about what happens to you. She sits down suddenly, in one of the guest chairs because she can't stand the thought of taking Ross's seat behind the desk. Saying it all out loud makes it real and final, and she finds that she's shaking. She braces her elbows on her knees and drives her hands into her hair, pressing hard against her skull, trying to catch her breath.
Almost twenty years on the job. Is this how it ends?
Not with a bang, but with a whimper. The quote pops into her mind in Bobby's voice (he has a thing for T. S. Eliot) and suddenly Alex is overwhelmed with the need to see him, touch him, talk to him… talk to him for real, not a horrible stilted conversation like the one they just had, straitjacketed by the need for professional detachment.
She feels Lynn come up beside her, and then her friend's strong hand squeezing her shoulder.
"Well," says Lynn conversationally. "This sure sucks."
It makes her laugh a little, which she knows was Lynn's intention. "No kidding."
Lynn gives her a little shake. "You could take a long weekend," she says. "Rest, think. No one here would grudge it, after everything that's happened. It's pretty quiet out there now - we've all got the usual crapload of cases, but nothing open that's really sensitive."
It figures, Alex thinks, that Lynn would know what everyone else is working on, and whether any of it is likely to blow up in their faces. It's also true to form that her practical suggestion is exactly what Alex needs: a next step, a way to move forward.
Alex takes a deep breath and straightens up. "You're making this easier than it could be," she says. "I appreciate that."
Lynn meets her gaze levelly. "Good." Then her expression softens. "Don't worry, okay? The situation sucks big giant donkey's balls, but it's not of your making. You and me, we're fine."
Alex swallows hard. "Okay. Thanks. That - means a lot."
Then, "Donkey's balls?"
"Mmm hmm," says Lynn blandly. "Big giant ones."
Alex shakes her head. "Gross."
She catches the flash of Lynn's grin and then they're both snickering like teenagers. It's ridiculous, but also steadying, a bridge they can cross back to something resembling normality. She pushes her hands through her hair and stands up.
"I need to talk to everybody out there - tell them what's going on. And I need to get Goren's paperwork moving with HR."
Lynn nods. "Okay. And then?"
"Then...if you're willing, I'll name you as my proxy till Tuesday."
Lynn doesn't miss a beat. "Well, I should hope so. Who else are you gonna tap?"
Alex tries and fails to come up with the sort of snarky reply that's clearly called for. Lynn watches her for a second, and then reaches over and collects Alex's gun and badge, and holds them out, with a look that manages simultaneously to convey understanding, sympathy and a healthy helping of suck it up, Officer, it's time to get back to work.
Right. Alex clips her badge and gun back on - tries not to think maybe for the last time - and takes a deep breath.
"Okay," she says, meeting her friend's gaze. "Let's do this."
She holds the door open for Lynn, and they both head out to the bullpen.
Alex doesn't know what she'll find when she finally gets home that evening. She figures the chances of Bobby being there are pretty slim; if ever there was a time when he was likely to go AWOL, this is it. He doesn't know about her call to the Chief; as far as he knows, she's been promoted and he's been fired. She fired him. I won't blame him for needing some space, she tells herself on the drive home, but it's a struggle not to let the old, too-familiar bitterness take over. She hasn't felt this particular kind of exhausted loneliness in a long time now; not since they finally managed to work things out after his suspension and the whole Testarossa debacle.
When she lets herself in the front door, she gets halfway through punching in the code to disable the alarm system before she realizes that it's already off, and that the air is warm and heavy with cooking smells. When she gets to the kitchen, it looks like a hurricane hit it, and Bobby's there in the middle of it all, apparently on a quest to use every single pot and mixing bowl she owns.
"What is this, a wake?" It comes out sounding too loud to her ears, and her voice cracks a bit on the last word as she takes in the pie cooling on the kitchen table, the salad he's tossing with what looks like home-made dressing, the smell of lasagne baking in the oven.
Bobby, turning quickly to face her, looks a little ragged around the edges, and also sheepish.
"Uh - yeah. Maybe. Or a celebration of your promotion." He waves a hand, a vague, helpless gesture. "I needed something to do."
Her heart twists in her chest, and the laugh that bubbles out of her is more than a little hysterical. She swallows it back, breathing in hard through her nose.
