Wordy glanced down at the upturned face of his wristwatch. He'd skim in just on time. And with the bribe he bore - a large triple-triple with his Inspectors's name on it - he was sure the precinct leader's motto of 'if you're not five minutes early you're five minutes late' would be waived.
Nevertheless he took the stairs to the department two at a time, shoulders hunched against the chill wind. There'd been a cold snap today - winter's way of announcing "I'm still here and I reign supreme". Big fat flakes of snow shook down on man and earth alike. Today would be heavy on the calls, he was sure. Though Toronto could never rival Ottawa for snowfall it snowed on a regular enough basis that people ought to know how to drive in snow. Yet year after year they'd get called to hundreds - thousands - of crashes. Ice-slicked streets were transformed into virtual bumper-car rinks by one set of bald tires or bad brakes. Many a driver had be hauled out of hip-deep snowbanks. And the police were called to dozens and dozens of accidents. From the nicked bumpers of Rosedale Escalades to the five-car pileups in Regent Park. And, as one of the precincts newer cops he'd have to take grunt detail on many of them.
But not even the thought of the drudgery awaiting him could dampen his glowing mood.
Because last night had been the most incredible, the most amazing, the most fantastically jaw-dropping, heart-pounding mind-numbing experience in his life. He guess he'd always known she'd be the one – even eighteen years in the making couldn't dull that. She'd been his princess in the golden tower when he'd been six years old. And now? He couldn't resist the sweet, generous, beautiful and resilient woman she'd grown up to be. He'd tumbled deep and hard in love with her.
Balancing the flat of Tim's on his forearm he eased open the glass door, sliding into the warm lobby. Those slivers of snow began to thaw immediately, sending freezing rivulets of ice down his neck. He shivered.
"Morning Marcy!" He called to the front desk operator, a blonde woman of fifty. She nodded, keeping the receiver of her telephone jammed tightly against her shoulder. In her other hand she brandished a nail file, its lethal silver edge slicing through the air as she emphasized her point to the unseen caller. "Ma'am you need to call a tow truck. No. I understand you're a taxpayer but that's not our job. We can't help you with that." She rolled her eyes heavenward.
Wordy smirked as he hurried down the hall towards the bullpen. The fun had already started, it appeared. The floor was slick with melted snow, and thick rubber matts had been thrown down to give something for booted feet something to grip onto. Coats were slung over the backs of chairs and overtop of desks. Men and women bustled in and out, bundled like puffy snowmen in their layers of down. Others in suit and shirt-sleeves rolled up to their elbows bent low over battered desks. The sound of boots stamping off stubborn ice mingled with the curses of frustrated officers and the incessant hum of telephones and faxes.
Ah, home sweet home, he thought, weaving his way through the maze towards his own desk, tucked against the back wall away from the main hustle.
"And look who decides to join us at last!" Marks grinned, easing a hip down on his desk and crossing his arms in mock scorn. As a concession to the biting cold he'd added a knitted toque, pulling the dark wool down low over his brows.
Wordy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Tims' line was long. Bite me. Brought you a double cream." He said, slapping the paper cup on the desk.
"Missed you at the gym this morning." Detective Lane smirked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his feet at the ankles. Mud, caked to the rubber soles of his heavy uniform boots, flaked off onto the dulled grey surface. Wordy merely shrugged, passing him one of the small brown coffee cups.
"Our boy Wordy's been hitting the gym pretty regularly these days." Ed said to Marks, perilously tipping the chair onto its back two legs. The metal bars creaked beneath his weight.
"I'll say. Almost every day pumping iron or hand-to-hand training. Who was, it, Eddie, who was so vigorous in training yesterday, he nearly dislocated the new rook's shoulder?" Mark asked, indulging in a long sip of his own cup.
"Oh come on. I already apologized to Naismith about that! It was an accident." Wordy retorted.
"Some might say he's got lots of … pent up energy." Ed grinned, reaching for his own Timmy's. "Needed to let of some …. steam."
"Eat shit, Lane." Wordy muttered, skirting around to his own desk.
"Not today though." Ed ignored him, continuing. "Barely squeaking in at the last second. Coffee bribe. Jolly mood. Skipping push-ups. I'd say our boy got some action last night, Marksy-boy."
Marks only grinned conspiratorially.
Ed picked up his coffee, gulping it back in quick swallows. "Nice. Black." He commented, tapping the lid with a long finger.
"Yeah. Just like your freaking heart." Wordy muttered, flush creeping up his collar. Ed let out a short, rumbling laugh.
"Might also be the lipstick stain on your shirt. Which, if I'm not mistaken, is exactly the same one you wore leaving the precinct yesterday." Mark added blandly.
"Crap." Wordy muttered, hand jerking up to check for smudges of Shelley's gloss.
The door to the bullpen swung forward, suddenly, and their conversation died as their inspector, a short and robust man, burst through the double doors. A thirty-year veteran of the force he'd clawed his way up into his higher office with a stern, commanding hand and brutal self-discipline. His hair, more white than black now, was slicked back at the temples away from his face. Caramel skin was beginning to sag with age, into lines and wrinkles that told of long years on a relentless job. He strode forward, the sea of officers parting before him.
