A/N: So, apparently Flashpoint's started again in Canada. *grumble grumble have to wait until October 18th for it to start on ION grumble grumble* Not that this has been an issue, but if you decide to leave a review and you want to squee about it (totally understandable), please don't spoil it for this poor American fan!
Chapter Nine: Asking Jim For Flowers
"You crazy, psycho bitch!" the voice growled over the speakers, and Keira felt like she was going to throw up.
At least, if she did, she wouldn't be able to hear the choking noises.
Team One had received a call earlier that day, leading them to a wharf where a woman was holding her brother-in-law hostage on his own boat. At first, they had assumed that the brother-in-law, a police officer, was an innocent victim. He was, after all, the one with a gun to his head, and an attorney who knew the family had hinted at a former affair with his wife's sister that the sister wasn't ready to let go of. The SRU had arrived at the wharf believing that they were dealing with a scorned woman, only for them to learn the horrible truth: that the police officer was abusing his wife, and that the sister was trying to put an end to it.
Keira had frozen when Wordy burst into the van, panting, informing them that they had gotten it all wrong. "Wait 'til you see her neck," he'd said, and Keira had remembered scarves, so many scarves, beautiful reds and whites and pinks that her mother had worn whenever she needed to leave the house.
And then Sam had attached the listening devices onto the boat, and Jules had connected them to the van's speakers, and now there was no escape. She was stuck there, helpless, with no choice but to hear every strangled cry as the police officer struck his sister-in-law.
As he continued to hit her, Keira's mind began slipping away—to another woman, to another beating, to another lifetime.
"I've had it with you, you fucking slut! Who else have you been sleeping with, hm? Anyone else I should know about?"
"I'm going to kill you. Right here, right now," the police officer panted.
"Jim, baby, I swear I wasn't—he's just a coworker, we were just having lunch—"
"And when you stop breathing, you're going to know that it's your fault."
"Mommy?"
"Keira?"
Keira jumped, then saw that Will was watching her concernedly. "You all right?" he mouthed, raising an eyebrow.
If Keira didn't pride herself so much on being able to keep a secret, she would have hated him for not having figured it out yet. But it wasn't his fault, so she nodded curtly and turned away. She'd been distancing herself from him ever since that disastrous night in the club, though he'd tried to apologize to her half a dozen times. She didn't even know why she was doing it anymore. He should have realized that she could take care of herself, but he hadn't meant to patronize her. He was just being Will. And now he'd learned his lesson, so there was no reason for her to keep ignoring him.
Who am I kidding? she asked herself bitterly. It's easier this way. At least when she was avoiding him, she could throw herself into her training and pretend that she couldn't always see him out of the corner of her eye.
"Wordy?"
Jules's curious voice interrupted her thoughts. Keira glanced up and saw the senior officer standing there, fingers curled into fists, his gaze fixed on the now-silent speakers. At Jules's inquiry, he started, glanced at her, and made a violent jerking motion with his head. Then, without a word, he turned around and left the van.
"What was that about?" Will wondered aloud, his brow furrowed in concern.
But Keira knew, had seen it there in Wordy's eyes. This wasn't just a job for him.
This was personal.
It took the police officer a surprisingly long time to figure out that he was going to jail—but, in the end, he'd gone quietly. Keira had seen him as he was being put into the squad car, stiff with shock like he still couldn't understand how he'd been caught. Serves you right, asshole, she thought, disappointed when he didn't hit his head on the roof.
She kept an eye on Wordy while the team was gathering the equipment and preparing to leave the wharf. He seemed more subdued than usual, sometimes biting his lip or clenching and unclenching his sweating palms. Keira was becoming more and more convinced that he had had some experience with abuse—that maybe it had happened between his parents or even to him. The others had expressed their disgust at the cop, of course, but Wordy… Wordy, like her, had been quiet.
She warned herself, as she loaded various lighting supplies into one of the vans, that she shouldn't approach him. If she said so much as the wrong word, he might figure out that she wasn't doing it merely out of concern for him. He might suspect that something else was prompting her to reach out, that he wasn't the only one for whom the scene in the boat had hit a little too close to home. After her reaction to being punched the other day, it'd be easy for him to put two and two together.
"Hey! Don't walk away from me, you little bitch. Where the fuck have you been all night?"
Keira grimaced, trying to block out the memories; but it was as useless as cupping water in her hands.
She fixed her stepfather with a withering look, though behind it she was quivering with fear. "You're not my father," she snapped, knowing what she was provoking. "It's none of your business."
The smack seemed to come out of thin air; yet, at this point, it had been a lurking threat for years. The force of the blow sent her reeling, the floor beneath her spinning in a haze of white tile.
That was when she heard it: the soft, familiar sound of a belt being removed. "I think it's time you learned some manners," her stepfather snarled, advancing on her. "And, now that Jason's gone back to college, he won't be able to learn them for you."
How old had she been then? Thirteen?
"Excuse me," someone behind her grunted.
Keira abruptly became aware of three things: first, that she had been standing there like an idiot for the better part of a minute; second, that it was Wordy who was trying to move past her and deposit a box of equipment into the vehicle; and, third, that they were completely alone.
