Author's Note: This chapter started out as one thing and led to something really different. I had in mind just a scene or two showing Gene and Alex celebrating Valentine's Day. But I felt guilty for neglecting other couples. So it turned into this. While there are a couple of things in this chapter to advance the plot of "Repercussions," the next chapter will get back to real drama.
There are three original characters in this chapter about couples. The first is Melanie James, Viv's wife. The second is Teresa Curtis, Shaz's cousin, and the third is Edmund, Teresa's son. They were introduced in chapter 5 "Some Things Are Meant To Be."
Thanks to Amlyn and Katie Duggan's Niece for their support and encouragement. Special thanks to Amlyn for suggesting the perfect gift for the Chris & Shaz segment. And special thanks to Katie Duggan's Niece. I had planned out something for Gene and Alex long ago, but as I wrote it, I was reminded of a something similar in chapters 35 and 36 of her beautiful Cranford story "A Conspiracy of Concern." KDN was kind enough to give me her blessing to go ahead with my idea.
And thanks to everyone for reviewing and alerting.
Chapter 9
You Soft, Romantic Man
"Oh, I tell you. Women are not the sensitive sex. That's one of the grand delusions of literature. Men are the true romanticists." – Philip Adams, played by Cary Grant, in the movie "Indiscreet."
Viv & Melanie…
This was Viv James's favorite time of day. The children were in bed and he and Melanie had some time together. He loved his kids, but with three of them, moments alone with his wife seemed hard to find. Even after fifteen years of marriage, he never tired of his wife's company. She really was the most intelligent, sensible person he'd ever met – and the most beautiful woman he'd even seen.
They'd met at church nearly eighteen years ago, the church Viv grew up in. A new pastor came to lead the congregation and he had a daughter named Melanie. Half the young men in the church set their sights on her. Viv asked her once how she settled on him. "That's just it," she'd replied. "I didn't settle." Whenever he was down, Viv thought of that statement and his spirits soared.
It was Monday night, only a week before Valentine's Day. Melanie and Viv watched some television for a while. "I made reservations for Saturday night," she said out of the blue.
"For what?" Viv asked, not quite dragging his attention from the TV.
"Valentine's Day."
"That's next Monday."
"And what will we be doing then? You and I will be knackered from work. The kids'll need help with schoolwork. That's no time to celebrate. So I made us reservations for dinner and dancing on Saturday night."
Viv frowned. "I thought the man was supposed to take care of all that."
"If I left it to you," Melanie huffed, "we'd be here on Saturday night watching a video with the kids."
"Is that right?"
"Well, it's just that, with all that's happened at the station, I know you've been busy—"
Shaking his head, Viv said, "You have no faith in me. Think I'd forget."
Melanie gave him a wide smile. "You already made plans, didn't you?"
"Dinner and dancing and a hotel room for the night. No having to drive home to the kids. Mum's coming over to stay with them. You and I will just go upstairs to our room –" he pulled his wife into his arms "—and fall into bed."
"Mmmm….." Melanie kissed him and put her head on his shoulder. "I love the way you think. I wonder if any of your mates know just how romantic you are."
Viv chuckled. "Why do women think they have the market on romance? When it comes down to it, a lot of men are just soppy where their women are concerned."
**********
Chris & Shaz…
"Absolutely not!"
Chris jumped a little at Shaz's tone. "What?!" he asked.
His wife took him by the elbow and pulled him away from the jewelry counter. "You're not to even consider it!"
"But, Shaz—"
"I swear, Chris, if I let you, you'd be buying me presents all the time!"
"Well, Valentine's Day is next Monday," he countered. "I want to get you something nice."
Shaz released Chris's elbow and put her arm around his waist. "You've already given me the most important jewelry I'll ever own," she said, looking down at her wedding and engagement rings. Steering her husband from the jewelry, they continued winding their way through the department store. "Come on. We need to find something for Mum. It's already Wednesday, and her birthday is Saturday." Dutiful husband that he was, Chris followed Shaz to the ladies' clothing and watched as she looked at some scarves.
He was feeling a little annoyed with his bride. Shaz had put them on a strict budget, almost before the end of their honeymoon. "We're doing all right," Chris had complained when she started outlining their income versus their expenses. "Why are you starting on this now?"
"I want a house," Shaz had said flatly.
"A house?!"
"Yes. I want a place we can really call our own. A place to raise our children." As she spoke, Chris was startled to see tears in Shaz's eyes. "It's something I've always dreamed of," she added softly. "Since I was a kid. My parents always rented. I decided to have a house to call my own one day. Maybe it's silly, but it's important to me."
"It's not silly," Chris said, trying to sound more confident that he was. Owning a house? That seemed impossible. But he loved Shaz and wanted to make her happy, so he was willing to go without a second glass of wine at Luigi's or an extra pack of cigarettes.
