Delays, Deliveries, and Divine Destinies
By Felicia Ferguson
SSD Fanfic
Shane/Oliver engaged
Summary: A surprising and very personal dead letter has far reaching consequences for Oliver and Shane.
Spoilers: Across the board minus SSD11 (which hasn't aired as of this writing) and may change everything. Ah, well, it's all part of the fanfic writing life.
Author's note: I've wanted to write a dead letter story, as well as honor requests for a longer story, but mystery writing isn't my forte. So, I compromised. I'm thinking this will be at least another two chapters, so stay tuned and I hope you enjoy!
Shane McInerney sat behind her "steampunk on wheels" desk finishing an email to Becky Starkwell updating the Denver DLO's supervisor on their latest delivery, an inspiring reunion of a mother, a daughter, and a wedding dress. Shane twirled the engagement ring on her left hand and added a short postscript requesting Becky call at her earliest convenience. There was more news to relay, but it was best shared in a phone call, if not in person.
Cryptic as the postscript was, Shane almost expected her cell phone to ring as soon as the email landed in Becky's inbox. They last time they'd spoken, Shane had spent their lunch together gushing about Oliver only to hear Becky's cautioning reminder about her having a thing for unavailable guys. Well, Oliver's still unavailable. But this time, it's because of me.
A wide grin curved her lips. It had taken more than two years of starts and stops, misunderstandings and miscommunications, but they were finally on their raft and embarking on their journey together. She never imagined she could be so happy.
Shane clicked the send icon and chuckled. It was a good thing their task force reported solely to Becky, the Director of Special Operations, otherwise the recent and impending nuptials between its team members might raise a few red flags with Human Resources. Though she and Oliver had done their best to sequester their displays of affection from the harsh light of the Denver Main Branch, the relationship itself was still pretty much an open secret across the departments.
Impending nuptials? Sequestered? I really am sounding more like Oliver.
"Speaking of … where is he? The department meeting should be over by now." Frowning, Shane walked to the back room in the DLO. Maybe he had somehow snuck in on her? But the room was empty. Smiling at Norman's collection of framed photos of Rita, she sighed. The pair were two days into their honeymoon, and while she missed them horribly, Shane prayed they were enjoying their couple time in the Starcruiser. It wouldn't be long before she and Oliver would be off on their own trip leaving the other newlyweds to hold down the fort.
The DLO doors pushed open with a squeak, then collapsed back on each other with a satisfying thud. Finally. Oliver's soft, "Hello," filtered through the room drawing Shane back to the main office area. "Oliver, the new branch supervisor dropped off a package this morning while you were in the meeting. He said it was found in a closet on a shipping dock in Los Angeles and directed here. Something about a Washington Park address?"
Silence greeted her question. Brow furrowing, Shane picked up her pace. Reaching her desk, she found Oliver standing in front of the package. His fingers traced the damaged address label, but his face remained impassive. Curious, she joined him at his desk and prompted, "Oliver?"
Oliver O'Toole stared at the box on his desk. The yellowed packing tape had pulled away from the top at odd intervals. The cardboard corners were crimped and dented. A large slit cut one side nearly in half. Postmarked twenty-five years ago, the return address was faded and water-damaged, but he could still discern the country of origin: Singapore. Only two words remained in the recipient's address, Washington Park, but he would recognize the handwriting blindfolded.
Sensing Shane's presence, he blinked and reached for her arm, needing her to stabilize him, ground him, in such an unsettling moment.
Her brow pinched in a worried furrow as she slid her hand into his, offering comfort though unaware why it was so needed. "Oliver, what is going on?"
Oliver cleared his throat and adjusted his Windsor knot. "I, uh, think I need a Yoo-Hoo."
Shane nodded and squeezed his hand before releasing it and grabbing his favorite beverage from the refrigerator. She popped the top and handed it to him. Oliver chugged it, downing the contents in four gulps, a record.
Shane's eyes grew wide, darkening with concern.
He had to find words to explain his reaction. But where to begin?
"Oliver. You're worrying me."
He nodded, a quick, single bob of his head. He knew that. Hated to do so. But there was nothing for it. "I, uh, recognize ..." Was that squeak his voice? Clearing his throat, he tried again. "I recognize the handwriting." Better, though still strained. And Shane was still worried.
