Sashimi – Chapter Eleven
"Will you tell me what happened with Roman?" he asked abruptly.
She turned her head sharply and stared at him.
It had been months. They hadn't talked about it at all – never – in all that time. Charlie had been the only one; the only one who never asked. He didn't poke, pry, prod and pester her about what he'd "done" to her, how she "felt", if she was "okay." He didn't subtly hint, drop vague references or otherwise try to engage her or encourage her to "talk."
He'd taken to heart the fact that she wasn't a talker; she spoke to him in other ways. He paid attention to her – her moods, her body language, the tenseness behind her eyes, the tightness in her body. Overtly he didn't change a single thing about how they interacted, but how they interacted had changed. They were sleeping together.
And Charlie was right; they were doing "a whole lot more than just sleeping together." They were together in ways Dani had never experienced with another person. She felt connected to him. His question didn't make her anxious, just curious why it took him this long to ask. It made her grin twist into a wry, curious smile as she continued to silently regard him.
Up to this moment with Charlie, it was as if the whole thing with Roman had never happened. He never acknowledged the incredible leap of …what word could you use for what he did… it escaped her. Trading his life for hers, taking her place, willingly placing himself in the grasp of a sociopathic sadist with no idea how or if he'd get away. It was as if he'd forgotten the gesture once he'd escaped with his own life.
They also never talked about that – how he'd escaped, how Roman died – but she knew. Or at least she thought she did. She was certain Crews killed Roman as surely as she knew he'd resist any inquiry into how. It was in the past, so for Crews it didn't exist, but for her it would echo throughout the rest of her life.
"Did you mean 'ever' or right now?" she parried. To her it seemed a fairly reasonable response, albeit it smart aleck, but that was her style; the flash in his eyes said otherwise, but he hid it quickly.
"You're getting pretty good at this 'answering a question with a question' thing, you know?" he smiled a sly sideways smile at her. "But I was kinda hoping for now," his smile stayed but softened, "or soon…when you're ready," he backpedaled. He was so in your face with most people and so cautious and tentative with her, she realized.
"I guess I was hoping we could wait til tonight," she offered. "That okay?"
"Yeah," he said quietly, squeezing her shoulder, "yeah, honey – that's okay." Then as an after thought, he asked, "Do you think we could have that Japanese fish thing again? For dinner I mean?"
"Yeah, I'll buy, you fly," she pulled a twenty from her pocket. "Cause if you're waiting for me to cook something….you could be in for a long wait," she joked.
"I know," he played at glum with a twinkle in his eye. He took her money, folded it over and with two fingers put it back in the pocket of her jeans. "I don't want your money."
She pulled the bill back out and slapped it against his chest, "and I don't want yours," she challenged.
"Is this gonna be a thing with you?"
"Which this is that?"
He sighed at her. "You know I have money – a lot of money," he pushed.
"Which I have no interest in," she asserted.
"I know that," he gingerly offered. She was hovering on the edge of angry. "I love that," he walked a tightrope, "but we're not going dutch on dinner. I'm buying us dinner," he ground his teeth at her intransigence.
She glared as he offered her money back. She snatched it from his outstretched hand, "fine."
"Hey, maybe your folks will invite us for dinner," he suggested cheerily. She rolled her eyes at him. "What? It could happen," he challenged happily.
"Yeah, and the Cubs could win the pennant, hell could freeze over and Mexico could achieve space travel, but I wouldn't hold my breath," her dark humor and sarcasm made an appearance. She tried to look dour, but failed with his smile coaxing a mirroring one from him. She growled at him.
"What?" he spread his arms showing he'd done nothing.
"It's a good thing we've given up police work," she commented, "I used to be able to summon fierce looks and you've turned me into a grinning idiot."
"Honey?" he teased, "you still look fierce to me. And that smiling thing? It's called happiness - you'll get used to it," he finished by gathering her in his arms intent on kissing her.
"Yeah, well…I," she tried to banter back, but ended up focused on his eternally split bottom lip. "Why don't you wear Chapstick?" she wondered.
"Can't I just borrow some of yours?" he whispered across her lips before claiming them with his own.
She hummed a reply but it was lost in the rush of blood in her ears. He still excited her like he had since their first kiss. She seemed never to tire of him and that was something new for her, but so was loving the man she was with. She'd deliberately avoided anyone she might fall in love with for years, choosing instead the harmful but deliberate stranger and the harmless, but uninspired Kevin Tidwell. Fate however had other plans for her, when it placed Charlie Crews directly in her path.
