Rosalind
This story and all themes and ideas contained in said story are the sole
ownership of J.L. Scott. Any copyright infringements can be prosecuted in a
court of law.
To borrow a phrase: NYPD Blue no mine......no permission..no money, no sue, please?
"Ros, don't do that!" John cried. Rosalind looked at him sharply. She dropped the paper and went into the back room with her doll.
"John" Grace cocked her eyebrow at him, "What is wrong with you lately?" John took a deep breath.
"Nothing" he answered, "Sorry. Ros? Ros I'm sorry!" But the door was closed already and he just left her. He returned to the table with papers littered across it. They were pictures of cakes, flowers and some tuxes were mixed in there. Rosalind had been picking them up one by one, saying something like "Exquisite!" or "Nope, not this one" or "Did we get our manager to look at this?" (She was pretending to be some kind of celebrity) Meanwhile, she had succeeded in disorganizing things so badly, John had lost all track of which ones they had even looked at yet! Grace had brought the books over so they could look at them together, under the assumption that he had an opinion about anything other than his tux. Flowers, cake, colors, who cared? A wedding was about getting married, right, not how her dad would look in purple or if tiger lilies would look better than apple blossoms. John had found himself growing increasingly aggitated with the whole thing as the months had progressed. Besides the "marriage classes" with one of Grace's priests (not one of her brothers, thank God!) that were required of any couple in the Catholic church, he had undertaken the task of converting, something her parents had insisted on, though Grace had tried to talk them out of it. All he had to do was be baptized, but that meant he had to go through the classes all the same. He found it vaugley interesting, in a abstract kind of way, to learn about what Grace, and Rosalind for that matter, believed and what role "faith" played in their lives. Grace's brother Peter was teaching the class and he had confronted John with the question of wheather he was doing this for their parents, if he was doing this for Grace, or if he was doing this for himself.
"Look, I'm not saying I'm going to believe in all of this stuff" John had answered, "But Grace is Catholic. Ros is being raised Catholic, I at least want to know what she's going to be learning." Though he knew this was not an answer to Peter's question, it appeared to satisfy his soon to be brother-in-law.
It wasn't the matter of faith that was bothering him though. He didn't think it was the wedding either. He still loved Grace, amazingly and deeply. He wasn't scared of it....he had already asked himself that. He was ready to spend his life with one person, that had been something he'd known for a long time now. He just couldn't place what it /was/ that was bothering him.
Grace was giving him a look. He knew that look. She used it on Ros sometimes. It was her 'doctor' look. The one that said "don't give me that, I know something's wrong and if you don't tell me I'm going to needle it out of you so you might as well just give up now and start blabbing"
"John, honey" she put a hand on his forearm, "What's up? Work been bad, you're nervous, you really don't give a hoot about the wedding as long as their is one, you're tired of the classes, my brother's are getting to you, what?"
"No, it's....none of that" he replied, covering her hand with his. She had great hands. Long and slim and silky, but iron. John did not share his feelings. He never had. He and his Dad....they were 'men'. When his Dad had died..............when his Dad had died John explained this to Rita, who wanted to 'talk'. He didn't talk, he told her, he......bottled.
"What're you bottling?" The question startled him. Grace was giving him a different kind of look now. Not the doctor look, this one was more intuitive. She was looking past his face, past his body, through his eyes. She was looking for something. It was a thoughtful look that turned her eyes into sparkling crystal, like a glass ball she was looking into the past with. Or rather, forcing him to look through. John suddenly got the idea into his head that she was trying to use some kind of telepathic ability she hid from the world to figure out what was going on in his head. To tell the truth, he wouldn't mind it just now. He couldn't lie to her. And she was going to force him to talk.
"I don't know, exactly" he said. She continued looking at him that way. She didn't stop for a good minute. All the sudden she looked sleepy and she put her head on his shoulder, snuggled up to him on the couch. He wrapped an arm around her and leaned his head against the wall, closing his eyes. He could feel the heat from her body seeping into his and he took comfort in it. It wasn't just heat, though, it was something that crept through him and filled him. It was Grace.
"So, the vests, then?" she murmured and he laughed. She was asking about the tuxes? After that?
"Yeah, the vests, in green not purple" he replied. But he knew this wasn't over.
A few weeks later............
John sat up in bed, already in a bad mood. He sighed. Ros had crawled into bed with him again while he slept. He rubbed his hand over his face. The phone rang. John pushed the blankets back and tread softly into the front room.
"Hello?"
"John? You okay?" Andy's voice asked him.
"Yeah. I'm fine. Why?"
"You're an hour late" John glanced at the clock.
"Shit. I'll be in in half an hour" he replied and hurried to don a suit and get Rosalind up and ready to go. He dropped her off and made it to work in 27 minutes.
