Chapter 12 - Moving Ahead
Dean didn't even bother calling to see if his dad and stepmom wanted him to come by. He knew that they'd be waiting for him, and that the only reason he would have needed to call was if he was not going to come by.
He let himself in the front door with only a token rap on it, and found them both in the living room, already rising to greet him. In a matter of moments he was enveloped in two hugs at once. He returned them wholeheartedly.
"Can we get you anything?" Marina asked. "You've had such a day..."
"Maybe some decaf coffee?"
"Sure." She hurried off toward the kitchen.
"So, Son, tell me everything," Dad said as he resumed his place on the couch.
Dean chose a chair close by. "It went really well. They're great people, and I really think I was able to help them."
"That's great news, Son!"
Marina came back and sat down beside Dad. "The coffee will be ready in just a minute." Promising gurgling sounds floated in from the kitchen, confirming her words.
"Thanks, and Marina, the things that I need to talk about tonight..."
He saw her nod with a resigned look and start to rise, but he gestured her back down. "No, what I was going to say was that I'd really love it if you would be in on this conversation too. I need your input."
He saw joyful wonder on her face. "Oh Dean, I'd be delighted to if I can help in any way."
Dad looked pleased too, and he took Marina's hand and squeezed it.
"You see, here's the thing. I really reached out to Peterson's family. And his sister Lauren... something really, really powerful passed between us."
Dean saw a knowing look cross his father's face.
"Perkins stayed to talk to me about it, and reminded me about Florence Nightingale and transference and all of that..."
Dad was nodding. "Good man."
"That's when I knew I needed to talk to you and Marina...you know...if you don't mind…" he shrugged, suddenly feeling awkward. "...about your relationship."
Dad and Marina looked at each other. Marina shrugged. "I'm game. But I think your coffee's ready."
"I can get it," Dean said, starting to rise.
"No, no, I've got it. You relax." She hurried away and was back with the coffee quickly.
"I'm game too," Dad said.
Marina settled back into the couch. "But at the risk of seeming clueless, what are all those psychological terms Dean used?" she asked.
"It basically refers to the fact that strong emotional bonds can often form very quickly between caregivers and patients, or between rescuers and the rescued," Dad explained. "It's kinda similar to 'Stockholm,' except that that adds the element of force or coercion into the mix."
Dean grimaced as he took his first swallow of coffee.
"So...Stockholm was part of what I experienced toward Ollie…." Marina pondered aloud.
Dad nodded. "Sort of. But you already cared about him before that, so the Stockholm would only have applied to that last day."
"And the other syndrome?"
"That's what you felt toward me at first. Remember, I explained all of that to you."
Dean sat back and watched them conversing, and he felt almost like he was eavesdropping. They were talking to each other, and seemed to have become totally absorbed in their interchange.
"So," Marina said to Dad, "...you mean it was true, what you said at the beginning, about needing to take it slow because I was in a vulnerable emotional state, and you didn't want to take advantage…?"
Dad nodded emphatically. "That was absolutely true. I couldn't look at myself in the mirror if I'd taken advantage of you, or of any of the other women that have 'fallen in love' with me as their rescuer over the years. And you really were in a vulnerable place."
She smiled a little and looked down.
He crooked a finger under her chin and lifted her face again. "Is this hurting you?"
"No...I'm just thinking it all through."
"That was all years ago…."
"Yes, but until tonight I really thought that you were just using psychology-stuff as an excuse to keep me at arm's length back then. I didn't know it was a real 'thing.' Though I guess I should have, since I eventually did realize how vulnerable I had been…."
Dad turned sideways on the couch to face her full-on. "Oh, it's absolutely real! I teach the students about it at the academy. It's very, very real, and people can get badly hurt."
She was now fully facing him as well. "So...had other women come into the station like I did, hugged you, that sort of thing?"
"Yeah, it happened. And it was really awkward!" He laughed a little.
Dean knew he was completely forgotten. The two only had eyes for each other. So Dean was free enjoy his coffee, and to struggle, unobserved, with the concept of women falling for his dad as a somewhat regular occurrence.
"How did you handle that?" Marina asked.
"Same way I did...tried to do with you," Dad replied.
"So I owe my good fortune to my persistence?"
Dad chuckled just a little, and nodded almost reluctantly. "If you hadn't come back after that first night when we had coffee, I wouldn't have pursued it, no. But that would have been my loss. I hope you know I have no regrets about how it turned out."
"I know. But there's something I've always wondered about, but I wasn't sure I should ask. Should I?"
"Absolutely. Go for it."
"Why did you take me out for coffee that first night? When I think back to it, I remember it so clearly. I had hugged you, and thanked you, and you told me I didn't have to thank you…."
"And you told me to shut up!" Dad laughed.
Marina laughed right along with him. "Yes, I did. I was talking to you like I would have talked to any of the guys in my family...my dad, my brothers...somehow I just knew that you'd understand...but anyway...you asked how I was, and I said something or other, and then I asked you how you were. And I saw the wheels start turning behind your eyes. It took you a while to decide to ask me out for that cup of coffee. And I've always wondered what you were thinking about for so long before you asked. And now I wonder even more, since you've told me that other women fell for you before I did. Did you take any of them out?" She looked unflinchingly into his eyes as she awaited his answer.
