"Thank you." Christine took a sip of her coffee – if you could call it that. In the old days, before the pandemic, Mike would have asked her if she wanted a splash of caffeine with her milk, but now didn't seem like the right time to be cracking jokes. Setting down her cup, Christine gazed down at Kaito, running a finger over his soft cheek. "He doesn't look anything like Lucas."
Mike picked up his own coffee before tentatively offering a response. "He's Japanese."
The corner of Christine's mouth quirked. "I know that, Mike. You told me, remember? It doesn't make sense but, when I pictured him, I imagined him looking like Lucas." Christine gave Mike a pointed look, one that he was very familiar with. "Whitney showed me the picture you took of her and Kaito."
"Um, yeah, that wasn't my idea," Mike muttered, hoping that wasn't the reason for Christine's visit today. Not that he was above using the kids to get his way, less than subtly mentioning how good pizza sounded for dinner or what movie was playing in the theater that weekend and letting them do the nagging for him. But this was different.
He couldn't nag or trick Christine into raising another child. It wasn't fair to Kaito. It wasn't fair to Christine. Hell, it wasn't fair to him, spending the rest of his life with a woman who resented him.
To Mike's surprise, Christine chuckled. "I know. Whitney hasn't been shy about expressing her opinion on my reluctance to come by and meet Kaito, and all of the reasons why that makes me a terrible person. She can be very compelling."
"She'll make a good lawyer someday."
It was an old joke, but one that drew a wry smile. "Kaito's asleep. Do you want me to put him in his crib?"
"Sure." Mike found himself feeling strangely awkward as he led Christine into the small bedroom he shared with Kaito. Not that he'd done much, or anything, to personalize the space. Simply put his clothes in the empty closet and Kaito's belongings in the equally empty bureau and shifted the bed against the wall to make room for the crib. Still, it was his bedroom. A room that he had shared with Christine for close to twenty years. Seeing her here, now, standing there with Kaito, brought back a wealth of memories.
There was the apartment in Chicago that he and Christine rented as newlyweds, back when they were unable to keep their hands off each other. Then there was the house in Newport, the two-bedroom with the perfectly decorated nursery that Whitney never actually used since the kid refused to sleep in her own room, forcing Mike and Christine to move the crib into the master and sneak off to the couch whenever they wanted to get frisky. After Newport was Florida, one of his longer tours, where they finally got their bedroom back just in time for Shaylyn to arrive, Mike's brilliant idea of having the girls share a room crumbling as soon as he realized that having his bedroom back was pointless when he was being woken up every ten minutes by a screaming baby and a screaming toddler. It was far easier letting Christine share the room with the girls while he crashed on the couch. And then finally the home in Norfolk, the house where Lucas was born. By that point Mike was so used to having a kid in the bedroom that he didn't bother with a nursery, simply setting up the crib at the end of he and Christine's bed and talking Christine into a new, less lumpy, couch.
Christine set Kaito down, her hand running along the top rail of the crib before she started the mobile that Alisha had fashioned out of spare parts, the tiny stars and boats dancing above Kaito's head. Christine glanced over her shoulder, her face curious. "Is this handmade?"
"Green made the crib on our way back to the States. He wanted something to keep him busy." It was a feeling Mike understood. With no word from Kara or Debbie after President Oliver's disappearance, Danny needed a way to keep his mind off his family during the long days between Japan and San Diego, days with little to do but recuperate and train and prepare for what was waiting for them.
Christine's eyes flickered over to him. "Tom filled me in on what happened while you were in the Pacific. About the kidnapping and Takehaya and his pirates and how Shaw sold you out to Peng."
"He did?" Mike raised an eyebrow. Tom had met with Christine several times over the past two weeks, with the official purpose of figuring out where Shaw might have hidden the remaining hostages. Now Mike was wondering how much of that time was actually spent discussing Shaw and how much was focused on Mike. "What, exactly did he say?"
But Christine's attention had strayed, her eyes now fixed on the small mirror sitting on top of the bureau, and the picture that Mike tucked there upon his arrival in St. Louis. The one that had travelled the Pacific with him. Christine's hand shook as she picked it up. "Where did you get this?"
Mike found his throat tightening as he remembered the day the Nathan James arrived in Norfolk. "At Deer Park. The place was empty, but I found the tent where you and the girls were staying. It looked like you left in a hurry. The picture albums were still there, along with Whitney's sweatshirt."
Christine's fingers clenched around the picture, her eyes shutting, breath becoming ragged. Worried, Mike draped an arm around her shoulders, maneuvering her into the living room. "You should sit down."
Settling Christine on the couch, Mike grabbed her coffee from the kitchen, pushing the warm cup into her hands before sitting next to her. "I miss him too." The words were a whisper, admitted before Mike realized what he was doing.
