TWIST OF FATE
A/N: As always, a HUGE "THANK YOU" to my amazing beta Rainey13! Your help is very much welcomed and appreciated! The song is called "Dust in the wind" from Kansas
I close my eyes, only for a moment and the moment's gone
All my dreams, pass before my eyes, a curiosity
Dust in the wind, all they are is dust in the wind
Same old song, just a drop of water in an endless sea
All we do, crumbles to the ground, though we refuse to see
Dust in the wind, all we are is dust in the wind
Don't hang on, nothing lasts forever, but the earth and sky
It slips away, and all your money won't another minute buy
Dust in the wind, all we are is dust in the wind
Dust in the wind, everything is dust in the windChapter 1
Numb. That's how he felt. Dazed and confused. Petrified. The world around him had lost all meaning for him. Within a few hours his life had taken a turn, leaving the feeling that he had lost the ground underneath his feet. He was alone.
And no one and nothing could change that. Helpless. For days he hadn't been able to do anything, his feelings went up and down like a roller coaster. Just when he thought he had caught himself, a gesture, a word, a memory, an image was able to get him off balance again. He didn't know what was up and down, couldn't say what day it was today. On the other hand it didn't bother him either. Forget. He just wanted to forget. He just wanted to completely banish the worst day of his life from his mind. Pretend as if nothing had happened. Probably he was going to wake up and realize that all of this had just been a nightmare. It had to be, otherwise he would go nuts. A life without him... he couldn't imagine this.
Him...no, no this wasn't right. He has a name. Had. His heart seemed to miss a beat when a picture appeared in front of his eyes. The picture of the ba- of Timothy as he had been lying pale and motionless in a crib at the pediatric ICU section of the hospital. His small face had been peaceful yet so ghostly. The sounds emanating from the machines in the stuffed room filled with other little critical patients had made him almost mad, because as much as he had tried to ignore them, they told him that the other babies were still alive, while his son was dead.
A single tear ran down his cheek while his gaze went straight into the distance. He had been crying so much during the last five days that he was convinced that there no more tears left. But apparently he had been wrong. How was that possible? How could Timothy be dead? He still knew exactly how El and he had left the house on Friday morning. El was going to visit her gynecologist for a routine check up and he was heading to the office. He remembered making plans for the evening. First dinner, then maybe a little stroll in the city in order to anticipate the well deserved weekend. None of this had happened. Instead, one phone call had changed his life entirely. He hadn't been able to breathe. The phone had fallen out of his hand, but he hadn't been aware of this fact. All of a sudden, his partner had been there, obviously alerted by the strange behavior. Everything else after that was a blur. Later in the hospital, he hadn't noticed much of what had been going on around him while sitting at the side of El's bed, holding her hand, talking to her.
The fragments of that night only gradually came back into his mind and he struggled to keep his emotions under control. The urge to let the tears flow increased, but he would not admit it. He wanted to be strong for El. But he also knew that he couldn't keep his composure any longer. He was helpless. For days he struggled with his feelings, needed sedatives to get through the day and sleeping pills so that he could sleep at least for a few hours during the night.
He sniffed and closed his eyes. Immediately he found himself back in the hospital. He quickly opened his eyes and blinked. With a trembling hand he wiped his face, trying to strip the memories away with the tears. But to no avail. Like his efforts in the hospital. There he had begged the doctors to save Timothy's life. Hell, he'd have given his own life for his son. One doctor had tried to explain to him that there wasn't anything they could do. Then he became angry, had been yelling towards the doctor and the nurses and all the others present in the room. They were all wrong. Timothy would wake up and be healthy.
How long he had actually stayed in the ICU, he couldn't tell. Again the doctor - he really couldn't recall his name - had been the one who had approached him, touched him with a sad look in his eyes. With this gesture, his resistance was broken and he had clung with all his strength to the doctor, begged him to help his son, no matter how. To do something. The doctor had said that only one thing was left to do - to say goodbye to him and then go back to his wife. Deep inside Peter had known that the doctor was right, but he couldn't admit it. He couldn't let go. Not today. Not this way. But all arguing with himself, with the doctor and with whoever was in charge up there hadn't been successful. Again and again he had looked at his son, still hoping for something to happen. Yes, also praying. But he was powerless. Paralyzed. Like in a trance he had finally nodded. With the help of one of the nurses he had returned to El's room. She had been sleeping slightly, due to the sedatives the doctors had given her earlier. But she had been aware enough to recognize him and asked for their son. Silently he had handed her the tiny bundle and then had climbed on her bed, had stroked her pale cheeks, her hair. Then he had also closed his eyes.
