Disclaimer: Lethal Weapon is the property of FOX and Shane Black. I do not own the characters, I just like playing with them. :)
Key:
"Hi" – Speech
'Hi' – Thoughts
Hi – Text Messages
This chapter has shifts in POV.
~8~
Chapter 3: A Certain Rule
~8~
During 'Surf N Turf'
Roger POV
The three weeks were almost up. Tomorrow, Riggs and I are back on duty and I hope it isn't as crazy as my first three days with the Texan. Since the man has been out of town for the last two and a half weeks, Trish thought it would a good idea to invite him over to try to get to know him a little better before going back to work. When I invited him to Sunday dinner, Riggs accepted and said that he would bring a 'lil somethin' to complement the ribs.
So, of course I spent the last three days tenderizing and romancing that meat until it would fall off the bone. And what does this man do? He stands me, my family, and most importantly, my ribs up! 'Oh, hell no he ain't!' Going into the kitchen, I call Riggs. As soon as I hear the words "hello", I lay into him, relaying all of my efforts and hurt feelings about his absence.
When I finally stop and wait for his apology (what else could he give?), all I can hear is harse breathing. Then, he says "I miss you too, Rog," in a voice that sounds just a little too happy for this time of night.
"Are you drunk?" I ask, before hearing the click of the call disconnecting. I pull the phone from my ear and look at it to make sure I heard right. No call connected. "I know that ass did not…" I mutter, hitting the redial button. The call rings out a few times before going to voice-mail. I hang up and retry, the result is the same. I hang up again without leaving a message, flinging the phone across the counter.
I lean against the counter, taking a few calming breaths before rejoining my family in the dining room. I sit down and start back on my kale salad like it was going out of style.
"Were you able to get in touch with Martin, babe?" Trish asks, smiling.
"No," I answer.
"Really, dad? Then, who were you yelling at in the kitchen?" R.J. inquiries, a sure smile on his face.
I shift my stare to him and the smile quickly drops. "Tele-marketer. You know how I hate them calling at dinner time."
"Right…" he says, returning to his plate. Riana just shakes her head and asks her mom if she would take her shopping on the upcoming weekend, thankfully shifting the conversation and mood of the dinner. For now, the elephant in the room was ignored, but not forgotten, just like those plated ribs on my right.
Trish POV
After dinner, the kids went off to finish any homework and get ready for school tomorrow while Roger and I handle the clean-up. Normally, this would be R.J.'s night to do the dishes, but I want to give Roger something else to focus on besides those ribs on the counter. He's washing and I'm drying. We're about half-way done when the tension finally start to ease out of his frame.
"You know, honey, R.J. was right. You were really laying into Martin. What did he say?" I ask. When Roger didn't say anything and just kept scrubbing the same now clean dish, I knew exactly what had happened. "You didn't get him a chance to get a word in, did you?" I probe, shaking my head since I already know the answer. 'Honestly! Sometimes, I wonder who's supposed to be the senior partner in their relationship…'
"Now, hang on. I may have said my piece first, but he's the one that hung up on me after a drunken 'miss you.' I even tried to call him back. He is the one that didn't pick up!" he explains.
"I wouldn't pick up either if I thought it was going to be more of the same," I admonish. "Well, don't be too hard on him, Roger. I'm sure he has a good reason for missing dinner," I reassure him, though it was more to keep the situation from escalating than me believing that.
"I guess…" he mutters as he resumes washing the remaining dishes. I do notice that he is scrubbing one of the cast iron pans a bit harder than was necessary, but I figure that it can take it.
Chuckling at his antics, I put down my drying towel and turn toward the counter. The aluminum foil covered casserole dish containing the aforementioned ribs were right there. Though I know that Roger would deny this to his last breath, those ribs were a symbol, a peace offering of sorts, in hope that the two of them could have a fresh start to their partnership. I pick up the dish, go to the refrigerator, and place the dish on the inside shelf. "Don't worry so much, baby. I'm sure that Martin will be over tomorrow or the next day to try your ribs," I said, hoping to reassure him.
Roger sighs, grabs a towel from the drawer, and turns away from the sink, drying his hands. His forehead creased as he frowns, tossing the towel back toward the countertop. "It isn't just about the ribs," he utters. I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his waist, pulling him closer until his arms encircle me.
"I know it wasn't," I whisper against his shoulder, and I do know. This man has been a part of me for more than twenty years. I know his quirks, his habits, his likes, and his dislikes. I keep his secrets and he keeps mine. One secret being that he shows the world a tough guy image when he is the most sympathetic, compassionate man I have ever known. I know that something about Martin Riggs has touched my husband, and as I look into his eyes and see the frustration there, I decide it is time to take a closer look at Martin Riggs and confirm for myself if I can truly trust him with my husband's kindness.
~8~
When I arrive at the office the morning after our dinner with Martin, I start looking through the files my assistant has left for me to review this morning. I open my laptop and as I wait for it to power up, I inspect the folders until I see one marked with the name 'Riggs, Martin'.
I put the other files down and flip open the folder. The first thing I see is an 8x10 photo of Martin in his service dress blues. His face was stoic like most military photos I've seen, no hint of that charming smile though the laugh lines told me it was there. His hair was combed back, no trace of the fringe I was used to seeing on him. Strangely, I find myself missing it. Setting the picture on my desk, I start reading.
