WOMAN OF INTEREST 6: TRUE CONFESSION
By Lacadiva
Disclaimer: All rights rightfully belong only to the geniuses at Kilter Films, J.J. Abrams and Jonathan Nolan. I'm just havin' some fun.
Rating: PG13.
Summary: Carter must be evaluated by an NYPD Shrink following a use of deadly force. It's all pretty routine…until she's asked if there is a man in her life.
POI
The white leather chair was deceptively uncomfortable. The fluorescent light in the room was far too bright as if it were some subtle form or torture or interrogation. Joss wondered if it all was a deliberate ploy, part of the police psychiatrist's game plan – squirm-inducing techniques guaranteed to provoke maximum confession through the obliteration of the physical comfort zone. She shifted, crossed her legs and uncrossed them almost immediately, coughed, then settled for a position of feet flat on the floor and hands folded in her lap.
Disarmed. She felt thoroughly disarmed and hated it.
"So…" the very straight-laced Shrink, an obvious fan of all things Freud asked while poised to take notes at the detective's first mumbled utterance. "How are we today?"
"I don't know about we," Carter retorted, "but I'm doing fine, thanks for asking."
In truth, she hated being asked anything at all by the Shrink. It was just a shooting. Not exactly routine, but it wasn't like it was the first time she'd ever discharged her weapon in the performance of her duty. What was she, some rookie who needed her hand held? It was a good shoot, bound to have the blessing and backing of her department once all the i's were sufficiently dotted and the t's satisfactorily crossed in her report.
But some new age-y, so-called enlightened higher-up fresh to the department had determined that all officers who used deadly force in the pursuit and apprehension of suspects would have to undergo a minimum three mandatory talk-therapy sessions to determine any possible negative repercussions and offer help to those with the slightest hint of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.
Not this girl, Carter said out loud when she first read the email memo the powers that be had sent her. Still, she could not defy orders. So here she sat in the hard, bum-numbing chair, under the laser-focused scrutiny of the Department Shrink (whose name Carter hadn't even bothered to remember), to dissect her actions and shine a therapeutic light on them.
"You understand," the Shrink said, "that you are here just to talk."
Carter nodded, hoping to move things along faster.
"Then let's talk about what happened," she invited.
"We talked about it in the last two sessions. What do you want to know now?"
"Whatever you wish to share."
Carter shifted again in the seat. What was left to talk about? The Perp – Leon "Keys" McNally, a convicted car thief with a third strike and history of drug-induced dementia – was wielding a nasty KA-BAR combat knife. He was threatening to take out a few of her fellow officers, and even took a swipe at Carter. After giving him far more fair warning than the man apparently deserved, he came at her again, screaming at her.
"Shoot me! Shoot me!" And he raised the knife with the apparent intent to kill the Detective.
Carter and two other officers put a dozen department issued slugs into the man's chest. He was dead before he hit the ground.
"Suicide by Cop," Carter said. "They said he was strung out on something, stoned out of his mind. He wanted to die, but…"
"But?"
"He lacked the courage of his conviction, so he forced our hand, made us do it for him. You wave a knife in a cop's face, you gotta know there are gonna be deadly consequences."
"How do you feel about that?"
"How do you think I feel?"
"I don't know."
Carter breathed audibly, wishing she was back at her desk, wondering how many calls she'd already missed from Finch, or John. There were terrible things happening out there, on the streets of the city, while she sat in examining her "feelings."
"You seem frustrated," the Shrink said.
Carter smiled, hoping that was apology enough for her attitude.
"The last time we talked," the Shrink resumed, "you mentioned your son, Taylor. You hadn't told him about the incident yet."
Carter shrugged. "We talked about it…some. I don't like to share a lot about the job with Taylor."
"Why not?"
"Because I prefer not to."
The Shrink made a notation. Carter felt her ire rising as well as her curiosity, and fought to keep her bourgeoning temper under control.
"Does he ever ask you about your job, Detective?"
"Sometimes."
"And?"
"And..I tell him what I think he needs to know. Only if it will keep him safe, benefit him. Otherwise, I won't share it with him."
"I understand. You want to protect him…"
"I'm his mother. Of course I want to protect him."
"But he walks the very same streets you police. He sees some of the same things you do."
"I tell him what he needs to know, what he needs to keep him safe and out of trouble. If he's confused or curious, we'll figure it out together. But I do not come home and unload on my child just to clear my own head."