"Wordy, can I talk to you for a minute?" she blurted out.
Wordy looked at her in astonishment. "Uh… Yeah, sure," he agreed slowly. "What's up?"
"I…" Keira began, fiddling with her sleeve. "I couldn't help but noticing… You seemed kind of affected by what was going on today."
Wordy made a show of putting down the box. "I, uh… Sorry, what?" he asked when he was done, his face paler than usual.
"I just meant… The call seemed personal," Keira said, rephrasing.
"Uh… Yeah, I guess," Wordy answered evasively. "I just… know someone who was abused, once."
Yeah, like she hadn't pulled that card before.
"Oh," Keira replied. Same here, she wanted to say, to let him know that he wasn't alone. I'm here for you, if you want to talk about it, she'd add; and maybe he'd figure it out, maybe he wouldn't… but he probably would.
The words were hovering on the tip of her tongue. She took a deep breath, ready to tell him.
What came out of her mouth instead was, "I, uh, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Um, do you, uh, need help with anything here?"
"No, uh, I'm fine," Wordy answered, looking every bit as uncomfortable as she felt. "Um, thanks. Will you excuse me?"
She hastily moved aside so that he could escape. When he was gone, though not without one last glance back at her, she leaned against the van and let out a shaky breath. She couldn't decide if she hated herself for being a coward, or if she loved her instincts for their sense of self-preservation. What if I had told him? she wondered, trembling at the thought.
Part of her wished that she had been brave enough to do it, but the other part—the stronger part—was relieved that she'd overcome her temporary bout of insanity. You'd have ruined everything, she told herself. All because of one moment of weakness.
It was a mistake she would never repeat again.
"Auntie K! Auntie K!"
A chanting nephew was what greeted Keira when, still mulling over her conversation with Wordy, she returned home that evening. The other officer was temporarily forced to the back of her mind when a miniature Superman assaulted her legs with a fierce hug.
"Hey, big guy!" she cheerfully exclaimed, bending down to kiss the top of Brian's head. "What happened to your clown costume?"
Brian beamed. "Daddy said that Superman could beat a clown in a fight," he declared. "And he can fly," he finished, as if that settled the matter.
"That is pretty cool," Keira replied, wondering if this meant that Jason hadn't been able to get time off to go to the circus. "Come on, Superman, let's go see what's for dinner."
"Hot dogs!" Brian shouted enthusiastically; but, nevertheless, he agreed to follow her into the small kitchen. Jason was there, stirring something in a large pot on the stove. Judging by the smell, it was chicken noodle soup.
"Hey, Keira," Jason said when she entered, smiling at her. "How was—"
"Daddy Daddy Daddy!" Brian yelled, running in circles around the kitchen table.
"Brian, buddy, cool your jets a little," Jason urged him, smiling in spite of himself as Brian flourished his red cape. "Tell you what," he added, winking at Keira: "I've got a mission for Superman."
With a gasp of delight, Brian stopped dead in his tracks. "What is it?" he demanded eagerly, his brown eyes shining.
"I want you to go upstairs," Jason said slowly, drawing out the sentence for dramatic effect, "find your mother… and tell her that dinner's ready."
Brian couldn't have been happier if Jason had told him to rescue a damsel in distress. "To infinity, and beyond!" he shouted gleefully, and sprinted out of the kitchen.
"I take it he watched Toy Story today?" Keira asked, grinning.
"Twice," Jason confirmed, shaking his head in amusement. "So, how was work?"
Keira shrugged, her mirth fading. "We got a call today," she said. "Started out as a woman taking a man hostage in his boat. Come to find out, she was the sister of the wife he'd been abusing."
Jason grimaced. "You all right?" he asked, watching her closely.
"I'm fine," Keira assured him, swallowing. "It's just… We were able to get ears on the boat, and we heard him beating up the sister. He was saying things like, 'I'm going to kill you,' and 'you're going to know that it's your fault'…" She trailed off, suddenly overwhelmed by memories. "Guess Jim's not the only jackass out there, huh," she remarked, trying to lighten the conversation.
Jason shook his head. "God only knows what he's done to Mom since we left," he said darkly, turning off the stove. "I wish she'd listen to us…"
"Well, until she comes to her senses and decides to ditch him, there's nothing we can do," Keira pointed out, folding her arms across her chest. "And, honestly, after all the shit she let him do to us? She can spend the rest of her life with him, for all I care."
Jason winced. "I don't think anyone deserves that," he said quietly.
"Yeah, well, I do," Keira retorted angrily, thinking of all the times her mother had turned the other cheek. "Maybe once all the scars go away, I'll care more, but—"
Abruptly, she stopped talking: she could hear footsteps coming down the stairs.
"I did it!" Brian announced triumphantly as he ran into the kitchen, followed shortly by his mother. Allie rolled her eyes fondly, greeted Keira and kissed Jason on the cheek.
All things considered, dinner was a quiet affair—Brian even consented to try some noodles—but Keira's mind was elsewhere the entire evening. Judging by the look on her brother's face, she wasn't the only one dwelling on the past.
