Caveat: USA Network owns Touching Evil - though I don't know why they call it an original series since it was based from the UK version - but hey, if it has Jeff Donovan and Vera Farmiga, I'd call it original myself. Within that itself is the originality, hehe. This chapter centers on both David's and Susan's pasts - they reveal it to one another and get to know more of each other's personal backgrounds - at least from my POV/storyline. This is just a sort of filler chapter that covers what needs to be covered before what happens next. Enjoy.
- Heaven's Burning -
By Mia Ai-no-Tora
Chapter Ten: "One Last Time"
David Creegan Apartment.
On his way to the door, his jacket once again made a grab for his foot and he did a face-implant into the dark blue-gray carpet. Pushing up quickly, he cursed the damned garment and kicked it toward the wall before walking over to it and putting it on. An unfeeling scapegoat that chased the goose flesh away. He tried to remember what a sober Creegan acted like - it wasn't hard since there wasn't much difference from a drunk Creegan, just one had better balance and motor function. Didn't matter anyway; Branca had seen him this way many a time before - it was his alter-ego these days.
She stood before the door with slight anticipation growing like a weed in her gut. Thoughts of turning back and running before he opened the door was considered multiple times as she tried to compose herself, trying to find out exactly why she was doing this. He's drunk. Remember that Susan. You can either rekindle your interpersonal relationship or he can try digging up your past. Either way you win. She smirked at her thoughts. This was turning out to be such a Mr. and Mrs. Smith relationship. Relationship huh? Sounds so 'candlelit dinner.' Next thing you know he's going to have you sign a prenup.
The sound of the knob turning threw her out of her crazed thoughts. Her blue eyes met his and her heart melted. His hair was mussed giving him that adorable tousled look as though someone had just ran their fingers through it. But those eyes . . . now she really knew what it meant by the saying they were the doorways to one's soul. He didn't deserve this. He never has. "God, you look awful."
He gave a hearty chuckle as he closed the door behind him. She felt relieved; she didn't want to have to go in and feel as though she were intruding, to be under scrutiny of his family's pictures taped around his mirror. Especially the one of his ex-wife whom she always thought to be a bit cold since their last meeting. Ever since she learned of their divorce she cursed the ground Holly walked on for leaving David when he needed her the most. Of course she never mentioned it; a secret that was hers to keep among her collection.
Everything was wet. The fresh smell of rain permeated the air as she snuggled deeper into her light-blue sweater. He liked the color on her. "You know, sometimes it makes me wonder just how honest you'd be if we traded shoes. At least I try - no. Actually I don't. Scratch that." She adjusted her stance when unexpectedly he leaned against her for balance, an arm around her shoulders and she had to convince her proponent thoughts to shut up.
They made their way to her car in the parking lot - thankfully his apartment was on the lower level and he groaned with fatigue - or so she guessed. She didn't notice him trying to get a whiff of her hair since he was taller and actually succeeding before she dumped him into the passenger seat, closing the door and walking around to the driver's side.
Once she was inside, he mumbled, "It smells good in here. It smells like you." He watched for a reaction to see if she remembered what she had told him before.
"Buckle up."
Guess not. "Yes ma'am." She gave him the Look and he only gave her an unabashed smile that gave him a free ticket to redemption. He obeyed, grabbing the strap and pulling it over him. "You know what they say: Click it or ticket, right?"
She vaguely recognized the commercial. Once she clicked herself, she turned the key and the engine of her black Infiniti purred to life. "I thought you got rid of your TV." She remembered him telling her he had just thrown his TV out the window because it was giving him nightmares of the cases they had just solved from the 6 o'clock news. She asked him why he couldn't just turn it off and he had replied because he couldn't find the remote. Typical. Of course he had been drinking [again] at the time.
"I did. I saw it at a bar during a football game on half-time." She could've figured that one out as she shook her head, putting the car in reverse, keeping her eyes on the rear and side view mirrors.
"Is that what you do on your spare time these days? Go out drinking with Mark or something?"
She referred the agent by his first name he noticed. "No, I go home to drink alone if I can help it. Don't think Marky-Mark'd appreciate the mournful singing and the crying and the puking much."
She glanced over at him with a slight frown as they got on the main road, her tone quiet with a hidden yet obvious concern. "Why have you been drinking so much lately, David?"
