I do not own Midsomer Murders; I only own the characters I made up.
The Night of Jerry's Return
Jerry's POV
The back yard is smaller than I remember. I remember it being extremely green, but not small. The shed tucked in the upper right corner makes it appear smaller, too. Speaking of the shed...it needs to be painted. I squint at it in the dimness of the patio light and cock my head. Yes, it most definitely needs to be painted. I notice these things because I simply have nothing else to do. I've eaten as much as I possibly can, during both lunch and dinner, I've been climbed upon, hugged to mush and talked to much by my three siblings, my vedo games no longer catch my interest and I'm simply too tired to drive my little black car, of which dad has kept in top condition while I've been away. Now I just sit, shirtless, on the back patio, staring at the stars, the shed, and anything else my eyes come across.
"Aren't you cold, Jerry?" Mum asks, pulling a jacket tight around her small frame as she steps out onto the patio. She hands me a green bottle, and takes a seat in the next available lawn chair. "It's quite nippy out here; how can you stand be shirtless?"
I smile tiredly, partially because I realize she's handed me a bottle of beer, and nod. "This is nothing compared to where I've been...it feels great." The fizzy liquid burns my throat, warming me all the way to my stomach. I haven't had alcohol in a while, and the first taste is a bit of a shock before it actually becomes enjoyable. I lean back and close my eyes as my body becomes warmer with each sip.
Mum watches me with mild interest, taking in my battle scars and still bandage-covered wounds. I can tell they pain her, but she doesn't voice it. She simply scoots closer, and places her head gently onto my shoulder. My only form of acknowledgement is to put my arm around her, allowing her to instead rest her head on my scarred, shaven chest.
"We worried about you...your dad and I." She murmurs.
I take another swallow of beer, then set the bottle down on the small wire-framed table in front of us. "I worried about the two of you, honestly." I smile gently, meeting her eyes. "I didn't know how the two of you would respond to the letter about my honorable discharge."
"We panicked, at first." She says somberly, "Then there were the tears. Mike did very well with it, to be honest; I was the one that did most of the crying. He did get upset," She says quickly, "But, he did all of his crying away from me...and your brother and sisters. We'd never see him get upset...but we could tell he'd had a good cry whenever he walked into the room. He looked so drained for a while, so...I don't know. We didn't get much sleep, to put it one way. April drove down from medical school as soon as she got our news. None of us knew how badly you were hurt...we only knew that the letter said you were badly wounded, and that you would be returning home as soon as you were well enough to make the long flight back."
I take her words in with a few nods, as though I'm silently saying yes to a question. "I figured as much." I say in a near whisper, "I'm sorry you went through that. I tried to get through to you...but because of the constant enemy fire near the hospital, our phone and Internet lines were down quite a lot. I wanted to send you a letter, but I figured it wouldn't have gotten here until around the time you picked me up from the airport."
Mum raises her head a little, and gives me a feeble smile. "Don't...Don't you dare apologize to me. There was nothing you could do, no way to get word to us. What's important is that you're here, alive."
I return her smile, and lean back again. "It's great to be back home...you've no idea."
"Jerry?"
"Hmm?" I hum, my eyes now closed.
"Jerry...may I look at your scars?"
I smirk, and sit up as my eyes open again. "I knew you were going to ask me that question very soon."
She looks at me innocently. "I'm a doctor...I'm supposed to be curious about battle scars. Sorry." She smiles.
"No, no, it's fine; there's nothing else to do, really; go ahead."
She only nods as I stand up, taking interest already in the ruined field of skin. One particular scar catches her interest quickly, one that stretches jaggedly between my nipples, angled oddly so that it looks like a diagonal slash. It starts from just above my heart, and fades out on top of the right side of my ribs. Mum shudders at being able to see it clearly, instead of from the angle she'd first seen it at.
"Touch it." I say gently. "It doesn't bother me much anymore...it's almost healed."