"Listen up people." He called. "As anybody with a set of eyes can see it's snowing. It has been since yesterday evening. And it will be well into tomorrow. Which means one thing. The citizens of Toronto, whom we have vowed to protect, are going to be idiots, they're going to try and drive and they're going to crash into shit. They're going to crash into each other, they're going to crash into poles, they're going to crash into ditches, they're going to crash into cyclists and people out for a freaking stroll. They're going to crash into every-fucking-thing. And where there are accidents people expect police. All hands aboard on this one. Nobody's desk-jockeying today. We're going to need everyone out and on patrol. We need to remind drivers to be extra careful and to drive slowly. Dispatch will be fielding calls. Anything that sounds legit will be doled out to the nearest cruiser. Disperse!"
Wordy had clambered to grab his coat.
"Wordsworth. Hold up." The inspector called, as men and women began to zip coats and don mittens. Marks shot him a sympathetic glance and Ed clapped a hand on his shoulder before he disappeared into the crowd hurrying out to the parking lot. Wordy groaned inwardly. He'd hoped his entry would have slipped under the radar.
"Yes sir." Wordy responded.
"While I anticipate bribery in the form of coffee, which I will accept, I must remind you that we have a strike policy against tardiness here at precinct 51." The Inspector spoke solemnly.
"Yes sir."
"Three sugars?" The Inspector asked, taking the last of the cups from the cardboard tray.
"Three creams too."
"You're a good man, Wordy. Don't be late again."
Wordy scrambled out the doors of the parking bay. A long line of white cruisers was slowly filing out of the heavy metal grate. Only one car remained, still parked along the brick wall in the furthest slot from the building. Wordy grinned, recognizing the long black coat of the man leaning against the hood.
"Don't tell me you're stuck with me." Wordy called.
Marks shrugged in response.
"Lost the flip with Ed for Geddes."
"Aw now. Gonna hurt my feelings." Wordy muttered, cranking open the trunk to sling his duffle bag of tools and supplies inside.
"Nothing I hate more than the smug glow of a happily wrangled man. If you're not careful it can get contagious." Marks remarked, sliding behind the wheel.
Wordy merely shrugged.
They were silent as he navigated the cruiser to the back of the line, filing out onto the icy streets. They swung away from the main avenue, shooting north on the deserted streets leading towards the far reaches of the city.
"I hate to be that guy..." Marks said slowly. "But do you know what you're getting into here Wordy?"
He stared silently out the window for a minute.
It wasn't that he hadn't asked himself the same question a couple thousand times. It wasn't hard loving Shelley. No. That was the easy part of their relationship. He'd cared for her so long it seemed only natural to make that next step. The hard part was knowing that she might not feel the same way about him.
Sure, she liked him. She cared about him. But the truth was he couldn't be sure she loved him. It wasn't fair to pressure her and make demands.
He could wait. He knew that. And when she was ready to say the words and take that leap of faith he'd be right there along side her. In the meantime knowing that she cared was enough.
"I know what I want." He said finally.
"And is it the same thing as what she wants?"
"I don't know." He had to admit honestly. "I hope so."
"Wordy." Marks' voice was quiet. And the understanding behind that muted tone had Wordy's stomach clenching.
"I know. I know. We're keeping things light for now."
"That's good. You know. She's a sweet girl – and I like her a lot. I like you guys together a lot. I think you're good together. She makes you happy. But she's like a skittish bird. If you push too hard in any direction she's libel to take off. She's getting her first taste of freedom in a long time and making decisions for herself. She's learning she's got wings."
"You write for Hallmark now or something?" Wordy was desperate to lighten the mood.
"You know what I'm saying, Wordy. And you know it's true. You don't want to be holding her back."
"I care about her. I just don't know where she stands."
"Sure you do. Sometimes you meet a woman like that – and your heart leaps up and grabs you by the throat. You want to protect them from everything that's bad in the world – everything we see day in and out. But that's not letting them make their own choices. You've got to be careful with Shel. That's all I'm saying. Because it's hard waiting for somebody. But it would be harder if she walked away."
Wordy sighed.
"Yeah." His belly tightened, heart stuttering his chest at the thought. He had to suppress the urge to reach up and rub his chest to loosen those strained muscles. God.
"I don't want to see you get hurt Wordy." Marks said, sighing. That was the truth of it, after all.
"Giving it my best."
"My money's on you, my friend." Marks said.
"Car 24 this is dispatch. Got a call for you at Eglington and Mt. Pleasant. Appears to be a multi-car fender-bender. Some old biddy lost control of her Subaru. Over."
Marks grinned over at his partner, hand reaching for the sirens. "All right. It's go time. Give 'er."
AN: Hello all! I am officially a Torontonian, as of two weeks ago. No posts until today due to lack of internet and the crazy hectic orientation programme. U of T is hectic and insane and crazy massive. And I kind of like it so far. Even if it's intimidating as all else.
I'm not sure I'm totally satisfied with how this chappie came out. The essence was that I wanted to have Wordy thinking he's more invested in the relationship. That, while he knows Shel cares about him, he can't be certain she loves him like he does her. And that hurts. He doesn't want to force her or manipulate her into feeling more - because that's not genuine and it's not really love unless it's freely given. You know? Well - let me know if it worked or not.