A/N: I am not a professional writer and have never claimed to be. All standard disclaimers apply. Constructive criticism is welcome, flames are not. No likee no readee.
All vitriolic guest reviews will be deleted before anyone other than myself is subjected to them. All vitriolic member reviews will also be tended to appropriately. Given these works are put out there for fun, I don't intend to let anyone rain on someone else's parade. If you should decide you don't like what you see, feel free to close this story and go find something else more to your taste.
Garden variety guest reviews will be approved.
Thanks for reading.
Standard disclaimers apply: Not for profit - no copyright infringement intended.
~ rittenden (AKA 'the special snowflake')
The early morning sunlight crept its way down the roof, starting at the ridge and slowly seeping from shingle to shingle. It moved over hips and valleys as though caressing them, easing past the eaves and sliding down the siding. Windows winked under its gentle contact. Colors began to appear as though unfurled, the many grey hues of first light disappearing under the sun's tender care.
The moment of daybreak brings an unnatural hush to the world, as though everything alive held its breath in anticipation of the sun's glorious arrival. Soon the sound would return, the birds begin their song, the murmur of life set in motion.
Only one stood in audience to this performance, frozen in place as though mesmerized by the sun's grand entrance. To the observer he would appear immobilized by the spectacle. Only those closest to him would recognize the grim set to his chiselled jaw, the tension that held him upright and the darkness that yielded no answering sparkle to the sun's bright call.
As the early-morning crispness was replaced by growing warmth, the man stirred, relaxing clenched fingers and drawing deeply of the suburban air, as-yet untainted by smog. He glanced down at the mug perched on the railing in front of him, frowning as he realized the contents had grown cold.
He shuddered reflexively, rubbing his arms to ward off the chill that went deeper than early morning dew. Checking his watch, he calculated that he had plenty of time for a shower before getting dressed and heading in to work.
The light-bronzed patio doors slid open with a whisper and he turned, his frown fading at the sight of the woman stepping out onto the deck, each hand carrying a fresh mug of coffee. He reached to take one from her and then drew her close with his free hand.
"Good morning," he said quietly, kissing her dark curls. "Did I wake you?"
"Only by not being there." She looked up into shadowed eyes. "What's wrong, Jim? I thought you said he was going to be fine."
He nodded once, sipping from the mug. "He will be, in time."
"Then what is it?"
Instead of answering, he pulled her closer and watched as the sun rose higher in the sky. When he remained silent she pressed "Jim?"
Another moment passed. "Sometimes I don't think I'm a very good person, Jean," he admitted finally, his breath barely above a murmur. "I like to think that I am - mostly - but then every once in a while..."
She waited a beat and then asked "Why would you think that?"
He shrugged. "I just do." When she didn't reply he went on. "Sometimes the thoughts that run through my head aren't very... nice," he finished lamely.
"Like what?"
He didn't respond, once again lost in contemplation. He looked down when he felt her shiver. "It's chilly this morning," he said instead. "Let's go inside." With one last glance at the sunrise, he turned and steered her toward the doors, pausing once to grab the cold cup on the railing.
She let herself be guided into the house, knowing that he wouldn't speak again until he was sure she was more comfortable. Instead of heading to the stove to start breakfast, she pulled out a chair at the table and lowered herself into it.
Taking his cue, Jim pulled out another chair and sat. He glanced at her under lowered lashes as he drank more of his coffee, stalling. When her gaze didn't waver, he sighed and set the cup down. "It's nothing, Jean. Forget it."
"It's not 'nothing' if it keeps you up thinking about it," she countered. "Talk to me."
He rubbed his eyes. "It's just... Sometimes I get these thoughts... Selfish thoughts. Ones I'm not proud of. I can't control it - can't stop it. One minute I'm the good guy and then something... dark... creeps into my head."
Jean's sapphire gaze softened. Reaching out to place her hand on his arm, she said "You're not a bad person, Jim. Everyone deals with thoughts like that."
