Dreams and Strands
Disclaimer: No word about entry into Wolf's World, where the characters of TOS and SVU originate from, so remaining in the real one for now. Original characters are mine.
It's been requested that either a follow-up of sorts be offered to Nightmares and Knots or some sort of continuance. So, here it goes (knowing what is/was in mind, but wondering how it will look on paper.)
Summary: Life goes on, but how smoothly?
Chapter 1 - Hiding
Spirited. That was the word Jack McCoy used to describe his mentor and friend. Spiteful was the word he reserved for her plotting partner.
"Danielle, how many times do I have to tell you that I'm not going back in there?" he said. There would be a few familiar faces for sure, but most of the people he wanted to talk to had left – claimed either by retirement or reassignment. When he heard Serena Southerlyn left to work for a defense attorney's office, he accepted it. That's how he lost Jamie. To learn he lost Serena to Paul Robinette's office, well…
Danielle Melnick wouldn't be detoured. "How else do you expect to pick up Alex, hmm? I'm not having you wait in the lobby. You've a bad track record with that, you know."
Jack shook his head, gesturing towards a bench by the guards' desk. "I'm sure Mr…." He put his reading glasses on to see the guard's name tag, "Hollands, wouldn't mind if I just sat here and read a newspaper. May I impose upon you, Mr. Hollands?" he asked.
"Mr. McCoy will not pass through those doors without you or Ms. Borgia," Mr. Hollands said. "You've his word on it."
"I'd rather have your word if I can't have him where I can see him. But, since I can just…" She shook her head and threw her arms up in frustration. "Fine, Jack. I'll take my minor victory of having gotten you into the building. One floor at a time, is that how this is going to go?"
"Yep," Jack said, accepting the newspaper Hollands offered with a nod of thanks. "Of course, I'd have rather started in the basement."
"You forget the underground parking garages, sir. You could have started on Level G," Hollands deadpanned.
"G. Do you hear that, Danielle?" He sat down on the bench, legs crossed at the ankles. "G."
"Look, wise guys, there is no parking garage below, and no letter G. Just… Jack…" She continued to shake her head as she passed through the gate. "You owe me a bottle," she said stabbing her fingers in his direction, then went to her meeting on the tenth floor.
"A bottle of what?" Hollands asked. "Cognac?"
"No. Aspirin."
----
Arthur Branch stopped to the stand beside the bench, reading the paper over the man's shoulder. "You know, I don't know why they call it news."
"Situations might be the same, but the names are different; that's new," Jack said.
"I was talking about the headlines about Sky Sweet, Mitch Carroll, and their kind." He clicked his tongue. "I would have been curious as to how you would have handled those cases."
Jack shook his head. "See, this is the reason why I didn't want to go upstairs with Danielle."
"I know. She told me you were waiting here. Or, and I quote, 'You had better be if you knew what was good for you. She knows where you live.' That's something a wife usually says, isn't it?" He sat down beside Jack as Jack folded the paper.
"She does know where I live, considering she helped me move in." Off of Arthur's look, "It's a small one-bedroom in the Bronx."
"The Bronx? Jack, what was wrong with sharing an apartment with Briscoe or moving to Maine to be with your daughter?"
Jack chuckled, hoping to see the two women he was waiting for soon. "Funny, I had at least three other people ask me that same question."
They sat in silence for a moment longer, watching the comings and goings.
"You know…" Arthur started.
Jack cut him off. "I know," he got up and returned the paper to Hollands, then sat back down. "Thought we settled-?"
"Just making sure. Your avoidance game's getting old."
"Don't take it so personally, Arthur. I just… I keep busy."
"Busy, yet not earning enough to rent a decent apartment if you're in the Bronx. What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking that I'd find plenty of things to do there." He looked expectantly at the elevators, still not seeing either woman. "I've been teaching a couple of ESL classes, I tutor, and I'm a career mentor to a couple of bright individuals."