4 months earlier…
Februray 2002
"This looks fantastic, hon."
Peter turned around and a big grin appeared on his face. Seeing his wife always made him happy. But seeing his pregnant wife made him very happy. With a cloth he wiped his hands clean and looked at the wall. "Thanks," he nodded. "Only two walls left."
"I've made you some hot cocoa."
"Oh, you're an angel. Just what I need right now." With three steps he closed the distance between them. The plastic film on the floor to prevent stains from the wall paint rustled under his feet. It was a rainy Saturday morning and therefore Peter had decided to start painting the walls in the nursery. They both had agreed to keep the color as neutral as possible and had actually voted for yellow.
El stood in the doorway, a steaming mug in her hands. "Trish called and asked if I would like to have lunch with her," she said and seemed undecided.
"That sounds good," Peter said and took the mug and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'm gonna finish up here so why don't you accept her invitation?"
"Really?"
"Of course! Have a nice afternoon, do some girlie-talk, that kind of stuff." Peter knew he had acted over-cautious the last 4 months and that El hated it. Ever since El had told him that she was pregnant, he had tried to avoid any stress and practically had carried her in his hands. At first he had been shocked and terrified about the idea of being a father. Having children hadn't been a topic. Sure, they had talked about it, but since they both had full time jobs, they felt it wouldn't be fair to the child. So it really had been a surprise and he had needed some time to realize this hadn't been a dream at all. Soon after he had changed his opinion and now he was thrilled. He really looked forward to become a Dad. And looking at El, he knew his wife felt the same. He was convinced that she would be a fantastic mother. "Nothing can beat an afternoon with the best friend to gossip about men."
"We don't gossip about men," El laughed, then added, "Okay, maybe a little bit."
"See?" Peter grinned and took a sip, savoring the rich flavor. Right now, his life was perfect. The job at the FBI was developing nicely and he liked working with the White Collar division. The salary had allowed them to buy the house in Brooklyn and now…he was going to be a father. Although he was a realist and always relied on facts, he still needed to remind himself from time to time about the pregnancy. Some days it felt like a dream and he feared to wake up one day to find out everything was about to dissolve in thin air.
"Maybe Robert wants to come along and help you?"
Peter chuckled. Trisha's husband wasn't exactly a handyman. "He'll probably fall off the ladder, but otherwise I guess it'll be fun."
El smiled. "I'm gonna give them a call then." With that she went away.
Half an hour later, the door bell rang and El went to answer it. Soon after she and Trisha and Robert came to the nursery. "Hon? We're leaving," El said.
"Hey, Peter," Robert greeted him and held up a six pack of beer before he put it down.
"Hi Rob," Peter waved with the paintbrush. He stepped forward and kissed El, careful not to dirty her with the wall paint. "Have fun."
"You too," she said, smiling and wiping away a spot of paint from his forehead.
The dark haired Robert watched the two women leave. "El looks good," he said after they both were alone. He still stood in the doorway and made no attempt to step in or help Peter at all. Instead he shoved his hands in his pockets.
"She's good," Peter confirmed. "So far everything is fine," he said proudly, but still felt unsure with certain topics so he was glad that he could talk with Robert. "She gained about 6 pounds and the morning sickness is gone. Thank God." His eyes wandered around the room in order to find spots he might have missed.
"Oh yeah," Robert nodded and smiled mischievously. "But soon the back aches will start." Trisha and he had three children so he knew what he was talking about. "And the swollen legs. Oh, and later she will start to complain about feeling like a beached whale." Obviously he enjoyed his story too much.
Peter squinted his eyes. "Right now I'm not sure if I want to know about such things."
"She's due in July, right?"
"Yeah," Peter nodded proudly.
"So you have still 5 months left to get used to such things, my friend. And believe me, you will remember my words."
"Soooo," Trisha rubbed her hands in excitement, "tell me about Peter. Is he still edgy?"
El put her glass down. They were downtown Manhattan and had just placed their orders. "Actually I'm surprised that he had agreed to our meeting. Since day one he's acting like I'm delicate. Which I'm not."
