DISINTEGRATION
CHAPTER 10
This chapter starts soon after the episode Proud Flesh and the scenes with Tom and Alex and with Bobby and Annie will refer to events of that episode. This was the second time we saw Alex Eames shoot and kill a "perp". Both times were justified, but it made me wonder what it does to a cop who kills someone in the line of duty, and how it might affect a partnership. Many thanks go to my very own retired cop, my sister Harlana. She never had to kill anyone during her career, but she was able to give me some insights into how a cop might feel…especially having it happen twice. And thank you, as always, to my beta Spook.
Tom felt cool air against his back as the warmth of Alex's body moved away. Not fully awake, he reached behind him to find her and his hand touched her arm, closing his hand gently around her wrist. She leaned back over and kissed his cheek.
"I didn't mean to wake you," she whispered. "Go back to sleep."
As she pulled away again, Tom rolled over and sat up. Alex was standing next to the bed, wearing one of his tee shirts with FDNY emblazoned on the front. He glanced at the clock next to the bed: 2:18 AM. Propping his pillow behind him, he reached over to turn on the light and leaned back against the headboard.
"Tom, I'm sorry," Alex told him.
"No, it's OK," he said, rubbing his hand over his face and through his short crew-cut hair. "Can't sleep?"
"No…I was just going to go in the other room and read for a while."
"Want to talk?"
Alex narrowed her eyes and gave him a hard look. "No."
Despite her size, most men were intimidated by "the look", as her partner called it. But this big, tough firefighter who was the most gentle, imperturbable man she had ever known was completely unfazed.
"OK," he said simply, holding her gaze.
"I'm going to be talking to Olivet," she said, hating the defensive tone in her voice.
"I know."
"So I don't need to spill my guts to you."
"OK."
She glared at him and he looked back at her warmly, waiting. Alex began to pace back and forth across the room. Tom sat watching her silently. She stopped at the foot of the bed.
"I killed a man," she said softly.
"Yes, you did."
"I have killed two men, Tom." They looked at one another for several beats. "How am I supposed to feel about that?"
Tom crossed his legs and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You are supposed to feel however you feel, Babe. There's no right or wrong here….your feelings are just your feelings."
Alex sighed; she looked down and traced her finger over the pattern of the blanket covering the bed. "You know, it might make it easier if you would just argue with me."
Tom grinned at her. "Sorry," he told her.
She smiled and climbed back onto the bed. Tom straightened his legs and Alex sat between them, leaning back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling his cheek against hers.
"So," he said, "do you want to talk about how you feel?"
"That's just it; I don't know how I feel. Or…I'm feeling so many things I don't know if I can identify them all."
"OK, well, just start with one."
"Guilt." Tom didn't answer; he waited for her to continue. "I mean, I know I had to do it. He would have shot Anna Slaughter if I didn't. But…"
"But?" he asked softly.
"But….I killed him. I took a life," she whispered. "Maybe I didn't have to, maybe I could have wounded him….something. I saw the gun and I just reacted."
"And because you did," Tom said quietly, "Anna Slaughter is alive."
"Yeah." She sighed and rubbed her eyes. "It's the second time in four years that I've….shot someone. What does that say about me?"
"I don't know. If it was another cop, what would you think it says?"
"If it was another cop I would wonder if he or she was trigger-happy, maybe even dangerous. That's got to be running through Deakins' mind, and the Chief of D's."
"And what if it was another cop who shot two people in exactly the same circumstances?"
"Then I would think it was justified. But I would still worry about that cop continuing on the job."
"You think your job is in danger?"
"Maybe. Deakins was supportive when we talked. He's a good guy, and if he thinks this was justified he'll go to bat for me. But, there's this whole process that I have to go through…like seeing Olivet tomorrow." She sighed deeply. "That should be a lot of fun."
Tom chuckled and kissed her cheek. "Are you scared?"
"Well, yeah…kind of. I mean, if I can't be a cop, what am I? There isn't anything else I've ever wanted to do."
"Is there a possibility that you could lose your badge?"
"Sure…it's even a possibility that they could charge me. Or maybe not so drastic. They could reassign me, or just stick me behind a desk for the next twenty years. Logan lost his temper and punched a guy and they sent him off to Staten Island for ten years. I've shot and killed two people."