She reaches out slowly, brushing it first with her fingertips before following it down my torso. Another wound catches her interest mid-way of my ribs and hip, a mutilated-looking triangle indented in my side. She touches it, too, and shakes her head. "They did a terrible job patching this one up. Wh-...What happened?"
"Shrapnel." I murmur. "From...From the accident that had me discharged."
Mum pauses and flicks her gaze to mine. "I'm sorry." She says softly, "I didn't realize-"
"It's okay." I smile. "I need to deal with it sometime."
"War memories aren't easy to deal with." She comforts. "I'll stop."
"No," I say, motioning to a bandaged area on my right thigh, "There's quite a few shrapnel wounds that I want you to look at under there. I think the surgeons did a horrid job patching them up; they're still quite tender, even after two weeks in hospital."
Mum smiles and nods, noticeably glad that I'm being so patient and forgiving. She leads me into the house and to the loo, where she motions to the toilet. "Have a seat."
I quirk a brow at her. "Really, Mum? Have a seat? That's the best you could come up with?"
She snickers as she pulls the tackle-box-looking medical kit from beneath the lavatory. "What? All I said was have a seat. I didn't mean it had to be on the toilet."
"Sure, sure." I put the lid down and pull my shorts leg up a bit more, stretching my right leg out so that my heal rests on the edge of the bath tub. "It's not too bad," I say as she starts pulling the bandages away, "But I think a better job could've been done."
Mum pulls the last of the bandages away and frowns. "These people passed medical school?"
I smile. "Well...they did their best."
"They used thread to stitch you up."
"They ran out of supplies."
"Thread." She says distastefully. "That's old fashioned. This isn't the eighteenth century, you know."
"I know." I say somberly. "But keep in mind that they did save my life, messy job or not."
"Yeah," She sighs, " I know. But you probably still have some shrapnel in there." She says quickly, her brows furrowing again in annoyance, "I want you to come to my office tomorrow after closing hours; I'll do an x-ray, and if needed, we'll under go surgery. My treat." She smiles.
I roll my eyes. "Joy, joy...more surgery."
"I can guarantee it." She sighs again, patting my knee. "See all this swelling, here? That's not from your prior surgery, or swelling; there's still something under the skin, burrowed into the muscles. There's already infection, and it's just going to get worse if we don't get it out soon. You could lose your leg over this, Jerry."
"You can tell all of that by looking at my skin?" My brows arch.
"They train you to look for that sort of stuff when you're in med school." She grabs a roll of gauze and bandages. "Want me to cover it up?"
"Yea." I say quietly, "I don't think the siblings should see this until it's healed."
She just nods, and gets to work. "So...Eliza...She seems very nice."
"Yeah," I smile, "That she is."
"How long have you been...'dating' her?"
"Well," I shift my weight, "We've known each other for the five years we were in the service. We didn't really start taking interest until about a year ago. Why?"
"No reason. She seemed a bit...timid."
"She was blown up." I say with a wince, "It's a miracle she made it out with all four limbs."
Again, mum just nods. "When are you going to see her again?"
I shrug. "I dunno. This weekend, most likely. She wants to discuss wedding plans."
Mum looks up at me from beneath her brows, not moving her head with the glance. "Oh."
I quirk my brows. "What?"
She hesitates, deciding to cut the bandage and pin the end down before answering. "She's awfully wounded, Jerry." Her voice is soft, gentle s though she's breaking bad news to me. "It's a wonder she's made it this far."
I swallow hard, and decide to look at the white linolium of the floor tiles. "I know."
Mum's hand rubs soothing circles atop the bandages. "Are you sure you want to go through with marriage...knowing she may not make it?"
I nod slowly, and look back to her. "I love her...I love her despite her handicap. I promised I would marry her. Besides...it's 'till death do we part. I want nothing more than to make her happy...before...before..." Silence. I can't say anymore.