"I know that." The blonde short haired woman laughed. "I can still remember his…shocked face when he told us about the baby."
"Yeah, well, to his defense I have to say that I was shocked as well." She shook her head in amusement as she thought of the visit back then. "No, shocked isn't the right phrase. I was…unprepared. But yes, he WAS shocked. For a moment there I thought he was suffering a heart attack."
Trisha chuckled. "I wished I could have seen his face when you told him the first time. But he's doing great, as far as I can tell. He seems composed now."
"He is. In fact, his analytical mind set in a short time after and now we are the proud owners of every book available in New York regarding pregnancy," El said and rolled her eyes. She played with the napkin and a smile appeared on her face. "I think I don't have to mention that he already has packed my suitcase? And the lists and plans he made for almost every conceivable situation?"
"I'm sure he has," Trisha nodded and sighed. "You know, you may be annoyed by his behavior, but let me tell you this - Peter's one of those men who tend to overreact, but he has a heart of gold and would do anything for you." She looked at El before she added, "Despite the fact that he always forgets your wedding anniversary."
"Oh yes, he keeps forgetting that. But I don't care. I know he isn't exactly a spellbinder, but he surely is…he has that certain something." Talking about Peter still created those butterflies in her stomach, although right now she couldn't tell if those butterflies in fact were the little one growing inside her. Involuntary she placed a hand on her belly and smiled. Words couldn't describe the emotions she felt, no matter how hard she tried. Then she started to laugh, tears forming in her eyes. "He told my gynecologist that the first ultrasound picture of the baby would look like an avocado."
Trisha shook her head in amusement. "That's so Peter."
After a rather busy weekend that had him occupied with painting, Peter was thrilled to get to work on Monday morning. As much as he enjoyed the quality time with his lovely wife, he loved his work, too. That and…sports. Baseball to be more specific. He loved the game and often thought of his childhood when he used to play ball with his father. After he had to quit his dream of becoming a baseball player because he blew his rotator cuff, he joined the FBI. This was his profession now and he was damn good at it. Sitting at his desk in the bullpen, Peter shuffled through his case files.
An agent went by, waving with a file. "Here's another one for you, Peter."
Grabbing the file, Peter's face lit up because he was thrilled with each new case. He liked to be challenged like in treasure hunts and solving puzzles. Maybe this was another reason why he ended up at the White Collar unit.
His partner on the other side of his table, rolled his eyes and said, "Stop hoarding all the new cases, Burke."
Peter chuckled and started to read. "Bond forgery sent over from NYPD. Two phony Atlantic Incorporated bonds in six months. Come on. You want it?" Reaching over his desk, he offered the file to his partner.
Unimpressed the man replied, "Two in half a year?"
Peter nodded and was already engrossed by what he had read so far. "Mm-hm. Atlantics have never been forged."
"I'll pass."
"All right," Peter said and studied the copy of the forged bond in the file closely. "Wow, this is quality work."
Still not interested, his partner answered, "So is my kid's drawing on the fridge. It's all yours."
"Okay." Sometimes Peter asked himself why his partner was working in this unit at all. But right now he didn't care. Because he had found a new challenge. "I think this guy has a future."
March 2002
Coming home this evening reminded Peter that he still had some work to do. Since the painting of the nursery had gone well, they had decided to remodel the living room too. Which meant that many items had been packed away, but so far not everything had been placed back, since Peter had been occupied with his latest case. Today he had found some interesting leads on the case and wanted to go over it tonight after dinner. He put down the cardboard box filled with the files. His coworkers had come up with a nickname for the suspect. James Bonds. Not that he liked it, but as long as it served the case he could live with it. "Honey? I'm home!" Looking around, he noticed that the door to the patio wasn't completely closed. A smile appeared on his face. Grabbing a bottle of beer from the refrigerator in the kitchen, he stepped to the window and looked outside. Shaking his head, he watched his wife play with the puppy they had bought two weeks ago. El had been in her mother hen mode and had insisted on getting the yellow Labrador puppy. Nothing he had said had changed her mind and he had to surrender. One thing he had learned over the last months was this - never argue with a pregnant woman! For a few minutes he just watched both of them smiling and was happy. More than that. He was the luckiest man on earth.