Unlike most men placed in her path or blast radius in those days, Charlie Crews simply wouldn't move. She'd lowered her head and hit him with the power of a freight train, an iron horse running right into him intent on travelling straight through. But her pale, lean partner was far tougher and smarter than he'd first appeared. He was like water, she flowed straight through, but she'd gotten wet in the process. It was almost unnoticeable how he was slowly staining her the color of him their whole time together.
He was strong in an archaic way, possessing the tenacity of an old world warrior or Olympic athlete coupled with the audacity and shameless luck of an Irish man. He was seemingly bullet proof, more a function of the fact that he didn't care if he lived or died than any true ballistic protection. He told her not fearing death freed him. Something to do with moving between the raindrops he'd told her one day when he was being particularly Zen. His power came in the knowledge that every moment could be your last – he never gave anything but his best, his all and it made him seem otherworldly, but she knew he was just a man. A remarkable man that she loved.
He alone possessed the strength to withstand the heat of her glare, the blast of her anger and the ice in her veins. Somehow, slowly but surely he'd crept into her keep and set up camp within her high castle walls - a penetration that she was the very last to notice. Now he was firmly entrenched in her heart and she found it comforting rather than disturbing. It was proof she was losing her mind - that and the fresh, green sprouts of Zen popping up throughout the garden of her life.
He hit the doorknob opening the front door with his knee, juggling the plastic bag and a six-pack of Guinness and a folder full of paperwork under his arm. He was met with a resounding lack of sound, which was weird because her car was in the drive. He stood still for a moment listening, then shut the door with his foot and called out, "Reese?"
For a moment, he wondered if him calling her Reese was weird now that they were sleeping together, but that thought was interrupted by the sound of clacking. Like a typewriter, but not like a typewriter…he couldn't place the noise in context until he heard a whine. Nails on marble; it was a dog. There was a dog in his kitchen… or a coyote. Boy, Ted would freak if a coyote had gotten in the house, he thought as he walked in that direction.
He found a stay gate holding back a small black and white dog with a patch over one eye. It began to leap and whine in earnest when it saw him. The dog was still young, maybe three or four months old, but not a true puppy. Charlie stepped over the gate and put dinner down on the island and picked up the dog. It eagerly licked his face and squirmed in joy.
"And just who are you?" he inquired.
Holding the dog under one arm, he grabbed a pint glass and popped the top off a Guinness pouring it patiently into the glass. He retreated to the living room with the pup and waited, petting the eager little fellow, which after checking under his skirt to deduce it was a male. The dog was damp and it's hair sticking up in spots as though it had been swimming. Deep in the house, he could now detect the sound of water running in the pipes. "So mama's in the shower huh fella?"
The dog said nothing. It was curled up in his lap fast asleep, having already had rough day. About ten minutes later, he heard Dani descend the stairs and unlatch the gate. Her shorter legs weren't quite long enough to step over it as he did. She whistled quietly and the dog's head snapped up.
"We're in here," he offered loud enough for her to hear.
"Oh," she appeared in the doorway still toweling her hair dry. "You found him," she noticed. The dog made no attempt to move from Charlie's lap. "We had a little trouble on the way home. He get's carsick," she explained. "I was going to call, but by the time I got finished cleaning the car, the dog and myself…" she stopped talking because Charlie and the dog were both regarding her with a strange expression.
"We have a dog now?" he asked his eyes smiling to match his grin.
"He was supposed to be a surprise," she wagged her finger at the dog.
"Oh, I'm surprised," he laughed finishing his glass. "Could you pour the rest of that bottle for me?"
She took the glass and the dog ducked his head. She returned from the kitchen with his glass bearing the remainder of his beer. The dog ducked again.
"What's with him?" Charlie asked. Dani sat beside him and he put his arm around her looking deeply into her eyes. She kissed him quickly and focused her attention on the pup.
"Apparently…" Dani eyed the dog, as she slowly reached out to rub the pup's ears, "he doesn't like cars or baths." The dog licked her hand.
He watched her concentrate on the dog's silken ears and regaining his trust. Charlie kept his hands off the dog and watched as he leaned against Dani's hand, rose and moved to her lap. "I think you're forgiven."
"Hmmm," she remarked absently.
"Does he have a name?"
"Not yet," she said absently still focused on the dog. The silence between them stretched. He took her hand and wove his fingers between hers. The ignored pup returned to sleep.
