by Ness & Rach
[nemesis@graffiti.net, rajawa@yahoo.ca]
13 November 1999
"Morning, Helen!" Frank called cheerily as he entered the Water Police Headquarters. As he passed Jeff Hawker, he quickly remembered the tie he'd stuffed in his pocket that morning and retrieved it, wrestling it into a respectable- looking knot around his neck. Jeff gave him a quick glance and a nod. Frank smiled back -- his mood was too good to be spoiled so easily... Little did he know, however, what was in store for him.Helen had been watching him as he walked up towards the station, and as he reached the door, she rose to meet him. "Ah, Frank, we've been waiting for you," she replied, smiling. She began following him up the stairs to his office on the second floor.
"Shit, I'm not late again am I?" Frank frowned as he quickly checked his watch.
"No, no, not at all," Helen assured him, then paused. "But you do have someone waiting for you in your office," she added. It wasn't really her place to tell him, it was Jeff's. But bloody Jeffrey had already left the station, something about a 'pressing engagement', so she figured that the onus was on her to break the news that Frank's spacey office was about to become a shared one.
"Really? What's he want?" Frank looked over in feigned interest.
"Not a he, Frank -- she," Helen corrected.
"Even better," Frank smirked. "But really, Helen, who is --" he stopped short, catching sight of the woman in his office "-that?" He nodded appraisingly as he gave her the once- over. Brunette, around 5'9" or perhaps shorter -- she was standing, but probably wearing heels. He couldn't really see her face yet, but she had a nice profile. And a great figure -- he slowly ran his eyes down her from head to toe... Oh, very nice, he thought, very nice indeed...
"That is your new partner, Frank." He looked over at her in alarm. Partner? She rested a hand on his arm briefly as she pushed the door open. "I expect you to be nice to her," she muttered beneath her breath. Frank wasn't sure whether to be pissed off or exultant. As they entered the office, the woman looked up with a slightly bemused smile -- she appeared to be giving him the once-over too, Helen noticed wryly. Smiling, she pushed Frank forward. "Frank, I'd like to introduce you to your new partner, this is Detective Senior Constable Rachel Goldstein. Rachel, you've possibly heard of Frank Holloway?"
"That I have," Rachel replied, reaching out to shake his hand.
"Welcome aboard," Frank said, with a grin. Rachel raised an eyebrow.
"Welcome aboard? To the Water Police?" She rolled her eyes. "Who came up with that one?"
"Frank did," Helen grinned. Frank shrugged sheepishly. "I'll leave you two to it, then." She left the two newly acquainted detectives standing in their office, unsure what to do next.
For a moment, Frank just stood by the door. After a moment, Rachel turned back to the desk and continued unpacking her belongings from the small brown box that was currently occupying its surface. Methodically, she retrieved each item and placed it on the desk -- a coffee cup, some files, some folders, a stapler, a few pens and a calculator, a framed photo... Frank watched, trying not to look too interested. After a few minutes of this had passed, he remembered the paper bag he'd been carrying, and held it up. "Mind if I eat me brekkie?" he asked, "Egg & Bacon McMuffin -- you can have some if you want."
Rachel looked at the bag in mild disgust. "That can't be your breakfast -- it's not even food!"
"It is!" Frank pulled the muffin out of the bag, then dumped both bag and muffin on his desk. "Well, it sorta is," he muttered, unwrapping it. His mouth was already watering in anticipation. Rachel just stared at him. It make Frank uncomfortable, so he struggled for a new topic of conversation.
"So, Goldstein, what brings you to the Water Police?"
"A transfer," she retorted. "You usually talk with your mouth full?"
"Always," he replied. "In fact, whenever I want to talk, I try to make sure I've got at least half a burger in there first." That got her. She tried to hide it, but he definitely saw a faint grin. Frank hoped that even if they were going to disagree -- which they were bound to; hell, she was organising her pens as they were talking -- at least he could have a little fun with her. Maybe.
"All right, so what, you guys go fishing here, do ya?" She indicated to the harbour -- god, they had a fantastic view. She thought she might enjoy working here already, it was by far the nicest office she'd had yet. The last one she'd been sharing with three other blokes, and it was half the size of this one, and without the view, and what? A verandah? She walked over to the door and opened it, peeking out -- yep, it was definitely a nice view. And a nice verandah!
Frank grinned. "Course! What did you reckon we were gonna have for lunch?"