Going back to the living room, he got rid of his jacket, the tie and the button-down shirt, so that he only was wearing his white t-shirt. After that he opened one box and took out a file. Totally absorbed in reading, he didn't see El and Satchmo entering the house. She had named the puppy because she liked Jazz and Louis Armstrong (again, never argue with a pregnant woman). Ever since he started to work with the White Collar unit, he loved to share his information with El. She had a wonderful way to tell him her point of view. Therefore he said without hesitation, "This guy is good."
El stepped towards him, with little Satchmo following her, "Honey, are we gonna put this away or is that our new coffee table?" She carried a small box.
Recognizing what she implied, Peter answered, "Oh, I'm sorry." Quickly he took the box and put it aside.
"What about this one getting under your skin?" El asked obviously sensing his efforts to solve the case.
Peter looked at her. "You really wanna hear?"
"Well, of course. Always." Her voice held no accusation, instead she seemed truly interested.
"All right." Grinning, he approached her, only to be stopped by El who just lectured the puppy. The dog had found one of the files lying on the ground and sniffled at it. Then he started to lick on the top sheet.
"Satchmo!"
Peter kneeled down and tried to save the folder. "You're tampering with federal evidence."
Looking at the file, El said, "Wow, that's a forgery?"
That was the go-ahead for Peter, who instantly explained, "The seal, the signature, the security strip. See, most forgers are only experts at one aspect. The man who forged this bond was capable of bigger things. He can do it all."
"Well, so can you," El said and leaned forward. Her voice was playful.
"Mm."
Only seconds later El placed a kiss on his lips, but immediately frowned and made a wry face. "Mm."
Peter knew why. For four weeks he had been growing a beard, just because he thought it was time for a change. But his wife wasn't pleased at all and mentioned this on every possible occasion. What had he learned? Never argue with a pregnant woman. So he finally obeyed. He would never fight with her."Loose the 'stache?"
Nodding, she replied, "Yeah. Sorry, Magnum. I still love you."
Peter knew when he had lost a battle. The mustache would be shaved off first thing tomorrow morning."I love you too."
June 2002
The day had started like any other morning he had spent with his wife, eating breakfast and making plans. El had told him that she was going to see her gynecologist for a routine check-up. They had only four weeks left on the pregnancy and even if Peter would never admit it, he was counting each day until he would be able to welcome their child. After that appointment they would meet at lunch.
Right now he was sitting at his desk working on "James Bonds". He knew that he was addicted and the case got him hooked. The more he looked into it, the more it became clear to him that whoever was behind all this, wasn't acting out of greed or for money. No, it seemed that the man looked forward to the challenge. And Peter suddenly realized that this was one thing they had in common. They both loved the challenge. So far, no weapons had been involved, nobody had been hurt physically. It was strange for him to think that, but he was impressed by this behavior.
He was startled by a phone call.
A phone call that would change his life.
Seeing the caller ID, his face lit up. "Hey, hon! Is your appointment already over?" he asked without waiting for her to greet him. There was no answer and Peter frowned. Had he misjudged the number? Quickly he checked the display once more. "El? Are you there?" His heart seemed to skip a beat when he heard a sob. Immediately he sat upright. "Has something happened? El?! Talk to me!"
"H-hon?" Her voice sounded weak and hoarse and was almost a whisper.
"El? You're frightening me! What's up?" He could feel his pulse raising.
"C-could you-" She was interrupted and Peter could hear an unknown voice.
"Sir? Mr. Burke?"
"Yes, yes. This is Peter Burke. Who are you? What's up with my wife?"
"Mr. Burke, this is Loretta. I'm a receptionist with Dr. Waterson. I'm afraid there is a problem and I would suggest that you come here as soon as possible."
There was a problem with El? Realization hit him real hard and he felt a lump forming in his throat and he had to swallow a few times before he could respond. "W-what problem? The baby…?"
"Sir, it really would be better if we talk about it in person rather than on the phone."
There was some rustling again and Peter could hear El's voice. "Please, Peter…," she cried quietly.
He felt like he couldn't breathe. Standing up, still holding the phone in his hand, he looked around and searched for his boss, but he couldn't find him. His head started to spin and his mind felt like it was clouded. He thought he could hear the phone clattering down to the ground, but he wasn't sure. All of a sudden his partner was by his side and guided him outside.
TBC