"I thought you already have that job," Arthur said, getting up. "Or, am I hearing things?"
Jack recognized Alex's laughter and credited it to something Danielle probably told her. Rising, he said, "I don't know, Arthur. When was your last hearing test?"
"Jack!" Alex embraced him. "One small step, I see."
"Hmph. And you thought I was the only one on this side of the tug-o-war rope," Arthur said. "If you all excuse me, please. Jack, don't be a stranger."
--------
"Had I known you two wanted to talk over your current case, I could have enjoyed time in the library instead," Jack said as he held the door open for the ladies. Danielle selected the restaurant; the only thing Jack did was follow her lead – this time.
"I thought we discussed this," Alex said, giving him a nod of thanks as he held a chair out for her, then Danielle. "You're not allowed to go hiding in libraries, corners or anywhere else where we can't find you."
He hated round tables. "I thought that was the purpose of hide and seek, or did you play by a different set of rules than I did?" He stopped her protest with a wink of an eye.
Danielle glared at him. "Did I say you owe me a bottle? At the rate you're going, it will be a case. Now, knock it off."
Jack looked over the menu as Alex steered the conversation to something else. "So, what did you and Arthur talk about?"
"Things." He looked Danielle in the eye. "Things I didn't want to talk about in the first place."
"Too bad," Danielle replied. "We're not the only ones who want to put you back where you belong. This nonsense about the Bronx-."
Jack closed the menu, slid it towards the edge of the table and rose slowly. "Had I wanted a confrontation, I would have stayed committed. Now, if you'll excuse me…"
Alex grabbed his wrist, none too gently for her. "Where are you going?"
He kissed the back of her hand. "Someplace you can't follow. In short, it's a 'guy thing.' I trust you to order for me, Dani," he said.
Jack splashed water on his face in an attempt to rinse away any strain he thought would be visible to the others. In truth, he wouldn't have missed this dinner date for the world. At the same time, he couldn't wait for a slightly calmer evening at Lennie's tomorrow.
"Pardon me," a gentleman said, reaching across Jack. Jack took a step back, face still in the towel he had in his hand.
Tossing the damp cloth into the basket, he stared at the reflection.
The gentleman with straight brown hair, brown eyes and slightly angular face looked back at him – without glasses. "You shouldn't keep your date waiting," he said then smiled. Jack knew that closed-mouth smile given how many times he'd seen it before.
Jack took a step back towards the door, wondering if he was hallucinating.
The gentleman, The Protector, left before Jack could find his voice again.
----------------
"I'm sorry if I feared the worst, Jack," Danielle said as they climbed the flight of stairs. "I understand if it was payback for this afternoon and I promise never to-."
He put a finger to her lips before turning to unlock the door to his apartment in the corner. Alex had wanted to escort him home, but the last thing he wanted was for her to navigate her way home from the Bronx. He would have argued with Danielle, too, but he knew that first of all, he'd lose; second, she'd probably follow him home anyway just to be sure; and third, he didn't want to be alone at the moment.
They entered the sparse apartment. "I'll call it even," he said, turning the lock in addition to the three deadbolts on the door, "if you forgive me for calling you 'Dani.'"
"Not so fast, mister," she said. "The price for a 'Dani' situation isn't going to get you out of explaining the paled face during dinner."
She put on the teakettle as he sat down on the couch, his fingers steepled before him. "So, the flu excuse-?"
"Flew out the window, Jack," she said taking a seat beside him. "Alex bought it to humor you. She isn't Connie's second chair for nothing."
Jack took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I thought I saw someone."
"Jack, you have a restraining order against Keagan, so why didn't you say something?"
He shook his head as he leaned against the couch back. "It wasn't Keagan. It wasn't Bruner." He sighed. "It's just me imagining ghosts coming out of hiding, that's all."
"I don't see why you won't give the police a description of the other guy. I'm sure they'll find him as soon as they have something to-."