"But you didn't shoot because you lost your temper either time. Logan was seen as having an anger problem. You were reacting to a situation exactly the way you were trained to react. Not the same thing at all."
Alex rested her head against his shoulder and reached up to put her hand on his cheek. He kissed her hand and tightened his arms around her. He hadn't said the words to her yet, but Tom knew he was in love with Detective Alexandra Eames. She was full of contrasts; tough, no-nonsense cop but with a sweet, warm side that she didn't often show to people outside of her family. And he knew she wasn't through…there was more she needed to say.
"What else, Alex," he said softly.
"I'm angry," she whispered. He waited. "I'm angry," she said a little louder. When he didn't answer she shouted at him, "Alright! You want to know what I'm feeling? I'm pissed! I am fucking pissed off!"
"At who?"
She was glad to have her back to him; it somehow made it easier to say what she was thinking. "At Chance Slaughter, of course! He forced me to shoot him. What the hell was he thinking? He brings a gun to a courthouse that is crawling with cops; he tries to shoot his stepmother in full view of those cops. What did he think would happen? Did he think every cop there would suddenly forget they had a gun?" Alex stopped and thought about that for a moment. "He had to know what would happen when he pulled that gun out." She frowned. "Suicide by cop?"
She felt Tom nodding behind her. "That makes sense, doesn't it?"
"But….that bogus confession, claiming he killed his brother, clearing his father. If that was his plan, how could he be sure that he would live long enough to get in a dying confession?" Alex frowned in concentration, then reached over to the bedside table for her cell phone. As she pushed speed dial, Tom opened his mouth to remind her that it was two in the morning, but it was too late.
"Hello," came a groggy voice.
"Bobby, it's me," she said. "Did they find a suicide note in Chance Slaughter's clothes?"
"Eames?" There was a rustling sound as Bobby sat up in bed. "Suicide note? No, there was nothing on him."
"We need to search his apartment. If he was planning to get killed and he was planning to confess to his brother's murder…he must have written a note. We need to get into his apartment."
"Ah…yeah…OK. I'll take care of it in the morning. Eames," he hesitated a moment. "Go back to sleep."
"Yeah…I will."
She ended the call and laid the cell phone back on the table. Tom had remained quiet but now he asked softly, "Who else are you angry with, Alex?"
"No one."
"You sure?" When Alex didn't answer he added, "Are you sure you aren't also mad at the man whose sleep you just disrupted for something that could have waited for morning?"
Alex let out an irritated sigh. "Do you know how many times he has woken me up in the middle of the night with a question or an idea about a case? He probably wasn't asleep anyway."
"It's OK to say it out loud, you know," he whispered against her hair.
Alex closed her eyes and breathed deeply. "OK…I'm angry at my partner. Are you happy now?"
"I'm not happy if you're hurting."
A tear slipped from one eye as Alex struggled to keep her emotions under control. "But it's totally unreasonable for me to be angry at Bobby. He isn't to blame for any of this!"
"Then why are you angry at him?"
"Why couldn't it have been him that shot Slaughter?! He's never killed a single perp. Not with all his years in Narcotics, all the undercover work, all the arrests…he does it all without even discharging his weapon once! And here I am…I've shot and killed TWO people! Why didn't Goren draw his weapon five seconds before I did? Why didn't he shoot Slaughter instead of me? Why didn't he do something to stop me from killing him? I know he thinks I'm a loose cannon."
Tom frowned. "I've never picked that up from Bobby…why do you think that?"
"A little over a year ago, we were chasing down a suspect and we interviewed someone we thought might be a witness in the casino where he worked. Goren spotted someone at one of the tables that was exhibiting peculiar behavior and he went over to check it out while I continued to question the witness. Turns out it was the suspect we were looking for and this witness was working with him. He started yelling threats at me to try to distract Bobby from the other man. I was handling it, but all of a sudden, Bobby's throwing his big notebook at the guy and slamming him up against the wall. The suspect got away. At the time I was angry that Bobby seemed to think I couldn't take care of myself and let a suspect get away. But then later I remembered that when the guy started threatening me, I stepped back and put my hand on my gun. So now I wonder…was Bobby protecting him? Did he think I was going to pull out my weapon and blow him away because he yelled at me?"
