Nowhere to Run
Chapter 2 of 10
by Vanessa
[nemesis@graffiti.net]
6 August - 5 September 1999
A few of the water police crew gathered at the Cutter Bar later that night for drinks. When Jack arrived, he quickly glanced around the table before taking a seat, disappointed.
"Where's Rachel? I haven't seen her all afternoon."
Gavin exchanged a glance with Emma Woods, the blonde dive squad constable. Tayler coughed politely. Helen, it seemed, was the only one willing to tell him.
"That probably has something to do with Frank being back," she informed him.
"Frank?" Jack questioned. "Frank Holloway? I thought he was on long service leave."
"'Was' being the operative word," Tayler muttered under her breath.
"How come I didn't know anything about him being back?" Jack asked.
The gang repeated their avoidance routine. Helen stood and dragged Tommy Tavita to the bar with her to fetch another round of drinks. No one was willing to admit to that one just yet.
you're lost in the traffic
I've been asking around, but you haven't been seen
I never thought we were perfect
oh but darling, what we could've been...Goldstein's Apartment
Rachel sat curled up on her couch, her knees hugged tightly to her chest, dressed in her favourite old tracksuit pants and a long- sleeved t-shirt. Spread on either side of her was a collection of old photographs, spanning over the past four years of her life. Memories of Frank, that's what they were. When he'd left, she'd packed them all neatly in a shoe box, determined not to dwell on what-ifs.
It hadn't worked at first. She'd missed him hopelessly, and whenever his replacements gave her a hard time, or did something wrong, she'd find herself browsing through the photos later that night. But slowly, Jack had brought her around -- won her back, in his mind. Rachel still couldn't figure out what to make of her relationship with him. It was a relationship that she'd denied to Helen, and had bluntly told Jack himself it didn't exist, but she'd still slept with him. Just never when Frank was around.
A ring of the doorbell dragged her back to the present. Quickly, she gathered up the photos and stuffed them between the cushions of the couch, raked her fingers through her shoulder-length brown hair and went to see who it was.
"Frank." She wasn't surprised; in fact, she should have expected it. After the way she had snubbed him off earlier... Besides, Frank was a detective; persistence was part of his nature, and he wouldn't rest until he got results. And so, here he was.
"Thought you might be hungry," he said, and she realised that he was holding a plastic bag of Chinese takeaway in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other. "It's not pizza and beer, but it's still good stuff -- especially the wine, that's top shelf."
"I've already eaten." She didn't want to deal with this now, not yet.
"Well, I haven't. I could always drive around town looking for somewhere else to eat, but the food'd probably get cold." He flashed her a pleading, little boy look. Succumbing, she stepped to one side and allowed him in.
"You haven't moved the kitchen or anything, have you?" Frank asked as he navigated the familiar hallways.
"Oh, it hasn't been that long," Rachel reminded him.
"Yeah, but things have changed." He set out the containers of takeaway on the kitchen bench, then produced two wineglasses and a corkscrew from her cupboards before taking a seat opposite her.
"That they have," she agreed, accepting the glass of wine he poured from her. Swirling the glass around, she became mesmerised by the liquid for a few seconds. Then, snapping her head back up, she said bluntly, "Frank, why'd you come back?"
He'd been avoiding that question all afternoon, from the other officers of the water police. It ranked right up there with 'are you back for good?' But this was Goldie, and she deserved a straight answer. So, taking a deep breath, he endeavoured to give her one. "A couple of reasons. For starters, I don't have my boat any more."
"What happened?"
"Slight accident just off the Galapagos Islands. The boat was in too many pieces to put back together; I don't think Diver even found them all. In the end, it was easier to just put in the insurance claim."
"Diver?" Rachel interrupted sceptically.
"Yeah, Diver Dan. He pulled me out of the water, saved me life."
"You were rescued by someone called Diver Dan??"
"Mm. He's an Aussie, actually. Said he used to live in some small town in Victoria, I forget what it was called. Somewhere near Geelong, I think. Good bloke, although I could never work out why he always had a bit of cloth tied around his neck...." Frank trailed off, pondering this thought. Rachel looked very disturbed.
"Anyway," Frank resumed his explanations, "By then I'd used a fair portion of my long service leave, and even though I still didn't make it to Venezuela -- well, I'd gotten my dose of sea life, so... I decided it was time to stop running from the past."
