Mrs. Morrison is from the 2k3 Season 3 episode, "Touch and Go".

Guardian, Part 1

The soup on the stove had nearly begun to boil when the quiet but firm knock thumped against Dorothy Morrison's front door. She hesitated, unsure if she should answer, but after a moment she switched off the gas burner and made her way across her apartment to lean against her door. "Yes? Who is it?" she called.

A familiar baritone voice rumbled through the door. "It's me, Mrs. M. Raphael."

"Raphael!" A bright smile lit her face and she hurried to unlock the door. "Come in, dear!" she said, stepping aside so he could enter. "Oh, I'm so glad to see you. It's been months! I've been worried about you."

"Yeah…I know it's been a while. Sorry about that. I was out of town."

She could tell that there was a lot he left unsaid in his reluctant reply, but she didn't call him on it. Instead she waved her hand toward the kitchen and said, "I was in the middle of making dinner. Would you like some tomato soup? Or some tea?"

"Tea's fine, thanks," he answered.

Mrs. Morrison turned and headed back to the kitchen. She didn't hear him following her - she never did - but she knew he was behind her, and she heard the scraping of the chair over the linoleum floor as he sat at her small kitchen table.

"I'll just be a moment," she told him. She started warming the soup again and put the kettle on.

A rusty-sounding miaow broke the silence. Mrs. Morrison smiled as she pictured Lucy awakening from where she had been curled in her basket. The cat would stretch herself - a bit stiffly now, her old joints not quite so limber any more - and trot soundlessly over to the table. Sure enough, Raphael's gentle chuckle reached Mrs. Morrison's ears, and she heard his quiet, "Hey, there's my girl," as the white cat hopped into his lap. The quiet thrum of her purr filled the small kitchen.

"Your shelves are kind of empty, Mrs. M.," Raphael said in a low voice.

She paused in stirring the soup, remembering with some embarrassment that she had left the pantry door open. "Yes, well…the grocer's delivery boy hasn't been able to come for the past couple weeks."

"Why?" She could hear the frown in his voice.

"Well, the neighborhood isn't as safe as it was in the past. It's not as safe as it was even last year. I suspect the poor boy was mugged, or perhaps he wasn't allowed to pass. The gangs have gotten pretty aggressive. Here, and in other neighborhoods. Things in New York are changing."

Changing how, she wasn't quite sure. But there was an undercurrent of tension running through the streets like exposed wire. It crackled in the voices of the newscasters every evening. The news didn't really give much information, but the terse tones of the anchors were real - not the feigned urgency they used to speak about the ducklings stuck in the storm drain or the broken water main on 5th. This was real anxiety. The whole city was on edge.

"Didn't you call the store and let them know nobody showed?" Raphael asked.

"Of course, and they apologized…"

"..but still no delivery," he finished darkly.

"I'm afraid not."

Raphael growled a little under his breath. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I wish I could've been here to keep the goons out of the neighborhood, but…I couldn't."

The anger and regret tangled around his words sent a surge of worry coursing through Mrs. Morrison. Something had changed. Something had deeply wounded her friend in the year he had been gone. The cheerful whistle of the tea kettle seemed out of place in the quiet kitchen. She took just a moment to pour her heated soup into a bowl and carry the tea things to the table, then sat down and folded her hands on the age-worn wooden surface and asked very gently, "Raphael. Are you all right, dear?"

Utter silence greeted her. She couldn't even hear him breathing. Then, very softly, he replied, "No."

She pushed aside her bowl of soup and leaned towards him. "What's happened?"

Another long pause. "One of my brothers is missing," he said. He spoke quietly, but the soul-deep ache in his words came through as strongly as if he were screaming. "Next week will be a year since he disappeared. That's why I stopped comin' by. We've been trying to find him, looking everywhere, but nobody knows what happened to him. He's just…gone, and then…" His words ground to a halt, but he took a shuddering breath and forced himself to go on. "…five months after we lost him, my kid brother got hurt. Real bad. We had to get away, it wasn't safe for us. Someone we know has a place in the country, so we left the city and took him there so he could recover. And then we come back and everything's just…"

"Oh, Raphael, I'm so sorry," Mrs. Morrison said. She lifted a hand and half-reached for him, but checked her movement and folded her hands tightly together instead. "You shouldn't apologize for being gone," she told him. "Your family is more important. I'm a tough old bird and I've managed on my own for quite a while."

"Yeah, well, I'm back now," he said firmly. She frowned a little at the guilt that still lingered in his voice, but there was stubbornness there, too. It saddened her to know that he wasn't going to let go of the responsibility that he'd taken up by keeping an eye out for her (and for the city, too, she supposed); but in the stubbornness, there was strength, and she knew her friend wouldn't let the guilt drag him down.

"And I'm very glad you are," she said with a smile.

Raphael sighed. She heard the soft clink as he set his teacup back in the saucer. "I hate to drink and run," he said reluctantly, "but I gotta go. I wanted to stop in and check on you." And it's a good thing I did, he didn't say - but she heard it all the same, and it warmed her heart.

"It was good to see you," she said. "Thank you for coming by."

"It was good to see you, too," he said sincerely. His chair scraped over the floor again as he stood. Lucy mewed a little peevishly, annoyed at losing the warm lap she'd been curled against.

Mrs. Morrison opened the door for him, feeling the slight displacement of air as he stepped past her into the gathering dusk. The sharp sound of breaking glass and resulting whoop-whoop of a car alarm echoed through the streets a few blocks away, and her hand tightened on the cool metal doorknob. "Be safe," she said, the earnest words escaping before she could stop them.

"You know me," he answered. She smiled fondly, her heart lifting when he promised, "I'll come by again soon."

"Goodbye," she said, but she knew he was gone, and her words drifted out into an empty alley. She sighed a little and reluctantly closed the door, but just knowing that her friend was back was enough to chase away the chill of isolation that had settled over her during the past twelve months.

Later that night, when a quiet knock sounded at her door once again, she knew what she'd find even before she answered it. The alley was deserted, but two full boxes of groceries lay at her feet.