However, this insistence on no Valentine's presents. What kind of husband doesn't get his wife something for that day? Bad enough that the holiday was on a Monday this year. No way to go out and enjoy a movie and a late night under the covers and a lazy morning after – also under the covers. He and Shaz wouldn't even have Saturday night to celebrate, since they would be with the rest of the family for his mother-in-law's birthday. Not that he didn't love Shaz's mum. She was great. But why did she have to be born on February 12?
"What do you think, baby?" Shaz asked, interrupting his thoughts. She held two silk scarves. "The blue stripes or the green plaid?"
"The plaid," Chris answered, not really sure. He just liked the green one better.
Shaz nodded. "You're right. It'll go nice with the dress she wore to the wedding."
"Are you going to get it wrapped?"
She shook her head. "Costs extra. I have some plain red paper left from Christmas."
*****
Chris got out of the shower and toweled dry. As he looked in the mirror, he noticed that his hair had grown out a lot. Time for more highlights. Or should he just let it go? It would save money. He frowned at his reflection. Great. Now he was starting to think like Shaz. Of course he could put that money toward something else…
Shaz was sitting up in bed, reading. Not a romance, like she used to read. This was a book on psychology that DCI Drake had recommended. Their superior seemed to consider the young WDC as someone to be molded into a younger version of Alex Drake. She was encouraging Shaz to expand her knowledge of criminal investigation by studying psychology. Chris had a feeling that, one day, his wife would surpass him in rank. He wasn't yet sure how that made him feel.
She's so beautiful, Chris thought, looking at the woman who amazingly had agreed to marry him. She didn't have to wear some skimpy little nightdress. The simple white tee shirt – his tee shirt – looked sexy on her.
He had fallen in love the moment he saw her. It had been a tough decision, moving from Manchester to London. For a while, Chris considered moving back. But then he'd seen WPC Sharon Granger. Like the song said, "Just one look. That's all it took." Not that he thought she'd even give him a first look, not to mention a second. But she did. And she loved him. That was the miracle of his life, especially after all the things that had threatened their love. Shaz had recovered from a stabbing. Thank god DCI Drake was there, or Shaz might not have survived. Then Chris's taking a backhander, betraying everyone. And Shaz had forgiven him. Then she'd even saved his life when that bent copper was about to kill him. She was the most wonderful woman. And now she was Shaz Skelton.
Shaz glanced up as her husband came from the bathroom. Her husband. When she was a girl, Shaz had dreamed of the kind of man she'd marry. He would be tall and gorgeous and rich and sweep her off her feet. She could never have foreseen that she'd be swept off her feet by a shy, sweet man from Manchester. Her Chris wasn't very tall, he had no money, and she was probably the only girl who really thought of him as gorgeous. But he was absolutely perfect for her. He treated her with respect. He thought of her first – usually. Well, he wouldn't be human if he didn't put himself first sometimes. Even when they argued, Shaz couldn't imagine herself with anyone else. She was head over heels in love with this man.
And now, as Chris walked in, wearing only boxer shorts, Shaz remembered why else she loved him. He was very sexy.
As he got into bed, Shaz put away the book. "You don't have to stop reading," Chris told her as he lay back on the pillow.
"I know," she said, giving him a sly smile.
*****
"So let me get this straight," Chris said as they walked to the back door of Fenchurch East on Thursday morning. "I'm not allowed to get you flowers, jewelry, or chocolates for Valentine's Day."
"It's just too much money," Shaz said. If she was honest with herself, she'd admit that she really did want those things. But they had to economize.
"Well, what can I get you?" Her husband was sounding just a little exasperated.
"A card would be nice," she told him. That sounded pitiful even to her.
"A card?" Chris stopped in his tracks. Shaz stopped beside him. "A card?" he repeated. "You're my wife, Shaz. It's our first Valentine's Day as married people. I want to do more than give you a card."
"Look," she replied. "I'd love a card. A sweet one. And I'm going to cook us a nice meal on Sunday. Roast beef and all the trimmings. Your mum told me how to do the gravy the way you like. We'll have a lovely, romantic dinner with candles."
"Yeah, that'll be nice," he conceded, opening the door for her.
Chris thought about Shaz's plans for their celebration – and he was still dissatisfied with the whole thing. She deserved more than just cooking all afternoon for them.
And no matter what she said, he was not going to let the day go by without doing something special for the woman he loved.
He just had to figure out what.
*****
The weekend came and went pretty quickly. The party for Shaz's mum had been nice. Chris was glad he got on so well with his in-laws. The Granger family was very much like the Skeltons. But in the end, Chris liked having these quiet Sundays when he and Shaz could sleep in – well, they stayed in bed, but not to sleep. They often went for walks. Sometimes to a movie. Sometimes they'd rent a video to watch. Chris was becoming more familiar with Audrey Hepburn films than he'd ever planned. Of course he got Shaz to watch some Humphrey Bogart, though he was not prepared to see Bogie romancing young Audrey in one video that Shaz brought home. But they both agreed that "Casablanca" was the best movie ever.