"No, no way. That would have felt way too unhealthy, even unethical."
"Then why was I so lucky?"
Dean opened his mouth to say something, anything to make sure they knew he was still here. I'd hate for either of them to say anything too personal, that they might be embarrassed to have said in front of me.
Or that I might be embarrassed to hear.
But before he could speak, Dad replied to Marina. He was smiling at her, but if Dean was any reader of body language, he was inwardly squirming a bit.
"Well, when you asked me how I was, I was thinking through all the reasons why I shouldn't ask you out. I was reminding myself of all the stuff I told you...emotional vulnerability and all that. But for the first time, I wasn't saying those words to a woman because I wanted to 'let her down easy.' I was saying them to myself because I wanted to take you out so bad, and I was trying to talk myself out of it."
"Aww, really?"
"Yes, really."
Dean just sat with his jaw hanging open, trying to imagine his father having such romantic feelings. His affection for Marina had always been obvious to Dean, but he always kept the more romantic stuff entirely private.
Dad continued. "Haven't I ever told you how much you impressed me, that even though you were terrified, you insisted on putting yourself in harm's way to protect Rose?"
"Oh, that wasn't anything…."
"Shut up," he whispered, and they both burst out laughing.
Dean smiled a little. He was perfectly conversant with the Canadian use of that phrase, which was much more playful than rude. But Dad and Marina had always had their own inside joke about it. I never knew before how it got started.
Dean felt a little odd, like he was meeting his father for the first time, all over again.
"You were amazing," Dad continued. "I remember thinking, 'that woman would make a great cop.'"
"You did not!"
"I swear, absolutely!"
"I look back on that night, and I see myself blubbering. I don't see cop material."
Dad nodded. "Yes, I remember your fear, and your desire to not see Ollie hurt...that's one of the other things that impressed me...that you cared about him under the circumstances. But you were brave, Marina! You walked out of hiding, called his attention to yourself...putting yourself at immediate risk of being shot... and you did everything I told you to do, even after I told you what had happened to Josh...which took a lot of courage. You were awesome!"
Marina's eyes teared up, and she looked away.
"I'm sorry...I shouldn't have brought that up!" Dad pulled her close to comfort her, and Dean scrambled to remember.
Oh that's right, Ollie killed a guy at her office. That must have been Josh.
"No, it's okay," Marina reached behind Dad for the tissue box on the end table, and wiped her tears away. "It's important to talk about these things sometimes." She plied the tissue once more and then threw it away. "But on to a lighter subject…." She folded her arms and tried somewhat unsuccessfully to look angry. "You took me out because you thought I'd make a great cop?"
Dad laughed. "No, I wasn't interested in trying to recruit you for the force. You just impressed me, that's all. I thought you were an amazing woman. And…." he looked away for a moment, but toward the back of the couch rather than toward Dean. "It didn't hurt that you were absolutely gorgeous!"
"Oh my!" She pretended to fan herself.
This is getting way too awkward.
"Well you were. And are." Dad reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Umm…" Dean interrupted, and both older adults jumped a little. "I'm...like...you know...still here…."
Dad roared with laughter while Marina, laughing herself, reached toward Dean. "I'm sorry, we did get all wrapped up in that, didn't we?"
"Yeah…." Dean decided not to say more, but he was starting to laugh himself, just because it was so contagious.
Dad was still laughing hard enough to make tears run. When he could speak he said, "Sorry to worry you there, son."
Dean just shrugged. "No sweat."
"That's not what your face said," Dad replied, laughing harder again. "You were terrified!" And then he was off again.
Marina gave Dad a playful slap on the shoulder. "Now don't embarrass him, Greg!"
By now Dad was holding his sides and reining in his emotions. "I'm sorry," he chuckled. "But with all the stress we've been through lately, I need a good laugh." He reached for Dean and squeezed his shoulder, his own shoulders still shaking with amusement. "And so do you."
Dad's right. I needed this. Dean relaxed into the humor, and it felt good.
"So, Dean, now that your father and I have had our almost-private conversation right in front of you, is there anything else we can help you with?" Marina asked, still smiling.
"Um...well, I just need advice, because Perkins thinks Lauren is probably going to come looking for me, like you did with Dad."
"And how do you feel about that?" Dad asked, his frivolity instantly vanishing in favor of concern.
"I'd be thrilled," Dean admitted quietly.
"Then we definitely need to talk," Dad said with a wide-eyed nod.
"Yeah, because it's so similar to you and Marina," Dean ventured.
"No." Dad shook his head rather forcefully. "I mean," he shrugged, "there are some similarities, sure, but Ollie wasn't Marina's brother. She cared about him because she cares about people, but she didn't love him. And I didn't pull the trigger, buddy. Ed did that."
"Oh. Yeah." Dean suddenly felt way more discouraged than he could account for.
"And you're still rebounding from Mira," Marina added.
"Yeah, that's a huge complication," Dad agreed.
Dean clenched his jaw against the rush of objections that welled up from his heart. These feelings are way too strong for someone I just met for less than an hour. It's got to be more syndrome and rebound than anything else. I need to listen here.
No matter how much it hurts.
"Buddy, you may not have to deal with this. She may not decide to pursue anything, and if she doesn't, I trust you won't…." The look on Dad's face said he strongly advised such restraint.