"I thought about what you asked," she continued headed decidedly down a road she'd been considering all day. "I wasn't scared," she started, "with Roman," she qualified, looking up from their hands to make sure he followed. "I knew you'd find me. I knew you'd come. I didn't get scared, until…" she stopped.
He waited but she did not continued. He waited longer and then asked her, "until what? What frightened you Dani?"
"You," she looked up and her grin was incongruous with the tears in her eyes.
He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes in a silent question.
"What you did? When they took you away….it was the first time I was really truly scared," she blinked and a single tear traversed her cheek. He leaned in and kissed it off her face.
"It's okay, it's over," he promised. "We don't have to go back there," he let her know it was okay to stop right there, but she didn't.
"Roman hit me, pushed me around, nothing worse than a couple guys I've dated. He talked trash. He told me he'd killed my father, which you know, but none of that scared me the way what you did…" her voice broke. "Charlie, I thought I might never see you again."
He pulled her close, squeezing the dog between them. The dog wisely moved. He shushed her and kissed her forehead and whispered into her hair, "I had a plan."
"Liar," she laughed and elbowed him. "You didn't have a plan," she challenged.
"Okay," he admitted, "so no plan, but I'm still here," he said as if that made everything okay. "I'd have sold my soul to the devil to get you back," he smiled at her and her mirroring smile let him know the worst was over. "You're worth that much to me."
She nodded knowing he was telling her the truth. "I was restrained, taped to a chair and hooded most of the time. I couldn't tell much about where I was. I heard noises, voices, heard Russians talking, smelled sweat and cigarette smoke and dogs. It was hard afterwards to be in the dark without feeling like I was still there under that hood."
He nodded, but she fell silent, so he filled the void with a secret of his own. "For a long time after I was out, I'd wake up and think I was still there – in prison, in solitary. I slept with the lights on so when I'd wake up I'd know. It's why I bought this house, all this space, all the light. Even when the lights are off it's still light in here – and there's lots of space. Not just lots of rooms, but big rooms." He explained to her something she'd always wondered and never asked.
The house wasn't a display of wealth or opulence, it was a way of being inside but unconfined by tight corners, dark rooms or painful places from his past. Another thing they shared.
"Did he ask you anything?" he tried to sound nonchalant about his very important question.
"No," she said simply. "He never did," she eyed him suspiciously.
"But?"
"They did. The FBI did," she told him. "Crews this and Crews that – they wanted me to come back to you, to spy on you, to help them find out about you and Mickey Rayborn who turned out not to be quite as dead as everyone thought," she smiled.
"And you wouldn't do it," he pronounced. She nodded.
"That's why they took you," he pieced it together. "You knew what they wanted – Rayborn," he said quietly, almost to himself. "Everyone at the FBI belonged to Roman," he continued to think aloud piecing disparate pieces of the puzzle together. "Rayborn disappeared, staged his own death to get away from Roman. Roman thought I was helping him."
"Okay, fill in the blanks," she demanded, "because I'm lost."
"Rayborn was the one who put me onto Roman in the first place," he acknowledged. "That call I made before we busted Roman at his club? It was to Rayborn. But he was shining me on, playing me. We both got used. Rayborn used me to take out Roman, then Roman tries to use you to get to me – thinking I'd lead him to Rayborn."
She shook her head to clear it. His stomach growled and the dog growled back. "Uh, is that sashimi in the kitchen?"
"Yeah," he kissed her sweetly, "let's eat and go to bed."
"What about him?" Dani asked nudging the dog with her leg.
"Yeah, what about him? Why'd you get a dog Dani?" he wondered curiously.
She seemed embarrassed, so he waited until she met his eyes. "I just thought… the house seemed kinda empty. I ran across him in the park when I was running. He looked lost and I thought he fit us. It was dumb," she ended looking down.
"No," he was stern and raised her face to his with a knuckle under her chin. "It was sweet; it was kind." She made a face but he continued undeterred, "and it means a lot to me," he gazed into her eyes, "that you think of this, of us, as home, that you want to make a home – with me."
"Maybe I just liked the dog," she joked, dodging his deeply personal comment.
He waited and her eyes returned to his, "I love you," he whispered, "but I'd really love some dinner," he teased with a grin.
She exhaled her relief. The entire exchange was just a touch too personal for Dani. She still wasn't used to the idea of being loved. Being lusted after? Sure. Being pursued? Absolutely. But loved, valued, cherished? These things were new to her. She was still trying them out. He had to be patient and take baby steps.