Sunday afternoon Shaz was cooking dinner. Chris offered to help, but she shooed him away. "I know you want to help, baby, but the kitchen is just too small."
He smiled. "I guess so. I'm gonna run out for a bit. Pick up some cigarettes. All right?"
"Okay."
Chris was back in less than half an hour. Shaz was setting the table as he walked in. "Hey, baby," she said, barely glancing over her shoulder. Then she stopped and looked again.
Her husband was holding a bouquet of flowers. Simple daisies. "Happy Valentine's Day, love," he said quietly.
Tears came to her eyes and Shaz didn't bother trying to hold them back. "Chris," she said, her voice tight. "They're beautiful." He looked so sweet, holding out the flowers and smiling at her.
"I know you said not to get you anything." Chris drew closer and put the bouquet in her arms. "You're my wife, Shaz. It's our first Valentine's Day as man and wife. I couldn't let it go by without giving you flowers and telling you I love you and I'm the luckiest man in the world because you love me and married me."
Shaz couldn't say anything in return. She could only kiss him and hold him close. "Thank you, Chris," she whispered. "I do love you." Then she took a step back. "And I really did want flowers and all and I'm so glad you didn't listen to me!"
"That's not all I got you." Chris took the flowers from her and laid them on the table. He then motioned her to the sofa. "Wait here." He went into the bedroom and returned with a small package. Placing it in her hand, he sat down beside her.
The package was square and just about right for holding a bracelet. Shaz looked up. "Now this you really shouldn't've done," she protested. "I was serious about the jewelry."
"Open it," Chris replied.
She tore off the wrapping paper and opened the box, expecting to see a bracelet or earrings. Instead, there was a simple keyring that had two items on it: a medallion with the letter 'S' and a blank, uncut key. Giving Chris a puzzled look, Shaz said, "I don't understand."
"I got to thinking. You're right about planning and saving for the future. And if that means going without a few things, it's all right. I really like the idea of a house. This – " he pointed to the keyring " – is for then. That's the key to our house. When we get it, we'll take this key to be cut. Oh, and the 'S' is for 'Shaz.' Or 'Skelton.' Either one."
"Oh, Chris!" Shaz threw her arms around her husband and kissed him. "You're the most wonderful man. I'm the lucky one to have you."
He returned the hug and kisses but then pulled away. "Just one thing, Love."
"What?" she asked, still a bit dreamy-eyed.
"We can splurge on things every now and then. A dinner out. A concert. Maybe a holiday?"
He had a point. "Okay, baby." Shaz looked into those lovely eyes she loved so much. Would any of their kids have one green eye and one blue? She couldn't wait to find out.
**********
Ray & Teresa…
Ray got home about 8:00 and immediately picked up the phone. He couldn't call Teresa from the station, not without drawing the attention of everyone in CID. By eight o'clock, Teresa would have Edmund in bed and she might have a few minutes to talk.
Life was turning out very differently than Ray Carling had ever expected. He never considered settling down. It was more fun to take what women came his way and move on if any of them wanted to get serious. And he never wanted to get involved with a woman who was tied down with a kid.
Teresa Curtis changed that. When Ray had approached her at Chris and Shaz's wedding, he was planning to be polite and ask Teresa to dance just once. But as he drew near the petite brunette, something weird happened. Her golden-brown eyes pulled him in. She was quiet and calm, in the midst of all the drinking and laughter going on at the reception. And Ray found himself enjoying the peacefulness of just sitting with her and talking.
They had discovered things in common, another surprise for him. Teresa's father was an army man, just like Ray's. They liked the same kinds of movies and TV shows. She loaned him a James Bond book and he read it in one weekend – and he didn't like reading! But she also got him to see other movies, even a couple of romances. Teresa and Ray talked about everything. He told her things he just didn't tell people. How he liked his job and was proud to be a detective. All about his family and friends and growing up an outsider most places because he was an army kid.
Teresa understood that feeling. She'd gone through many of the same problems. But they'd both had good parents and generally happy times. Teresa loved her job, as well, teaching nine-year-olds. "Perfect age," she said. "They can do more on their own and they're still willing to listen." She told him about her husband, Jim, and how he'd been a good man, always willing to help people. Jim was a delivery driver for a snack company. One winter day, ice on the road led to a terrible pileup on the highway. Jim was killed, leaving Teresa a widow. Edmund was two years old at the time.
Edmund. He was a great kid. He and Ray took to each other right away, which amazed Teresa. Shaz joked that it was because Ray was a big kid himself. But Ray liked to think that they sort of understood each other. They were both guys. They liked football and jokes. Edmund got a football for Christmas and he wanted to play -- and his mum just wasn't very good at it. Ray went right out to the yard and kicked the ball back and forth with the boy. The five-year-old was just learning and Ray liked watching the progress the kid made. Soon Ray was calling him "Eddie," even though Teresa didn't entirely approve. To tease her, Ray would call her "Teri," which she admitted was better than "Tessie," as some people tried to call her.