Dean just nodded his acquiescence. "But if she does? Are you telling me I definitely shouldn't go out with her?" The level of sorrow he felt made another warning bell go off in his head. This really isn't healthy.
"I'm not saying that. I am saying that you need to take it super slow, and make that clear to her from the start. All relationships are tricky, even when they start on pretty neutral ground. But this is far from neutral ground. It's going to be challenging enough, just working through the minefield of your traumas, and over the fact that, Buddy, you killed her brother!"
Dean looked down, his eyes suddenly stinging.
Dad leaned forward to lay a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry to be so blunt, but you have to see that, no matter how real the connection was that you felt tonight, there are major, major issues at work here. I don't mean that they're insurmountable, Buddy. Given time, it may work out. But there are so many complications here that you simply can't afford to add romance...or more...into the mix. And here's the thing. With the emotional cauldron you're both in right now, and the way you've already connected, and the way you've already started helping her through...if you go out with her, the draw for more physical intimacy is going to feel way more than physical, right? There will be a powerful emotional pull, too. But that will become a vicious cycle, because if things get physical, that's another huge complication to add to the mix. I doubt you need me to tell you that, no matter how much people try to kid themselves about it, you can't really be 'casually intimate' with someone. There's a powerful emotional bond there, and that's just another agony you could cause each other, if it turns out that this relationship, which started on pretty iffy ground with two hurting people, ended up not working out. Am I making sense?"
Dean just nodded, feeling multiple layers of misery.
"And I'm saying this for your sake, yes, but even more for hers. Of the two of you...though you both could really get hurt...I think she's in the most danger," Dad added.
Dean grimaced, his eyes on the floor.
No one spoke for a while.
Marina finally broke the silence. "Dean, honey...you said you wanted my input. Was there anything in particular you needed to ask me?"
Dean only glanced up at her. "Um...just the woman's point of view, I guess, though it was different for you than it is for Lauren."
"Well...I can tell you that I disagreed with your father's caution at first. I was so caught up in this whole syndrome that I couldn't even see I was in it. I couldn't believe what he was telling me about me being vulnerable and all that."
"That's a very normal part of it," Dad interjected.
Marina smiled at him, then turned her attention back to Dean. "I was head-over-heels in love with him from the first day, but too blind to see that I didn't really even know this man. But the time came when his caution and his restraint became very special to me. Part of the overall integrity of the man, protecting me from an entanglement I wasn't ready for, even though I was sure I was, when he could easily have taken advantage. I'm sure it wasn't easy for him, either."
Dad shook his head with a slight smile.
"So if Lauren does pursue this," Marina continued, "she may not understand your caution at first. Especially since young people tend to throw caution to the wind anyway. But I believe the day will come when she'll understand and appreciate it, as I've done." She leaned forward to touch his arm. "Any guy can use a girl and break her heart. Not many will care enough to see when she's vulnerable. Not many will choose to behave honorably and protect her in that situation. But your father was such a man, and I love him that much more for it now." She and Dad squeezed their hands again, and Dad patted her arm.
Dean nodded and smiled a little. It felt a bit odd, hearing such personal things from his father and stepmother, but he was glad that the divulged information left him respecting his father even more, not less.
But I'm not about to ask how long he 'practiced restraint!'
Dean just sat and thought for a while, not really focusing on anything. He was somewhat aware that his father had thrown an arm around Marina and kissed her forehead. The love they have now just keeps getting stronger.
I'd be a fool not to listen to them.
"Hey, son," Dad broke into his thoughts. "Was there anything else about tonight besides Lauren that you needed to talk about? I mean, it must have been pretty rough meeting the parents, too."
"Not really, no." Dean told them about Warren's infancy, and they both nodded sadly.
"That makes sense," Dad said.
"Yeah." Dean went on to explain how he'd comforted both the parents and Lauren, and all the warm memories of the latter flooded over him as he recounted the details. "If she wants to meet with me, it's going to be really...complicated," he murmured.
"Yeah, it will. Keep the complications to a minimum," Dad reiterated.
Dean nodded.
"Well, son, we're so proud of how you handled the whole evening. You're an amazing young man. I've always known it, but now I'm exponentially more impressed." Dad was smiling gently, and Marina nodded her agreement.
"That's pretty surprising, considering how badly I freaked out, more than once."
"You didn't do anything that wasn't natural human behavior under extreme stress, especially for someone unaccustomed to such things. What impresses me, son, is that you stood back up, and you found your way back to equilibrium...in fact, I believe you're much stronger now than you were before this thing knocked you over."
"I couldn't have done it without you."
"That's normal, too. We weren't meant to be lone rangers. But I still haven't told you what I'm proudest of. Any guesses?"
Dean's eyebrows went up. He shook his head wordlessly.
"I'm proudest of where you've chosen to find your strength. A lot of people try to find it in wrapping emotional armor around their souls, hoping to protect themselves from ever being hurt again. Sometimes that armor is really ugly stuff...hard cynicism, hatred of the world...those are the ones that go home and abuse their wives or kids."
"Or photos," Dean murmured.
Dad gave him a curious look, so Dean confessed to his pillow rampage. "So much for me handling this so well, huh?"
