In a perfect world she would be going out of the bathroom and Declan would be on the couch, reading the paper with his glasses perched on the tip of his nose, she would smile, sit next to him, steal a kiss and the sports page and would tell him that they were going to have a baby; she would look at him, enjoy his reaction, see the joy in his eyes as realization set in that he was going to be a father. In a perfect world he would kiss her, cupping her face in his hands and she would feel safe.
Amanda had to sit on the lid of her bathtub when she realized that in her fantasy world Declan was there, they were together – and God!, she thought with a snort, could she be more pathetic?
She was over thirty, single, she was addicted to gambling and the only reason she was clean was because the whole thing with Declan and the undercover job had been one hell of a wake up call. Walking the walk was difficult, she still needed to go to meetings every other day, and she also had about a million of issues, including the fact that she was pregnant with a child whose father she hadn't seen for months. And it got even better: she had no idea about Declan's whereabouts. She didn't even know if he was alright.
Oh God, he had to be alright! He had to!
She took a deep breath, her emotions were all over the place, and she had to get them under control, and do it immediately. Declan was alright. He had been an undercover cop for ten years, she had seen him while u.c. and she knew how good he was.
She nodded her head, wrapping her arms around her middle, her eyes were welling up with tears, but she was on the verge of laughing at the same time. Wasn't it just wonderful?
In a perfect world, he would be there, right next to her, he would tell her that things were going to be fine, that it wasn't something they had planned, but life was often unpredictable that way and they would be alright. Because when they were together there was nothing they couldn't do. And she would believe him - because she trusted him.
He wasn't there, though. The last time she had seen him they hadn't even talked. Not really; they had just – stared at each other.
It was supposed to be just sex, because what else could it be? He couldn't stay, he had a job to do, an important one, and she was just starting to get her life back together, she was starting to forgive herself, to stop blaming herself for what had happened with Patton –
But it had stopped being about sex very soon – possibly even before they had actually madelove.
And Amanda chose the ignore the wording of her thoughts. Whatever they had had – it didn't change the present: Declan was leaving. He was going back to being a trafficker, Johnny D's heir apparent. The sun was going down, and Declan was already dressed.
It hurt. It wasn't supposed to hurt like that, she wasn't supposed to feel like breathing was too difficult and blood was rushing to her head and her eyes were suspiciously stinging, even though they were dry.
She didn't know what to do or say. It wasn't the first time she had had a crazy week end with a man, but it felt different that time, because she did care about Declan, because they had laughed together, and she had loved the sound of their laughter mingling; they had eaten re-heated pizza and he had licked tomato sauce from her lips. They had watched infomercials and talked about things, protected by the darkness of her bedroom.
Declan knew about Charles, not the specifics, but he was good at reading between the lines, he was good at making inferences – and he had. He had kissed her forehead whispering, "We're not all like him."
So true. He was unlike any other man she had ever met.
He had made her feel cherished, protected.
They had made love while a blizzard outside made New York look like a magic landscape: white all over and it had made her feel like the world had narrowed down to just the two of them.
And he was leaving, now.
"So." Declan started, breaking her train of thoughts.
Amanda smiled; Declan looked relaxed, balanced – she knew he was ready to go back to his job, and she knew he would be fine, she could see it in his eyes that he was truly better, and she was happy about it – Declan had saved her, the year before, and if she had helped him in return, if she had helped him seal the cracks that had started to show two nights before, then it was okay.
That wasn't really true, though, was it? She had not helped him because she owed him; she had been there for him because it was Declan - and she cared about him, and the fact that he had gone to her was the most humbling thing that had ever happened to her.
He looked around and smiled when Frannie yawned at him.
"She really likes you." She said, and it was not what she wanted to say. She didn't even know what she meant to tell him. They had not talked about the future – it had been something they both had glossed over…because, seriously, which future? They both had baggage, and Declan had a job to finish.
"It's mutual." Declan said.
He was smiling but, and perhaps it was just wishful thinking on her part, but it sounded like his voice had come out slightly cracked. She took a step toward him, wishing she could go back to Friday night and do it all over again.
Get a grip! She thought, clenching her jaws.
They were grownups, it had been possibly the best week end of her life, and she would always think back about it fondly, but she needed to chin up and stop acting as if she was the heroine of some bodice ripper!
She shortened the distance between them and her smile didn't falter once. Declan was smiling as well.
It wasn't awkward. It was anything but – she didn't close the distance between them, perhaps because she felt that if she did she would hug him, say something stupid and end up making that moment really awkward.