The Shrink nodded. "I'm the same with my little girl."
Carter softened just at touch. Something about the mutual burden and joy of motherhood. Alas, the Shrink was something more than a Freud follower with the power to keep her chained to a desk.
The Detective shifted again in her seat to relieve the pinprick numbness settling into her left thigh.
"Any nightmares since the event?" the Shrink asked.
"Nope."
"Anxiety about showing up to work?"
"Not at all." She smiled, hoping to convey a sense of self-control and centeredness.
"That's good."
Carter sat forward. "Can I go now?"
"We still have a little time."
Joss settled back, no longer concerned about masking her frustration. "Look…can't I just fill out some kind of questionnaire or something and be done with this?"
"It might be efficient but it would hardly be thorough. I understand you're anxious to get back to work, and you will, very shortly. I only have a few more questions. Now…"
Carter eyes looked heavenly for help.
"…we've talked a lot about the incident. But I want to know a little bit more about you."
"You've got my personnel file. What more do you need?"
"Not much. My concern is that good officers, like yourself, don't…burn out. Your work is high anxiety, high octane. You run on adrenaline and instinct most of the time. That can take a serious toll on you physically as well as mentally and emotionally, no matter how much you love your work. I'm not trying to prove or disprove whether you're fit for duty, Detective. I want to make sure that question never comes up. I want to make sure you live a whole, full life outside of the department. Outside of being a cop."
"I think my life is plenty full."
"That's good. So tell me about it. What does Jocelyn Carter, woman, not police detective, do when she's not on duty? And sleeping doesn't count."
Carter thought about it for a beat or two. Looked at her hands. Examined the cloudy, chicken wire window across the room and wondered if it had ever been opened in the last twenty years. Noticed a tiny nail polish chip on the Shrinks right pinky.
"What do I do when I'm not working?"
When am I not working?
"I spend time with my son."
"Great. What do you do together?"
"Go to dinner, maybe catch a movie."
"I see." The Shrink made a notation.
"What do you see?"
"It's just an expression, detective, not a judgment. What else do you do?"
"I help him with his homework. He helps me around the house with chores. We talk."
"Awesome," the Shrink said, careful of her delivery. "Anything else?"
Joss was starting to feel pressure. Not from the Shrink, but from her own thoughts.
Is that really all I do? Go to work. Clean the house. Hang with my almost-grown son who's gonna have a life of his own one day, with no room for mom…
"Detective?"
"I'm sorry, what?"
"I asked, what about when your son's not around. What then? What do you do?"
"Oh, I don't know. Clean the oven. Read a good book. Take long baths. Watch a DVD. Eat ice cream."
"What flavor?"
"Red velvet cake. Is that relevant?"
The Shrink laughed. "Not at all. I was just curious. Blue Bunny Red Velvet Cake?"
"Is there any other kind?"
The women laughed together. Carter felt her guard drop.
She should have known it was another ploy. Once the wall was down, next came the dirty bomb.
"When was the last time you went out on a date?"
Carter stopped cold. How to answer? She decided to depend on the bland safety of the ambiguous answer.
"From time to time," she said, as if it did not matter.
"Seeing anyone interesting?"
Carter felt a flush beeline down her spine and explode in her gut.
"Not officially."
"What does that mean?"
What does that mean, she asked herself.
"It means…"
She didn't know. What was she doing? Why didn't she just say no? That would have been the truth, wouldn't it? Carter looked at the door, and wished she were walking out of it at the moment.
"It means, there's a guy, sort of. It's a work thing," she lied. "Yeah."
"A fellow detective?"
"No…sort of a…consultant. A colleague."
"Does he know you have feelings for him?"
"No. Because I don't have feelings for him. And if I did, it would better if he didn't know."
The Shrink shifted in her seat now. "Why? Is he married?"
"No. I don't believe in that kind of thing. How selfish do you have to be to bust up somebody's marriage? That's not me. Marriage is sacred."
"I'm not suggesting otherwise. It's just…"
"What?"
"Something in your countenance changed when we brought of the subject of your man."
"He's not my man, just a man. Just a friend."
"Listen to me, Joss. May I call you Joss? The moment you mentioned your… friend… something in you changed. I saw it the quality of your smile. Your eyes lit up. You reached up and touched your hair in the most girlish manner. And it's nothing to be embarrassed about. I think it's awesome. And on some level, so do you. You don't have to tell me his name – how about you just give me his first initial. You don't have to tell me where he's from, or what he does. Just tell me how you feel."