"Aww, buddy...time must have swept away your memories of my rampages. I'd always hoped you'd forgotten."
"You did that?"
"When I was drunk, yeah! Throwing dishes and glasses...I don't remember doing any of that, mind you. But I'd wake up in a houseful of broken glass, and I'd have to call your grandmother and tell her I was sorry, and ask her to send your mom and you home. She never wanted to. I don't blame her. But I guess I owe it to your mom that you don't have a lot of traumatic memories." Dad's eyes were brimming now, and he seemed far away. Marina was cuddling close to comfort him.
"She got you away from me as fast as she could," Dad finished softly. "I'm glad. For your sake. You deserved so much better...both of you." He wiped away the one tear that managed to spill over, and he shook himself. "I'm sorry, buddy. I didn't mean to go there."
"And I'm sure he didn't mean to imply that your 'rampage' was anything like that," Marina added, sounding like she was giving Dean's dad a strong hint.
"Oh, no, not at all. Good heavens, no. I'm sorry." Dad reached out toward Dean. "No. Because after my rampages, what did I do? I made some lame promise to myself and my family that I knew I couldn't keep. I didn't have the courage or the love to seek the help I needed. But you've gone to counseling, you've sought advice, you've been open...and you knew where to look, buddy! You knew to aim for kindness, for love, for…." he seemed to be searching for the right word.
"Connection?" Dean offered.
Dad nodded. "Yeah. I withdrew, and that was disastrous."
"But who do you think taught me that 'connecting is healing?'" Dean used his hands to make "air quotes" around the phrase, and gave his father a meaningful look.
Dad looked puzzled. "I don't recall ever using that exact phrase, but it sounds like you've summarized something important."
"You did use that phrase, or something almost exactly like it."
"When?"
"Back at your old apartment, the first day we met."
Dad's eyebrows went up again. "Really? You remembered it from way back then?"
"Yeah, sure." Dean shrugged. "I mean, it's only been four years."
"Wow." Dad was gazing at far-off memories and smiling. "I never dreamed I'd made that much of a positive impression on you that day. I just counted myself lucky that I'd managed not to drive you away." He shook himself back to the present and looked back at Dean. "Son, I am so impressed by who you are. If I managed to contribute anything to that, I'm so glad. Because it took me over forty years to have anything worth teaching you. And you are so young, just starting out, and you're on such a good footing already!"
Dean smiled, but then his phone buzzed and rang with the distinctive ringtone that meant only one caller.
"That's Perkins," his father observed.
Dean nodded. "I'm going to take this. Sorry."
###
Dean awoke the next morning to sun streaming in his windows. He lay very still, trying not to disrupt something very special.
Peace.
For the first time in what seemed like ages, he felt calm, restful, safe.
I don't think I had any nightmares last night.
After a while he decided that he could get up without losing whatever this feeling was. But after only a few seconds on his feet, something threatened to rock him.
He walked slowly over to his dresser and carefully picked up the photo of himself and Mira, both of them still smiling at shattered glass.
He stared, letting the feelings wash over him, refusing to fight them or fear them.
What I do with this photo today matters. The way I broke it said everything about where I was then. And what I do with it now is going to say everything about where I'm going.
A feeling of peaceful resolve settled over him, and he removed the photo from the frame with a solemnity which felt almost ceremonial. He carefully brushed all tiny glass fragments off of its surface, back down into the frame, and carried the photo to the shelf in the living room where he kept a photo album.
The vast majority of photos he owned existed only in a digital format, so the album still had many available pages. But its contents, though few, were very special, mostly copies of old photos of his childhood with his father. The photos his mother had left in Canada when she'd left Dad. The photos he'd never seen until four years ago.
He hadn't intended to peruse them now, but he couldn't stop himself.
He studied the faces in those old images, seeing his own childlike innocence, seeing his father's increasing lostness. But this time he noticed something he'd never noticed before. In the photos taken during their last year as a family, Mom was never the photographer. The only photos of himself with his father were snapped in a mirror by his dad.
Mom had already given up, long before she left.
He touched the mirror-shots, feeling sadness flooding him. I've never really looked too closely at these, the ones from our last year. And I never asked myself why.
He could no longer deny the reality of these photos from when he was five and six. His father had picked him up and held him and taken the photo. But I never smiled in those photos like I did in the earlier ones. And now I'm stiff in his arms, leaning away from him, every time.
His eyes blurred as his father's voice from last night came back to him. I'd always hoped time had swept away the memories of my rampages.
Sounds came back to him now, unbidden, but also unresisted. The feeling of cowering under blankets, hiding while his parents' voices shouted and screamed, while his mother cried and pleaded.
Did he ever hit her?
I don't want to know. There were limits to his openness.
He remembered feeling relieved when his mother scooped him up and hurried him away to Grandma's. He remembered his grandmother's angry, frightened voice. Why do you stay with him?
And then, to his utter amazement, he remembered his mother's reply. Because I know the man I loved is still in there somewhere. Dean's breath caught in a sob at the memory.
Oh Dad. You were so lost.
Mom, you were so scared and hurt.
Two good people who deserved better than what you got.
Alcohol. I swear I'll never touch the stuff again. He'd never imbibed much, never experienced more than a mild buzz, and that only on a few occasions. But that's how it starts.