"You're late" Barbados called as he walked in.
"Couldn't be helped" he called back, keeping his head low and hoping the boss wouldn't notice that he was lying through his teeth. He'd overslept? That hadn't happened since..well he couldn't remember.
"Rough night?" Andy asked quietly as they headed back out the door to a crime scene. John rolled his eyes.
"You have no idea" It was like that all day long. John snapped at everyone, giving them terse answers to perfectly sane questions and feeling like he was itching inside. What was eating him up, none of the rest of the squad could quite figure out. His wedding was growing closer, but none of them had any doubts about his feelings for Grace or the fact that he was truly ready and truly wanted to marry her. And his behavior could not be accounted for by nervousness, it was too brutal. The mystery carried over to Grace, who now sat beside him on her couch while they watched "We're No Angels". He was rigid and tense beside her, and she could feel him emanating discomfort and impatience.
"Oh for heaven's sake, what is wrong with you?" she finally cried, forgetting that one of her favorite movies was on and directing all of her attention to her fiancé. A muscle in John's jaw twitched and he shrugged.
"Nothing" he replied tersely, his eyes trained on the television. He could feel her giving him a look though and knew that wouldn't do.
"I don't know" he added.
"The hell you don't" she said. Something in John coiled up tighter.
"You sound just like my old man" he growled. She suddenly softened beside him.
"Oh." She said simply. It was such a knowing "oh" that John's head snapped around and he gave her a hard look.
"What?" he demanded.
"Your dad" she replied, "He's what's bothering you" John gave her a "what the heck are you talking about" look. She gave him her calm "it's okay, I know and I'll explain it to you so you don't have to figure it out the hard way" look.
"It's either your still mad at him, or you wish he was here to tell you you're doing the right thing, and that marriage is great and whatever else father's tell their sons when they're getting married" she told him. John thought about it. Now that she had spelled it out, he realized, he did wish his father were there. Sure he'd been a mean old bastard, impossible to live with, unbearable to talk to and basically a pain in the ass, but he had been his father. If nothing else, the time they'd spent together made John wish he were around. He felt jealous of Grace, with both of her parents, all nine of her brothers, aunts, uncles and cousins up the wazoo, always around to support her, to talk to. And that brought him around to being mad at his father. If the daffed fool hadn't gone and shot himself, he'd be here now for John. And who knows? Maybe he would've found the purpose John had been in Ros, or Grace, or in their family. As it was, none of his children would ever have more than one set of grandparents.
"What the hell was he thinking?" he spat, not really expecting anyone to answer.
"He probably wasn't" Grace answered.
"He said there wasn't a reason for him to live anymore, you know that? Cause I'd grown up, his job was done. Bullshit! It was his job, to be there when I got married! It was his job, to be there when I adopted Rosalind! It was his job to be there when I had my first kid, and when they were sick and I had to work, and to spoil them at Christmas and to carry pictures of them around in his wallet to brag about!" John ranted on and on about all the things he'd always just assumed his father would be there to do, and now wasn't.
"Who the hell am I supposed to talk to when we fight? Who the hell's going to tell me it's worth it to stick it out? Now where am I supposed to go to watch a ball game in silence when I don't feel like being around here, or fight with about how to raise my kids?" He had gotten up and had been pacing while Grace simply watched silently from the couch. Now he dropped back down beside her. She reached around and rubbed his back.
"You're father was being selfish when he took his life, true. He couldn't think about all those things that come later in life, the time he was just entering. His life had for so long been focused on just raising you, that he thought he'd reached his final goal. And it's not fair that he's not here for you now, that he won't be in the back room to talk you into going to the alter, that he won't be there when we fight, that he won't be there to see his grandchildren. I'm sure, wherever he is, he's regretting his actions. And I'm sure he's watching, talking to you silently, if you'll just listen" John could feel his anger leaving his body, rushing out through his fingers and toes and the top of his head like so much hot air. Whether it was Grace's voice, Grace's reasoning, or the fact that he'd ranted, he didn't know. She tried to fold his hands into her much smaller ones, her gentle face bringing his gaze up to hers. He could see the love and tenderness and understanding in her beautiful eyes and he remembered why he loved her so damn much, why he was so eager to put a ring on his finger and before the entire world declare her to be his, even if it meant losing a piece of his freedom.
"You're dad's not here, John" she said, "But I am. And Ros is. And there are nine men who are about to become your brothers who would lay down their lives for you. And there's another man who's about to become your surrogate father. I know it's not the same, but, if you're dad has anything to say to you, my dad'll gladly tell you" She was offering him her father. Her father, in the place of the one he'd lost. John suddenly realized he'd felt very much like an orphan, now that he didn't.