"Did he ever say that was the reason?"
"No."
"Did you ever ask him?"
"No."
"So you never talked about it?"
"No."
"Maybe you should. You two are partners and you have to trust one another. If you think he has doubts about you…"
Alex sighed tiredly. "Maybe. I just….it's stupid to be mad at Goren because he didn't shoot Slaughter. It doesn't make any sense. There were other cops there; any one of us could have shot him. It just happened to be me."
"Hey, one thing I know for sure is that you are not stupid. It's a hard thing you're going through. And maybe that anger is something you can talk to Olivet about."
"Maybe."
"If you are intending to take advantage of this psych evaluation to really help you deal with this, that is. Or you could just go in there and tell her you're fine and 'a cop's gotta do what a cop's gotta do'…you know, shine her on."
"I thought you were a firefighter, not a therapist."
"Just wait until you get my bill, Detective."
Alex turned so that she was sitting across his lap, with her cheek against his chest. She sighed deeply as she felt his heart thumping against her cheek and his arms around her. A tear trickled down her cheek.
"I killed a man, Tom," she whispered.
"I know, Baby, I know."
More tears began to trickle down her cheeks as Alex began to cry softly.
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"This was the last time, Bobby. I'm never touching that gun again."
They stood facing one another across the living room, the resentment stretching between them like an invisible barrier that neither could penetrate. Angry blue eyes glared into angry brown ones, not caring about the size difference that forced her to look up in order to meet his hard gaze. Bobby didn't answer for several long moments as he stared at his wife's defiant stance; feet apart, hands on hips. His own anger momentarily erased the memory, no more than twenty-four hours old, of those same arms and legs wrapped around him and that same voice crying out his name in passion. She had drawn her line in the sand, knowing that this was an issue he would not back down on. Bobby knew that this argument was useless. Next month he would insist, as he had for the last fourteen years, that she go with him to the shooting range; that she practice cleaning, loading, and shooting his gun….both of his guns, wanting her to be as familiar with his second weapon as with the one he carried on the job. But all they could do until that time was engage in juvenile taunts: "Yes you will!" "No I won't!" So he didn't respond to her statement.
"We're done here," he said instead.
He saw her flush with anger at his dismissive tone, but she remained silent as he turned and walked away. He shut the door to the basement firmly behind him and went to sit at his desk. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, looking around at the room that used to be a refuge for him. He looked at the shelves of books. Being surrounded by his books always had a calming affect on him. At least it used to. Nothing seemed to have that effect these days. He opened a drawer in his desk and saw the wrapped present sitting there. Valentine's Day was only a week away.
Things had been good…almost normal…for a time after Christmas. They were both relaxed and cheerful when they returned from Connecticut. Annie and Ally went shopping for the rest of the supplies they needed, scoured the quilting books that Annie's mother and grandmother had collected, and got to work on a quilt. Bobby enjoyed standing in the doorway of his bedroom and watching them laughing together, their blond heads bent over squares of fabric. He and Annie went out, as usual, on New Year's Eve. Mike and Sarah joined them for the annual party held at their neighbor's brother's restaurant. Annie had been beautiful with her long hair swept up, leaving her shoulders bare except for the spaghetti straps of her black dress. As he kissed her at midnight, Bobby hoped that he and Annie could rebuild the closeness that had slipped away.
But those hopes were dashed as they both returned to work, juggling busy schedules; allowed little irritations to erupt into arguments. Complicating things was his mother's fragile mental health. Since her psychotic break a few months earlier, the doctor had difficulty adjusting her medication. Bobby never knew from visit to visit, even phone call to phone call, whether she would be lucid or ranting about bugs…or unable to talk to him at all. He had been leaving the children at home when he went to visit, not wanting them to see their grandmother in that condition. When he told Annie he was leaving them at home she refrained from asking any questions, but she knew there was only one reason he would keep them from visiting his mother. Two weeks earlier Ally had argued with him when he told her that she and her brothers would not be going to Carmel Ridge yet again. She insisted she wanted to see her grandmother and didn't care if she was "sick".
"I know how to talk to her, Dad. She likes it when I read to her or tell her stories or sing to her."