Dean brushed away his tears and stared again at the stiff-backed, frightened little boy in his father's arms. Why did Dad even want that picture? Couldn't he see what a painful pose it was?
Was he pretending, or just hoping?
He studied the image of his younger father, trying to decipher the man he knew who was yet a stranger. And his sorrow for his father's tragedy grew. Mom and I got away, and we were safe, and my stepdad came in and made it all good.
But what happened to you? How did you survive? For the first time in his life, Dean felt a powerful understanding of the self-loathing his father must have endured.
It's amazing that you recovered. It's amazing what you became.
He finally pried his gaze off of those tell-all images, and paged back to earlier years when he'd clearly enjoyed his father. His mom was in more and more of the shots, the further back he went. And for the first time, Dean let himself study the evolution of her facial expressions over the years.
You did the best you could. And in a way, you gave me my father back. Because if you hadn't taken me away from him when you did, the harm might have been irreparable. I might have learned to hate him. I might never have sought him out, might never have forgiven him. And maybe he never would have pulled his life back together, if you'd waited much longer to leave.
You had no idea you were saving me from ultimately losing him. But thank you, Mom.
Maybe, in a way, you helped save him.
The pictures were all very blurry now, but Dean knew his tears were healthy.
He went back to the troubling photos and stared at them for a while longer. More memories surfaced; memories of fear, of hiding under blankets, of shouting, of glass shattering, of fleeing.
When I freaked out over killing Peterson and losing Mira, I hid under the blanket, and then I rampaged. I went back to being a scared little boy, and then I acted like the father who'd frightened me.
Dad, I understand. I really do.
After a while he checked his watch, and then called his father. "Dad, am I right that you have a few hours before you have to teach?"
"Yeah, what's up?"
"Well, I was just wondering if you could come by my place. There's something I'd really like to talk with you about."
###
Greg pulled into the parking lot of the little complex that Dean called home, and found a spot near Dean's front door. He didn't sound upset or anything, but something must be up.
He rapped on the door and opened it. "It's me."
"C'mon in." Dean greeted him with a smile and a very warm hug.
This seems good, but I think he's been crying.
As soon as the hug ended, Greg held Dean's shoulders at arm's length so he could study his face. "What's going on, Son?"
"Here, sit down," Dean said, indicating the couch. His photo album was there, in the middle of the couch, leaving room for one person to sit on either side of it. And underneath the album was a photo, but just a corner of it was visible, and Greg couldn't tell what it was.
As soon as they were seated, Dean picked up the album. "I was going to put away the photo of myself and Mira. Figured it didn't belong on the dresser anymore. But when I got the album out, I started looking through it, and...well...I wanted to talk to you about it."
Greg felt a nervous twist in his gut, but he tried to keep his face neutral. "Okay."
Dean opened the album to the first page, and flipped through the pages one-by-one. "You know how I've always loved this album, how touched I was when you gave it to me."
"Yeah, I remember the look on your face when you opened it. I could tell it meant a lot to you." Greg smiled at the memory.
"Yeah," Dean replied. "I mean, it not only reminded me of our first day back together, but also it...it just told me that our relationship means a lot to you."
"It does, Buddy. More than I can say."
"But…" and here Dean looked down, and he tensed up a bit.
Greg couldn't help tensing as well. Sometimes his unusually strong empathy was a real pain in the backside.
"...there were always a few photos I never really liked to look at. I never did look at them closely until this morning," Dean continued, still not looking up.
"I know which ones those are," Greg said softly. His heart rate jumped, and his stomach fluttered.
Dean turned to the last few pages.
Greg's stomach sank, even though he knew what he was going to see. The mirror photos. My desperate attempt to convince myself I still had a relationship with my son. "When I was making up this album for you, I really debated about giving you these. I didn't want to. But I knew the day would come. Their time would come." His voice choked off a little. "I'm so sorry, Son!"
Dean quickly looked up to meet his gaze, and then hugged him tightly.
Greg returned the embrace, and his heart broke to feel Dean breaking down again. This is one of the oldest heartbreaks he's got.
I should have known it would come up now.
Father and son held each other and wept together for a while. And the longer it went on, the more sure Greg felt. This is good.
Dean released him at last, and hastily reached for the tissue box. "I never dreamed I was such a crybaby!" he chuckled at himself.
"No, don't go there." Greg squeezed his son's shoulder. "These tears have been stored up for a long time. They're not coming out now because you're any kind of baby. They're coming out now because you're man enough to face them. To face what caused them." And then, eyes lowered, voice softer, he added, "To face who caused them."
Dean handed him a tissue, and then looked down at the album again. "The memories came back because you talked about your rampages last night."
"I wondered afterwards what that would do."
"I never looked much at these photos before, like I said, but this morning I couldn't take my eyes off of them. And I started remembering." He choked up again.
Greg squeezed his shoulder and made no attempt to speak.
"And the more I remembered, the more it hurt...but Dad, honestly, I was hurting much more for you and Mom than for myself."
Greg couldn't help smiling, despite his sadness. "There's that good heart of yours."
Dean just smiled, briefly, his eyes still moist. "Well, it made me think about you, and about us...and about how our relationship has grown and changed over the years. Mostly I thought about how afraid you were of letting me down, and how long it took you to stop being so afraid of losing my love."