Mum smiles sympathetically, a gentle, proud smile, and pats my leg. "I'm proud of you. You're a good man, Jerry."
I return her smile, slowly, and nod. "Yeah...I hope so."
Ben's Final Day Off
Jess's POV
Yesterday still weighs heavily on my mind as I ring the doorbell to the Barnaby residence. It's not every day (thank God!) that I wake up with the entire bed to myself, with no hint of Ben, his nightclothes, or the smell of his cologne anywhere in the room. I found him asleep on the couch this morning, one of his toes mysteriously purple and black(I found it was broken upon further examination). Images of my kissing him on the forehead before leaving flash vividly through my mind as someone opens the door.
"Hello, Jess!" Mrs. Barnaby says in a cheerful voice, beckoning me in with a grin.
"I'm sorry to be a bother-"
"Not at all." She assures. "Tom's in the living room, waiting for you."
Mr. Barnaby is sitting on the couch, dressed simply in a white-collared shirt, covered by a dark-blue sweater, and a pair of simple slacks and leather shoes, watching tellie. He flips it off upon seeing me enter the room, and smiles. "Hello, Jess. There was something you wished to speak to me about?" He says, sitting up straighter as I take the chair diagonally left of him.
"Yes, Sir. I really appreciate this, Mr. Barnaby...I've needed to get this cleared for a while." I say, pulling out that dreaded sheet of thick, cream-colored paper.
Barnaby puts on his glasses, looking fondly at it. "It's nothing. What's the problem?"
"What do you make of this? Do you think it's something to worry about?"
He reviews the paper for a moment, then shakes his head. "Ah. Jones showed me this. No, I don't think it's anything to worry about. Not that you shouldn't be concerned, but I wouldn't get upset over it."
I shake my head, and put the letter back in my purse; my taffy-colored leather purse, to be exact.
"Is there a problem?" Barnaby asks, his tone a little softer.
"Ben." I say after a moment. "He's...he's not being himself; hasn't been since he got this stupid letter."
Barnaby just smiles, and nods. "He's just a bit nervous about the court case, I'd guess. Surely you can calm him?"
I shake my head slowly. "No, Mr. Barnaby. No one's been able to convince him that he's got nothing to worry about. He's not eating, he's losing sleep, he's..." I close my eyes briefly, pinching the bridge of my nose before looking at him again. "He's losing his temper. He shouted at me, Mr. Barnaby. He never shouts at me. Something is very wrong with him...and no one knows what to do!" I allow my head to fall into my hands, fighting the tears stinging my eyes.
"You say this started when he got the letter?" Barnaby's voice is soft now, gentle, almost, realizing finally how upset I am.
"Yes." I whisper. "His moods and attitude have been building up ever since; he finally let it all out on me last night. He was trying to finish up a case with his notes and such, and I'm afraid I disturbed him. He became very angry and began shouting. I think he even kicked something after I left the room."
Barnaby sits up a little straighter, furrowing his brows. "He kicked something?"
"Yeah, I think so. I noticed this morning that one of his toes was purple; I'm sorry to say it's broken."
Barnaby slouches again, looking to something a little off to the side. "He br-...This is serious." His tone sounds perplexed as he takes his glasses off.
"Yes, it is." I say softly, "And I would like for you to speak to him, you and me, sometime very soon. Someone needs to calm him down, and I'm afraid I'm going to need help...I don't think he'd want anyone but you and me doing this for him."
"Right." He says, his tone still puzzled. "Yes. How does tomorrow sound? After work? If he can walk, that is."
I nod, a thankful smile coming to my lips. "Yes, yes, Mr. Barnaby! Yes, that would be wonderful."
Barnaby smiles as well, but I can tell that he's still unsettled.
The Same Day
Ben's POV
The couch is not a comfortable thing to sleep on. Certainly, comfortable to sit, or lay on, but not to sleep on. I wake up with a sore back, the first thing I take note of when my eyes open for the first time of the day. The sun shines brightly in my eyes, telling me I've slept more into the day than usual. I sit up, jerking my right foot up with a sharp intake of breath. My right middle toe is hurting like never before, and to my horror, it's turned black, with little bits of purple.