"I know. Your voice that day, when you called from the Arctic. It was so relieved at first. You were rambling about how worried you were when it took so long it took to get through, how glad you were to reach me, how you didn't know anything about the pandemic. And then you asked about the kids…." A tear rolled down Christine's face. "I couldn't save him, Mike. My baby was sick and I couldn't save him."
Without conscious thought, Mike found his arms encircling Christine, pulling her against his chest as she cried, soaking his shirt, the grief and pain of the past eighteen months pouring out in a torrent of tears. When the storm finally subsided, Christine didn't move away, shifting her head to rest on Mike's shoulder, one hand circling his waist. Mike kissed the top of her head, the familiar scent of her shampoo tickling his nose.
Finally he spoke. "There was nothing – nothing – you could have done for Lucas, Christine. It wasn't your fault."
Christine sniffed into Mike's shirt. "There was nothing that either one of us could have done. I know that. It just doesn't make it any easier."
Mike didn't argue. He couldn't erase Christine's pain any more than she could make the ache in his heart disappear. Lucas was gone, and neither one of them would ever be whole again.
"What do you want to talk about, Christine? Is this about Lucas? Or about Kaito?" Mike asked finally, unable to beat around the bush any longer.
"You always were blunt, Mike. It's one of the things that I love about you. You get right to the point." Christine pulled away, standing and walking over to the window. "Do you remember Michelle? The hostage who was pregnant?"
Mike had to wrack his brain to come up with an image of the timid brunette. Her father was an admiral, apparently one who did not succumbed to blackmail if his mutilated body and slashed throat were anything to go by. Frankly, the woman was lucky to be alive. With her father dead, there was no reason to keep Michelle alive either, but Shaw must have been too busy staging a coup to send the kill order. "Yeah."
"She had her baby last night. A little boy. There were … complications and she almost died. Your man Rios is a pretty good doctor for a guy without any training in obstetrics."
"He's had a bit of practice," Mike responded, waiting for Christine to continue, tramping down the desire to tell her to get to the damn point.
Christine folded her arms over her chest. "He mentioned that he delivered Kaito."
Mike's patience was wearing thin. "He did. It was his first c-section."
"Michelle was hemorrhaging and we couldn't stop the bleeding. She was holding Harry and then she grabbed my hand and she asked me what would happen to him if she died." Christine turned, her fingers digging into the back of a chair. "I didn't even stop to think, Mike, I said that I would take care of him. I promised a dying woman that I would raise her child without taking a single second to think about what that would mean."
"You did the right thing, Christine."
Her eyes rose to his, slightly teary but firm. "I know. And so did you. Michelle deserved to know that someone would take care of her son if she died. Takehaya, well, as far as I'm concerned he didn't deserve squat. He kidnapped you, Mike, and I'm not ready to let that go. But Kyoko, she deserved to know that her son would be taken care of after she was gone. It wasn't her fault that her husband turned into a damn pirate."
Mike decided that there was no benefit in pointing out that Christine's logic was somewhat flawed – Kyoko wasn't exactly an innocent victim, accepting the blood "donations" from Miller without protest – not wanting to get into an argument about what lengths a mother would go to in order to save her child. "Does that mean I'm out of the doghouse?"
He was expecting Christine to chuckle or roll her eyes or start giving him directions on packing things up to move them into the townhouse, but instead she took a deep breath. "I'm sorry for the way I reacted, back in Pennsylvania."
"Chris…"
Mike tried to interrupt but was stopped by Christine's raised hand. "No, that's our problem, you know. We don't talk through things. I get pissed and yell and you make jokes and we move on but we never resolve anything. I figured that out." Christine grimaced. "Actually, Kelly figured that out. She's a good therapist, and we've gotten to be friends."
"Is she still dating that lame-ass friend of Green's?" Mike asked, the words out of his mouth before he realized that he was proving Christine's point. He flopped back on the couch. "Okay, I'll shut up."
Christine joined him, her hands clasped on her lap as she sat. "I don't want a divorce, Mike. I never did. I was upset and I lashed out at you, but I never stopped loving you. I want us to be a family – you, me, Whitney, Shaylyn, and Kaito. I know we have some things to work out, but we can do that. I got some names from Kelly…" Mike's face must have given him away because Christine's eyes narrowed. "Names of family therapists and I think we should go."
"Fine." Mike shrugged. After a year spent wondering where they were and how they were doing, therapy was a small price to pay for going to sleep every night under the same roof as his family. He wrapped his arms around Christine again, twisting strands of her hair between his fingers. "Should we go tell the girls?"
Christine turned to look at him, her face a combination of disbelief and mischief. "Our first night alone – almost alone – in how long and you want to get the girls?"
A slow grin spread over Mike's face as he pulled Christine onto his lap, cutting off her surprised squeal with his lips. "On second thought, they can wait until morning."