Martin Quinn Riggs, born in Galveston, Texas, moved to El Paso at the age of 12. He joined the Navy right out of high school. 'Hmm, was that because of no prospects or difficult home life or perhaps both?' I wonder. Reading on, there was little in the file beyond the mention of his two tours of duty, his rate (E-5 PO2), his specialty in the SEALs (Sniper), and that he had been stationed at Virginia Beach. He was honorably discharged in 2012. He joined El Paso PD in mid-2013, making detective within the year. 'Impressive. No doubt, thanks to his to his SEAL training,' I muse.
The file's next page was focused on family history. His parents, Quinton and Deborah Mae, are still married and had moved back to Galveston. Martin is their only child. The rest of it I more or less knew. He marries Miranda Delgado in January 2015 and remains so until her death. The last line on the sheet gripped my heart.
Ronald Lucas Riggs, born on September 15, 2015 and died the same day. Martin's baby boy. His baby had died two days before my Harper came into the world. Two days before I almost lost my husband. I remember lying there on the bed holding her as the doctors worked on Roger, trying to get his heart to beat. Those two minutes and twenty-three seconds were the longest in my life. I can only imagine what Martin, who seems to be all alone in this world, is going through. In truth, I have no idea how Martin is holding himself together. According to Roger, "The only things keeping that man together were a few threads of string and Miranda's memory." And though that may be true to a point, I believe that as much as Martin wants to die that there is a part of him that wants to live.
Perhaps, that is why Roger is working so hard to make this partnership work. Roger sees a good man that needs his help, and I'm not going to let him take that fight up alone. I close the folder and pick up the photo again. Looking at the trim and neat SEAL that I know is hidden under the rowdy, rough-edged Riggs I know, an idea comes to me.
Now, it may not be enough to spin those few threads into a rope, but I owe it Martin, Roger, and my family to try.
~8~
As I step off of the elevator, I breathe a sigh of relief. Roger is there, and he looks fine! 'Thank God!' When his watch had flat-lined, I had imagined the worst. Now that I see that he is not only fine, but bragging about their exploits, my mood shifts from relief to a mix of amusement and annoyance. As I stand there listening, the amusement starts to win out. In all the years Roger has worked Robbery/Homicide, he has never been this enthusiastic about his cases. No matter how much he may complain about Martin, the man has certainly brought the spark back into Roger's work life. Speaking of Martin, I take a quick glance around, but don't see any sign of him.
Announcing my presence, the uniforms scatter in fear of me, which I find hilarious since they aren't the target of my ire. Roger stands there for a moment, astonished and probably trying to figure out how much of his tale I'd heard, before asking why I was there. I decide to take it all in stride, for the most part. The removal of ribs from the menu for the foreseeable future seems to drive home the point better than any watch could. Laughing to myself, I press the button for the elevator.
It opens, almost like it was waiting on me, and surprisingly the other person I wanted to see is right there alone in the car. I step in.
"Hey," I say.
"Hey, Trish. What are you doing here?"
"Freeing an innocent man. Where are you coming from?"
"Psyche evaluation," he says, looking up at the numbers above the elevator car.
"And?" When he doesn't answer, I add, "Are you crazy, Riggs?"
He does this slight smile and says sounding more than a little resigned, "That seems to be the consensus."
I immediately respond, "Not to me." I keep my focus on the numbers as the car descends, but I can still feel his eyes on me.
Good. It means that I've gotten his attention.
We continue the elevator ride down to the parking garage. We bid each other good night and I'm about to go to my vehicle when I realize this may be the best time to ask. The best time without Roger around.
"Martin," I call back to him. He turns toward me. "I know that no matter what I say to Roger, he is gonna follow you down any rabbit hole you go. And that's okay. It's what he needs as a cop and probably as a man. But I can't imagine what I'd do if I lost him. So, I need you to promise me one thing.
"At the end of every shift, make sure he comes home to me, to us," I request.
The relaxed stance straightens slightly, reminiscent of a soldier awaiting orders. "Yes, ma'am. I'll do the best I can," he promises.
I smile at that thinking about the file and Roger's stories. "From what I hear… that ought to do." I turn and get in my car. I was just pulling out when I see Roger come into the garage. I wave at the both of them and continue on toward home. A few minutes later, I receive a text from Roger.
Going for drinks with Riggs. Don't wait up. Love you!
I smile, feeling a little bit of my worry lift from me. Yes, I did come up here to confirm for myself that Roger was okay, but I also manage to fulfill my other objective, an objective that mirrors what Roger, who doesn't realize he is doing it, is trying to do by befriending Martin.
The soldier has his mission, a request really, and hopefully that will be enough of a start.
~8~
End of Chapter 3!
Hi, all! It looks like Trish has decided that she has a dog in this fight and she is ready to do what needs to be done! :)
This chapter and the last are my first times writing in 1st person POV. How am I doing?
At the moment, I don't plan to do this for every episode, but I do have a couple of specific episodes in mind as I proceed to T/M/R goodness. (The Season 1 finale! Oh, my goodness! I cannot wait to get to that.)
Until next time!