"It's broken." A calm voice says from behind me.
I turn around with a start, finding Blake leaning against the kitchen bar, sipping a cup of coffee.
"Broken?" I murmur.
"Yup." She says, quirking a brow at me. "When one gets angry, you know, one shouldn't kick something; it never helps."
"How do you know I broke it when I was angry?" I ask. "Maybe I stumbled."
"That must've been one hell of a stumble, then." She says sarcastically, taking another sip of coffee. "Besides...the whole neighborhood knew you were angry last night." She says softly.
I look down, ashamed. "You heard everything, then."
"Indeed."
My gaze snaps to Blake's again upon hearing the coldness in it. What's set her off? Surely after everything she heard...she'd understand? Or at least...partially understand what I'm going through. "I'm sorry you had to hear that." I murmur.
"I'm sorry Toby had to hear that." She says, her tone still frosty.
Toby. Oh, God. I'd forgotten... I must have scared him. He must not want to get anywhere near his Uncle Ben now. Oh... "I'm so sorry." I whisper, turning back around, putting my head in my hands. How could I have screwed up so badly?
"I forgive you, Ben." Her voice is closer. The couch shifts, and I can clearly hear her sipping her coffee, right next to me. "But, it's not me that you should be apologizing to."
I look up at her, pleading. "What do I do?"
For a few moments her gaze is still frosty, drinking in my eyes, my voice, then...she offers me the coffee she's been drinking from. "You need this more than I do. Yes, take it; the caffeine will help."
I take a few sips, but I'm not that thirsty; I'm still too upset. I put the mug down, and look at her again, allowing her to look openly at my face, hiding nothing from her. "What do I do?" I plead, "How do I fix this?"
She remains quiet. A million thoughts are running through her mind, I can tell, I can hear the gears turning ever so smoothly in her head, but she says nothing. I begin to give up hope on recieving her help. I've screwed up so badly that even my own daughter, the child I raised for that too-brief time period, doesn't want to help me. I look down again, sighing.
"Ben," Her tone isn't frosty this time, it's gentle...along with her hand placed so lightly on my forearm. "Ben, if you're going to fight someone, don't fight your family. What we need to be doing is building up for the case, gathering any evidence we can to aid you. We need to gather all the allies we can...and I can tell you, Ben, your most important ally is going to be your wife. The first thing you need to do...is make up with your wife, Ben."
Another cool hand cups my chin, forcing me gently to look up into those familiar blue eyes. "How do you know all this?" She's an adult now, I can tell, but every time I look into those eyes...I can't help but see that frightened child that I first brought into my home...years ago.
"I just know." She says gently. "I just know...that if I was defending myself in court, I would want my family there for every moment. It would be very difficult for me if I didn't know that I had my son's full support, or yours, or Jess's. You won't be able to defend yourself properly if you're still heartbroken in court."
"But," I whisper, "I hurt her-"
"She'll forgive you." Though she's whispering, there's a passion in her voice...a passion that makes me feel loads better. "She loves you, Ben; she'll forgive you. You asked me what you should do. First things first, make up with your wife. Next, gather your wits, evidence, and allies. I told you, I've got your back. If they go after you, they'll have to go after me, too; we're in this together."
I hug her. Without warning or notion, I put my arms around her waist, and lean down in a silent form of thank you.
Blake cradles my head in her arms, on her chest, placing lingering, distanced kisses in my hair. "We're in this together." She whispers. "Together."
Once again, I hope this was not rubbish. Please review. Though I am very greatful for the reviews I've been getting(and I am VERY greatful for them), the lack of them is getting very discouraging. I know you're out there, I know you're reading, so please, take two minutes to leave a review. Please? Thank you.