Jack snapped. "There are fliers all over the country for Mark Bruner and have they found him yet? No. It isn't as if time is on our side, either. It wasn't then, it isn't now." He felt bad. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. Honestly, I just imaged some guy and I let the memories bowl me over."
"Liar," Danielle got up as soon as the kettle whistled. "What do you want?"
"Plain, thanks," he said. Had he been thinking clearly, he wouldn't have let Danielle anywhere near the kitchen, given the many empty cupboards. Any moment, he would probably hear a succession of opening and closing doors echoing nicely. It was his luck that he had Danielle's tea on the countertop. "Did you find your-?"
"Got it," she said. "Listen, the next time we go out to dinner, we're dining in, all right?"
"Got it," he said. The two of them back together on the couch, they sat and talked about their day, Danielle's filled with more interesting details than his. An hour or so later, he asked, "So, which one do you want?"
"The couch," she said, taking his cup from him.
Jack protested. "You had the couch last time."
"So, I suppose you're going to tell me those are the same set of sheets that--."
"No," he said, knowing she'd know he was lying. "I'm just saying-."
Danielle pulled him to his feet. "If you got a bigger bed, we wouldn't have this discussion."
"If I had a hide-away, we wouldn't have this discussion," he said. The 'stare-down' lasted exactly three minutes before Jack found himself on his way to his own bedroom.
---------------
Alex Borgia accepted Nina Cassady's invitation to breakfast – meeting at the coffee cart by the subway station. It was almost a daily thing if not for the differing schedules. They bought their drinks and Danishes, found a bench and sat down to talk about how their day would probably go.
"You know, we really ought to get social lives," Nina said. "Too much work and no play…"
Alex agreed. "I'd try going out on a date if I knew that I wouldn't have to look at prosecuting the guy later down the road."
"You're such a pessimist, Alex," Nina said. "Besides, I'd probably end up arresting my date first. Then you could prosecute him."
She laughed. "You're assuming we'd be courted by the same gentleman," she said.
"If he were the type to take us out on different dates, he ain't no gentleman." They both laughed at that.
Alex pointed out a handsome, unassuming guy. "Now, how much do you want to bet that a guy like that is safe, sane, single and-."
"You lost," Nina said noticing who she pointed to. "Two out of three's not bad, Alex, but…" She squinted to get a better look. "He's married."
"Let me guess, you're a psychic detective now, is that it? Pessimism contagious or have we both been in New York long enough to be paranoid?"
"No, yes and not yet, in that order" Nina said. "That's Dr. Stillman. It was his mother-in-law's oxygen tank that was found with Jack…" Nina took her time finishing her coffee.
Alex broke apart the remaining part of her Danish until she had a collection of crumbs. "You remember something like that?" she asked, folding her napkin.
"Are you kidding me? There are some details about that case I want to forget." She took the trash from Alex's hand and put it into her own empty coffee cup. "What about you?"
Alex studied the guy a bit more, intrigued, and then dismissed the silly thought. "During those visits all that time Jack was… He seldom talked about it. He didn't want to share and I didn't trust myself to know. Gut feeling tells me that Arthur and he exchanged apologies yesterday."
Nina shook her head. "I remember asking Jack to forgive me shortly after that first trial ended. I didn't think he wanted me anywhere near him after…"
"I apologized after that debacle of a third trial. After my 'outburst' to Arthur, Connie and I had a long talk. She thanked me, and then asked if she could join me on a visit. That was it. What is it with guys taking so long to admit to something?"
"They're taught to hide things. And when they do apologize, it's like looking for it in a hidden message."
-------
"The answer's correct," Jack said encouraging his student regarding a difficult math problem. "Now, you have to show your work as to how you got the result."
Benji Lopez stared at the paper before him. "I don't know. I just know it. I told you I don't get these kinds of problems. The math teacher gets a day off and he ain't-"
"Isn't" Jack corrected him.