Greg just nodded.
"And I thought about how it used to frustrate me that you couldn't just believe that I loved you. And even though you've come a really, really long way with that, there's still a small, closed-off space in you. There's still fear in your eyes sometimes."
Greg could barely work up a nod. This was getting almost too frightening to bear. And for one dizzying moment he was back on top of the Jumbotron, dangling in terror over a horrifying abyss, looking into the eyes of a maniac who wanted to drop him, wanted to send him plunging and screaming into the death of his worst nightmares. And he heard what he'd shouted to those eyes years ago. My son did the bravest thing I've ever seen anybody do. He let his deadbeat dad back into his life. But now all I can think about is that I need to push him away now, so I don't do it by accident down the road.
Dean's voice broke into that memory, and Greg shuddered as it passed.
"But Dad, when I really looked at these photos this morning, and the memories started coming back, I think I figured it out." Dean put the album down and looked full into his father's eyes. "You can't know you're loved until you know I remember. Until you know that there's no ticking time bomb in my head waiting to expose you. Until you know that there's no skeleton still waiting to be found in some secret closet. So I needed you to come here today. I needed to tell you face to face that I remember, and that it only makes me prouder of you, of what you've become."
Greg broke, and he crushed his son to his heart.
"It only makes me love you more," Dean sobbed into his neck.
Father and son lost all track of time, but the tears they shed reached back years, and brought healing with them.
Finally they let go of each other and laughed a little at their outburst as they reined themselves in. Both made very good use of some tissues.
"Wow," Greg said, once he finally rediscovered his voice. "I needed that. More than I knew."
"Me too."
A few seconds went by, and Greg began to feel awkward.
"So anyway, Dad, there's something I wanted you to be a part of this morning."
"Oh, I don't know, Son. I'm not sure I have any tears left." He was only half joking.
Dean grinned. "Well, you might not need 'em for this. Though I might." He pulled the photo out from under the album.
Oh...of course. That's the one he rampaged about.
"I hope it's not silly," Dean went on, "but this feels like it should be kind-of a ceremony, and I wanted you to be here. Because this album is full of the past...the good and the bad...all of it gone now, for better or worse. And I wanted to acknowledge that, you know? I don't want to pretend that Mira and I never happened, or that it wasn't real. Or that breaking up was easy, or that she was wrong to do it." He carefully inserted the photo into the 8x10 page-pocket. "I just want to accept it as part of my past, and know that it will heal, just like the rest. As long as I learn from it, and don't let it make me bitter...as long as I keep looking for ways to give love and make the world a better place, I'll be okay." He nodded and sniffed. "I'll be okay."
"Yeah." Greg put a hand on the back of Dean's head. "You will definitely be okay."
And so will I.
###
Dean closed the door behind his father and sat back down on the couch.
Wow.
Sometimes good is so good it hurts.
He glanced at his watch. I've got hours yet. What do I need to do to get ready for this?
His cellular rang, and the ringtone surprised him. He used to hear it fairly regularly, but then it had stopped, and he hadn't heard it for a long time.
He answered. "Hey, Clark!"
"Hey yourself."
"How are you, man? It's good to hear from you!"
"Yeah, it's...it's good. But you started it, calling me the other day. Guess I figured it was my turn to take a risk."
"A risk?"
"Yeah. I'm trying to learn to do a Parker and talk about stuff more. I figured this was as good a time as any."
Dean grinned. 'Do a Parker.' I like it! "Well, why don't we make it lunch?"
"Um, yeah, okay. But I kinda wanted to talk about stuff, so...I don't know...where should we meet?"
"Well...how about the beach? We could walk around and stuff, and then we could eat at that seafood joint...you like that place, right?"
"Sure, I guess. But I kinda want to get this over with before I lose my nerve, so can you head out there soon?"
"I could go now," Dean replied.
"All right, near where the SRU picnics usually were, right?"
"Right."
Dean drove out, wondering why he'd suggested this particular spot. More closure, I guess.
Within a few blocks of his destination he spotted Clark's car, so he followed it and parked next to it.
For some reason, Dean felt suddenly awkward. Though this wasn't their first time talking since the park, it was their first time seeing each other. And Clark looked nervous.
"Hey," Dean said with a shrug, acknowledging the strangeness.
"Hey. Why'd you pick this place, anyway?" Clark was looking at the water, not at Dean.
Dean shrugged again. "I've been...I don't know... digging up a lot of stuff from the past lately, and it's been helping. This place just came to mind."
"Helping, eh?" Clark pulled off his loafers and headed out into the sand. As usual, he had no socks on.
Dean needed a little longer to rig up his customary "shoes thrown over the shoulder" arrangement, but he soon trotted after his friend.
They walked quietly for a little while, but though Dean sneaked frequent glances at his friend, Clark never looked back at him.
Finally Dean figured he'd have to get things started. "Thanks for calling me this morning, Clark. It was a nice surprise hearing your ringtone."
"You still use my favorite?"
"Yeah, the one with the weird name...what's it called?"
"Gnosienne Number 1."
"Yeah, like I said, weird name. Why is it your favorite, anyway?"
Clark's expression softened, then grew pained. "It brings back memories of a good moment with my father."