In just a few weeks the three of them had fallen into a routine. No more Friday nights at the pub with the lads. Instead, Ray drove across town to have dinner with Teresa and Edmund. Sometimes on Saturdays Ray would make a return trip. They might go to the park or out for hamburgers or ice cream. Or he and Eddie would watch cartoons and football matches. Then at night, after her son was in bed, Ray and Teresa would put in a tape to watch.
Six weeks into their relationship and there had been kisses, but nothing more. Ray wanted Teresa. But it just never seemed the right time. He would never have thought it possible, but he was willing to wait until Teresa let him know when she was ready. As their relationship became better known, some of the guys in CID tried to joke about Ray's sex life with the widow. A look and a softly said, "Don't talk about her like that. To me or anyone else. Understand?" and the jokes quickly stopped. The team would still wind him up, but never in ways that might question the reputation of Ray's lady friend.
At some point, and Ray was never quite certain when, he realized that he was in love. He looked forward to calling Teresa during the week. He almost lived for weekends. He started considering a future with this wonderful woman and her son. Consequently, Ray began thinking about his career. He decided to try again for a promotion to Detective Inspector. He dressed better and started putting some money aside instead of spending it at the pub. Teresa didn't want him to smoke around Eddie, so he cut back on the fags. That money went into savings, too.
The week before Valentine's Day, Ray began making plans, hoping to have a quiet evening with Teresa and without Edmund. He loved the lad, but he wanted Teresa to himself. The trouble was that Valentine's Day was on a Monday, and Teresa turned in early on weeknights. Strange that he'd never really thought much of the holiday before. Now it seemed important.
The Tuesday before, Ray called Teresa about 8:30 in the evening. She answered on the second ring. "Hello?"
"Hello, love," Ray said. "How are you tonight? How's Eddie?"
"We're both well." Ray could hear the smile in her voice and his heart skipped a beat. "How are you?" Teresa asked.
"Good. I was wondering if we're still on for Friday night."
"Why? Do you want to do something else?"
"No. Well, yeah, but not Friday. Saturday. I'd like to take you out. Some place really nice."
"All right. I'll see if Mum can take care of Edmund."
"Great. I'll make reservations for us." Ray paused for a second. "How was your day?"
They spent the next several minutes going over the good and bad of their workdays. That was one of the things Ray loved about Teresa. She never said not to tell her the bad side of policing. Some women he dated in the past didn't want to hear it. But Teresa understood.
*****
Early Friday afternoon Ray and Chris entered Fenchurch East, coming back from an interview with a man and his elderly father. There was a new group in the neighborhood, bilking old folks out of their savings. It was an old scheme. You've won a million pounds-- and all you have to do to get it is give us a few thousand for processing. And people fell for it. The old man had handed over 2000 pounds.
"The Guv'll want to be in on this," Ray said. "We'll have to find some way to track these men down. Takin' advantage of pensioners. No better than muggers."
"If there was some way to set up a sting," Chris added, "but I don't see how."
"Drake and the Guv will figure something."
They went into CID, finding it half empty. Drake and Hunt were out, so Ray put Chris to work writing up the report. In the meantime, Ray headed for the files, looking for any records of previous scams like their current case. Shaz came in from the kitchen. "Hey, baby," she greeted her husband.
"Hey," Chris replied. He put a form into the typewriter and started filling it in.
"Ray?" Shaz said. "Did you get your message?"
"What message?" Ray asked in return.
"From Teresa."
Going to his desk, Ray found the note. I'm sorry. Edmund's sick. Have to call off tonight. I'll call later. Ray looked at Shaz. "Did you take the message? Eddie's sick?"
"Yeah. He's got a fever. Teresa's mum got him from school."
"I need to call her," he said, picking up the phone.
"It's just gone two. Teresa's still at work."
She was right. Frustrated, Ray slammed the receiver down. Shaz looked at him for a moment, then crossed the room to sit at his desk. "You're that worried?" she asked.
"He's a little kid," answered Ray. "Bad things happen to kids."
"And kids pick up germs and get sick and then get better. Don't worry so much." Shaz paused. "You and Teresa seem to be moving right along. And Edmund's really getting attached to you. Sure you're not going too fast?"
Ray smiled. "When it's the right one? I'm not sure you can go too fast."
*****
Teresa called on Friday night. "Doctor thinks he might have chicken pox," she told Ray. "I found out some other kids have it."
"How is he?" Ray asked.
"Feverish. Headache. Sore throat. But I gave him something for them. He's sleeping a bit now." She hesitated. "About tomorrow night…"
"How 'bout," Ray began, "I bring something tomorrow? Just some take away. I know you don't want to leave Eddie."
"Thank you," Teresa said, relief in her voice. "But just bring yourself. Edmund would love to see you. And so would I. You've had chicken pox, haven't you?"
"When I was six. I'll see you both tomorrow."