"I don't think so."
"It's not what you think that matters, Jim," she gently insisted. "It's what you do with those thoughts that's important."
His eyes rose reluctantly. "You wouldn't say that if you knew what I was thinking."
She blinked in surprise. "Are you thinking of cheating on me? Of leaving me and Jimmy?" He shook his head. "Well, what's got you so wound up then?" She paused. "Are those thoughts... criminal?" she asked softly.
"No!"
"Well then?"
He rose abruptly, striding over to stand at the patio doors, his gaze once again on the brightening landscape. Jean waited. After a moment Jim sighed, slid his hands into his pockets and dropped his head, shoulders slumped. "Do you know what I was thinking last night after they took Pete into the hospital?" he asked in a low tone. Without waiting for a response he went on "I was thinking 'I won't have to get another partner'." He looked over his shoulder, gauging her reaction. When there was none, he spat "Don't you get it, Jean? Pete almost died - my best friend almost died - and all I could think about was how I wouldn't have to deal with a rookie!"
"Jim..." She worried her bottom lip between delicate teeth as she sought the best way to deal with his turmoil. "When Sergeant MacDonald told you to take a break from the search, what did you do?"
"I told him I wanted to keep going."
"Why?"
He shook his head. "Pete was out there, hurt. He needed as many people looking for him as we could spare."
"But you didn't know that."
"I knew," Jim said immediately. "I could feel it."
Nodding, she went on "And when you went against orders and drove into the park, what were you thinking then?"
His head came up, remembering. "He was still out there - he had to be. His last transmission said he was heading that way."
"But he could've driven out of the park. You said the radio wasn't working and he was driving fast. By the time you got there he could've been long gone," she insisted.
"He wasn't."
"He could've been."
"No." Jim was adamant. "He was there."
She tilted her head to one side. "You couldn't have known that."
"I did."
Giving him the point, Jean asked "What happened when you finally found him?"
Jim shuddered. "He... he was lying on the ground. I thought... I thought maybe I was too late." He turned to her with a wry smile. "For a second I thought my heart quit."
"And when you found out he was still alive?"
"I could breathe again," he admitted, turning back to the glass. "I was so relieved."
"Because you didn't have to get a new partner," Jean added with a nod.
"No!" He whirled from the doors, his hands coming out of his pockets and slamming down on the table top. Jean didn't flinch. "Because my partner was alive! How could you say-"
She watched as the fury in his eyes gave way to slow realization. As he slumped into his chair, she caressed his cheek. "Jim... If there's one thing I've noticed - one thing I've come to understand - it's that you, Pete, Ed Wells... all of you cope with stress by being calm, cool and deliberate... But when it's over, you all deal with the fallout with black humour."
"So you think that's all this is?" he asked quietly. "Some twisted way to blow off steam?"
Choosing her words carefully, she shook her head. "I have no doubt that when you see something particularly disturbing - or when you have to deal with someone who's truly evil - that you have the occasional nasty thought about what you'd really like to do," she said. "But Jim..." She sighed and stroked his cheek again. "That doesn't make you a bad person, honey. Everyone has thoughts like that."
He shot her a look of disbelief, picking up the forgotten coffee. He grimaced at the cold brew. "Not everyone," he insisted.
She dropped her hand to his arm and squeezed. "Yes, baby. Everyone." When his gaze came up she held it firmly, willing him to read her conviction. "Everyone," she repeated.
After a long moment he nodded and then checked his watch. "I have to have a shower," he said with a note of regret.
"I'll get breakfast started and get you a fresh coffee," she replied, pushing back from the table.
He climbed to his feet as well, pausing long enough to give her a quick hug. "I'll be out in a minute."
As she headed for the stove, Jean smiled at the straighter posture and purposeful stride that carried her husband down the hall to the bedroom. He believed in her words. He believed in her - and what was more, he was beginning to believe in himself.