"Fair enough," she nodded. "Much crime, you know, out on the water?"
Frank shrugged. "Oh, you know. Sometimes when the fish get narky, it can be pretty ugly."
Rachel smirked and walked over to her desk, standing behind it to finish straightening it. There. Everything neat and tidy -- perfect. Frank frowned as he saw the look on her face -- he could already anticipate this as a potential bone of contention... God, don't let her be a neat freak, he begged silently. She looked up at him. "So..."
"So..." he replied.
"You got coffee?"
"Instant?"
She shrugged. "Sure. I've got a real coffee-maker at home, you want me to bring it in?"
"If you like."
"Then I will."
"Okay." Frank took the cup she was extending to him and walked over to the small bench on the far side of the office. He flicked the kettle on and waited for it to reach boiling point. As he started to make the coffee, he looked over his shoulder at her. "How do you like it?" he asked.
"Strong and black," she replied. "Thanks."
"No worries." He bought the cup over to her and set it down on the desk.
They fell silent again. Frank returned to his desk and Rachel pretended to be absorbed in organizing hers. A while later, Frank looked up. "So, Detective Senior Constable, eh?"
"Yep," Rachel replied quickly.
"That'd make you my superior, then."
"S'pose so," she said. Frank shrugged -- the thought had only just occurred to him. But his demotion a few weeks ago had left him wondering whether he'd be getting a partner -- or more specifically, a baby sitter. He hadn't had a partner in ages, hadn't liked it much either. Always having to answer to someone, always having somebody tagging along, pulling rank, and questioning his every move... The more he thought about it now, the more Frank remembered how much he'd hated having a partner. And now -- a sheila? Bloody hell! What was the service coming to, when he got a sheila for his boss and a boss for his partner? He looked away, staring absently out the window.
Rachel watched him silently. Was he going to be another male chauvinist, offended at having a woman boss? God knew, the last fellas she'd worked with had had a bit of an attitude about that... She figured out how to deal with it, of course -- basically, ignore it but don't forget it -- but still... She didn't want to have to go through that all again. Being a woman in this field was difficult, and she'd spent her whole career trying to compensate for it. It wasn't fair, of course, but it had been her decision. And she'd been a cop since she was nineteen -- god, almost ten years now! It was second nature -- no, actually, it was first nature. Even above motherhood... Slowly, her gaze drifted down to the photograph on her desk. David. Her little boy, now four and a half. She couldn't believe time had passed so quickly! He was getting more and more grown-up every time she saw him -- which, although it wasn't often, was precious. He lived with his father. That's all she ever told people when they asked, which they usually didn't. She'd never really been one for spilling her guts to strangers. Rachel wondered whether Frank liked her. It wasn't even a thought until she remembered her early days, back at the old station. They'd *hated* her. Sam, Dicky, Alex and Mack -- they'd seriously had something against her... She hoped this Holloway bloke wouldn't be the same. More than anything, Rachel hoped that they could make this work. Suddenly, he looked up at her. Embarrassed to be caught staring, she looked down again.
"What?" he asked.
"Oh, just wondering..."
"Wondering what?"
"If you had a problem with it -- you know, me being your boss." She stared him in the eye, daring him to admit it.
Frank stared back at her coolly, then looked away. "No."
"Good."
"Why would you think I did?" he asked warily.
She shrugged. "You looked like you did."
"What?"
"Well, you did!" Defensive.
"Oh, so it's a 'type' thing, is it? I look the type?" He scrutinized her carefully.
"No! No, you just looked -- oh, never mind."
Pause. "I don't, you know. It really doesn't bother me, I mean, I don't care." Pause again. "Like, I *really* don't care."
"Uh huh. How's that McMuffin sitting?"
"Not bad, not bad... You liking your new desk?"
"Yeah, it's okay."
"Good view, huh?"
"Beautiful."
Silence fell. Rachel felt really uncomfortable -- all right, he'd said that having her as his direct superior in the field didn't bother him, but somehow she didn't quite believe him. Maybe it was his tone, or the look in his eyes, and that other cop -- what was her name, Blakemore? She'd been right. Rachel had definitely heard of Frank. His reputation preceded him -- that of being a legend, notorious and popular with everyone but his superiors. Everyone she'd spoken about her pending transfer had mentioned him when they heard where she was going. Water Police? Not with Holloway, they'd said, and who did she end up with? Him, of course. If the rumours were anything to go by, Frank didn't just disregard the proverbial rulebook -- he was illiterate. And if his *desk* was anything to go by... Well, they were certainly in for an interesting partnership...