*****
As far as Teresa was concerned, Ray arrived in the nick of time. Edmund had broken out in spots and was already beginning to itch. She put mittens on the child's hands and he let her know how much he hated it. He wanted to scratch. He was achy and tired and fussy.
Ray arrived with a new puzzle for Edmund and flowers for Teresa. While she gave her son a bath, Ray set about making Eddie's bed with clean sheets and putting puzzles, books, and games within reach. Throughout the afternoon, Ray kept Edmund occupied or distracted or just sat with the boy. Teresa ran errands, got medicines, and bought some groceries.
Whenever they had a chance, Ray and Edmund had serious conversations. As serious as any five-year-old could have. Ray discovered that, whatever the subject, it was very important to Eddie, so Ray would give the lad his attention. Eddie would tell Ray all about school and his friends and how he thought girls were weird because they didn't like football.
Today Eddie was tired and cranky and Ray understood that. Adults could usually comprehend why they were feeling bad. Kids had a harder time with it, especially when they were itchy and told not to scratch. "I don't like this!" Eddie complained. "Why do I have to wear mittens?!"
"Because you if scratch," Ray explained, "it'll hurt more." He could tell that the boy didn't really understand that, so he told him, "You know, you're really lucky to have mittens."
Eddie frowned at him, but Ray could see that the child was curious, too. "Why?" Eddie asked.
"Mittens have thumbs. You can still pick things up."
"So?"
"So when I had chicken pox—"
"You had chicken pox?"
"When I was six. You're tougher, fighting it off at five."
"Yeah?" Eddie was starting to smile.
"Yeah. Anyway, when I had chicken pox, my mum didn't put mittens on me. She tied socks on my hands!"
"Socks?!"
"I couldn't do anything! I was like a seal with flippers." Ray slapped his hands together and barked like a seal.
Eddie collapsed in laughter. "Do it again!" he demanded.
Ray obliged causing the boy to laugh more. Then Ray added, "So you see how lucky you are to have mittens and not socks on your hands?"
"Tell me more about when you were a kid."
So Ray told a few stories while Eddie scooted down and listened. After a few minutes, the boy's dark blue eyes started closing. Just as Ray decided Eddie was asleep, the child surprised him by asking, "Are you going to marry my mum?"
It was a fair question, Ray supposed. The boy had to wonder about someone spending so much time in the Curtis home. "What would you think about that?" he asked Eddie in return.
"You'd be my dad."
"Yeah. I guess I would."
"You'd be here all the time."
"Most of the time. When I wasn't working."
Eddie smiled. "I'd like it," he said, finally drifting off to sleep.
I'd like it, too, Ray thought.
When Teresa came home, the house was quiet. She found both of her men asleep. Standing in the doorway of her son's room, she watched them. Ray was sitting in the easy chair he'd brought in from the living room. His head was down, chin on his chest, as he napped.
Edmund lay face up, getting a bit of restful sleep. His hands, still in mittens, were raised over his head. His dark curls were getting long. He needed a haircut. So much like his father. Teresa's hair was straight. Jim's had been so curly. Edmund had his father's dark blue eyes, too.
Returning her gaze to Ray, Teresa felt her heart swell. He was so kind, so sweet to them. Even when they disagreed, she knew he still cared. Edmund adored him, and Ray clearly thought the world of the boy.
And how did she feel? Teresa went back over the time she'd known Ray. Less than two months. Yet he was as familiar and comforting as if she'd known him for years. He made her laugh and he stirred her senses. She loved the feel of his arms around her. She loved the way his moustache tickled when he kissed her. She loved talking with him about everything, from the latest songs on "Top of the Pops" to the latest political maneuverings. She loved that he loved her son.
She was in love with Ray Carling.
*****
The evening passed with the three of them playing a game and another bath for Edmund, who balked at the idea of two baths in one day. Teresa put calamine lotion on him and fed him a bowl of soup. Ray read "Winnie-the-Pooh" to Edmund while Teresa took a shower. She came back in just as the boy was falling asleep. Kissing her son good night, Teresa followed Ray into the living room.
Ray couldn't help staring at her. She was wearing leggings and a long sweatshirt. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and her face was scrubbed clean. He was sure he'd never before seen anyone so beautiful. "What would you like for dinner?" she asked.
"What's simple and fast?" he asked.
"Beans on toast. But you deserve more than that!"
"Sounds good to me."
They ate in the kitchen, chatting about the usual things. Ray looked across the table and thought about how nice it would be to see Teresa everyday, just like this. He helped with the washing up and then they went back to the living room and settled on the sofa. Ray put his arm around her.
"Thanks again for coming over today," she said. "I don't know what I would've done without you."
"I was glad to do it. Poor little kid. He's miserable. And I knew you'd need a break."
"I did." She paused. "Ray, these past few weeks. It's been just amazing having you here. Edmund is crazy about you." Another pause, then Teresa added, "So am I."