"Oh, that's cool."
The walked silently for a while, but Clark's face never lost its troubled expression.
Dean decided to try a more pointed approach. "What's on your mind?"
Clark looked down and shrugged.
"Don't tell me you've lost your nerve already..." Dean baited him.
Clark shook his head and risked a quick glance at Dean. "No, its just hard. But the thing is, I went to my dad's house yesterday, just a few minutes after you left."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, after some things my counselor and I talked about, I decided to try and develop an actual friendship with my dad. So we had lunch at dad's house, and we talked, and it was good, you know? Hard, but good."
"That's great! I've had some 'hard but good' talks with my dad too, believe me. I get it."
Clark still wouldn't look at Dean for more than an occasional glance, and the constant working of his jaw told Dean just how much something was bothering him.
"So what's wrong?" he finally prompted.
Clark stopped walking abruptly, and his breathing sped up. "Look, don't hate me for saying this, okay? It's just...I was so upset when I found out that you had been there earlier. I felt...jealous."
"Of me? No way! I thought you were like...sorry for me because I was trapped in the whole cop life."
"Well, I am...but you gotta live your life." He walked wordlessly for a little while, squinting toward the horizon. "Alright, I'm just going to be straight up with you. I've always been kind of jealous of you because you have a better relationship with your father than I can ever hope to have with mine. But now I'm twice as jealous of you because you have a better relationship with my father than I could ever hope to have with him."
Having made that admission, he finally was able to look directly at Dean. "I mean, don't take it the wrong way... it's not like I don't want to be your friend or anything. But what do I do with that? How do I live with the fact that it's so easy for you to talk to him, and to relate to him... and him to you...and I'm like an outsider?"
"I'm sorry, Clark. I never knew you felt like that about me."
"It's been mostly just since the cop thing. As soon as you put on the uniform...like magic, you and my dad are buds."
"That's a bit of an exaggeration."
"Not much of one."
Ed's voice replayed in Dean's ear. 'We're brothers in blue now.'
Wow, there's more to what Clark's saying than I want to admit.
How can I help? Dean instantly heard his father's voice, from one of their informal chats about negotiation skills. Find common ground. Focus on that.
"Look, Clark, you're not nearly so different from your dad as you think you are. You're both passionate about helping people, and making the world a better place. You do it through music, your dad does it through police work. But you both care about people having justice, and about people having a life worth living. If you make that your common ground, and not the methods you use to go about it, you can find that relationship. It would be a shame if you didn't, because you're both really great people."
Clark looked puzzled. "That's not the first time I've heard you say something about me being 'passionate about justice.' Where did you get that idea? Its not like I'm out there carrying signs, or 'Occupying Toronto' or anything."
"It's obvious because of how you've reacted any time you've seen justice going wrong. I remember how disgusted and mad you'd get at school, whenever anybody got mistreated."
Dean hesitated, unsure if he should risk saying more. But this seems to be a time for taking risks. "I know how upset you were about the injustice that May Dalton got."
Clark grimaced. "I gave up on justice that day. I figured the world was incurably screwed up, and I was mad at everything."
"Sounds like you're pretty passionate about it, then."
"Yeah, I guess, but it's not like I ever do anything about it. It's not like I even can." His voice grew quieter. "I wrote some music that screams about injustice, and I named it 'May's Song,' but what good does that do her? She'll never hear it."
"Has your father heard it?"
"NO!" Clark stopped in his tracks, jaw jutting with his anger. He jabbed a finger into Dean's chest. "And don't you tell him about it, either!" He glared daggers at Dean.
"Ok, man, it's cool." Dean looked back at him with an expression that was half angry, half 'get a grip!'
Clark returned his gaze to the distance and took some calming breaths. "Sorry, man. Don't know why I got all bent out of shape."
"Don't worry about it."
They walked a bit more.
"So anyway," Clark began, "if you think I can build a relationship with my dad based on our mutual 'love of justice,' then you're saying I should try and build it on the sorest spot in my life. And in his." His voice got a lot quieter with that last sentence, and Dean thought he spotted some empathy there.
Dean thought for a while. "I just connected better with my dad today, and it was over the sorest spot in his life...and one of the sorest in mine. But I used it to connect by letting him know I forgave him for it, and I still loved him, and I loved how he's changed for the better since the...since the bad stuff happened."
Clark just nodded. He slowed his pace, and then came to a stop, and turned to face Dean. "My dad told me about meeting May Dalton's mom."
Dean's eyes widened. "He did? That's great!"
Clark snorted and turned away. "He only did it because you told him to."
"No way, Clark. I suggested it, but I could no more 'tell him to' than I can order any sergeant around. If he did it, it's because he decided it would help you. That's what he said to me. He said he'd tell you if he thought it would help. He didn't bring up the subject before because he was afraid of hurting you."
"But you know all about this! You can talk with my dad about anything!"
"Yeah. Because if it goes wrong, he's not as afraid of what might happen. He's only scared with you because he loves you so much."
Clark grimaced and resumed his walking.
Dean kept pace with him and let him have his silence for a while. But then he remembered that Clark would be more open here than in a restaurant, so he spoke up. "I gotta believe that it felt good to you to hear that story from your dad."
