**author's note: part 2 tomorrow**
S2 E2 – An Unholy Death - Her P.O.V.
Part 1 of 2
It is very early when she quietly parks the Defender by his little house and eases up onto the veranda. As she passes the open French doors she catches a glimpse of blue stripes atop a snowy mantle of bedding. She does not turn her head despite wanting to. She shouldn't really be here without his knowledge let alone ogling him in his sleep.
What a week it has been!
The Seymour murder case had been very hard on her. It had brought back long-buried memories that she thought were laid to rest ages ago. Apparently not. She's had nightmares several nights in a row about her father leaving again. The last one had been the worst. For a moment, her father's hazy face had been replaced by a very sharp image of someone else… someone who hasn't yet managed to leave her but is trying very hard to do just that. Why, only last month he'd been pining for old Blighty with that D.I. Ricketts. How can he be so homesick for a place where he has no place anymore?
He is needed here... every day. If only he would come to terms with it. Come to think of it… he'd said it last month, hadn't he? He has accepted his lot, according to him. Did that mean he wants to stay? Should I maybe push him a bit? Get him to say it? Say he will stay… for me? With me?
And up swarm all the OTHER dreams that have also plagued her nights. She groans, pushes them back down. She can't allow herself to think of them while on duty… MUSTN'T think of them!
And the debacle over the blind date! The less said, the better! Things had been very stiff between them for several days but it seems to be easing now. Given enough time even the most embarrassing faux pas can be glossed over, it seems. Her heart still hurts a little but she's a big girl… she'll live. She is mostly angry at herself for not seizing the moment. Everything could be so different now if ONLY… but she had been caught off guard and the moment had passed… but there will be other moments... yes?
As she watches the ocean roll endlessly, there is a sudden tumult within and he comes charging out… chasing a chicken, of all things! He barely flinches when he sees her. Catching him in his pyjamas is almost a weekly thing between them now. She thinks it's cute. God knows what he thinks.
She cannot help herself and ribs him about 'appearances being deceiving' as she gives him the cheeky once-over from head to foot, doing her best to convey by eyebrow that 'you dress like a little boy but I know better!' He doesn't get it. Figures.
She decides to push the envelope by making him breakfast… a tidy domestic chore that will catch him by surprise and maybe start him thinking along the right lines. When she hears him come out of the bathroom, she very firmly keeps her back to the bedroom and continues with meal prep. A little fortitude now may earn great dividends later. The sounds of his dressing make her curious. How much clothing does he actually put on, she wonders? By the time he is almost finished, she slips out the back door and takes breakfast to the little table she's set up on the beach.
She can tell he is pleased by her efforts. They enjoy a quiet few minutes and he eats every bite. She doesn't remember seeing him eat much. How can a whole year go by and she's seldom seen him eat? His kitchen is bachelor sparse… and the chronological expiry date listing of all the tinned and bottled foods had been a revelation... a tiny peek into his mind. Does he eat out? Another mystery to add to the rest. If she has HER way, he will eat in very happily forever after. Time to look into those night classes on English cooking!
He surprises her too by refilling her empty teacup and drinking from it himself. An odd move for someone who is so concerned about hygiene. Did he even realize he did it? She doesn't think so. Is that a sign of trust… or just more obliviousness? Why can't she figure anything out? No time to stress, the case is afoot and they must follow the scent.
At the convent, he is more uptight than usual. It takes her some time to realize that he is afraid of the nuns. Nuns? These quiet circumspect women? Is it the uniform? Their cloistered life? Their avoidance of all things male? How strange for a man who hardly ever acts like a man to be the only man on the property… apart from Father John, of course.
The only thing to snap him out of his odd state is the mention of the phantom nun. That catches both their attention but then the Mother Superior enters and he is spinning off into an outer orbit once more. This woman really worries him! She almost didn't want to leave him alone with her… but he's a big boy and she knows he'll manage.
She interviews all the nuns who have reported seeing the 'phantom'. Nothing special, nothing spectral, just an odd thing to occur in a convent. When she hears more about the holy spring, she sends Dwayne to fetch Richard.
She watches his face carefully as they follow the path along the river bank. It is very pretty. Almost romantic. Not that he would notice! He is expecting some new info about the phantom and he is suitably miffed when he realizes she's brought him to the holy spring instead. She makes him wait while she bathes in the waters. He makes a big show of dipping his ill hand into the tub of water… but she is sure that running water is best… cool and fresh… full of magic. It must have been because he actually drops a coin into the collection tin and lights a candle for her. She is touched. He smirks it off but she thinks he might have said a little prayer? Maybe? Like she did down at the stream?
