Black Friday Fallout
Setting: Middle to end of Season 2, when you feel the tension between Crews and Tidwell over Reese. Follow up piece to The Underwear Incident – which is more lighthearted. You don't have to read that one first, but it helps.
Departs from canon at the end (obviously and dramatically). It's mostly just a playful romp down a road I wish we'd had time to see them take.
"Have you seen my sunglasses?" Dani said whilst rooting around amongst the detritus scattered around Kevin Tidwell's living room. She found an old Playboy stuffed under the recliner earning him a dirty look as he stood in the kitchen in his boxers and socks eating cereal from a bowl whilst leaning over the sink.
"What?" he said with his mouth full.
She shied the magazine in his general direction, but the throw wasn't hard enough to indicate anger. "That's old," he qualified, "from before I met you, babe."
She rolled her eyes and continued her search turning up some loose change, his wallet, a pair of black lacey panties she'd been missing for a week and one black sock, but there was no sign of her shades.
"You should get a maid," she pronounced tersely.
Dani Reese was in a mood. She only did mornings because her employers required them - like her AA meetings. If she ran things the workday would not begin until the hour climbed into double digits. Coffee was essential, and sunglasses were required clothing. Without them she'd squint like Clint Eastwood all day, and the people around her would merit only glares and heavy sighs instead of actual verbal responses.
She rummaged through the litter of newspapers on his coffee table, getting agitated. "I need my sunglasses."
"I'll loan you a pair. Tidwell has spares," he said smugly.
"I don't want another pair. I want mine," she gritted out.
"What's so special about those glasses?" Tidwell probed.
"Nothing," she barked, just a hair too fast and with too much emotion for simple sunglasses.
He sensed the personal connection and pushed harder than he should have. "Lemme guess….Crews buy those for you too?" Jealousy edged at the corners of his vision and lent his voice a hard sharp edge.
Dani's head snapped up with a speed she really shouldn't try to summon at this hour. "It was a long time ago."
"Before we met?"
"No," she confessed.
"I'll get you another pair," he said softly as he padded quietly to where she searched and took her hand. "Hey, I'll get you another pair, Dani. Okay?"
She nodded quietly.
"What kind were they? Where'd he get them?"
She shrugged and admitted defeat, "I don't know, but they just feel right."
His sigh was so heavy it could have filled the room with its dark rich hue.
Dani's partner knew and noticed things about the tense young woman most people missed. While Tidwell often shared her bed, Crews shared a multitude of other things, important things that he couldn't see, understand or appreciate and it troubled him more than he wanted to admit. Their connection was strong - even if neither member of his obstinate, yet most talented team would acknowledge it. Days like these he wondered how long it would take the two stubborn detectives to let the sun shine through their well constructed mutual facades of impenetrability to illuminate their shared path ahead.
"I gotta get to work," she said, still distracted. She brushed her lips absently against his razor stubbled cheek on her way out. His refusal to look presentable some days grated on her. "I'll see you at the station."
The whole way to the office she thought about her missing glasses as she lowered her visor and squinted into the bright morning LA sunshine.
Crews had chosen the perfect pair of glasses for her, described her in sufficient detail to achieve the perfect fit, and her boyfriend probably couldn't describe what she wore last night. What did that mean? Who was this man who could describe her so intimately as to pick out perfect things for her? How did he know her so well, so completely?
When she arrived the "he" in question was sitting at his desk pecking at the keys on his keyboard with two fingers in fixed concentration. He looked every inch the cool customer he was. There wasn't a hint of furry friction on his face. He was smooth, clean and smelled like he walked off a magazine ad for expensive cologne. He smiled brightly when he saw her, but his smile faded when he took in her countenance.
"Hey. What's wrong? You look like your head hurts," he asked gingerly.
"How do you know my head...there's something wrong?" she replied sharply.
"Doesn't really matter does it? I just know," he said softly, rising from his desk to meet her.
"I think it does matter," she returned, unusually introspective.
He sidestepped the comment and offered another option, "Let's get some coffee. It'll make you feel better."
Why did he have to be so damned sensitive and perceptive? Was he like this with everyone or was there something special between them? She was mute all the way to the coffee machine mulling the thought.
He poured and then placed the cup in her hand gently wrapping her fingers around it, his own cupping hers for a brief moment. "Reese," he inquired tightly, "tell me what's wrong."
"I lost my sunglasses." She looked into her cup.
"Well…they aren't in that cup," he joked. "We'll get you some new ones. It's not the end of the world."
"I liked those," she grumbled.
