This has been on my computer forever. I think I never published it because I was going to write some chapter about Kate's favor for Sawyer. But I didn't. Probably won't. FYI, she was supposed to track down Juliet's sister. Not that it really matters for this story. So, anyway, thought I'd just go ahead and put this up since it's just been sitting around waiting.
July 8, 1999
Jim watches the world speed by from the passenger window. His coffee's cooled to where he can take a nice, big slug.
"So, what was her name?" his partner asks.
"Dammit, Ana, it wasn't nothin' like that."
"Mmm hmm. So you look like you pulled an all-nighter, because . . .?"
He rubs his right eye up under his sunglasses. He shifts in his seat, rubs his chin against the walkie clipped to his shoulder. Ana just drives on in silence. Finally, he answers her, "Remember that chick who came in a last week? Going through the nasty divorce? Needed a protective order on the ex?"
"Vaguely," Ana says dismissively. Yeah. Paperwork. Neither of them like it very much, but Ana is particularly disdainful.
"Well, anyway, I guess the ex has been creepin' around. Lady can't prove it or nothin', but she was scared to be home alone, and . . ."
"So you slept with her? Figures."
"Nah. I told ya. Nothin' like that. I just parked my car in front of her house and watched out."
"On your own time?"
Jim simply nods.
"What the fuck is wrong with you, Ford?"
"Nothing's wrong with me. I just . . . I don't know . . . felt I owed it to her or somethin'."
Ana harrumphs. He can't expect her to understand. This Phillips woman, though. He . . . yeah. Just felt like he needed to watch out for her. Can't explain it to Ana. Just weird sometimes, you meet someone and just feel . . . well, who knows what.
"So you gonna stake out her house until what? Husband dies or something?"
"No. No. She's movin' to Albuquerque. Besides some friend of hers is comin' in today and staying with her for the next week or so till she moves."
"You know an awful lot about someone you aren't sleeping with."
"I . ." He glances over at her, can't see her behind her reflective shades. No, he can't even begin to explain.
She says, "Now I got to deal with the consequences. Partner who's gonna be too tired to count on."
"Hell, Ana. Like it's so fucking dangerous what we've got on the agenda today."
"Never know, Ford, never know."
Their assignment today? They get this one once a month at least. Safety Lecture.
They're on their way to some day camp. Kids off for the summer learning to swim and make lanyards and do whatever shit it is that normal kids do. He and Ana ride up in their black and white, talk all about safety. What to do if you get lost. Who knows their mom and dad's work numbers. 911. Stranger danger, blah blah blah blah blah.
Funny thing is, Ana's actually really good at this shit. Kids love her, and even if she's still all uptight and curt like normal, she somehow always connects with the kids. Jim teased her once, "What, Ana? You had a kid in another life or somethin'?"
She looked at him funny when he asked that. Then she looked confused. "I . . . I . . . I don't know," she said in a quiet voice so unlike her it made Jim feel he'd somehow stepped onto some very shaky ground. He dropped it.
So, today, like every time they do the kiddie patrol, Ana's giving her spiel in front of a herd of eight year olds "Now, who knows their address?," she asks, managing to sound hardass and kid friendly all at once. About five kids stick their hands high in the air, some waving them around.
Jim waits back at the car. The kids get to come in, one at a time, and sit with him in the car. Same old, same old. Always the same. "Can I turn on the lights?" "Can I turn on the siren?" "Have you ever shot someone?" "How many bad guys have you arrested?" "Can I see your handcuffs?" Always the same. Today no different.
Kid number six. "Can I turn on the siren?" he asks.
"Sure, kid, sure. Right here." Jim shows him the switch.
He flips it, on goes the siren. "Cool!" Kid Six says. Jim waits. Next question will be about the lights, probably. The kid says, "That sounds like a D sharp and a G, I think."
The hell? Jim turns to look at Kid Six, and just about falls into the boy's eyes. "What?" Jim gasps. Not cause he gives a shit about what note his siren is. Fuck that. He just can't think right with that kid looking at him with those eyes. Tunnel vision, staring into the abyss. Prettiest eyes he's ever seen. Who the fuck are you, kid?
"Your siren. I think it rings in a D sharp and a G. Maybe." The boy leans his head back and closes his eyes. Whatever weird electricity Jim felt fades away immediately. He rubs his sweaty palms on his uniform pants. The kid starts nodding, opens his eyes again. And bzzzzzzzz . . . is it just Jim, or is it buzzing in here?