Carter quickly quashed the smile on her lips and looked at her watch. "Nothing. I feel nothing. Neither does he. And I rather not talk about him anymore. He'd prefer it that way. So would I, if you don't mind."
The Shrink reached out – quite unexpectedly – and touched Carter's hand. Was such a thing even considered professional?
"This has no bearing on my evaluation. Just woman to woman. You need this, and I'll tell you why. You don't mention friends, no girlfriends, no confidants, no best friends. Just your son and you. You can't talk to him about this. You do dinner and movie with your son, when it should be with the guy...any guy. I just want you to know that it's okay for someone in your position of power and authority to feed that girly side and enjoy it. You spend all day being the strong, capable cop. Slapping the cuffs on perps, interrogating suspects, booking criminals, chasing assets. Saving lives. Helping people. When does Jocelyn Carter just enjoy life?"
"Look, I enjoy my life just fine. I love what I do…"
"I'm not saying you don't. Just whoever the guy is…if he's safe, and if you feel something for him…while I don't advocate running up to him in the middle of the street and declaring your undying love, I say you need to take a chance. Be vulnerable. Just…be available. Have a coffee with him, share a burger. Let yourself enjoy the company of a man who isn't talking about warrants and weapons seizures and dead bodies and arrest records. Let yourself feel."
The Department Shrink let go of Carter's hand and sat back.
"J."
"Excuse me?"
"His first initial. It's J."
"Just tell me one thing about J. Tell me what you like most about him."
Carter covered her smiling face with a hand. This was so…new to her. It was wild, thrilling, uncomfortable, and made her heart beat hard against her chest. This was so very in opposition with the upstanding, unflappable, serious and zealous police woman. In Iraq, there was no room for softness, for coquettish grins and batting eyes. It was the same with the NYPD. No place for flirtatious laughs and come hither looks. You walked like you were dangerous, capable, not like 'Jell-o on springs,' to quote her favorite b&w comedy.
You weren't a woman, you were all cop.
"Off the record?" Joss asked. It may have been a question, but the Shrink clearly understood it was a demand and nodded.
"Fine," said the Shrink, raising her hands in mock surrender and placing her gold filigree pen on the side table. "Off the record it is."
Carter sat forward and intertwined her fingers, considering all the things she had thought about the man in question. So many extraordinary qualities, as well as faults, she was certain. One thing came to mind that almost made her giggle. Almost.
"His smile."
"Yes?"
"He doesn't smile often. He's very serious. His work is serious. He hasn't had the easiest life, and he's taken some hard hits lately. Experienced a lot of loss, betrayal. So when he does smile, it's deep, you know. Genuine. It shows in his eyes. It's real, sincere, in the moment. Another time, there was this incident, and he thought…he thought he might not make it. He refused to let me help him. He just looked at me and said, 'thank you.' My heart broke for him. I hadn't done anything for him, except be there. I guess that was enough. He's honest, brave, and stubborn. Sometimes awkward. Sometimes he's downright scary. But I know he would never hurt me, or put me or my son in danger. And that if I ever needed him, he'd move heaven and earth to help me. How many people can you say that about?"
The Department Shrink lowered her head, not wanting the very un-clinically detached tear forming at the corner of her left eye to be seen by her client falling.
"He sounds like a rare individual. It's no wonder you feel strongly about him. If I were you, I'd find me a cute little cocktail dress, a pair of French high heels and go knock on his door."
Joss laughed. "Don't think I haven't thought about it."
"Then why haven't you?"
The Detective's smile disappeared again. "It's complicated. And something tells me that would be the wrong approach. Best not to approach it at all."
"It's always complicated, isn't it. I want to thank you for what you shared with me, and for trusting me. I know it's not easy when we've been taught to keep it all in for the sake of our careers. If you ever want to talk again, anytime, I hope you'll seek me out, Detective."
Joss nodded, fully intending never to see or speak to the Shrink again. She had already crossed her own boundary by talking about John Reese, even in the obscure. She vowed to hold on to her resolve to protect his anonymity and their working relationship in the future. Today was a mental, emotional luxury, but she couldn't afford to let it happen again.
"So then," Joss ventured, moving to stand, "are we done here?"
"One more thing. Tell me about the Man in the Suit."
Carter felt the blood rush from her head and wondered if the Shrink could see her discomfort.