Bobby looked at his daughter, suddenly reminded that she was no longer a little girl. Annie was standing behind Ally, keeping her opinion to herself as she listened to the exchange. He saw the pain reflected in her eyes at Ally's words. Those were among the things Annie had always done for his mother. He hadn't told her that Ally was stepping into her role. He realized now that the children hadn't mentioned it either. Her expression changed from hurt to anger and she silently left the room, going upstairs to their bedroom. Ally was still staring at him, waiting for him to answer. He sighed and ran his hand over his face, and then agreed to take her with him. For the last two weeks they had gone to Carmel Ridge together. It shocked him to see how much she looked like her mother as she gently spoke to her grandmother. And she was right; his mother did respond to her voice and seemed calmer when they left.
He could see that Annie was angry about the new arrangement, but neither of them mentioned it. Their arguments about other matters, however, increased. The current argument, about the target practice, had flared up after Annie read in the newspaper that Eames had shot a man. She was furious that he had let her find out that way, rather than telling her something so important. Why hadn't he told her? He wasn't sure. Although Annie abhorred guns and violence, he didn't worry that she would be angry with Eames for shooting the man. Rather, she would want to make sure Eames was alright. Maybe that was the reason….he simply didn't want Eames to become another of Annie's "projects" to fix.
Or maybe the reason he didn't say anything was because it would lead to a discussion about the case that led up to that moment on the courthouse steps. And that might lead to a discussion of his feelings about the case….a case that involved yet another "imperfect father", as Judge Garrett's attorney had phrased it. A father with unrealistic expectations and demands on his two sons; a father who rejected the son who he saw as rejecting his plans for him. Why did it seem that lately every case he worked seemed to mirror some painful aspect of his own life?
Whatever his reasons, he had kept quiet, and Annie had found out through the news. In her anger, she focused on her own use of guns. She had never become comfortable using a gun, despite years of practice. She had given up arguing about it years ago, but made no effort to conceal her dislike. This time, buoyed by her anger over his silence about Eames, she began arguing every evening in the week leading up to their appointment. She declared she would not go this time; she was not going to be convinced; he couldn't force her to do it. In the end, she had gone with him but was so angry she refused to speak the entire time. She followed his instructions efficiently, but silently. In an effort to lighten the mood, on the way home he had joked that few men would willingly take an angry wife to a shooting range. Annie had not been amused. In fact, the look she turned on him was so furious he wouldn't have been surprised if she had slapped him.
She didn't slap him, of course. But the evening had deteriorated rapidly. Annie's enraged silence spoke more loudly than yelling would have. The children didn't know why she was angry, but there was no hiding it and so they simply watched their mother move through the house, preparing dinner, cleaning the kitchen (refusing any help). They seemed almost relieved to go to bed. Once the children were in bed, Annie was no longer silent. The more Bobby tried to avoid a confrontation, the more he tried to appease her, the louder and more strident she became. Finally he felt he had no choice but to cut her off and leave the room.
He sat and waited a for a few minutes to see if she was angry enough to follow him down to the basement to continue the argument, but it remained silent. He leaned back in the chair and let his memories run back over Christmas. It had been a magical time. How had it all gone so wrong so quickly? There was a wall between him and Annie that neither of them seemed to be able to demolish. Both of them had anger simmering just under the surface, waiting for something to spark a reaction. They always made up, but he wondered how long this could go on before irreparable damage was done. He had no answers and so they continued in the same pattern; arguing, apologizing, making love…until the next incident and they started all over.
He picked up a book and opened it, trying to read. But he couldn't concentrate. He was waiting. Thirty minutes later he heard it. The door to the basement opened and closed quietly. She moved almost soundlessly down the stairs and then there was complete silence. Swiveling his chair around, he spotted her sitting on a step more than half way down. Her back was against the wall and she was hugging her knees to her chest, watching him. Bobby got up and walked towards her; he sat on the step just below her, his back to her and leaning back against her. Annie wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against his. For a long time they just sat together. Bobby reached his hand up to cup her cheek and found it wet with tears.
"Annie…."
She put her hand over his mouth and whispered, "Don't Bobby. Please don't. I feel so bad already and I'll only feel worse if you apologize when you and I both know it was my fault."