Ray felt like his world had turned upside down and then right side up again. She said she was crazy about him. "Teri," he said, "I – you – you make me feel like nobody ever has." He hesitated. "I love being here with you and Edmund."
"I love being with you, too," Teresa said.
It may not have been a great declaration of love, but it was a start.
"By the way," Ray said, "Happy Valentine's Day."
She looked up. "That's not until Monday."
"I know. But we'll be working on Monday. I was planning for us to celebrate tonight over a fancy dinner."
"And I gave you beans on toast!" she said. "I'm sorry!"
"Don't be. I liked it." He eased her away from him and got up. Finding his coat, he rummaged through the pockets and returned with a package. He sat down again. "I got you something for Valentine's Day," he said, handing the small box to her.
Teresa opened it. Inside was a thin gold bracelet. A simple chain. "Oh, Ray," she whispered. "I love it."
Taking the bracelet from the box, Ray put in on her wrist. "I'm glad. I wasn't sure what to get."
"It's perfect." Teresa leaned forward to kiss him.
Ray drew her close, returning the kiss. They cuddled on the sofa, comfortable in each other's arms. It wasn't a romantic candlelit dinner at a fancy restaurant, but Teresa was right. It was perfect.
**********
Gene & Alex…
It wasn't that Gene Hunt was an unromantic man. The way he figured it, any man who liked western movies and novels had to be a romantic at heart. In every movie, in every book, there was always the woman who captured the heart and soul of the hero. A woman that he could fight for and die for – but more important, a woman he wanted to live for. Gene had found that woman in his own life: Alex Drake.
For all that, there was one thing about romance Gene hated.
Valentine's Day.
As far as he was concerned, Valentine's Day was a fake, invented only for selling cards, flowers, and jewelry and for conning people into eating at some fancy nancy place with portions the size of walnuts and prices to empty his bank account.
Gene hadn't always felt that way. In the early years of his marriage, he liked buying flowers for Madeleine on the day. But cynicism had kicked in during those later years, and he'd come to resent being forced into celebrating a holiday that no longer meant anything to him.
Yet now, after he'd earned his stripes as a world-weary cynic and all-around grouch, he was looking at jewelry, ordering flowers, and trying to decide on where to take Alex for dinner. All for a holiday he'd despised for so long.
He was turning into a right poof.
Even though he told himself that all this was for Alex, Gene found that he looked forward to the holiday. He wanted to see her happy. In the days and nights after Molly's birthday, Gene and Alex were rarely apart. They'd managed to find a balance between their lives on and off duty. DCI Drake and DI Hunt were coppers who worked well together, even as they locked horns and fought over cases and procedures. Gene and Bolly were friends and lovers who also had disagreements but found comfort in each other's arms. And Alex needed that comfort. Another birthday separated from her daughter deeply upset her. Her nightmares had returned and every night Gene awoke to hear her crying in her sleep, calling for him or Molly -- or both.
At the same time, Gene's own nightmares came back. In those dreams, he usually found himself in the courtyard. Alex lay bleeding on the ground at his feet. Sometimes she was dying and he could see the light go out of her eyes. Sometimes she stood, brushed herself off, smiled, and walked away – and was joined by a young girl. Molly. He never saw the child's face, yet Gene was certain of who she was. The dreams were never exactly the same, but they always ended with Alex leaving him. He'd wake up, his heart pounding, and he'd reach out for her.
He didn't know what made his dreams return. Maybe it was hearing that strange police dispatch or the feeling that someone was following him. Gene figured that he must not talk in his sleep because Alex didn't seem aware of his nightmares.
The dispatch still bothered him. Gene asked Shaz to call around and ask about a hostage situation on February 7th. There was nothing. Finally he decided that the whole thing was either a joke or some kind of weird thing with radio signals. It could be nothing else.
Determined to forget the odd events of that day, Gene concentrated on work -- and looking after Alex.
On Thursday night they sat at their usual table at Luigi's. Alex was drinking too much and eating too little, which surprised Gene. He was usually the one guilty of that. As she poured her third glass of wine, Gene reached over and took the glass. "Eat something," he said flatly.
Alex simply took his full glass and gulped it down. After draining it, she put the empty glass in front of him. Then, as if nothing unusual had happened, she asked, "Why?"
Gene could see that his Bolly was on her way to being drunk. "You need to eat. Look, I'm sorry you're away from Molly – "
"Are you?" she sneered. He glared in return and Alex's expression changed. "I'm sorry," she said. "I know you care. It's just that sometimes I'm so certain I'll never see her again." A couple of tears slipped down her cheeks and Gene had to resist brushing them away. "I don't even have a picture of her," Alex continued, wiping away the tears. "Nothing from that time. And sometimes, I have trouble remembering her face. I don't want to forget my little girl, Gene."
She was on the verge of a crying jag. Gene leaned close. "Go on upstairs, love," he whispered. "I'll be there in a few minutes." Alex nodded and stood carefully. Looking amazingly sober, she said good night to Luigi and the members of the team still around, then headed to her flat. Gene followed about fifteen minutes later. He heard the shower running as he let himself in. Determined to get some food into Alex, he found the bread and some eggs. No bacon, so she'd have to settle for simple scrambled eggs and toast.