"If only we knew were to find them…" he teased. "Oh, wait…I do know…the mall."
"How did you know I'd like them? Why did you do that for me?" Maybe it was time to push at this unacknowledged bond she had with him.
"It was Christmas, Reese. You know, the traditional time of year when people exchange gifts in the spirit of friendship? Think hard…it'll come back to you."
She cocked her head and looked at him sideways. "If I hadn't started dating Tidwell…" she ventured, and he became a veritable stonewall. No expression crossed his features, but his eyes were unable to conceal the spark her comment fired within him. He quickly blinked and looked away. It was the confirmation she was looking for, subtle but real. Genuine feeling from a man who pretended almost every emotion except rage - it was an important distinction, one she had missed until this moment.
Crews had never done anything even remotely inappropriate. He'd never even made so much as a suggestive comment. If anything, he was defensive when the beat cops made snide comments or characterizations about her – ones she'd long since learned to ignore. It was one of the reasons she'd missed it. But suddenly, there it was staring her in the face.
There was something buried deep in Crews that was more than collegial when it came to her. She found herself wondering if there was something in her that felt the same way. Why take gifts from someone – a man – unless there was something? He mind wandered. She remembered never buying him anything for Christmas. What do you buy for a millionaire anyway?
"Reese?" he questioned, drawing her back to reality.
"I never got you anything," she hinted. "For Christmas, I never got you anything."
His smile returned, "You did, you just don't know it," he replied cryptically.
"Was it a subscription to Playboy?" she teased, her humor returning. Secure in the knowledge Crews interest in her extended beyond work she became more centered and balanced. Not knowing confused and befuddled her, but knowing made everything clear to her, perhaps for the very first time.
He looked chagrinned, but returned his boyish smile, "No, no it was not." His eyes glimmered brightly. Mischief gleamed in his eyes and it made her bolder and happier than she'd been before this revelation. Her world tilted slightly and her perspective changed. Her reality altered could never be the same, nor did she wish to return to before she knew Crews' affection was available to her. His smile was hard to resist and she replied with her own twisting the corners of her mouth, tugging her from introspection into the present moment.
"Hey," Kevin Tidwell poked his head in the coffee room, "guess what I found?" He produced her sunglasses and his lopsided grin with a flourish.
Dani reached for them and felt Crews immediately disconnect. She felt loss and gain simultaneously; it was hellish, freaky and yet exhilarating as the two men exchanged a look that contained a dangerous cocktail of testosterone and jealousy.
'Thanks, Captain." She kept it professional even though she knew that Crews knew about them. She kept it that way for him – to avoid hurting him. She was never really certain why, but somehow it felt right - like her glasses.
"We gotta hit the streets," she suggested. "Come on, Crews."
He let himself be led away, but his eyes never left Tidwell's.
"What was that about?" she barked when the elevator doors closed.
He shrugged. "What was what about?"
Her eyes narrowed and she encroached on his personal space. "That…there… between you and Tidwell in the break room. Crews you can't do this."
"I didn't DO anything," he defended.
"Yep, you…that's right you didn't. You know what? That's funny - cause I never took you for a coward, Crews. I never figured you'd hide from the truth." She was well and truly pissed now.
"What's the truth? You're with him and I don't like it?" He was dangerously close to an anger he thought he'd vanquished. "That truth?"
"Why don't you like it, Charlie?" she pushed, blowing right past the invisible line that separated work and play, which in retrospect was a big mistake.
"You shouldn't be in a relationship you have to hide. You deserve better. If you were mine, I'd…." he stopped, realizing his error.
"But I'm not yours am I?" she pushed again, wanting to break though his armor. "And I'm not yours because I can't be with someone who pretends there's nothing there." Her insinuation was plain but mean - her accusatory finger jabbed at him. Then she lost her nerve, softening her comment and turning away, "Thought there couldn't be nothing, Crews…"
Something inside him snapped when she jabbed his chest. As she turned from him he grabbed her roughly and drew her up against his hard lean body. He swept her hair back from her face and locked her in a searing kiss.
She pushed him away, but he kept coming. It was inappropriate work place behavior, it was grounds for a sexual harassment charge and it was turning her on in ways Tidwell never did, never could.
Crews lifted her off the ground and stepped across the small space to press the elevator's emergency stop button and halt time. "I want you in ways I shouldn't," he growled. "I need you to tell me to stop, Reese. Please…make me stop," he begged in a gravely tone, as his hot mouth bruised hers.
Then she stopped fighting, stopped pushing, stopped struggling and he loosened his hold on her. He raised his head and sought her eyes with "I'm sorry" on his lips. She beat him to it.
