"IN PULLUS VERITAS"

(IN CHICKEN, TRUTH)

Author: Gillian Slater

E-mail: LeoricGS@aol.com

Rating: PG -13

Disclaimer: As always, these characters do not belong to me, they are the property of the show's creators, and I'm borrowing them for my own sinister purposes...

PART THREE

The couch was just as he remembered it, not that he'd slept on it many times during his marriage to Lisa. The last time was when she was heavily pregnant with Heather, and extremely uncomfortable. She'd urged him not to, but he knew she needed more room in the bed and his own considerable bulk wouldn't allow for it, so obligingly bedded down on the sofa.

That night he hadn't slept at all, feeling odd without her beside him, and nor did he now. As Michael lay awake on the couch he pondered what Lisa must have gone through since his 'death', missing the portly, rotund figure of her husband of eighteen years, his place now empty. He'd gotten used to sleeping alone in the double bed in his townhouse, having no choice but to comply with his enforced solitude, but then, the moment he fell asleep each night he was alone no longer. Lisa always joined him, erasing the loneliness of his second life, only to be cruelly stolen away by the 0600 alarm.

Though sleep evaded him, Michael felt even more nostalgic than usual in the pitch darkness of his old living room. It was past midnight by now - Christmas Day. Memories cascaded through his mind. Every year he would peek into Heather's room to make sure she was really asleep and not planning on making a midnight present-raid. Usually a late sleeper, he would be sure to get up first on Christmas morning, just to catch the eager expression on his daughter's face as she rushed downstairs, then the following frustration as she realised she was thwarted once again. It was a game, an annual challenge which he had never failed to take up, never until now. This year her father would not be at the bottom of the stairs with a wicked, triumphant grin.

A sharp pang of sympathy for Heather and Lisa knifed through him. He realised a little guiltily that since his rebirth he had been so absorbed in his own anguish, missing his family so desperately, he hadn't really considered what grief they must be going through, that their pain was infinitely greater because they believed him dead. For the first time, Michael felt lucky. At least he was comforted by the knowledge that they lived, they were out there even if he couldn't be.

His melancholy thoughts were gently but insistently punctuated, then, as the gnarled old grandfather clock in the corner chimed 1a.m. It had always looked just a little out of place in their maple-floored, tastefully decorated lounge, but it had belonged to Lisa's family a long time from what he understood, and would never think of asking her to get rid of it. He'd become quite fond of it himself, just like he was fond of everything in his house, especially the two sleeping women upstairs.

A sudden determined resolve flooded him, fortifying his low spirits. It's Christmas Day, I'm with my wife and daughter whom I love, why in hell should I be depressed? Whatever their mood later in the day, whatever painful memories were dredged up for them, he'd be there to ease and cheer them. It's what he'd always done. This would be a holiday to remember. Feeling more peaceful, he lay back on his pillow and surrendered to the fatigue brought on by his emotional journey.

* * * * *

During the course of his intensive physical and mental reconditioning, Michael's exceptionally gifted body had repeatedly failed, much to Theo's chagrin, to develop an accurate sense of timing. In fact, he wondered whether in one of his frequent trips to the operating room he had been fitted with an 'internal clock' in the non-metaphorical sense in an effort to rectify this.

It was usually the bright light streaming though his windows and the doctor's unwelcome serenade which prompted him to rise. This morning, however, it was the hushed conversation taking place in the kitchen which gently invaded Michael's slumber. His acute hearing only half-awake, he managed to ascertain that it was a debate about himself. It was Heather's contention that they should wake him and get straight to the present-opening, but Lisa authoritatively denied her daughter's requests, saying that he worked very hard and needed rest. Michael smiled warmly at their banter, indulgently enjoying the exchange for a few more moments before rising to join them in the kitchen.

The quarrel ceased abruptly as he walked in, rubbing a hand over his face and raking his fingers through his unkempt hair.

"Morning..." he mumbled vaguely, the drowsiness still lingering in his eyes.

"Mr. Newman! You're up!" Heather cried excitedly. Michael smiled at her, knowing he'd won the battle for her as he caught the look of smug victory in the glance she slanted at her mom.

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Newman," Lisa greeted him with a bright smile, conveniently ignoring her defeat, "You want some coffee? Looks like you need it."

"Sure, thanks. What time is it."

"After ten."

"Really? That late?" He looked at his expectant daughter. "I guess you're way overdue to start then." He grinned widely.

"All right!" Heather punched the air and rushed past him, grabbing his hand as she did so and dragging him along with her into the living room.

"Heather!" Lisa tried in vain, then sighed and joined them.

Michael looked on with glee as Heather tore open her presents, every excited yell more resounding than the last. Lisa's eyes sparkled to see her daughter's wild abandon, and had their own measure of it when presented with her Christmas gifts. The look that crossed her face was a little different though, when she took out a small, neatly wrapped box and handed it to him with another one of those shy little smiles which Michael loved so much.

"Oh, you... shouldn't have, I mean... I didn't have time to..."