He had everything ready by the time Alex emerged from the steamy bathroom, her hair wrapped in the towel and her body wrapped in his blue robe. It took every bit of willpower Gene had not to cross the room, strip both from her, and carry her off to bed. Instead, he motioned her toward the kitchen and, for once, she didn't argue. Gene sat her at the table, put the plate of food and a mug of hot tea in front of her. "Eat," he ordered. "That scrawny arse of yours is getting scrawnier by the day."
Alex said nothing. She began eating and seemed to be enjoying the food more and more as she went along. In minutes she'd cleaned her plate and settled in to finish her tea. "Thank you," she said quietly. "I didn't realize how hungry I was."
Gene poured more tea for her. "You're welcome."
Wrapping both hands around the warm mug, Alex met Gene's eyes. "Have I been truly awful lately?"
He shook his head. "No. Just sad. And distracted."
"What about work? Has it affected my work?"
"Not really. Although I do miss you in the Quattro with me."
"I miss that, too. I need to get out of that office."
"Wilkins has you tied down to paperwork," Gene grumbled.
"Better me than you. I can tolerate it better. It's strange. I didn't used to mind being at a desk. Being here with you reminded me how much I like getting out and doing something! Something tangible! Real! Helping people! You taught me how to do that again."
Gene was taken off guard by that statement. "What do you mean, I taught you how to help people?"
"You're so much better at dealing with them," she explained.
A short burst of laughter escaped him. "Me?!" Gene exclaimed. "You're the psychologist, not me! I know nothing about dealing with people!"
"But you do," insisted Alex. "I mean people who've been hurt. Victimized. At their lowest. In grief. You reach out to them and they know you're sincere and want to help. It's what makes you a good cop. It's what makes you a good man. You help those in need of comfort and compassion." She hesitated, then added softly, "Like me."
Alex pressed her lips together, that gesture he knew so well, the one she adopted when trying to control her emotions. But her eyes held his. Gene had never considered before that he was a source of comfort or strength to the people he tried to help. Justice, maybe, but not those softer emotions. Where Alex was concerned, yes, he wanted to be all those things for her. All that and more.
*****
That night, they both slept soundly. Friday morning, Alex woke seeming more like her usual self, and Gene didn't feel obligated to keep such a close eye on her. On the job, she pushed some paperwork aside when a report came in of a disturbance with shots fired. She followed Gene out the door. Ray and Chris were out on another case, but Gene figured that he and Alex didn't need anyone else. And he was right. The disturbance turned out to be two women fighting over a man who was married to neither of them. One of the women had brought a gun, there was a struggle over it, and it went off, not hurting anyone but scaring both of them. By the time Alex and Gene arrived, the women had called a truce and were ready to take out their anger on the man in question. Turned out the gun was his, so Gene and Alex were most interested in finding the owner. The women were arrested on a variety of charges. All in all, it was turning out to be a most intriguing case.
Letting Viv and the uniformed officers take care of the booking, Gene and Alex headed for CID. They wanted to check on records for the women and their common boyfriend. Before they got there, however, Gene pulled Alex into an unoccupied interview room.
"Do you know what Monday is, Bolls?" he asked.
Frowning in return, Alex then relaxed and smiled as she remembered. "Valentine's Day. Don't tell me you want to celebrate. I thought you hated Valentine's Day. I remember you telling me last year."
He shrugged. "A man can change his mind. I've made reservations for us. Away from the city. Little place in the country I know. Saturday night. Change of scene will do us good."
"Gene Hunt." Alex took a step closer. Her voice was gentle and low. "You soft, romantic man."
God, she was sexy and beautiful and why did she do that at work? "Careful, Bolly," he murmured. "Or next we'll be violating rule number one: no touching at work. And this room has windows."
Sighing, she stepped back again. "When do we leave?"
"Saturday, about noon. And stop looking at me that way, with those 'come on' eyes, or I won't be held responsible for my actions."
Grinning, Alex walked toward the door.
"And stop wiggling your arse at me!" Gene hissed. "How's a man supposed to work, thinking about that?!"
*****
Alex spent the night at Gene's place, then hurried out the next morning to run errands and pack for the weekend. They agreed to meet back at her flat by eleven. When Alex got home, there was a vase of irises on the coffee table. She sat down to look at them. The first time Gene had brought her irises was when she was in the hospital, recovering from the gunshot. He'd wanted to avoid roses, knowing that she'd had enough of that flower after Operation Rose. So he got something very different. From the moment she saw them, irises became Alex's favorite flowers.
Beside the vase, there was a note in Gene's handwriting on the table. Come to the station about 11:30. It's important.