Clark sighed. "Yeah, it did. It was hard, though, in a way. Seeing him cry like that...realizing how hard it is for him to forgive himself."
They turned back to walk the other direction. And as they walked, Clark gradually seemed to relax.
"Feeling better?"
"Yeah."
"Whatcha thinking about?"
"How I used to wish that Dad would talk. He talked today, and I guess it doesn't really matter who helped draw him out."
"That's good." Dean grinned.
They walked some more.
Clark spoke up after a while. "It was good to hear him say that he'd do it differently, if he had it to do over again. That he'd even be willing to lose his job rather than shoot her."
"Good."
Clark turned and walked up to where the sand was dry, and sat down.
Dean sat beside him, and after looking around to make sure no one was in earshot, he asked, "Have you had any more panic attacks?"
Clark shook his head. "No. And I don't know why, but I don't think I'll have any more."
"I hope you're right."
They stared at the water for a while.
Clark sounded tentative when he finally spoke again. "So...you met with the family of the guy you...you know…."
"Killed?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah, I did. Last night. It was really good. Healing."
"I can't imagine it," Clark said, shaking his head.
"Most of the past week has been beyond anything I ever could have imagined," Dean replied.
"Are you still planning to go back to it?"
"Actually, I go back tonight. Evening shift."
Clark turned and looked at him with a mixture of disbelief and perhaps a touch of frustration. But he didn't say anything. Then he turned to look back at the water, shaking his head.
"My T.O. and all of the other department guys said I was definitely ready to return to work, after they saw how well the meeting with Peterson's family went."
"Are they right?"
"Yeah, they are. I'm okay."
Clark shook his head again. He was still staring ahead, but he seemed to be thinking, too.
"Have you forgiven your father yet? For May Dalton?" Dean asked.
"Forgiven him? Seems like an odd thing to ask. I mean, I'm not the one he did wrong to. Her family and friends are the ones that need to forgive him."
"No, you need to forgive him too."
"Why?"
"For not being perfect."
Clark looked at him like he was crazy. "Believe me, Dean, I've never thought the guy was perfect."
"But he crossed a line of imperfection that rocked your world. Have you forgiven him for that?"
Clark sighed, then shrugged. "I've never thought of it that way."
"Do you still see him the way you described it...you know, back when we went on the ride-along? Is he still just 'the guy that put a bullet in that girl's brain' to you?"
Clark sighed, and his brow furrowed as he considered the question. "Not so much, after yesterday. I mean...it had kind-of gone away before, but just because a lot of time had gone by, and a lot of life had happened, and I had other things to think about. Well, and we did talk about it that one time, after the whole Harold Beamer thing, when he kinda opened up about the PTSD and all. I remember kinda feeling better about him after that. And then after he rescued me from my emergencies, it was all good, you know? For a while."
"What made it go so bad again?"
"I don't really know. Probably had a lot to do with him taking over for your dad, and all the extra hours he started putting in, like before the ultimatum. He was just always gone again, like the old days. And then the news of that gas pump explosion just threw a match on it all. It just blew up in my face."
He turned to look at Dean. "You said you shared your sorest spot with your dad, and it made things better. But whenever I want to tell dad my sorest stuff, he gets all defensive."
"Even yesterday?"
"Yeah...at least at first. But I gotta hand it to him...he did try." Clark nodded. "He let his walls down after a while, at least some. It was a start."
"You'll get there."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because you both love each other too much to stop working at it."
Clark shook his head and turned his gaze back to the horizon. "Love. It isn't ever what you think it's going to be."
"Yeah. It can be hard work. It can really hurt." Thoughts of Mira flooded back over him; mostly thoughts of how love had to let her go.
He put a hand on Clark's shoulder. "But it's always worth it, right?"
Clark looked dubious at first, but then he nodded and turned back to look Dean in the eyes. "Yeah. It is." Then he stood and brushed the sand off his pants. "Ready to go eat?"
"Sure, Buddy." Dean smiled, and accepted the hand-up that Clark offered him, even though he didn't need it.
We're friends again.
###
Dean stood by his locker, making last-minute adjustments to his uniform so it would look as proud as he felt. He greeted other officers and returned greetings, then smiled and nodded at Perkins to acknowledge his "Five minutes to roll call" warning.
The rookies from his class seemed much more speedy and adept at this morning routine than he did. While I was home recovering, they were here, being cops.
This is only my 4th day on the job! He shook his head at the thought. And despite everything I've been through, and all the ways I've grown in the past week, I still haven't begun to get this cop thing down. I'm still such a noob.
But I'm a cop. A real cop.
He closed his locker and secured it, then headed out for roll call and the morning briefing. He found a seat saved for him next to Perkins, and he sat down with a smile.
Perkins thumped him on the back and grinned. "Good to have you back, Partner!"
"Good to be back!"
Roll call began, and soon he heard Sergeant Delgado call his name. "Constable Parker?"
He grinned. "Present."
"Welcome back, Constable," Delgado said with slight smile and a nod, before calling out the next name.
"You ready for this?" Perkins asked quietly, after responding to the calling of his own name.
Dean nodded. "Yeah. I am. I've got the best partner in the world, don't I?"
Perkins chuckled and pointed a finger at his face. "And don't you forget it!"
The End