Bobby closed his eyes and covered her hand with his. He ran the tip of his tongue over her palm and she shivered. She kissed his ear, his neck. Her other hand reached around and slid down the front of his shirt, lightly caressing his chest. He turned his head towards her and kissed her softly, gently. Annie pulled her hands free and moved to sit on his lap. He gathered her close and kissed her again, more deeply, more passionately. And waited for her to say the words they both knew she would say.
"Make love to me, Baby," she whispered.
Bobby slipped his arm under her knees. Pushing against the wall to steady himself, he stood up. He ignored the pain in his knee, as well as the voice in his head that said this was not going to solve their problems. He carried her to the large leather couch and laid her down gently. Joining her on the couch, they brought an end to yet another argument.
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"HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY", said the big block letters on the red heart-shaped piece of construction paper. Pasted inside was a white paper heart with the words, "I love you. You're the best Mom I ever had." Sarah smiled as she set the card on her desk. Valentine's Day had been two days earlier and when she returned home last night Jia Li had proudly presented it to her, explaining that she had made it all by herself. Well, almost all by herself. Her Kindergarten teacher, the very pretty and well-loved Miss Heather, had spelled out all the words for her when Jia Li told her what she wanted the card to say. She had also outlined the twenty red hearts and twenty white hearts for the students in her class. Jia Li had painstakingly cut out the red and white hearts, pasted the white on top of the red, and carefully traced the letters that spelled out the message she wanted to give to her mother for Valentine's Day. Sarah's heart swelled with love for her daughter as she gazed at the card.
During the time that Jia Li was pouring out all the love her five year old heart held for her mother, said mother was lying in a bed in a cabin in the mountains, wrapped in a warm comforter and the even warmer arms of Mike Logan. They had spent three days and two nights alone in the cabin, surrounded by snow and silence….and each other. She met him at his apartment the day before Valentine's Day and they returned the day after Valentine's. It was the longest period of time they had ever spent together. As the memories of those three days washed over her; the feel of his skin, the scent of him, the sound of his voice.
But more than the lovemaking they had engaged in, the memories she held closest were the long, uninterrupted talks they had. They shared their lives with one another over those days and nights in a way that they hadn't before. Mike was fascinated with the stories of Sarah's "boring, normal childhood" and her romance and marriage to Tony. He held her while she told him about the painful years of trying to conceive and the heartbreak of realizing that was never going to happen for them, the happiness of adopting Jia Li, followed by the devastation of Tony's illness and death. Sarah was able to coax Mike to tell her more about his childhood; his alcoholic and abusive mother, his distant father unable to cope with the wife he couldn't help, his years of being a "ladies man", looking only for women to have fun with and to share his bed, but not his life. Until he met Sarah.
She felt silly for allowing any worries to intrude on her lovely memories, but she noticed that Mike had not mentioned meeting her family or Jia Li once during the entire three days. She wondered if he had changed his mind, and thought how ironic that just as she felt ready to take that step the possibility loomed that he might have decided not to take it at all. But maybe he was just waiting for her to bring it up…after all, she was the one who said she wasn't ready the last time they discussed it. Sarah decided that must be what was going on; Mike was waiting for her to be ready, just has he had waited for her to be ready to let go of Tony. She looked at the strip of pictures lying on her desk and smiled.
On the way home from the cabin they couldn't agree on what to eat, arguing teasingly. Finally Mike pulled into the parking lot of a large mall and led her to the food court. He had enthusiastically devoured two very large slices of pizza and then helped Sarah with her Orange Chicken, Szechuan Tofu, and Fried Rice. There was a photo booth in the food court and Mike, in a playful mood, dragged Sarah into it for pictures. She ran her fingers down the series of pictures: Mike making a goofy face while she laughed at him, the two of them smiling into the camera with their heads touching, smiling and looking into one another's eyes, and…her favorite…the two of them kissing.
