The next day, I went upstate. I didn't tell anyone where I was going, because I didn't want to face the questions, and I didn't want to deal with them, either. So I went, informing Goren and Eames and Carver, who was there as well, that I'd be gone for the rest of the day, even though it didn't take that long to get to where I was going.
Frank looked different when I saw him, not that I'd particularly expected him to look the same. I was halfway tempted to comment that orange wasn't really his color, the way one of the others might have, but I didn't, and he sat, and stared at me for a long moment before saying something about true friends. I fought the desire to roll my eyes at him.
"You put yourself in here."
And he had, too, and it figured that he'd do something about it, because somewhere along the line, things had changed.
"…took me down, you shook a lot of good cops. Made it harder for them to stick their necks out. Thought you could get some uniform to take the fall for you…" He leaned forward, and went on. "You really think you're worth that, Jimmy?"
I didn't know how to answer him, other than any number of sarcastic comments that had suddenly materialized in the back of my mind, so I stared back at him for a long moment, and then shook my head.
"I hardly think that's up for me to determine," I told him. "I'd be inclined to say that saving my own career isn't worth watching someone else lose theirs. Can't say the same for you."
"Why'd you bother coming up here, then?"
It was a good question. I didn't know. Maybe it was because I'd wanted a way to make myself believe that it was actually real, that he was behind glass, and technically speaking, I wasn't. Or maybe it was to prove something, though whatever that something was, I didn't know.
"You're not exactly in a position to ask why I do what I do. Maybe before, but not now." It felt almost strange now, knowing that once, in years long past, I'd actually looked up to him, and now…well, now, I wasn't looking down, but I wasn't looking up, either. It was somewhere in between.
"You wouldn't have come if you didn't have a reason."
"Maybe I just came to see you as you are now. Ever think that might be a reason?" Sarcasm had made its way into my voice, and now that it was there, it didn't want to leave. "Never figured you to be one so easily influenced by others. Guess I was wrong."
"You're the one who's been bending over and taking it from the brass. Not me. Let's not go there."
"I haven't taken anything from anyone, and I'm sure as hell not going to take it from you. You should've thought about what you were doing."
"Could say the same for you."
"I haven't done anything, and you know I haven't. What is it that made you want to do this, anyway? The fact that you went and screwed yourself over, and now you're looking for someone to fall with you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course not."
And it figured, that he'd sit there and deny knowing anything, even when he knew damn well that he was behind it. It figured that he'd look me in the eye, and lie, because it's what he'd done before.
"Was it worth it?" I asked, finally. "Walking out on everything, and everyone, for a one-night stand? I don't give a damn whether or not it was more than that, either, so let's not get technical. Twenty-three years, Frank. Twenty-three. Gone. Just like that. Was it worth it?"
Silence. Finally, he was thinking about something other than himself; I could tell by looking at him. I found it pathetic that it had taken until now for him to really consider everything he'd done and where it had led to, but apparently, now, it was happening.
"If I told you it was?" he said finally. I snorted.
"I'd call you a liar. Put on whatever façade you want, I still know you better than you think I do. You didn't want to lose her, and don't think I believe for one minute that you did."
"Things change."
"They don't change that much. Hell, Frank, if you really wanted out of your marriage, you could've just filed for divorce, but no."
"Don't sit here and lecture me, like you're so damn perfect."
"I never said I was. In fact, I'd be the first to tell you I'm not, and I'm not going to pretend to be. If you wanted a change, you could've damn well gone the right way about making one."
"There are plenty of things that are going to change. You might not see it yet, but you will, and when you do, you're not going to like it."
"The department's already told me as much. They, on the other hand, are a lot more diplomatic about it than you are."
"This isn't a game. This isn't just something you can talk your way out of, because it doesn't work like that. Not this time."
"Yeah, and you'd know, wouldn't you? You know, sooner or later, every lie you've ever told is going to come back to haunt you, and then what?" Suddenly I was in no mood to talk, but I wasn't in the mood to move, either. So I remained where I was, and went on. "Tell me something, Frank, does it hurt when you look in the mirror at yourself?"
"Why the hell would it hurt?"
And not for the first time, I wondered who this person was, and what the hell had happened to the partner I'd known all those years ago. Once upon a time, this would have been the last place on earth we'd have ever thought we'd find ourselves. A conversation like this might've been held outside, in a squad room, in an office…at one of our homes. I shook my head at him before answering.
"I don't know. You tell me."
But no reply came. The only thing I could hear through the receiver I held was breathing, and it was strange, because whether it was his or mine, I couldn't tell, and it almost scared me. One squad, one heartbeat, I thought, and found myself thinking back again on earlier years.
An answer brought me back to the present. "You know, you never think one mistake is going to ruin your whole life, and then it does, and suddenly, you look in the mirror, and you don't know who you are anymore. That's what hurts."
"It's a miracle," I said dryly, "You still have a conscience. Maybe even a soul, or am I assuming too much?"
Frank ignored me. "You didn't think it could all come crashing down on you, did you?"
"It's not crashing on anyone. My detective did nothing wrong. I'm not going to let him take the fall for something he didn't do, the same way I'm not going to let the department make it look like I've done something I haven't."
"So what are you going to do, then?"
As if he really cared. I was half-tempted to think that maybe he did, that maybe what I was saying was getting through to him, but at the same time, I doubted it, and I hated that I doubted it.
"I don't know yet," I said. "But then, I doubt you knew what was going to happen on your end, either."
There was silence, again. And unlike before, where I might've lingered for a moment or two, waiting for an answer, I rose to my feet and left, before he could say a word.