Tomorrow was the fourth of July. Independence Day. That meant a joyous day when people celebrated their freedom with barbeques, hot dogs, burgers, beer, fireworks, shorts, sparklers and fun in the hot California sun. Charlie Crews had none of these and he didn't tan. He did however have his freedom and that was something to celebrate, but with whom?
Ted was gallivanting around Europe searching for Olivia. Charlie sincerely hoped he found her and that it worked out in the way that so little few romantic gestures actually do – well. Happily ever after with champagne and fireworks and the Eiffel Tower; that's what he wanted for Ted and Olivia. Only a little of it was the part where it would hurt his father, just a sliver of vengeance… like a slice of lemon in a glass of cool, clear water.
Rachel was still away and when she called Charlie learned that she liked being somewhere new and being someone new. She enjoyed an existence where no one knew her past. She said it felt like being "born again" as her murderer preacher father talked about, only "more real than that." Her description made him smile. She sounded strong and resilient. She was finally moving past the millstone that had dragged her down for all those long years. Part of that weight he realized was attached to him. For her own good Rachel need to let it – and by extension him – go. It was Zen and therefore he embraced it, though his heart felt a little emptier knowing his sometimes niece wouldn't be returning to the marble mansion that only she made feel like a home.
He looked across his desk at the one person he kept avoiding examining – his partner, his one, the person he loved more than life itself and all it's precious freedoms. She belonged to someone else and that made him sad. He was determined not to be sad, but instead to be happy. Happy that she'd found someone with whom she could be content, possibly someone who could make her smile and laugh and that she'd be happy. No, not Reese he thought shaking his head to dislodge the idea from his brain.
Sure, Bobby had invited him to the pool party at his house, but Leslie had made it pretty clear last go round that his presence wasn't welcome at Casa de Stark. Meditation was out due to the constant and continuous homespun fireworks from the local grocers that lit the night sky from July 3rd to the 5th or 6th. Never were they restricted to just the actual holiday itself. His gaze flicked back to Dani.
"Any plans for the holiday?" He was a glutton for punishment.
She glanced up, scowled and shook her head in rapid succession. He couldn't tell if she was annoyed at the question, the interruption or just him, in general. It was quite possibly all three. This, his first week back, had been rocky for them as partners. It was as bad, if not worse, as their first ever. She was angry or sullen with him more than seemed fair, given their circumstance. But then they hadn't talked about that circumstance…. what led to her leaving for an FBI assignment, how he'd fared (poorly he thought) without her, why Roman chose her, why Charlie was as reckless as he had been and what all that meant… going forward. It was like reaching the end of a book and finding a great big "to be continued" mark with no idea when that ending might be known. It chaffed at them both and they rubbed each other wrong as a result.
That day in the orange grove she'd seemed at first relieved, then angry both emotions to extremes. He watched as she climbed from Bodner's car and struggled with her desire to touch him, to physically connect. In the end, she schooled herself and quietly asked simply if he was okay. He nodded and smiled. Then the moment was gone. She shook her head, opened her mouth twice to ask something that wouldn't leave her lips and then her scowl returned, she punched him and walked off. Sirens announced the arrival of the cavalry in navy blue uniforms with silver shields.
They hadn't talked. They never talked. He was suspended for a month. She was whisked away to a hospital for tests and the kind of torture that people fussing over her would be for Dani. He didn't visit; he was too busy with lawyers and IAD. By the time he got free, he was exhausted. He slept for three days, showered, ate and went looking for her. She wasn't at her apartment, she wasn't at her mother's and that left only one conclusion – she was at Tidwell's. He couldn't stomach that. He needed hours of distance, detachment and meditation before he could put on his plastic Zen smile and tell her how happy he was for her (again).
Now, he'd been back a week. He'd learned a lot about assumptions.
She wasn't with Tidwell. They'd broken up when the Captain forced too much mothering on her. She'd spent the week with a college roommate at the beach and then returned home to her mother's, mandated visits to the Department shrink and follow-up medical appointments she kept insisting she didn't need. Now that he sat three feet across from her again, she was struggling with the weight of what he'd done for her and the reasons behind it.
But Charlie was always the kid who kicked the hornet's nest – he remained that boy underneath. "No? No plans? No, you're not talking to me? What?"
She froze, exhaled forcibly, deliberately put down her pen, swiveled her chair and looked him dead in the eye. "I have no plans for the weekend." Her words were little bits of chipped ice. She seemed to consider saying more and then to his great surprise she did. "And if you are suggesting, what I think you are suggesting….then no – we are not talking about that here."
He was stunned into absolute silence. She'd seen right through his seemingly innocent question right to his pounding heart. He wanted to know if she was doing something; because if she wasn't…maybe she'd not do anything with him.
"Do you hear me Crews?"
"Uh- huh, uh…yeah…yes, I hear you," he stammered. Then softly under his breath he murmured, "I always hear you…even when you aren't speaking." Realizing his last thought was spoken aloud he blushed furiously and waited for her to bite his head off. Three years later and he still managed to not filter his thoughts when he should.
Her reaction was more startling than his fears. Her words and tone were softer, private, intimate and encouraging, "then listen to what I'm not saying and leave this for later."
He immediately returned to work and puzzled over those words for the remainder of his day. A couple times he turned to look at her, opened his mouth to speak and the slightest shake of her head and stern look stole his thoughts and silenced his idle tongue.
As the minutes ticked down to what was traditionally the end of their shift, time seemed to move backwards. He pulled at the collar of his shirt and loosened his tie. Any time now, she'd push back from her chair and that was the signal that work was done. Then what happened?
He didn't know and not knowing made him feel weird, tingly and slightly excited. It was a feeling he associated with tension, what Mark Rawls had called "earthquake weather." That's what she was like, a seismic shift, the earth moving under him, rolling and pitching like a ship in a storm. What little work he managed between her request that he leave it for later and quitting time was likely fraught with errors. He used to be so independent, so good at compartmentalizing, until Reese. She consumed his thoughts and held the lease on most of the real estate in his heart. She owned him; he wasn't free at all he realized.
"So….what is it you want to do?" her quiet tone signaled the beginning of later.
"I'd like to be free," he mused confusing her.
"Aren't you?" she wondered quizzically. She, of course, thought he meant prison.
"No," he felt his way, "I don't think I am. In a way, I'm still held fast…"
"By whom?" she said instantly angry. Crews' freedom was something he'd earned and she would not tolerate being impinged upon by anyone. "What's holding you now? Tell me," she demanded.
He pulled at his collar slightly embarrassed and shyly met her eyes, "you."
Shock then embarrassment, then understanding cycled through her eyes before she broke contact. "You're not asking for someone to watch the fireworks with you," her words told him that she understood what he was not saying.
"No, I'm not," he answered when his silence made her gaze return to him.
She examined her feet for moment, then her gaze shifted to the desk in front of her and then she steeled herself and met his stare. "I'll come by your place around 7 and we can figure out how to set you free," her tone spoke of resignation, not hope. It didn't seem as if their evening would include the kind of fireworks he hoped for.