When Sarah arrived at her parents' house to pick up Jia Li she had been staring out of the window waiting for her, the card clutched in her hands. She had also been very excited about the chocolate heart that Sarah left for her mother to place next to her bed during the night. As much as she loved her time away with Mike, Sarah was happy to see her daughter and feel her solid little body against hers, her arms around her neck, and the numerous kisses on her cheek. She sighed as she looked from the card to the pictures. Two very separate areas of her life, both of them equally important to her. Was it time to bring them together? Picking up the frozen water bottle on her desk, Sarah took a drink of the ice cold water that had melted. Setting it down, she pushed aside her doubts and indecision about her personal life and focused her attention on the work waiting for her on the desk.
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Ally lay in bed in her dark room, staring at the ceiling and listening to the voices. They were muffled because her bedroom door and her parents' bedroom door were closed, and so she couldn't make out any words. But she heard the anger in both her mother's and her father's voices as they argued. It seemed as though that's all they did these days. They argued about everything and about nothing. They tried not to argue in front of her and her brothers, but they seemed to forget that closed doors did not make their bedroom sound proof. Even when they weren't openly arguing, silence surrounded them, punctuated occasionally by sarcastic snipes at one another.
Ally wondered if they thought that their children were idiots. Whenever any of the children were around, Mom and Dad smiled and joked, pretending everything was normal. But Ally knew it was pretense because she remembered what it was like before….before, when things really were normal. She remembered how easily and how often both her parents smiled and laughed. She remembered how they always seemed to have something to talk about, and how they included the children in their conversations. She remembered how her father would spontaneously sweep her mother into his arms and dance her around the kitchen, while she clung to him and laughed. She remembered the sound of her mother singing…while she was making dinner, while she was vacuuming, whatever she happened to be doing. She remembered when family outings were fun and exciting….not full of tension and wondering if they were going to start arguing over who left a gum wrapper on the floor of the car.
Christmas had been an exception. It had been truly fun and Ally hoped it meant things were returning to normal. She and her mother began working on a quilt and Ally enjoyed sitting with her, just the two of them, working together. Mom had told her stories about her own mother and father, before they died. She told her about going to live with Grandpa, about high school, her first date, her first kiss. But although they still worked on the quilt together and talked, the tension and fighting between her parents had returned. It was now almost March and the warmth and fun of Christmas was a distant memory.
Silence had descended on their home, at least when Mom and Dad were both home. Individually, they both seemed to try to relax and focus on the kids. But when they were together, even though they paid attention and talked to her and her brothers, Ally could see them glancing at one another as though they were trying to read one another's thoughts. When they spoke to each other, it seemed like they were choosing their words carefully, not sure of how the other would react. She couldn't remember the last time either one had teased the other.
Ally could tell that her mother was crying now. She did that a lot lately. Well, Mom had always cried a lot, but this was different. She used to cry when she was happy or when she saw or read something sweet, as well as when she was sad. None of her tears were happy tears anymore. Mostly she cried when she and Dad were arguing.
Ally couldn't pinpoint exactly when things changed, but she knew it had something to do with that Thanksgiving when Grandma got so mad at Mom. Mom hadn't gone to Carmel Ridge since. Now it was only Dad who took them to visit Grandma. She knew Mom didn't like not going and she knew that they used to argue about it. When she was lucid, Grandma didn't say anything bad about Mom in front of Ally and the boys; in fact, it seemed like Grandma had decided to pretend Mom didn't exist. Ally tried not to even mention Mom when they went to visit, and she knew that Phillip and Andrew avoided it as well. The three of them didn't talk to Mom about Grandma, either.
It was quiet now. The voices were softer and she knew that they were making up. Saying, "I'm sorry." Whenever she heard them argue, she always heard one or both say, "I'm sorry." But she wondered how sorry either of them really was if they just kept doing it again. Ally wondered if Phillip or Andrew were awake, if they had heard the fight tonight. Maybe they were able to sleep through it; they never mentioned hearing them fight, and neither did she.
She pulled her big brown stuffed bear closer and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his soft fur. Dad had taken her shopping for this bear just before she started Kindergarten. He told her that "Murray" would be a good friend and she could tell all her secrets to him when they were alone at night. And Murray would be waiting for her to come home from school every day to tell him what she did there. She supposed she was getting too old for him, but she still found comfort in his soft and squishy presence.
It was silent in the house now. Ally whispered, "Its over now, Murray." She closed her eyes and drifted to sleep with Murray tucked firmly in her arms.
End chapter 10
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