Still, she shouldn't be one to judge on appearances and second-hand impressions. He'd probably been privy to plenty of stories about her -- she knew what people said about her. The Bitch, one group of officers had called her. Never to her face, although one of them had nearly shit himself when she mentioned the nickname to him. They'd been half- terrified of her before -- intimidated, really, but sheer terror sort of factored in there when they got her in a bad mood -- but after that, she'd given up trying to break her reputation. At least it didn't precede her to new positions, or hadn't so far. Then again, she couldn't be too hopeful... After all, Holloway had only just learnt that she was his new partner. Given a few hours alone, if he wanted to check up and find out about her, she was sure he'd have no problem finding out all he wanted -- or didn't want, as the case probably was -- to hear.
Rachel fidgeted with her coffee mug, unsure what to do next. Frank seemed content -- he was sorting through a pile of rubbish on his desk, frowning over papers that he picked up and glanced at briefly before putting them aside. She wished he'd give her something to do, anything, just some work... That was what she was there for, right? So there was no point in beating herself up, wondering whether she and her new partner -- whom she suspected she'd been assigned to as either a baby sitter or a restraint -- would agree on trivial matters. This was work, not a birthday party -- as long as they survive investigations together, and get results without stepping on each other's toes... She really hoped it would work. Besides which, it was a promotion, her chance to prove herself to her superiors, maybe work her way up the lad--
"Got it!" Frank announced triumphantly. Rachel snapped out of her thoughts, looking at him curiously.
"Got what?"
"Witness statement, homicide investigation. We've got a couple for the case, but I reckon this is the one to go with -- problem is, the witness was a little kid, so if we want to talk to him again we've got to deal with the mother... You know what that can be like."
"No, what?" Playing dumb, testing him for prejudices.
"Oh, you know -- the mum, she'll probably fuss around like mothers always do, butting into the interview and twisting our words, then twisting the kid's, hassling us because we give him too much chocolate..."
Rachel nodded wryly. "Yeah, lots of fun."
Frank rolled his eyes. "I tell ya, Goldie--" she raised her eyebrows "--whenever I have to deal with that sort of thing, it makes me glad I never had kids myself."
"Yeah?" She wasn't sure whether he was winding her up, testing her, or if he was just completely dense. But she had to retort. "I bet your wife's even more so."
"Ex-wife," Frank corrected. He grinned. "And yeah, you're probably right."
"Ex-wife?" Rachel repeated. She smirked. "Now surprise me."
Frank grinned, oblivious to her jab. "What, like, how I've actually got two?"
"You're serious?"
"Yep."
"And no kids?"
"God, no." The grin broadened. "So, how old's your boy exactly?"
She gaped at him -- he had been winding her up, but she hadn't realised how much. There probably wasn't even any witness, she thought. But, well, in a way -- she wasn't exactly sure how to describe it, but there was a certain quality in the way he had. She rather liked it. He was -- well, he seemed like a good person. Quirky, but caring.
"He's four," she answered. "How'd you know?"
"Oh, I'm more than just a pretty face, you know," he replied lightly.
"Oh yeah? So how come you're not the superior here?"
That stopped his grin. Frank looked at her seriously for a moment, trying to read through her expression, into her thoughts. "Come on, Goldstein -- you must have heard the stories."
"Yeah," she agreed. "Yeah, I have. But I haven't heard your story."
Frank nodded. Maybe she wouldn't be so bad, after all.
He shrugged. "Ah, it was all bullshit," he said, shaking his head. "They couldn't make nothin' stick so they threw shit at me and some of it stuck. Not much of a story, but it's how I got here. Used to be a first-class dick," he said, with a hint of pride. "Wouldn't trade nothing for it now, but hey, at least you're not working with a novice, right Goldie?"
Rachel nodded slowly. "So, I'm just babysitting an expert?"
"Prolly."
"Bloody great."
"No kidding."
"And Hawker -- you get along with him okay?"
"Hell no!"
"But Blakemore's all right, yeah?"
"Oh, she's a gem."
Rachel grinned. "Tough old bird."
"A real gem," he reiterated.
"And all the rest of 'em--" she indicated with her thumb, at the rest of the station "--they're all okay?"
