"Are you out of your fucking mind?"
Steve's voice was harsh and loud. Too loud. Falacci hushed him, conscious of the kids sleeping upstairs.
"Don't shush me! After an evening of the usual domestic chaos that passes for happy families round here, my wife suddenly announces she has magical powers and you expect me to be quiet?"
Falacci had to admit the timing wasn't perfect. The Junior Craft Club had been cancelled and Steve had to cut short a meeting with an important client to pick up the kids because she was at the crime scene. When she'd arrived home she'd found him trying to referee a dispute between the boys while consoling their youngest who had fallen out with her best friend. Dinner had been burned due to the discovery that the goldfish had died and bedtime had been a strained affair involving much discussion about the afterlife and funeral arrangements.
It had been tempting to just sink back on the sofa with a glass of wine and let the moment pass but there was no guarantee that tomorrow would be any easier and Falacci was not one to back out from a decision... or a fight.
"You've no idea what it's been like, hiding this from you. No-one's supposed to know, no-one outside the department."
"Do you know how crazy you sound? How paranoid and delusional? First thing, I'm phoning that shrink you've been seeing. PTSD, my ass!"
"It's all true. I'll prove it."
Falacci didn't have to look hard to find the anger she needed. A small flame appeared on her outstretched palm and rapidly grew to form a ball of fire about a foot in diameter. Steve reeled back, stumbling over the coffee table to land on the sofa with a thump, and a squeak from an abandoned toy. His eyes were wide and wild.
She took a step towards him and he scrabbled back further along the sofa.
"Get away from me, you...you ...Freak!"
Reluctantly Falacci extinguished the flame. It felt so good to burn but it was not helping the situation. She moved aside Barbie and a Power Ranger entwined in a plastic embrace and sat on the sofa, not liking the fear and horror on Steve's face. This was the real reason she had kept quiet; the department's decree had merely been a convenient excuse. But Logan was right, she needed Steve on her side or she was going to crack up. She attempted to explain, to make Steve see that she was still the woman he married despite this new wrinkle. Steve refused to look at her and he flinched every time she moved her hands. Falacci fell silent and waited, twisting the golden locks of the doll between her fingers. When he finally spoke there was an edge of spite in his tone.
"So it's all been a lie? 1PP, the new department, the shrink sessions? What were you doing? You and your happy little band of freaks. Planning on how you were going to take over the world?"
Falacci was on her feet again, her earlier caution about not waking the kids abandoned.
"I have been seeing a shrink! But not for PTSD, I needed to learn how to control my temper or-"
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realised her mistake. Steve was now on his feet as well, anger overcoming his fear.
"Or what? You'll burn the house down? You'll hurt the kids? My God, Nola!"
Falacci could see Steve mentally reviewing the past year, cataloguing every time the smoke alarm had sounded, the lingering smell of extinguished candles, the occasional charred object found in the trash, his suspicions that one of his boys was a budding arsonist. He turned his back on her and stared out of the window at the darkened street below.
"Steve, I've never... I wouldn't..." Her words sounded weak, even to herself. Steve's reply was low and laden with a sense of finality.
"Get out. Pack a bag and get out. I don't want you near me or the kids ever again."
Bag packed, kids kissed and Falacci stepped out into the night. A neighbour's car exploded, several trash cans caught fire and an abandoned warehouse began to burn as she made her way down the street.
Goren was surprised to find Falacci in the bull pen when he arrived. He was usually the first in – unless he'd been with Eames. This was not one of those mornings. She'd blown him off last night, pleading an incipient headache and the need for an early night. Goren had been thankful for the distance created by a phone that meant he didn't have to see her face or hear her thoughts as she lied.
Dumping his coat and binder, he headed for the coffee pot; the first port of call in his morning ritual. He was all too aware of the silent scream radiating from Falacci "... the fucking bastard...how dare he?... bastard, motherf-" and, thinking of Eames, decided it was prudent to keep quiet. He offered her a coffee and watched in alarm as it began to boil furiously as he set the mug in front of her. Goren opened his mouth to speak, but Falacci beat him to it.
"Just fuck off, Goren. Put your own house in order."
Backing off hastily, Goren grabbed the crime sheets from the printer and retreated to his desk. The logs recording all the incidents that had occurred overnight were the next part of his routine; he found studying them, trying to find links and patterns, coupled with the caffeine kicked his brain into the right gear to begin work.
It was not working this morning. Falacci's anger coupled with her relentless obscenity-laden diatribe was too much of a distraction. He shifted in his chair, reshuffled the papers and tried to focus. Not much of interest – the usual mix of muggings, mayhem and murder rendered seemingly trivial by a few lines of printed text. One item caught his attention. A spate of arson attacks in Soundview. Wasn't that where..?
Goren glanced over at Falacci who returned his look with a stare that dared him to comment. He was disconcerted to find that he was now included in her mental rant.
" ...fucking nosy parker...son of a bitch should sort out his own business instead of poking his nose in mine...fucking useless men ... they just don't get it... bastards..."
She was right. He didn't get it. It was all very well using his Talent to blow open a case but in the minefield of the day-to-day, especially with Eames, his big feet and big mouth seemed to set off detonations at random. He thought on this, to the soundtrack of Falacci's silent seething, and by the time the squad room filled up and Eames had arrived, Goren was in a foul mood.