"How long - till it's all ready?"
Bobby surveys the mess, rubbing the back of his neck. "The lasagne needs about twenty minutes, I guess. I was going to make garlic bread…"
"I turned down the Captaincy," she says. It's harsh, too sudden, but she has to get it over with, she can't stand him not knowing.
He jerks round to face her. "What? Why?"
She opens her mouth, not even sure what she's going to say, but he rides right over her. "Not because of me, Alex, you can't do this - "
"I'm not," she snaps. "Don't, okay, just don't. I don't have it in me to talk you out of one of your guilt trips, so spare me, please."
He presses his lips together and stares at her mutinously. "Then what? Why'd you turn it down?"
She turns her back on him, opening the cupboard for a wine glass and reaching for the open bottle that's waiting on the counter. She watches the red liquid swirl into the glass.
"I don't want the job ," she finally says. "Not the way it was offered. The Chief doesn't care if I'm right for it, if I've earned it - he's just using me to do his dirty work."
"So what?" Bobby dumps a pile of dishes in the sink with a clatter. "You said this wasn't about me. So prove it - take the job. You have earned it. Who cares how it was offered? You'll be a good Captain, that's what matters."
"No, see, I don't… I don't think I'd be allowed to be." It's the first time she's articulated that, even to herself, but even as she says it she knows it's true. "Do you really think firing you will be the only string attached? It'll be just the beginning, and I'm. Not. Interested."
She hears her voice going high and tight, choked out by the disappointment that's crowding up into her throat.
"It's not fair." Bobby shifts restlessly beside her. "Any of it."
You got that right, she wants to say, but she's too close to tears to talk. She pushes away from the counter, faces her partner at last. The second he gets a good look at her expression, she can see all the fight rush out of him. He reaches for her, but she's already moving, closing the small distance between them. He wraps his arms around her.
"I'm sorry."
"You're sorry?" she mumbles into the soft blue shirt. "I fired you today!"
He huffs out a breath into her hair. "I hate that they made you do that."
How many times have they stood just like this at the end of a bad day, she wonders...forcing the darkness back with the steady, solid comfort of full body contact? But it's different now, everything's different. Tomorrow they won't get to go back to work together.
Eventually, the oven timer goes off. Bobby presses a kiss to the top of her head.
"Come on. There's all this food… we should eat."
Reluctantly, she lets him disengage so he can deal with the lasagne. She doesn't think she'll have any appetite, but when he puts down a plate in front of her, she finds her mouth watering after all. It's a distraction, something to do, and at least if she's eating she has an excuse not to talk. She concentrates on the food, one bite at a time, until the sight of Bobby fidgeting with his fork and staring bleakly into space gets to her enough that she has to break the silence.
"This is really good," she says. "Thanks."
He makes a visible effort to snap out of his daze. "You're welcome. I figure if I'm gonna be unemployed, I'd better brush up on my housekeeping skills…"
"Bobby," she says painfully, but he leans across the table, tilting his head to catch her eyes.
"Don't. It's okay. I've...actually been thinking about it for a while. About making a change, professionally I mean."
She blinks, brought up short. "You have? Since when?"
"Since you took the Lieutenant's exam." Off her look, he waves a hand. "I know, I know you said you weren't expecting it to lead to anything, but...I knew you'd do well, and I figured eventually you were going to get a good offer, one that you would want to take. So... I started thinking about...what I would do, if you moved up."
"And...what did you come up with?"
He shrugs. "I - well. Staying put at MCS, figuring how to work with a new partner...I guess I'm getting old, because the thought was just - tiring." His rueful smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Even when it was an option, which obviously it isn't anymore. So...I could go private...freelance as a security consultant or an investigator...maybe teach criminology at a community college or something. Or go back to school, do a PhD… sky's the limit, right?"
"I...guess so, yeah. Sure."
His eyebrows go up. "Wow, thanks for the ringing endorsement."
"No," she says hastily. "I mean, of course. You could do anything you want. It's just…I'm surprised." She narrows her eyes at him. "You seem way less freaked out about this than I thought you would be."
He chuckles, but it sounds forced, like he can't get enough air into his lungs. "You sure about that? I just spent four hours using every dish in the house to cook a three-course meal. I made pie from scratch, Alex."