Stepping between him and the box, she placed a hand on his chest then slipped it up to his cheek, soothing his skin with her thumb. Her soft caress pulled him back into the present, and his gaze fully met hers. "I'm sorry. It's just brought back several memories."
She searched his eyes, empathy flooding her features. "And not good ones either."
Oliver shrugged and struggled to keep his eyes from returning to the box.
Shane laced her fingers with his and tugged him toward the door. "Let's get out of here. I think we both need something stronger than Yoo-Hoo for this conversation."
Shane waited for Oliver to pull open the door to the Mailbox Grille, certain the gentlemanly action was so ingrained he would perform it in his sleep. Despite her worry, she flashed him a soft smile of thanks as he followed her inside.
Caught between the breakfast and lunch rush hours, the Grille was mostly empty. And judging by the silent jukebox, Ramon was working at the Bistro. Shane heaved a relieved sigh. They would have plenty of privacy. She stopped at the bar and ordered a large Americano for Oliver and a low-fat steamer with a double shot of espresso and two pumps of amaretto for herself. His continued silence demanded Holly-level fortification.
When their orders were ready, she found him ensconced in their favorite bench seat around the round table near the window. His gaze was now more than contemplative or preoccupied. It was borderline catatonic.
"Oh, for Heaven's sake." She had to do something. And fast. Glancing around and finding the barista's head buried in a book and the other tables now empty of patrons, Shane set down their coffees. She slid her hand over Oliver's cheek and, turning his face to hers, she placed a long, searing kiss on his lips.
She pulled back as she felt him respond and flashed an impish grin at his adorable bemusement. She'd have to remember keep this weapon handy in her arsenal.
Recalled to the present, Oliver's eyes darted around the room as his hands moved to adjust his perfectly straight tie. "Ms. McInerney! We are in the Mailbox Grille!"
Unrepentant, Shane lifted her brows. "Welcome back."
Pink tinged Oliver's cheeks, and his lips flickered in the slightest of smiles, acknowledging her point.
Shane grinned and winked at him, then sobered. "Now, tell me what on earth is going on."
Oliver took a sip of his coffee and nodded. "I believe I mentioned a while back that my mother died when I was seventeen."
Grateful Holly's name was unlikely to be mentioned in their conversation, she took a long draw of her coffee. But still, she watched him, listened for any words hidden beneath those that were spoken. She hadn't given the box a second thought once the supervisor dropped it on the desk. It was another dead letter, well, package, among hundreds in their office. If today was the day for it to be selected for delivery, then Oliver's Divine Delivery Theory would allow for nothing less.
"Go on."
Oliver grimaced. "I know I also mentioned she would send me postcards after she left my father and married …"
Shane reached over and clasped his hand. Though Oliver had accepted Harvey Schmitz was his biological father, not Joseph O'Toole, it continued to be a delicate subject. "Yes, you said she sent them until you and Joe moved. But even though Joe said he gave her your forwarding address, the post cards stopped at some point."
Oliver nodded and swallowed hard. "The box on my desk. The country of origin on the return address is Singapore. The destination is Washington Park."
Shane's jaw dropped as awareness crashed through her. "And you said you recognized the handwriting."
Oliver nodded again, his red-rimmed eyes paling to a pained cornflower blue.
"Oh, Oliver." Concern flickered through her. Tears welled in her eyes as she studied him fighting a second round of heartbreak compliments of his mother. "No wonder you were so shocked. What do you want to do?"
Taking in a quick breath, he sat a bit straighter. "There's only one thing to do. Open the package."
Shane squeezed his hand and shook her head. "We don't have to do this today. We can wait until you're ready."
Oliver peered at her, hope circling the pain in his eyes. "We?"
Shane's brow wrinkled as she shot him a mystified look. "Of course, we. You really don't think I'd let you do this alone, do you?" Compassion and a deep, abiding love curved Shane's lips as their eyes spoke more than words ever could.
Unable to squelch her impulse, she tore her gaze from his and glanced around the Grille. The barista's nose was still buried in the book, and the rest of the tables remained empty. She leaned over, intending to kiss Oliver's cheek, but he turned at the last second, meeting her lips with his.
When they parted a moment later, his eyes gleamed with love and gratitude. "Thank you."
Smiling, she tucked her nose next to his, resting their foreheads together. Whatever that box held, they would face it together. It's what they did best.