He smiled at her.
"That's just what we need" he said, "My Pop talking through yours!"
To borrow a phrase: NYPD Blue no mine......no permission..no money, no sue, please?
"Ros, don't do that!" John cried. Rosalind looked at him sharply. She dropped the paper and went into the back room with her doll.
"John" Grace cocked her eyebrow at him, "What is wrong with you lately?" John took a deep breath.
"Nothing" he answered, "Sorry. Ros? Ros I'm sorry!" But the door was closed already and he just left her. He returned to the table with papers littered across it. They were pictures of cakes, flowers and some tuxes were mixed in there. Rosalind had been picking them up one by one, saying something like "Exquisite!" or "Nope, not this one" or "Did we get our manager to look at this?" (She was pretending to be some kind of celebrity) Meanwhile, she had succeeded in disorganizing things so badly, John had lost all track of which ones they had even looked at yet! Grace had brought the books over so they could look at them together, under the assumption that he had an opinion about anything other than his tux. Flowers, cake, colors, who cared? A wedding was about getting married, right, not how her dad would look in purple or if tiger lilies would look better than apple blossoms. John had found himself growing increasingly aggitated with the whole thing as the months had progressed. Besides the "marriage classes" with one of Grace's priests (not one of her brothers, thank God!) that were required of any couple in the Catholic church, he had undertaken the task of converting, something her parents had insisted on, though Grace had tried to talk them out of it. All he had to do was be baptized, but that meant he had to go through the classes all the same. He found it vaugley interesting, in a abstract kind of way, to learn about what Grace, and Rosalind for that matter, believed and what role "faith" played in their lives. Grace's brother Peter was teaching the class and he had confronted John with the question of wheather he was doing this for their parents, if he was doing this for Grace, or if he was doing this for himself.
"Look, I'm not saying I'm going to believe in all of this stuff" John had answered, "But Grace is Catholic. Ros is being raised Catholic, I at least want to know what she's going to be learning." Though he knew this was not an answer to Peter's question, it appeared to satisfy his soon to be brother-in-law.
It wasn't the matter of faith that was bothering him though. He didn't think it was the wedding either. He still loved Grace, amazingly and deeply. He wasn't scared of it....he had already asked himself that. He was ready to spend his life with one person, that had been something he'd known for a long time now. He just couldn't place what it /was/ that was bothering him.
Grace was giving him a look. He knew that look. She used it on Ros sometimes. It was her 'doctor' look. The one that said "don't give me that, I know something's wrong and if you don't tell me I'm going to needle it out of you so you might as well just give up now and start blabbing"
"John, honey" she put a hand on his forearm, "What's up? Work been bad, you're nervous, you really don't give a hoot about the wedding as long as their is one, you're tired of the classes, my brother's are getting to you, what?"
"No, it's....none of that" he replied, covering her hand with his. She had great hands. Long and slim and silky, but iron. John did not share his feelings. He never had. He and his Dad....they were 'men'. When his Dad had died..............when his Dad had died John explained this to Rita, who wanted to 'talk'. He didn't talk, he told her, he......bottled.
"What're you bottling?" The question startled him. Grace was giving him a different kind of look now. Not the doctor look, this one was more intuitive. She was looking past his face, past his body, through his eyes. She was looking for something. It was a thoughtful look that turned her eyes into sparkling crystal, like a glass ball she was looking into the past with. Or rather, forcing him to look through. John suddenly got the idea into his head that she was trying to use some kind of telepathic ability she hid from the world to figure out what was going on in his head. To tell the truth, he wouldn't mind it just now. He couldn't lie to her. And she was going to force him to talk.
"I don't know, exactly" he said. She continued looking at him that way. She didn't stop for a good minute. All the sudden she looked sleepy and she put her head on his shoulder, snuggled up to him on the couch. He wrapped an arm around her and leaned his head against the wall, closing his eyes. He could feel the heat from her body seeping into his and he took comfort in it. It wasn't just heat, though, it was something that crept through him and filled him. It was Grace.
"So, the vests, then?" she murmured and he laughed. She was asking about the tuxes? After that?
"Yeah, the vests, in green not purple" he replied. But he knew this wasn't over.
A few weeks later............
John sat up in bed, already in a bad mood. He sighed. Ros had crawled into bed with him again while he slept. He rubbed his hand over his face. The phone rang. John pushed the blankets back and tread softly into the front room.
"Hello?"
"John? You okay?" Andy's voice asked him.
"Yeah. I'm fine. Why?"
"You're an hour late" John glanced at the clock.
"Shit. I'll be in in half an hour" he replied and hurried to don a suit and get Rosalind up and ready to go. He dropped her off and made it to work in 27 minutes.
"You're late" Barbados called as he walked in.