Back at the station, Dwayne's surprise reveal about Sister Marguerite… Elodie… shocks everyone! Was it this early tragedy in his life that shaped Dwayne into who he is now? The happy-go-lucky playboy party animal? When he talks about Elodie he doesn't even look like himself. He looks years younger, serious, grounded. It is unsettling to see the results of a path not taken. Dwayne… and Elodie!
Paths not taken! Her and Richard! Oh, she just HAS to make it happen somehow! She doesn't want to meet Dwayne's fate… loved and lost or no love at all… which is more torture? Which causes more pain?
Then, out on the veranda, Richard finally opens up, desperate to explain a trauma from his childhood. She is taken by surprise… it all spills out of him in a torrent. He's never opened up like this to her before. Something has changed between them… but what? She is pleased in his trust but uneasy about his vehemence. The story about childhood beatings upsets her a LOT but she can't deal with it right now as Sister Marguerite is hovering over them. Later, when they are alone and all is quiet, she will deal with it then… like so much else that needs to be dealt with!
She can't help wondering, though. What other horror stories are bottled up inside him? A seven-year-old boy alone in the world is an easy target. How did he cope? DID he cope? How damaged is he, really? Is he irreparable? If she gets him to open up to her, can she handle it? Is she strong enough to shoulder his burden and help him heal? Tearing off old scabs can be very painful. Is he strong enough to do it? Will he trust her enough to attempt it? These thoughts scare her afresh.
Most disturbingly, she wonders if he is capable of love at all. Oh, don't think about that now. Surely there is always hope? If not hope then prayer… prayer and many tears.
Now they are on their way to visit Maman. Against all the odds, her dear sweet mother holds a clue to the case. Go figure.
The visit to La Kaz leads to the villa up in the hills… a villa absolutely awash in bikinis and estrogen. Within moments of walking through the front door, she knows exactly how this will play out. She has to hand it to him, though, he does his best. Actually, now that she thinks about it, he didn't seem attracted to any of the nubile young bodies… more shocked and embarrassed… on THEIR behalf... more of the outraged father than the randy boyfriend. She has to smile… Richard in a room of almost naked women… I'll bet that suit heated up super-fast like never before!
However, once away from all the exposed flesh, he is his usual self… brusque and to the point. There is a moment when he sees the girlfriend kissing their suspect that makes her pause. Richard knows her? Like THAT? Another question to keep her awake in the night. He must have known women back in England. How many? How well? How OFTEN? Ohhhh, it hurts! "Drive" he says. Yep, she can do that.
Dwayne finds another clue. Now, who would have thought to check all the on-line photos like that? Hmm. Dwayne has changed recently. He's upped his game… and it suits him! The laid back cop has become a sharp knife.
Next morning, she is surprised and pleased to see Richard is reading 'The Count of Monte Cristo'… especially after insulting the book and her entire culture yesterday! How can he be so hide-bound yet able to change his opinion so quickly? The old dog CAN learn new tricks, it seems. As long as it involves a crime! How can she make her affection for him resemble a crime that he will attempt to solve? Her unrequited feelings for him are a sin and a shame but not a crime... at least not YET! Much more of this and she will explode, taking out innocent by-standers, and then it WOULD be a crime. Yeah, they can put that on her headstone… "Callously ignored and left to blow up for want of love"…
Super.
The forced compliment he gives her for noticing the switched packets of cigarettes feels so wonderful! For once, she beat him at his own game! He really hadn't noticed! Oh, it is delicious! Now, surely, he must realize how valuable she is… to the team… to the solving of crime… to him.
Then the attack on Sister Anne! Odd thing, though… she refuses Father John's cuppa… a total reversal of her earlier behavior towards him. Richard, of course, misses this completely. He only has eyes for the tea! Men and their stomachs… the old saying must be true. She doesn't HAVE to learn to cook British tucker… just learn to brew the perfect cup of tea. Could it really be that simple? The speculative look she throws him shakes him up a bit but he gets the tea all the same.
Back at the station, she has to concentrate VERY hard on the whiteboard to keep her thoughts under control. He is standing right beside her and she can't help notice that he has a most pleasing personal aroma. Considering how he suffers in the heat, you'd think he wouldn't smell nice at all… but he does. Some strange sort of Richard chemistry? Could it be all the tea? Not quite spicy, not quite musk, not quite fresh bread. It would be a nice smell to wake up to… or fall asleep with…
END – Part 1