The hand that he waves in the direction of the kitchen is shaking a little, like his voice, and before she has time to think about it she's out of her chair and coming round the table to pull him into a hug. He shifts so that she can stand between his knees and presses his face into her stomach, arms curled awkwardly around her thighs like she's the anchor that's going to save him from drowning. She holds on tight and wills the wave of panic (his and her own) to recede.
Eventually, she feels him draw in a long, shuddering breath and let it out. "It's not like it was a big surprise, you know? Getting f-fired," he says, a little muffled in her shirt. "I've been waiting for the shoe to drop for a long time. It's almost a relief that it finally has."
Uh huh. Sure. He's trying to convince himself as much as her, she knows, so she doesn't call him on it. He leans back a bit, pulling her down to sit in his lap, which is more than fine with her; she has no desire at all to let go of him. They sit there for a long time, quiet and close in the darkening room.
"Are you really sure about the Captaincy?" Bobby asks, after a while.
Resting in the circle of his arms, too tired and drained to get angry at the whole situation again, she shuts her eyes and tries the best she can to consider his question calmly and honestly.
"It was supposed to be a dream come true," she says slowly, thinking it out as she goes. "But... really, what I want is... to be a good cop. To - to solve problems, and help people. And I think that taking this promotion would get in the way of that."
"Based on what, exactly?" Bobby's tone is carefully neutral, and she forces herself not to snap at him defensively. He's right. You can't make this decision only on a gut feeling.
"Based on everything we've seen of how Moran operates," she finally says. "If I become Captain of MCS, I'll be directly in his chain of command. It's pretty clear that he doesn't always have the best interests of the squad in mind. Or the Department, or the victims for that matter... It'll only be a matter of time before he gives me an order I can't obey. At which point he'll be only too pleased to boot me off the force permanently, and there goes any chance I have to do any good at all."
Bobby watches her carefully as she speaks. Then he nods once. "Okay."
She looks at him bemusedly. "You keep surprising me tonight. I was expecting more of a fight."
He closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall behind them. "I don't want to fight. And anyway… it's your decision."
"Yes, but your opinion matters to me."
"Well, I...think you're probably right about Moran. Unfortunately."
"And…" she prods.
"And...I want you to do what makes you happy. I'd be putting up more of a fight if you were talking about quitting entirely. But it doesn't sound like you are."
She thinks about it, and realizes that he's right, she has apparently decided at least that much.
"I guess not. I can't imagine what I'd do instead." She presses close again, suddenly. "Can't imagine doing it without you either, though," she mutters into his shoulder.
Bobby's arms tighten around her.
"Me neither," he says. "But I guess we'll both have to learn."
He sounds as tired and sad as she feels, with an extra helping of defeated, and all at once she just can't stand it anymore. She sits up straight.
"Hey."
It comes out sounding almost angry. Bobby's eyes snap open, and she swallows hard and holds his face between her hands, and kisses him fiercely. We still have this, remember? He responds immediately and a little desperately, one hand clutching clumsily at her hip and the other buried in her hair, and it's such a relief just to be able to touch and not think. She shifts in his lap, trying to get closer; he murmurs something in the back of his throat and runs his hand down her back and up again, inside her shirt; gradually their kissing turns slow and deep and easy.
"Anyway," Bobby says sometime later, turning his face into her neck as they catch their breath, "we don't have to figure out what's next right away. Not tonight..."
"Speak for yourself," she replies. She waits a beat, and then: "I want some of that pie."
Bobby's involuntary, surprised bark of laughter is far and away the best thing she's heard in days.
The pie, as it turns out, is pretty good too.
we're here where the daylight begins
the fog on the streetlight slowly thins
water on water's the way
the safety of shoreline fading away
sail your sea, meet your storm
all I want is to be your harbor
the light in me will guide you home
all I want is to be your harbor
fear is the brightest of signs
the shape of the boundary you leave behind
so sing all your questions to sleep
the answers are out there in the drowning deep
you've got a journey to make
there's your horizon to chase
so go far beyond where we stand
no matter the distance
I'm holding your hand
- "Harbor" by Vienna Teng
THE END.
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