"What about him?"
"This was a big case for you, Detective. To have your suspect be blown to kingdom come, rather than trying and convicting him, must have been deeply disappointing to you."
"Stuff happens," was all Carter offered.
"Do you believe it was indeed the Man in the Suit who died in that explosion?"
Carter stood, ready to leave regardless of the Shrink's protestations. "The FBI believed it was him. That's good enough for me. Case closed."
"Well, then, I think we're done here. And I believe this is the last session for…"
Carter was already heading for the door.
"Detective!"
Carter stopped, but took her time turning around.
"I just wanted to say thank you."
The Detective nodded, and gave her an old school New York wave. "See ya."
POI
She was sitting behind the wheel of her car, running surveillance on the brownstone as requested by Finch. All she needed to do was monitor the comings and goings of a young woman photographer, and report to Finch immediately if anyone who looked remotely suspicious showed up. She was to intervene only if the subject's life was at risk. Apparently John was busy doing a little clean up after the last saved life and would join her if time permitted.
Carter was about to sip her cold, bitter coffee, which had been sitting in her cup holder since early that morning, when without warning the passenger's side door opened. She moved for her gun but relaxed when John slipped into the seat with two small blue and white coffee cups and a paper bag with quarter size grease stains held deftly in one hand. She had to look away, else he see the pleasurable smile gracing her lips.
"Thought you'd appreciate a little something warm," he said in that odd, breathy way of his. Every word seemed so…seductive…when filtered through his unique pronunciation.
Carter reached out to take one of the cups from him, but kept her eyes locked on the building. That was safer.
"How'd it go with the Shrink today?" he inquired.
"How'd you know about that?"
"Who else?"
"Finch. His name should be Snitch."
John smiled and sipped at his coffee, quite amused. Carter noticed and quickly averted her eyes back to the building stoop.
"I'm all done. I am officially deemed sane and not suffering from PTSD or any other new fangled, new-age, mental malady they make up along the way."
"I could have told you that."
Carter chuckled. "I'm afraid your opinion doesn't hold a lot of weight with the NYPD. Besides, as far as they're concerned, you're dead."
"There is that."
John opened the bag, and the aroma of grilled meat and warm bread issued from it making Carter's mouth water. He handed her a foil wrapped burger that was still very warm and delightfully squishy to the touch.
"Medium well with cheese, hold the onions," he said.
"How'd you know?"
"You look like the medium-well-with-cheese-no-onion type."
"Let me guess…you went for the medium rare."
John said nothing, but took a man-sized bite out of his burger and chewed thoughtfully.
Joss snickered as she peeled back the foil, which was speckled with stuck pieces of melted American cheese, and took a bite. It was tasty and just salty enough and the beef was real, not pressed or mixed with unidentifiable fillers.
She nearly choked when the Department Shrink's words came slamming back at her to haunt her.
"Have a coffee with him, share a burger. Let yourself enjoy the company of a man who isn't talking about warrants and weapon seizures and dead bodies and arrest records. Let yourself feel."
Joss saw him look her way with a modicum of concern. She assured John with a wave of a hand that she was fine, and took another bite of her burger.
He was done with his food and balling up the foil wrapper long before Carter had finished chewing her third bite.
"John…"
He said nothing, but waited for the Detective to continue.
"Would it be weird if…"
"If…?"
"…Forget it."
Silence. The burger felt sour in her belly now. She attempted to reach out, take a chance, a risk, but somehow, she couldn't. It was like breaking a well established law, or forcing her way into a place she wasn't certain she belonged, not without a formal invitation. Would it be worth ruining this well-oiled machine, this powerful working relationship, for a little attention?
And what if John didn't feel the same way? No, Joss told herself, step away from the edge. Leave it alone.
"It might be," John said, breaking the silence.
"Might be what?"
"Weird."
The rush of heat returned, running down her spine, exploding in her gut once again when their eyes met.
"But it might be worth it," he continued. "Someday. Just not today."
His warm hand covered her right one, and suddenly the burger in her left hand became equally the most awkward and significant burger she would ever eat.
She couldn't find her voice at the moment. For the sake of her own sanity, and the safety of the woman on whom they were keeping tabs, she slipped her hand free of John's.
"You tell me when someday is, John," she said finally after a brief period of silence.
"You'll still be around?"
"If you're lucky."
He smiled again.
So did Joss.
END
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