It was an odd request, considering they wanted to get on the road. She packed her bag, unsure of what exactly she'd need, since Gene was rather secretive about the whole thing. Consequently, she took a dress, heels, and jewelry as well as jeans and trainers, not knowing if they'd be taking a long walk or having dinner out or both.
Just before 11:30, Alex headed for Fenchurch East. It was only slightly less busy on a Saturday, but no one tried to waylay her. She walked into CID and found Gene talking with a young woman with red curly hair. Alex recognized her. What was going on?
"Alex," he said. "Good to see you."
The comment was impersonal, but it had to be under the circumstances. Gene continued. "You know Lily O'Hara."
Of course Alex knew Lily. The young woman was the best sketch artist the Met had. "Yes," Alex said, smiling. "It's good to see you, Lily."
"You, too, Ma'am," Lily replied.
Gene took a step forward. "Alex, I told Lily about how you'd lost some things you had in storage. That a fire had destroyed the pictures of your daughter." Startled, Alex stared at him. He went on. "And that you're not able to replace them right now. And with Molly living with relatives out of the country—" Gene gestured toward Lily. "I asked Lily if she could do a sketch of Molly for you. Until you can get new pictures."
Sudden tears clouded Alex's vision and she turned away, trying to get control of her emotions. What she really wanted to do was to throw her arms around this wonderful man and kiss him and tell him how much she loved him. But she couldn't. Not in front of Lily. Alex brushed away the tears that had escaped, just as Gene gave her his handkerchief. That gesture threatened to start fresh tears flowing, so Alex swallowed hard, dabbed at her eyes, and wiped her nose. She turned back around to face Gene and Lily.
"That's very kind of you," she said. "Thank you."
Gene smiled a bit. "Take your time. When you're done, come over to Luigi's and show me the finished product. I'll buy you both lunch."
"Thanks, Mr. Hunt," Lily answered, "but I'll be meeting my boyfriend."
"All right then. You come over, Alex."
Alex nodded. "I will."
Gene left the room and didn't look back. As if he was just someone doing a favor for a friend.
"Shall we get started?" asked Lily.
While investigating various cases, Alex had watched Lily work her magic, taking witnesses' clumsy descriptions of perpetrators and turning them into recognizable sketches. Lily worked only part time for the Met. She was a serious artist who occasionally sold some pieces, but not enough to keep her head above water. The police job helped, along with teaching art classes in schools.
Now it was Alex's turn to describe someone and see that person appear on paper. Lily asked the right questions, gently leading Alex along, getting more and more details. Alex had been afraid of losing the memory of her daughter's face. But now features came clearly to her. The shape of Molly's face, the tilt of her nose, the curve of her mouth, the texture of her hair. All came together at Lily's fingertips, with just a turn of a pencil.
Finally there was only one thing to add. "Molly has a birthmark," Alex told Lily. "Just here." She pointed to the place on Molly's left cheek. Lily added the mark and refined it under Alex's direction.
Alex sat back. It was Molly. Her daughter. Alex had seen her on the television a few times, but those moments had been fleeting. Now she could really look at her daughter for the first time in a year and a half.
Lily was speaking and it took Alex a few seconds to comprehend the young woman's comments. "Let's make a copy of this one," Lily said. "You keep the original. I'll make another, clearer one for you to frame. I can do one in color, too, if you want."
"Yes," Alex replied, almost in a daze. "I'd like that very much." They made the copy and Lily gathered her things as Alex tucked the precious sketch into a folder to take home. "How much do I owe you?" Alex asked as they walked out of CID.
"Nothing," Lily said.
"But your time and talent are valuable—"
"Mr. Hunt's already taken care of it."
Alex smiled. Naturally, Gene would do that. "I see. Thank you again, Lily."
"You're welcome. I'll send you the new copy and we'll talk about a color one."
Walking toward Luigi's, Alex held the folder carefully. She didn't bother checking the restaurant. Gene wouldn't be there. He'd be at her place.
*****
Gene waited impatiently in Alex's flat, pacing and smoking and reminding himself that sketches take time to get right. Still, it had been over an hour and a half and he was anxious to know how it went. There was a part of him that wondered if he was doing the right thing. Was he helping along some delusion of Alex's? One that she might be better forgetting? At the same time, he couldn't help putting himself in her shoes. He'd lost a child, but he had photographs of Billy. Alex was apart from her child and had nothing to hold onto. If nothing else, she'd now have a picture.
He heard the door open and close. Alex came into the living room, holding a folder. A peaceful expression was in her eyes, something Gene had rarely seen. She smiled and sat down on the sofa. He sat next to her. Alex opened the folder and laid it on the coffee table.
Molly Drake. She was everything Alex had described. A young girl with a sweet face and intelligent eyes. Eyes that seemed to look right into Gene.
"She's beautiful," he said.
Alex pursed her lips. She nodded briefly. Then her arms went around Gene, holding him tightly. She rested her head on his shoulder and began to cry. He held onto her, stroking her hair and kissing her forehead.
"Thank you," she whispered.
TBC…