In the end it was Declan who took another step, closing the distance between them and part of Amanda wanted to go and hide in her bedroom, because her heart wasn't supposed to beat so hard and fast in her chest – as if it wanted to burst out of it. She wasn't supposed to feel so much for a man that she wasn't sure she would ever see again.
Later she wouldn't remember who had moved first, she wouldn't remember if it had been Declan who had enveloped her in his arms or it had been the other way around. She would always remember the way she hid her face against the soft wool of his black sweater, how her hands slid under his jacket and sweater to touch his skin one last time.
She would always remember the way Declan held her, as if he didn't want to go, as if he wanted to stay there, with her.
"Please, be safe." She whispered – and her voice came out steady, as if she wasn't hanging onto him, as if she couldn't hear how fast his heart was beating.
"You too, darling." He said.
She giggled against his chest. She still hadn't got used to him using terms of endearment with her. She usually didn't care about them, but Declan had a way to really make them sound endearing.
"I will." She said.
And it was second nature for her to smile when it was the last thing she wanted, so she looked at him and her smile didn't waver.
Declan looked at her for a moment as if he wanted to say something, but he didn't in the end. He brushed her lips with his, and it would take her months, after, to acknowledge that when he kissed her, she came close to ask him to stay. Declan placed a chaste kiss on her forehead, lingering for a moment with his hand on the nape of her neck.
She realized that she was still in his arms, she was still touching his skin, and she needed to let go.
She needed to let him go.
And if Declan had been the one who had closed the distance between them a few minutes before, she was the one who eventually broke contact.
She smiled, and nodded at him, and kept looking at him as he went to the door.
She wished he would turn and looked at her. She wished he opened that door and left ...
She smiled, but it felt like running a marathon - it took her breath away.
She hadn't said a word, of course. And she had lived her life, after. Because unlike her perfect fantasy world where Declan was part of her life, she was alone.
No. She wasn't alone. Not really. Not anymore. She was pregnant - she was going to be a mother.
Amanda was not home. He should have called her as soon as he landed in New York, but Declan had to admit he was not at the peak of his rationality at the moment – which was something he wasn't used to experience; he wouldn't have survived ten years on u.c. if he hadn't learned to keep it together.
Fred's words, though, had been a game changer.
He loved kids and there had been a time where he had wished for a family of his own: a wife, 1.5 kids, a dog – the whole nine yards. Life had had other plans for him: a fortnight undercover had become two months, then six – and before he knew it, his shield had stayed in a drawer of his desk in the squadroom, and he had been assigned to more and more complex investigations.
His marriage had gone to hell and he couldn't really blame Ava for that; he had been a real nightmare to be around back then: too green, too willing to prove himself , still unable to forget the things he saw, still unable to forgive himself for the choices he had to make.
So, no kids. He had his job and he doted on his nephews and nieces and on his grandsons.
He had also come to believe that it was the right thing to do after all – that if he was on his own, he wouldn't have weak spots or pressure points, he wouldn't have to worry about retribution from the scumbags he put away.
The idea of something happening to Amanda and her (their) baby frankly terrified him, and he didn't scare easily.
He needed to see Amanda – he knew he wouldn't calm down and rationalize things until he saw her.
He had willingly refused to enquire about her for the past seven months – because he was 4000 miles away, dealing with monsters every single minute of every single day and she was –
She was his weakness, one he could not afford.
And yet he had got the hell out of dodge as soon as he had heard and maybe after sixteen months spent as Declan Bishop: ruthless pimp and heir of Johnny D. he was tired and he just wanted to go home.
Speaking of home – he had suspected that Amanda wouldn't be home, because he knew her, she would go stir crazy without her job and he was pretty sure Liv was probably going to force her to be on desk duty.
He got in the rental car and headed to the precint, without even seeing his surroundings.
He saw her before he even thought about calling her name. God...She was real! Hehad not allowed himself to think about her, he had done what it needed to be done...but he couldn't exactly control his subconscious, could he? And there had been dreams, hazy images behind his closed lids right before he woke up and had to start yet another day of senseless violence and filth.
She was there, she was breathtaking and she was pregnant.
It all became very real; that sense of unreality he had experienced since Fred had told him was torn apart when he saw Amanda.
She was pregnant...And even if he felt it in his guts that she was carrying his child, he needed to know. He needed to hear it from her.
He needed to...talk to her (touch her), he needed to look at her (drink her in), talk to her (hold her).
"Amanda!" He called her name and he was suddenly very much aware of how he must look like: tired, wearing old jeans and a wrinkled shirt; he felt old and out of place...
...And stupidly happy to see the look of surprise and genuine joy flicker in Amanda's eyes when she looked at him.