"No need," She cut in, "Really, your being here is my present." Did I really just say that? Lisa suddenly blushed at having been so overtly forward, and with such a cheesy line at that. Michael politely pretended not to hear his wife's faint groan, turning his attention to the package. Inside the box was a silver plated wristwatch, with both analogue and digital displays, as well as the date.

"I, uh, noticed how you never seem to know what day it is, or what time, and I've never seen you with a watch on so..."

"It's perfect." Michael smiled broadly, slipping the watch onto his wrist and admiring it. At that moment he really wished she could know how important something so simple as knowing the date was to him, having been denied it for so long, and he was at the same time amazed that her infallible intuition about what would please him continued even now, when to her he was essentially a different person.

* * * * *

This Christmas was unlike most for the Wiseman family. It was Lisa and Heather's first without the man of the house, the man who had made their home complete, and it was Michael's first as a guest in his own home, having to maintain his polite façade when all he wanted to do was tell them both who he was, throw his arms around them, share the holiday as they always had.

It had been Lisa's contention, hotly contested by Heather, that due to the change in their situation, this year's Christmas dinner should be chicken instead of turkey, mainly because neither Lisa nor her daughter were particularly fond of turkey, and had really only provided it for Michael's benefit. Now that he was gone there didn't seem to be much of a point, to Lisa's mind, in serving a dish they weren't keen on. A little before dinnertime, the argument drew to its conclusion and Heather sulked at being summarily overruled by her mother, feeling it was betraying their sacred family tradition.

Michael kept his mouth firmly closed during this exchange, remembering with a sharp pang that he had no part in the way they dealt with his loss. However, as his wife and teenaged daughter stomped off in opposite directions leaving Michael loitering awkwardly in the space they left, he decided to follow the dejected Heather, and caught up with her sitting on the landing.

"Hey," she murmured.

"Hey. Listen, I know it's not my place but... well it's Christmas day, y'know, and your mom spent ages making the dinner..."

"You think I should apologise." It wasn't a question, and her defeated tone of voice told Michael she knew what she had to do the second she walked away from the argument, but stubbornly refused to cave.

"Could make dinner kinda uncomfortable if you don't," he reasoned.

"I guess," she muttered quietly, "But it's her fault. Why couldn't we just have turkey?"

"Because she's already cooked the chicken. You want her to spend another five hours on a turkey dinner and eat tomorrow?" She shook her head without looking up.

"Dad liked it." She mumbled dejectedly. Michael hesitated briefly, then touched her small chin, lifting her face to meet his concerned gaze.

"Well, how's about this - why don't you and your mom make a new tradition this year. Chicken on Christmas, huh?" The resistance in her eyes began to crumble.

"You wanna help me set the table?"

"Sure."

* * * * *

Michael's mouth watered and his eyes gleamed with anticipation as the three of them sat down to dinner. The table was magnificently laden with food, and the familiar dried flower arrangement centrepiece which Heather had obligingly dug out of the basement brought the memories of eighteen fabulous Christmasses flooding back to him.

"Since you're our guest, Mr. Newman, would you like to say Grace?" Lisa smiled warmly at him from his right, and on his left Heather's face beamed encouragement, all evidence of her previous mood erased. Accepting with a nod, Michael cleared his throat and began.

"Dear Lord, we thank you for bringing us all here today to celebrate Christmas as a... as friends," He caught himself a moment before speaking the word 'family', "And also for this wonderful meal we're about to enjoy through your bounty. Amen."

"Amen." Lisa and Heather repeated in unison.

They tucked into their meals with gusto, and, quite contrary to the atmosphere of intimidation and danger that had prevailed at Thanksgiving dinner, Lisa felt more alive now than she had in months, with the mysterious Mr. Newman seated next to her, delight in his eyes as he chatted easily with her daughter. They definitely got on well, the two of them.

"Are those... spicy pecans?" Mr. Newman eyed the dish of nuts in the centre of the table with glee. Heather immediately passed them over.

"Yep - Mom's famous recipe!" Lisa blushed a little as her guest smiled his approval, his mouth full of nuts.

"Well... I've never met anyone else who likes them, so..." she shrugged off the praise, her mind puzzling that her late husband's favourite party snack should find its way back onto their table.

"How long are you staying?" asked Heather eagerly, "Because we always have to go to my uncle Roger's on New Years, and it' be great not to have to suffer alone."

"Heather!" Lisa chided her daughter, but couldn't keep the chuckle out of her voice. Mr. Newman's face, however, had taken on that troubled look again, she noticed.

"I...uh, I've gotta be back tonight actually." Lisa's brow raised in surprise.

"Tonight?! But I thought at least you could spend Boxing Day..."

"You don't know the people I work for. I'll probably take some serious heat just for being here in the first place."

His job. It always comes down to that, doesn't it? Lisa reminded herself, a slightly bitter streak emerging in her thoughts. Obviously it was plainly visible on her face, too, as Mr. Newman's eyes caught hers with an imploring gaze.