Frank shrugged. "Hey, I've only been here a few months meself," he admitted. "But they seem decent enough. Hawker's a tightarse and Webb's definitely got something stuck up there, but the rest of 'em -- yeah, you'll do okay around here. If that's what you're asking," he added quickly.
It was. She nodded. "It wasn't, but thanks."
"Hey, I'm not doin' ya any favours," he alleged. "But you and me, we gotta work together, right?" She nodded. "And you're new round here an' all -- hey, look, it'll be good. I reckon you'll like this place."
Rachel smiled. "Yeah, I reckon I might, too."
"Look at it this way -- we got the water for fishin', the crims for catching, the booze for drinking, and--"
She raised an eyebrow. "The booze?"
Frank nodded to the kitchen bench. "Far left drawer," he informed her. "But no drinkin' on the job, y'hear? Strictly for after hours, like, when the pub's closed... Oh, and that's the place down the street, the Cutter Bar. You mighta seen it?"
"Oh yeah," she grinned. "I've seen it."
"So you do drink, then?"
"Ah, I've been known to..."
"You wanna go for one tonight? You know, meet the gang in a less -- formal -- setting, maybe get piss drunk and initiated?" He met her eye and grinned. He shook his head, adding, "Don't worry, I'll look out for ya."
For some reason, Rachel felt touched by the sentiment. She nodded slowly. "Okay, then."
"Okay you'll come, or okay you'll get wasted?"
"Okay I'll come. And then we'll see."
"Great!"
"Yeah, great," she echoed.
They lapsed again into a silence that was broken about ten minutes later, by Rachel. Frank was tapping his fingers on the desk in a rapid, almost caffeinated rhythm. She watched him for a moment, then realized that it was really grating on her nerves. "Can you stop it?" she asked, trying not to sound too acerbic.
Frank looked up in surprise. "Eh?"
"The tapping. You know, your fingers?"
"Oh. Sorry."
"Is it always gonna be this dead around here."
"Bad metaphor, Detective Senior Constable."
"And would you cut that out -- you know, the name thing?"
"Eh? But then what'll I call you?"
"Um, Rachel?"
"Goldie."
She looked at him amusedly. "Goldie?"
"Yeah. Don't people ever call you that?"
She frowned. "No..."
"What do they call you then? Aside from Rachel?"
She thought of all the nicknames she'd had in the past, and didn't really feel like repeating them. "Oh, nothin'. Just Goldstein. And Mummy."
"Can I call you Mummy?"
She looked up sharply, to see if he was serious. When she saw that he wasn't, she burst out laughing. "No!"
Frank laughed, too. "Then I guess it's gonna be Goldie."
She shrugged. "Suit yourself."
At that moment, a sharp knock at the door interrupted their bonding session. Helen entered the room. "Frank, Rachel," she said. "How's it going?"
Frank and Rachel looked at each other quickly. "Fine," they replied in unison.
Helen smiled. "Good. Rachel, Jeff Hawker would like a word with you -- he had an engagement earlier, but I think it's just the whole "welcome aboard" spiel again..."
"Oh, okay," Rachel rose from her desk.
"And Frank, Webb wants to see you about something -- I dunno, I think it was in relation to the apples and oranges incident?"
Frank almost choked on his coffee. "How'd he find out?" he demanded.
Helen shrugged. "I wouldn't know, what do I look like to you?"
"An intelligence officer?" Frank grinned. Rachel bit her lip to keep from laughing. He had her there.
"Oh, you're just a card," she sighed. "But do me a favour, and stop by, won't you? He's interested in the -- finer details -- of the whole incident."
Frank's expression froze, then slowly faded and a look of distaste replaced it. "Yeah, orright," he muttered sullenly. Rachel watched the exchange with interest. What incident? Apples and oranges, what the hell? Frank stood up, too, and headed towards the door. "So, Goldie," he called over his shoulder, "We still on for tonight?"
Rachel glanced at Helen to see if she'd got the wrong impression. "Uh, yeah," she replied quickly. Helen raised her eyebrows and -- with what appeared to be a warning look to Frank, disappeared out the door.
"Sounds good. Have fun in your meeting."
"Oh, you have fun in yours."
"Fun? And by fun, you mean torture, right?"
"Right," she confirmed.
"And Goldie--"
"Welcome aboard," she grinned.
He nodded and winked, then shut the door behind him.
Rachel watched him walk away. Welcome aboard, she echoed to herself. It was already shaping up to be one hell of a ride...