"Oh, is that what you were doing?" Rachel retorted. "I thought you were getting your head together."
"That, too."
"I guess you must have been pretty busy out there sailing, all those times you didn't write to me. You must have been able to really clear your head."
"Rachel, the only reason I didn't write is that I was afraid that one day you'd get the chance to reply, and you'd tell me something I didn't want to hear," he looked at her intently. Unable to bear it, Rachel threw her head back and sighed, then stood and paced a few steps.
"Oh, Frank. Why'd you have to turn up now? I mean, things -- they're complicated. They're always complicated, but now... It's not even Jack. Although, it is, sort of, Jack, but it's not just him -- it's everything, and... I'm hopeless with this stuff."
"Hey, hey, hey. I don't know about any of that. As far as I'm concerned, we're just two old friends, catching up over some gourmet Chinese takeaway and a drink."
"Yeah, right," she scoffed. "Did you drop in for a meal with Tommy on your way here?"
"Nah, I was hoping to go out to the pub with Mick, but he wouldn't come with me," Frank scratched his head in mock confusion. "Can't imagine why."
Rachel smirked. "Typical. You always were a joker, Holloway."
"But you never laughed."
"I never said your jokes were funny!" she grinned. Another silence fell between them, as Rachel gathered the courage to say her next words. "I missed you, you know."
"Me too. You should have come along, it would have been great. Sailing the open sea..."
"Getting shipwrecked..."
"Watching glorious sunsets..."
"Eating out of cans..."
"See, Goldie, you woulda loved it!" he exclaimed. "Seriously, these past few months... would you have been happier? Were you happy?"
"Were you?" she replied, dodging the question a little too quickly.
"No," he said. "No, not really."
Damn you Holloway, she thought. She understood full well what his last comment meant, and it certainly contradicted his earlier claim that they were merely friends. Somehow, she got the feeling that he was being more honest now.
She knew they would keep coming back to this point. It was inevitable. Even having been separated from Frank for all these months hadn't helped to sort out her feelings. If anything, she was now more confused than ever. And having Jack around merely complicated things -- if only she could be certain one way or the other. Ah, if only, Rachel thought. Her relationship with Frank seemed to be dominated by that phrase.
Their conversation continued pleasantly until their bottle of wine was drained -- plus another Rachel produced from her cupboards -- but she made a marked effort to keep it steered towards simple catching up, no deeper meanings or double entendres allowed. Finally, Frank stood and stretched his limbs.
"I should be going..." It was now well into the morning, and he figured he should go before he overstayed his welcome -- ie. crashed on her couch.
"There's no way I'm letting you drive. You're bad enough sober, and now you've had at least enough to put you over the limit..."
"I'm not walking home unless you escort me," he said firmly.
"You know my couch, don't you, Francis?" she replied. "I'll get you a blanket." As she disappeared down the hallway, Frank shook his head. She was definitely a mother -- and young David was a lucky kid.
Rachel returned with a pile of blankets and a pillow, which Frank recognised as being from her own bed. Dumping them on the couch, she turned to face him, slightly unsure what her next move should be.
"Thanks for dinner," he said sincerely.
"Hey, you brought it. It's great to see you again."
"Almost like old times..." he agreed. "G'night."
"'Night." She made it four steps away from him before she spun back and threw her arms around him. "I missed you so much, Frank Holloway," she said, forcing herself not to cry.
"I missed you, too," he hugged her tightly for a few minutes before reluctantly stepping back. "You'd better get some sleep -- work tomorrow, remember?"
"Oh yeah, that." Suddenly, it didn't seem so important any more. Not without Frank there, to bicker with and bounce theories off. But she still had to go. "Goodnight."
"Sweet dreams."
Smiling, Rachel waited until he was settled on the couch before flicking the light off and heading for her bedroom. Her night's sleep, she was sure, would certainly be filled with dreams.
all these mixed emotions
we keep locked away like stolen pearls
stolen pearl devotions
we keep locked away from all the worldThe next morning, Rachel awoke to the most mouth-watering aroma of... Breakfast? What the--?
"Morning, sunshine!" Frank greeted her, as she wandered into her kitchen, half-asleep and somewhat dazed.
"Frank... What are you doing?" She saw pans, she saw plates, she saw various cooking utensils, and she saw her stove. That potent combination, especially the latter, in a kitchen with Frank -- it sort of scared her.