"I'm... so sorry... Mrs. Wiseman," he emphasised her name as though it were difficult to keep himself on formal terms, "You couldn't possibly know how much it means for me to be here..." His look was getting intense again, and shifting subtly from apology to something deeper. Lisa interrupted him softly, unable to keep the emotion from her voice.

"Then stay. Just for tonight." She was acutely aware of how much that sounded like an invitation for something else, and looked quickly at Heather. Her daughter's glance was moving back and forth from her to Mr. Newman, and she appeared to be holding her breath. So did Mr. Newman for that matter.

The silence was becoming unbearable. All three felt it, and ultimately it was Heather who felt compelled to break it, if only to excuse herself briefly from the room. It was clear to her that her mom needed to have some privacy with Mr. Newman, and she conveniently found an excuse to provide it.

"Why don't I go get dessert?" She exclaimed, causing Lisa to jump a little at the sudden speech. Heather rose and stole a sideways glance at Mr. Newman as she turned. His eyes were focused exclusively on her mom, and Heather was certain she knew that look. She headed into the kitchen, still listening intently for any continuation of the conversation.

Lisa let out a loud breath and looked away from his face. His gaze was so powerful, it would be too easy to get lost in his eyes and forget all of the questions to which she so desperately wanted the answers.

"Look, you blew off work to come here last night, so what's one more day? I thought your Doctor Morris is away for the holidays, isn't he?" An affirmative nod from Mr. Newman. "Well... who's to know?"

Michael saw the mischeivous glint creep back into her eyes, reminding of the early years of their marriage, when Lisa would convince him to call in sick on a Friday so they could take off for a romantic long weekend upstate. He had never been able to stand up to her persuasion, and time hadn't changed that fact at all. He smiled his acquiescence, and Lisa's answering grin was stunning.

"Staying?" Heather commented, returning with a large bowl of sherry trifle.

"Uh-huh." Gently he placed a hand over Lisa's.

"I knew it."

Heather's trifle was exquisite. So many months of bland, nutritional sustenance had done nothing to dull his lifelong passion for sweet foods. The spontaneous groan of satisfaction he let out at the first mouthful made Heather's small face light up with pride.

He quickly finished off his bowlful and, with a cheeky grin and an asking glance over at Lisa, spooned out a second large helping.

"I just want to know how in hell you manage to stay looking like a world-class athlete with your sweet-tooth!"

"Oh, believe me," He answered through a mouthful of trifle, "This is a once in a lifetime treat!" He swallowed and laughed briefly, realising just how true that statement was. "I've never been allowed dessert back at the..." His expression changed abruptly as he caught himself a split-second before mentioning 'the facility'. "...Err, back at my... place." He covered lamely, diverting his gaze down into his half-empty bowl.

A wave of confusion swept over Lisa as his boyish delight fell suddenly into a painfully obvious cover-up. Covering up what? She tried to keep the sudden curiosity out of her eyes as she gently countered.

"Yeah, your Doctor Morris doesn't seem much of a pudding man. But I still don't get why he keeps you on a diet. He acts like he's your mom or something! He actually slapped your hand away last time you went for the spicy pecans!"

"He knows what's best I suppose. He is a doctor." Michael tried for wistful resignation in his dismissal, hoping Lisa would let the subject of his stern keeping lie. No such luck.

"But does he have to keep on such a tight leash? I mean, talk about taking you work home with you - he's always round at your place!"

"Well, I don't like going into the office, so he comes to me. Good compromise."

Heather noticed the resignation in Mr. Newman's downturned eyes and imagined the stern, dark face of the doctor they met at the subway entrance, his downright rudeness during the Thanksgiving incident... an expresion of righteous indignation came over her small face.

"You should quit. No, better than that - you should punch his lights out like you did with that guy yesterday. It's justifiable; he punched Uncle Roger! Why d'ya even go to work for him anyway? You don't need a doctor, I mean, have you seen you?"

Lisa coughed emphatically, blushing, and Heather glanced at her but refused to take the hint, continuing her tirade.

"Probably not even a real doctor, just one of those mad-scientist-types who does crazy experiments..."

Michael's eyes flew to her indignant face, then, shocked to hear the truth tumble so easily from his daughter's lips.

Lisa saw the fear in her guest's eyes as Heather's rant continued along the same lines. Something touched a nerve there, she noted, intrigued. Her heartbeat had quickened, she knew, as she felt some hidden truth floating almost within grasp. What is it I'm not getting?

She knew there were things about his work which weren't as he'd made them out to be, and somehow it all came down to the mysterious Doctor Morris; the man who to all extents and purposes ruled Mr. Newman's oppressed existence. The man with all the secrets?

Unconsciously, she began to rearrange her facts with regard to the handsome stranger she'd discovered seemingly homeless on the street that night. She had a curious nature to be sure, but she couldn't explain the intense need to know this man, to really know him. It frustrated her that every question she could put an answer to only revealed another layer of secrets.

Looking into his deep, chocolate eyes with a determination unlike anything she'd felt before, she promised herself she would pry the truth from his lips before the day was done.

* * * * *