"Don't be sorry," she admitted, "I want this too. I don't love him."
"Love me," Charlie demanded. "I'm not afraid. I won't hide you away and skulk around," he said breathlessly. "I'd take out a billboard and tell the whole world how lucky I am." He pulled her to him and the anger was gone but his intense heat remained. He kissed her again and she felt like she was too close to the sun. It was dizzying and the elevator seemed like an oven. They were consuming all the oxygen in the small space.
When they broke she said what she had to, "I do love you."
He blinked back tears and stroked her hair gently.
"God damn you, Charlie," she whispered. "How do you do it?"
"Do what?" he coaxed and then kissed her sweetly, like she might break in two at the slightest touch. There was banging and the sound of people attempting to rescue them. She didn't want to be saved, she didn't want to leave his arms, but soon she'd have to. Then the beautiful little soap bubble would burst and there would be pain.
"I don't know how to do this," she confessed.
"I'll do it," he offered, pressing the stop button and releasing the elevator. "I'll tell him and while I'm at it, I'll tell him that if he ever touches you again I'll kill him."
There was something intensely possessive about his comment that should have irked her, but it didn't. Being claimed by him was something she welcomed. He was dark enough to satisfy her desire for punishment without ever falling victim to true harm.
"Just so you know, I don't belong to anyone," she said, the denial more reflex than intentional.
He moved so fast he was a blur. "Yes, you do," he growled, as he again wrapped her in his arms and held her tightly against him. "Tell me, Dani."
"No," she struggled against him half-heartedly.
"Tell me, or I'll kiss you senseless and when these elevator doors open the whole department will know you belong to me," he threatened with laughter in his voice.
"Thought you said I shouldn't be in a relationship I needed to hide," she taunted, playing a dangerous game with time and her partner.
"Oh, I'm not the least bit afraid of people knowing," he teased, sliding his tongue along her neckline. She heard the bell ring and knew she had scant seconds to decide.
"Okay, okay. I'm yours," she relented reluctantly.
He released her instantly and stepped back, smoothing his suit. "Chicken," he goaded under his breath. She shot him a look that would have killed a mere mortal, but it glanced off Crews' sunny smile as he donned his shades.
"Don't think that gets you any special treatment. You know I'm a complete bitch, Charlie."
"Wouldn't want it any other way, sweetheart," he smiled slyly. "Now put your glasses on, we're about to face the world," he commanded gently.
As they walked to the car, she asked him about the glasses again. "Why the glasses, Crews? The underwear I understand but the glasses…."
"You like the dark. You enjoy hiding. You can hide from the rest of the world Dani, I'll even help you do it, but you can never hide from me." His confidence was heady and almost narcotic in its draw. He was a powerful man and his strength came from within.
"And I am not a chicken," she declared definitively.
"We'll see," he chuckled, and it sent chills up her spine and set off a riot of butterflies in her abdomen simultaneously. Dani Reese liked his power and darkness. Hidden beneath Crews' sunny surface lurked depth, gravitas and yes, even darkness but it was a darkness he controlled. He kept it leashed and while he might thrill, exhilarate and excite her, he'd never hurt her and that gave her the confidence to grab him by the arm and spin him to face her.
"I'm not afraid of you," she practically purred as she strode up to him and ran her hands lightly but deliberately up the front of his expensive shirt. His brows arched as sounds of people in the garage echoed around them - car doors, car alarms, voices and the ring of shoes on pavement, but his lips puckered anyway ready to kiss her at the slightest provocation.
"No?" he bent to kiss her. She bit her lip and cast looks about the garage, "But you are afraid of everyone else," he chuckled and withdrew slightly.
"Why aren't you?"
"If you care what they think - you empower them. I won't give people that kind of control over me," he stated flatly. "Not anymore."
She found she wanted him more than her reputation or her self-respect. Moreover she wanted to evidence the kind of strength she saw in him. He seemed lit from within and it was a fire she wanted to stoke and sit beside. In the end, she freed herself from the tentacles of public suppression and dragged him down to her by his tie. He tried desperately not to touch her as she kissed him soundly, but failed.
Their kiss became important not for what it was, but for what it wasn't.
It wasn't private, it wasn't secret, and it wasn't hidden. It was captured on closed circuit television attracting enough attention in dispatch that a crowd gathered around the monitors. Captain Tidwell kept his features schooled as other officers chuckled and ribbed each other. He watched his ex-lover and her partner on the tiny, grainy black and white six-inch screen and realized it was never about sunglasses at all.
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