"How far along are you?" He asked. Because that was not the time for pleasentaries.
Because he couldn't deal with everything right at that moment. He needed to hear the truth.
"Seven months?"Amanda said, and it was everything. Twowords were spinning the world on its axis.
He was going to be a father.
And if their lives were less of a mess of issues, duty, rules and enemies he would touch her, he would spin her in his arms...because he wanted that baby. He...
He wanted Amanda. It was that simple, really. It was about the only simple thing in his life right at that moment...because their lives were a mess of issues, duty, rules and enemies.
And they were right outside her precint. And she was a pregnant woman with a gambling addiction and a troubled past – and he was her boss, technically. He was – God…he was just so happy to see her, to be so close to her that he could touch her, that he could place a hand on her belly and feel the baby move.
He felt his body craving to move to be close to her, but he resisted the urge – he spoke, he said the words, even if later he wouldn't remember exactly what he told her. He would remember that Amanda asked him how long he would stay – and that he wished his answer was different. He wished he could tell her that he wasn't going anywhere, that he would be with her – that he wanted the baby – and not just because he was a decent man that would never walk away on his own kid.
He couldn't.
What he could do, right there, outside their precint was saying half truths, the things he could actually say out loud.
And if his body strained to get close to her, if he could actually feel his heart in his throat, well…that was just to be expected.
And maybe he was wrong, maybe it was just wishful thinking, maybe those half formed dreams he allowed himself to indulge in right before waking up and spend another day as a sex trafficker, but – when Amanda told him that they would talk, he felt like it was a promise for the future, not about their kid (they were having a child, together…and in the short span of a few hours it had become the most ridicously best shock of his life!), but about them.
So there was only one thing he could do. He had to wait. And prepare.
He was good at that.
The first irrational feeling Amanda felt when she saw Declan Murphy, outside their precint, was relief. It was staggering. She had not allowed herself to dwell on whether he was okay, on whether he was in too deep, or on the dangers he faced every single day.
He was alive, he was fine, he looked tired – but he was suddenly real.
There had been a moment, one she later thought about it, where she wanted him to see that she was pregnant, that she was carrying his child, that they had created a life, together. And when he asked her if the baby was his (and she suspected that he already knew the answer or he wouldn't have left Serbia – for her – to make sure it was) she could only nod.
She had imagined to tell him in million of ways, she had daydreamed about it – which was on top of the most crazy things she had ever experienced.
But…Declan, outside their precinct, calling her name, being – the man she had met and (loved) spent time with, even for a couple of days had been humbling, a surprise – it had sped up her heart so much that she had to take a moment, when she went inside, to calm down, to stop feeling on the verge both of tears and a nervous fit of giggling.
She had missed him. That was the truth, the simple, honest truth. She had missed him, in ways that she hadn't expected.
Her life had gone on, after that week end, she had walked the walk, lived every day, she had tried to make things work with Nick, but – Declan had still been there, and that week end they had spent together had ended up meaning more to her than she had anticipated, even before she found out she was pregnant.
4000 miles away – and he had left everything to see her, to tell her that he would not walk away on them – and she had believed him. God – she had missed knowing that she could trust Declan, that he had her back.
They had agreed that they needed to talk, and Amanda was glad for the situation at work, because she needed time – because part of her wanted everything. She wanted Declan with her, she wanted him in her life on a permanent basis, she wanted him to know his child, to be a father – but also to be…what, exactly? Her boyfriend, her partner?
And part of her, a small, childish, petty part of her wanted to throw it in anyone's face: she wanted her mother to see that she had a good man, a honest, stand up guy – and it didn't even matter the way they had met, how she had slid on her knees between the vee of his thighs and how he had saved her, how he had to ask favors not to let her lose her shield.
She wanted her child to know that its daddy would never abandon them, that he was a good man who risked his life (and his soul at times) to protect innocents, to serve the greater good.
She was in the bathroom, her cheeks flushed, droplets of water trailing down her face and on her wrists when realization hit her.
She was in love with Declan Murphy.
And although the man could not stay, although it was all kind of complicated, she didn't think she had ever been less scared in her life.
"Tonight, 8 p.m. I'll pick you up at your place."
The text Declan sent her made her smile.
"Where are we going?"
She texted back, feeling all of sudden like a teenager and not like a grown up, pregnant woman.
"Let me surprise you."
It was Declan's reply.
"It's all you've ever done since I met you…" She whispered before replying with other words – and if they were filled with innuendos, if she went back with her mind to lips brushing in the dark, to quiet words and laughter while eating in bed – well, she didn't care.
Not really.