"Made you breakfast," he told her. "Bacon and eggs!"
"Bacon? Uh, Frank..."
"I'm kidding, Goldstein." He motioned for her to sit down, then placed a plate of food in front of her. "I was gonna go Weetbix, but you didn't have any so this will have to do. Omelette, toast, coffee, orange juice."
"Nah, this is great!" she replied. "At least, it looks great. Since when do you cook?" Cautiously, she cut off a piece of the omelette and held it poised on her fork, awaiting his answer.
"Ah, just something I picked up in Ecuador," he replied, smiling.
Rachel dropped the fork.
Laughing, Frank reassured her, "Don't worry, you'll like it."
"Ecuador? It's not actually -- well, it's not some exotic South American thing, is it?"
"If you won't eat it, I will," Frank offered, making a grab at the toast. He'd cut it in triangle quarters, she noticed -- cute.
"No, no," she slapped at his hands. "I want to try this." Before he could stop her, she snatched the fork up and shoved it into her mouth. Frank watched on for her reaction.
"So, verdict?"
"Mmm..." she replied, savouring the mouthful. "Marry me."
He chuckled. "You wish, Goldstein."
"Then I'll employ you as my cook. What else did you pick up in South America?"
"Aw... I can do a pretty mean pork curry," he claimed, teasing. She looked at him sternly, so he tried again. "Roast pork? Ah -- toasted ham and bacon sandwich!"
"Maybe I'll eat at the pub," she decided.
"What? No -- it spoils the beer! Takes much longer to get drunk that way."
"Someone should have told that to Reilly before he met you," Rachel retorted. "Oh, shit, that reminds me -- what's the time?" She leant over and grabbed his wrist in both hands, turning his watch around to look at the face. "I've got to get to work!"
"Relax, you've got half an hour. I'll drive you."
"There is no way I'm letting you behind the wheel of my car," she informed him definitely.
"I've got mine, remember? And I wanted to go in and speak to Hawker anyway."
"How will I get home?" She immediately picked the flaw in his plan. Frank shrugged it off.
"You can get whassisname to give you a lift home."
"Jack?" Frank knew the man's name full well, though he mostly pretended to have no idea of his existence, and she knew that. But she understood, even though she didn't approve of it.
"Yeah. Him."
"All right, then," she conceded. "I'll get dressed and then we'd better get moving so we can dodge some of the traffic." Frank looked slightly shocked, not believing that she was letting him drive her somewhere, albeit in his own car. Things had definitely changed.
Water Police HQ
"Johnson, you owe me big," Sykes announced, entering the office and tossing his police cap onto the desk next to her.
"Why?" Tayler replied innocently. "And aren't you supposed to be out patrolling the harbour with Tommy?"
"I was," Gavin nodded in agreement. "Supposed to be. But it seems someone has swapped the rosters around at the last minute -- someone who felt it fitting to torture me with indoor office work."
"Why do I get the feeling that you're annoyed with me?"
"Because you made me take Reilly to Middle Harbour yesterday, so he's blaming me."
"Hey, it was a favour--"
"Yeah, and I'm calling you in on it. Dinner, tonight." He raised his eyebrows at her suggestively, grinning.
"Gavin, I thought we agreed--"
"It's not a real date," he promised. "And you're paying. I'll pick you up, 7:30. You owe me, remember?"
Sighing, she nodded and then grinned after a moment.
"What?" Gavin asked, slightly puzzled.
"I'm just glad I didn't ask Tommy any favours," she replied.
Before he could respond, Frank and Rachel burst rushing through the doors of the police station.
"Goldie! I've got some messages for you," Tayler said, relieved to finally be able to pass them on.
"Oh really?"
"Yep." Tayler sorted through numerous papers on her desk to find what she was supposed to give Rachel. "Helen thinks we've got an ID on yesterday's ferry kidnap victim. The name's Simone Wolski, 22 years old, she was reported missing last night, and her description matches. Jack has all the details -- but he's getting pretty aggro waiting for you, because you're supposed to be at the morgue."
"Yeah, sorry I'm late. It was--"
"Traffic," Frank supplied.
"Frank's driving," Rachel finished, ignoring him. Nodding greetings to all of them, she quickly dashed upstairs to the offices to meet Jack.
With a gleam in her eye, Tayler turned to Frank. "So, tell me about this traffic..."
End Chapter 2