"Couldn't be helped" he called back, keeping his head low and hoping the boss wouldn't notice that he was lying through his teeth. He'd overslept? That hadn't happened since..well he couldn't remember.
"Rough night?" Andy asked quietly as they headed back out the door to a crime scene. John rolled his eyes.
"You have no idea" It was like that all day long. John snapped at everyone, giving them terse answers to perfectly sane questions and feeling like he was itching inside. What was eating him up, none of the rest of the squad could quite figure out. His wedding was growing closer, but none of them had any doubts about his feelings for Grace or the fact that he was truly ready and truly wanted to marry her. And his behavior could not be accounted for by nervousness, it was too brutal. The mystery carried over to Grace, who now sat beside him on her couch while they watched "We're No Angels". He was rigid and tense beside her, and she could feel him emanating discomfort and impatience.
"Oh for heaven's sake, what is wrong with you?" she finally cried, forgetting that one of her favorite movies was on and directing all of her attention to her fiancé. A muscle in John's jaw twitched and he shrugged.
"Nothing" he replied tersely, his eyes trained on the television. He could feel her giving him a look though and knew that wouldn't do.
"I don't know" he added.
"The hell you don't" she said. Something in John coiled up tighter.
"You sound just like my old man" he growled. She suddenly softened beside him.
"Oh." She said simply. It was such a knowing "oh" that John's head snapped around and he gave her a hard look.
"What?" he demanded.
"Your dad" she replied, "He's what's bothering you" John gave her a "what the heck are you talking about" look. She gave him her calm "it's okay, I know and I'll explain it to you so you don't have to figure it out the hard way" look.
"It's either your still mad at him, or you wish he was here to tell you you're doing the right thing, and that marriage is great and whatever else father's tell their sons when they're getting married" she told him. John thought about it. Now that she had spelled it out, he realized, he did wish his father were there. Sure he'd been a mean old bastard, impossible to live with, unbearable to talk to and basically a pain in the ass, but he had been his father. If nothing else, the time they'd spent together made John wish he were around. He felt jealous of Grace, with both of her parents, all nine of her brothers, aunts, uncles and cousins up the wazoo, always around to support her, to talk to. And that brought him around to being mad at his father. If the daffed fool hadn't gone and shot himself, he'd be here now for John. And who knows? Maybe he would've found the purpose John had been in Ros, or Grace, or in their family. As it was, none of his children would ever have more than one set of grandparents.
"What the hell was he thinking?" he spat, not really expecting anyone to answer.
"He probably wasn't" Grace answered.
"He said there wasn't a reason for him to live anymore, you know that? Cause I'd grown up, his job was done. Bullshit! It was his job, to be there when I got married! It was his job, to be there when I adopted Rosalind! It was his job to be there when I had my first kid, and when they were sick and I had to work, and to spoil them at Christmas and to carry pictures of them around in his wallet to brag about!" John ranted on and on about all the things he'd always just assumed his father would be there to do, and now wasn't.
"Who the hell am I supposed to talk to when we fight? Who the hell's going to tell me it's worth it to stick it out? Now where am I supposed to go to watch a ball game in silence when I don't feel like being around here, or fight with about how to raise my kids?" He had gotten up and had been pacing while Grace simply watched silently from the couch. Now he dropped back down beside her. She reached around and rubbed his back.
"You're father was being selfish when he took his life, true. He couldn't think about all those things that come later in life, the time he was just entering. His life had for so long been focused on just raising you, that he thought he'd reached his final goal. And it's not fair that he's not here for you now, that he won't be in the back room to talk you into going to the alter, that he won't be there when we fight, that he won't be there to see his grandchildren. I'm sure, wherever he is, he's regretting his actions. And I'm sure he's watching, talking to you silently, if you'll just listen" John could feel his anger leaving his body, rushing out through his fingers and toes and the top of his head like so much hot air. Whether it was Grace's voice, Grace's reasoning, or the fact that he'd ranted, he didn't know. She tried to fold his hands into her much smaller ones, her gentle face bringing his gaze up to hers. He could see the love and tenderness and understanding in her beautiful eyes and he remembered why he loved her so damn much, why he was so eager to put a ring on his finger and before the entire world declare her to be his, even if it meant losing a piece of his freedom.
"You're dad's not here, John" she said, "But I am. And Ros is. And there are nine men who are about to become your brothers who would lay down their lives for you. And there's another man who's about to become your surrogate father. I know it's not the same, but, if you're dad has anything to say to you, my dad'll gladly tell you" She was offering him her father. Her father, in the place of the one he'd lost. John suddenly realized he'd felt very much like an orphan, now that he didn't.
He smiled at her.
"That's just what we need" he said, "My Pop talking through yours!"