Ben gave him a look. "The math teacher isn't helping me when I ask him. Why do you think I come here every day?"
Jack tapped the space in front of Ben with each point he made. "Because you're a great role model for the younger kids you read to. The other high school students talk to you more than me or the other adults here and…" Jack leaned forward as he added, "you have a crush on a certain art teacher's daughter."
"Mac!" Ben looked around as if afraid of getting caught. "That-! I-! You were a cop, weren't you!"
Jack laughed. "I said I used to work in law. It wasn't walking the beat. As for the last item, it isn't as if you hide your feelings very well. Angelique has asked me to 'translate your face makings' if you will." He copied down a math problem from the book. "What did I tell you about calling me 'Mac' around the others?"
"Not so loud," Ben said apologetically. "Sorry. It's just… Oh, come on, that's the same problem."
"I said not to call me that if the supervisors or students are within earshot. Remember the lesson about nicknames and respect? I don't want to get fired too soon here."
"You're a volunteer, Mac. They can't fire you."
"That's what you think, young man. Yes, it's the same problem. This time, we're going to work through it, got it?"
------
He walked the seven blocks home, stopping by the bodega to buy an evening paper. Ordinarily, he enjoyed sharing his morning paper with others down at the center, but Danielle probably helped herself to the publication as her bit of payback for refusing to get a phone installed yet.
As he finished climbing the flight of steps, he heard someone call out, "Johnny!"
He recognized the heavy accented voice. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Richter," he said to the stout Germanic woman who stood just outside her apartment across from his. "How are you today?"
"Good, good. Looksie, I've your newspaper right here." She held up his morning paper like a baton. "I would have given it to you sooner but you leave too quickly. I didn't want that bum, Mr. Hans, stealing it from you. He does that, you know."
Jack smiled, aware of the long feud between octogenarians Mrs. Greer Richter and Mr. Merle Hans, courtesy of a crash course from one of the children who lived upstairs. "I appreciate you looking out for me, Mrs. Richter. Thank you."
"No problem. You let me watch your back and you be okay. Okay?"
"Okay," he repeated. He opened his door just as she closed hers. Before he finished with the locks, something fell from the newspaper.
He went about busying himself in the kitchen, pulling out a cup of soup from the fridge, a package of crackers and a can of lemon-flavored soda. That was all he called an early dinner. Try as he might, Jack could barely keep much more than that down when he was alone.
He pulled out the puzzle pages from both papers, folded them to the word searches, and then sat down at the small table, puzzles in front, dinner to the side. Completing the puzzles brought back memories of staying with Lennie. Granted, conversations were nearly absent, but the company alone was worth it.
When he had finished both puzzles and meal, he washed the few dishes; set them on a towel to dry; tossed the papers in the recycling box, and then picked up a book to read. This was his ritual every evening, until ten thirty, when he usually went to bed. But, tonight, the ritual was completed a few hours earlier.
It was then he noticed the item on the floor. He picked it up, body going numb as soon as he read it in one glance. The item fell in one direction as he dropped in the other onto the couch, shuddering.
Only one person had used that phrase during his captivity. When it was said, it was usually during a mending time after an assault or an onset of a migraine, or on a rare 'just because' occasion. Those two words, along with a gentle current of shh-ing calmed Jack countless times.
While those words could and were said in any number of situations by a number of people, it didn't have the same effect as it did then. Then again, maybe it wasn't supposed to, he told himself. After all, if he applied the same context of those words when either psychiatrist or friend said it, it probably would have hurt.
That was never the case when Alex Borgia said it. She kept him from running once, hiding twice, and now…
Jack read the message again once he had his breathing under control. Plain, simple, printed on a bar napkin from the restaurant. Two words written with a black fountain pen, there was just enough pressure applied for the ink not to run completely through the folded square. Two words that couldn't be further from the truth, he felt as if everything he had gained after seven months of intensive therapy was lost in a matter of seconds.
'You're safe.'