The little girl waiting next in line starts whining. Kid Six turns to go. Wait, no. . . I . . . Can't I just stare at you for a few more minutes? Forever?
What the fucking fuck is wrong with him? This is a little boy he can't stop staring at. Jim feels sick. He ain't that way. He ain't some kind of sick fuck.
Whiny little girl gets in next. "My daddy is a lawyer, and he says cops are always bending the rules." Fuck you, kid. Bring back the boy with the blue eyes.
Jim goes through the motions with the rest of the kids. He finishes, but Ana's got more of her Safety First! Blah dee blah dee blah to get through. That's how it always works out: she finishes up while Jim writes the kids' names on their "Junior LAPD Deputy" certificates.
The counselor hands him a list of names. She's kind of hot, he thinks. Yeah. Yes, yes, she IS hot, and that wacky fucking thing with the boy? Just, yeah. Yeah. Counselor is hot. He winks at her when she hands over the list.
Still, though, as he pens their names on the certificates, he wonders who the boy is. He scratches in the girls' names. Emily F. and Michelle and Susan and Emily G. and Courtney and who the fuck cares? The boys' names, though . . . he writes them in, wondering who . . . Mark or Chris or David S. or Wesley or David E.
Maybe hot counselor chick will hand out the certificates to the kids, and he can find out. No such luck. Ana wraps up. Back to the car. Jim turns around, hands his card to the counselor. "So, if you. . . uh… need more certificates or whatever, feel free to give me a call anytime." He looks at her real intense, smiles real hard.
She gets the message. "Of course, Officer. And, maybe I could give you my number? You know . . . just in case."
From the squad car, Ana watches with scorn. She gives him shit on the drive back to the precinct. "Such a slut, Jim, such a slut."
He's gonna try and explain. See how far it goes. "You ever meet someone, and even if you don't know 'em at all, just . . . I don't know . . . get a sense of how you want things to be with them?" Like that Phillips woman whose house he babysat last night. Ana's looking at him with her lip curled up. "Or, like, you meet someone, and right away you know you're gonna be friends or somethin'."
He shouldn't have even bothered. There's no explaining this.
"Sure," Ana remarks. "First time I met you, I got this sense I was supposed to pistol whip you."
Yeah, why the fuck did he bother? "I was actually being serious, Ana."
She keeps her eyes on the road, but shifts her grip on the steering wheel. When she does glance over at him, she says, "Yeah. Weird thing is, I kind of was, too."
Maybe she's not messing with him, maybe she is. He goes ahead and says it anyway. "So, there was this kid, and I don't know . . . I just felt something …"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down, partner. This is about an eight year old girl? Are you out of your mind?"
"It was a boy, actually."
"Ford, that's worse. So much worse."
He waves her off. "No, no, no . .. I mean, I just got this sense. Like, I think maybe I'm supposed to go out with his teacher or something. I know it sounds weird. But . . . I really felt it. Like. . ." OK, he rolls his eyes. "Meant to be or something."
Ana guffaws. "Meant to be. Meant to fucking be. You need more sleep, Ford. That's what you need." Then, "Going out with us tonight? Big Mike's birthday celebration."
"Nah, got plans already."
"With the camp counselor of destiny?"
"Nah."
Plans to sit home and drink himself into a stupor. Read over his Sawyer case file till he passes out.
TWO WEEKS LATER
They're three hours into a stakeout. Waiting for some suspect to appear at his mom's house. Waiting, waiting, waiting.
"So, how're things going with the camp counselor?" Ana asks.
Jim huffs. "Yeah, that didn't work out."
"Well, I'm just shocked," Ana snarks. "I thought she was your destiny," words dripping sarcasm. "What was it you said? 'Meant to be?' Man, so surprised that didn't work out how you planned."
Jim waves his hand dismissively. Keeps on staring at the perp's mom's door.
Yeah, he called her. Yeah, they went out. Yeah, he screwed her. Just, he guesses he was wrong about that destiny bullshit. She was hot and fun, but . . . She was supposed to have read his favorite books, but she hadn't even heard of some of them. Then she got all weirded out about his service weapon. She wasn't supposed to be afraid of guns. And she was supposed to be taller.
The kid with the eyes? Chalk it up to what happens when you haven't slept in more than twenty four hours.
