Disclaimer: Not mine
A/N: So I had some time--and got impatient--and finished 26... so here are two more chapters for you lovely readers (and reviewers? hint hint :) )
Let me know what you think!
Oh, also... I might be wrong on Lindsey's age... I scoured in the internet trying to find a definate age for her, and I got many different results. So if you know for sure, or even not for sure... let me know! It bothered me for like two weeks...
Chapter 25: August 1996
Uncle Gil
Catherine Willows was a beautiful woman, with a beautiful three year old daughter, and a husband I absolutely couldn't stand. But I'd played nice, when he came into the lab, and even volunteered to watch Lindsey a number of times, either so they could go out for their anniversary or when Eddie wouldn't take off work so Catherine could take care of her mother when her appendix had burst. They usually dropped her off at the townhouse with grateful and begrudging smiles, respectively, with a bag full of toys and books and a few favorite movies.
I'd order a pizza and we'd watch the Disney movies. She wanted to rewind each song, so she could re-sing it, and so by the end of my second night of babysitting, I knew all the words too. And then, without knowing how it happened, I became 'Uncle Gil.' Maybe it was one of the times Catherine picked her up, saying, "Okay, honey, we have to go. Say goodbye to Uncle Gil." Or maybe it was simply a title that fell upon me, because there was no other name for me… but it was nice, to feel like I had a family, even if it was superficial.
And it was superficial—Catherine and I didn't speak unless at work, on the rare breakfast run, or when I was watching Lindsey. Eddie only barely disguised his dislike and even mistrust of me—I think he worried Catherine and I were having an affair, though I don't know how such a thing was conceivable… between work and Lindsey, Catherine hardly had any time. Though I truly liked Catherine, and considered her as much my friend as Jim, or really, as much as anyone could be… I truly wasn't attracted to her, and much like Laura, I valued my Lindsey-time more than my Catherine-time… even if Lindsey wasn't Amber.
Because no one could really be Amber. Lindsey was a sweet girl and I loved her, but she was very much her mother's daughter—hard-headed, excitable, one-minded, bold. None of this was bad—as I say, I loved her too—but Amber had been a giggly little body full of life and playfulness… she was not as eager as Lindsey to grow up, and she had a sweetly quiet reserve to her that was only underscored by the depth of her compassion and understanding.
But of course, those are the musings of a biased father who has lost it all.
As Lindsey got older, and as Catherine and Eddie's relationship suffered, the trips became less frequent, and they were often less pleasant as well—I would receive a frantic call that her mother was out of town, and Eddie and she had fought… he was out drinking, but she knew exactly how it would be when he came home, and could I take Lindsey for a night?
At first, I had been extremely concerned—had he hit her? Hurt her? "No, Gil, nothing like that… he just screams a lot, and Lindsey doesn't need to hear it."
And when no marks appeared, time and time again, I let it go. If I knew the woman, she was not likely to stay with a man who used her as a punching bag, and beyond that it wasn't really my business. I kept an eye out, though, for bruises—both on her and Lindsey. I wasn't going to be the person who knew, all along, and did nothing to help.
Tattoo
I visited Kelly in Seattle, which is where she had moved. Strange, that we should both end up on the West Coast again—she teased me that I had come to find her in Boston, she had just followed me back.
"You need me… you'll never get laid again if I'm not relatively close."
I squeezed my eyes closed. I was kind of okay with the idea of being celibate for the rest of my life, truth be told.
Still, she had fallen head over heels in love since her move, and demanded I make a trip to meet the boyfriend. I seriously considered re-gifting the box she'd given me at my nineteenth birthday—Michael and I hadn't used anything but the lingerie and the massage oil. Still, even unused… that was just gross.
So I boarded a plane and spent a week in Seattle with the only real, close, best friend I'd had in my life. When you were constantly hiding things—when you couldn't let anyone come over to play—it was hard to have friends. Eric was Mr. Wonderful's name, and he was wonderful, although I didn't get to spend much time with him… he worked a lot, and was trying to give Kelly and I time to catch up. Still, several dinners and a night out were enough for me to see how much he loved her and how well he treated her.
I was truly and sincerely happy for her… even if she kept snatching cigarettes from my mouth while we were out.
"Seriously, what the hell, Kel? They don't just grow on trees…"
She giggled. "Technically, they do grow…. kind of. Anyway, they're bad for you. Didn't you stop smoking when you were with Michael?"
I shrug. "More or less… I started again when I moved."
"And… why is that?"
"When you live alone and you don't know anyone, you have a lot more spare time to think about all the good things nicotine can do for you…"
"Like lung cancer, and—"
I cut her off. I've heard it. "Yeah, I know, Kelly. You don't need to tell me."
"So quit already."
I groan. "Weren't we out to be wild and crazy…? Let's stop lecturing me on my irresponsible nicotine use and do something exciting!"
We just happened to be walking between dance clubs—Kelly apparently had some favorites, already—and were passing a tattoo parlor.
You would think that, as an aspiring investigator, I might have taken a look at my surroundings before encouraging my excitable friend to remember how 'wild and crazy' she had wanted the night to be. She dragged me in before I could really protest, but then, I'd always wanted a tattoo… in theory.
It took us nearly an hour to decide—we were getting matching tattoos, because that was part of the bonding experience… and then we had to decide what and where.
Of course, Kelly liked the idea of a lower back tattoo, which I thought was trashy and refused. I suggested wrist, and she said she'd need to be able to cover it up in the school system—she was working as an art teacher now. At which point we determined the ankle—really, front and very top of the foot, but Kelly didn't like calling it a 'foot tattoo'—was a good choice…
It took even longer to decide what it would be of. It's permanent, after all.
She wanted words in another language, I didn't like the idea of going to China and having people read me. "When are you ever going to China, Sar'?"
"…If I go into Chinatown, it's the same thing. Next idea."
She rolls her eyes in impatience. "Okay, but I'm not getting anything dumb, Sara Sidle! Nothing boring or intelligent…"
I giggle. "Right. I wouldn't want something that could be described as 'intelligent' on my body forever either…"
She groans. "Okay, let's see if they have a book or something…"
And they did—after much argument, we decided on a flower… well, she did. She told me I could choose it, as long as I didn't pick an ugly one. …Like there are ugly flowers.
In the flower section, there was actually a good deal of literature on the different meanings of each flower, across cultures. She liked all of them—the ones that meant virginity and the ones that meant mourning and the ones that meant death… I liked the lotus flower.
And once I convinced her that she should just listen to the meaning… she loved it.
It represented feminine sexual power and fertility, as well as birth and rebirth…
It hurt like hell, but I was used to pain. Kelly cried, and squeezed my hand until it hurt more than my foot… but it was worth it, and I did feel more powerful, with it there. When we walked back to her car—in too much pain to go out dancing anymore—it was late, and dark, and yet for the first time in three years, I wasn't glancing around in every direction, in case I was being followed.
It didn't mean I wasn't still afraid, but it felt like progress…