He waited until his window was rolled all the way down, pressing the button with groggy curiosity as the last remnants of the recent rain splashed at his face and cooling his skin. At a red light she looked over and saw his throat work and instantly she regretted asking. "I thought you'd already know the reason by now, Susan."
She said nothing for the rest of the car ride and he thought to do her a favor by doing the same.
--
Susan Branca Apartment.
Creegan stood behind her looking around for some sort of hallway camera as she picked out the right key for the lock. "Nice digs. Liked the fountain - maybe I'll go for a dip later." He studied the door. "Does Clifford live here too?"
She opened it and gestured him in, turning on the necessary lights. "What?"
He stepped in carefully as though he were on sacred ground. It was to him anyway. "Clifford. Clifford the Big Red Dog." She obviously didn't get it. "Your door. It's big and red." She gave him a knock it off with the smart-ass jokes look - he could make a dictionary just from the series of looks she sent him as she led him to the kitchen where the fresh pot of coffee awaited. He followed like a loyal puppy, smacking his face a little to wake up out of the drowsiness. "It's not fair . . . It's not fair . . ."
"I know," Susan agreed for a whole other reason, pouring coffee into two mugs. He sat on a tall stool at the bar, absently running a finger on the grout of the blue-tilted counter.
"It's not fair . . . Your apartment is way bigger than mine. That's just not fair. I knew Enright gave you a fatter pension. Back-stabbing ingrate." She did a retake and rolled her eyes, a small smile at the corner of her lips. How he amused her, he could and should never know. At least this way they weren't arguing.
She handed him the coffee - he liked it black so she didn't bother asking him how many lumps. Knowing him right now, he'd probably somehow find a way to derive a joke from that simple question. Milk and two sugars for her; it was Laney that got her started. She shook her head; now was not the time. "Much thanks, Agent Branca. You're being mighty generous tonight - what gives?" He took a long sip before staring at her. His eyes were gradually upgrading from the heavy-lidded stage of a drunk, she observed with relief.
"I'd take advantage of it with no questions, Agent Creegan."
"Taking advantage as we speak." His eyes fell on the holiday oven mitt laying nearby; it caught his eye because it seemed so out of place. He pictured her apartment to be just as organized as her office desk was, so he reached for it to examine it more closely. His eyes switched from the oven mitt to her hand on the counter. "You bake?"
"I bake."
He weighed that in his head. To think that that hand has slapped him, touched him tenderly, has held a gun and killed and baked just as readily boggled his mind. "Could you bake for me sometime?"
The simplicity within the question and the innocence took hold of her and more than once she saw him as a small boy with so many troubles. "Sure. Whatever you like." Each smile was like a treat to her.
"Good . . . Good. I like biscottis and jam-berry pie with lots of whipped cream."
"I'll try my best." He finished off the rest of his coffee before hitting her up for another cup. As soon as she filled it, he got up slowly with it in one hand and rubbing his head and face in hopes to revive what sober thought he could.
Creegan began by studying her home and taking it into his memory, bit by bit, piece by piece as though committing a crime scene into his mind. He hated how his work always served as a background for his everyday actions. "Where's your closet?"
The question struck her as odd. "Upstairs - in my bedroom. Why?"
He shrugged. "Just so I can tell the Straight Eye for the Queer Guys where to go." She was beginning to wonder when that coffee was going to take effect. She saw him kick off his shoes before entering the carpeted area.
He strode toward the living room. Only a small amount of fam pictures decorated her walls. None of which having her coupled with any guy, just her and her mom and dad. No siblings: check. Or at least none that we know of. Her carpet was a cream-white, a simple black cherry coffee table with a set of maroon coasters, a couple Newsweek magazines and he noticed one leather-bound book under the table; on closer inspection he found it to be a bible. Somehow that amused him - the idea of her juggling her religious faiths literally under the table. Sometimes, I think God's on a daily hiatus up there. What a deeply sobering thought.
One black couch, one love-seat with the infamous cotton throw all set on one length and the side of the coffee table; across the room was a flat-paneled TV and a bookshelf filled with miscellaneous pieces of literature. He decided to let go of the fact that she had a flat-panel and an upstairs to stay on her good side, so he went about studying her reading material instead.
Susan watched him with silent curiosity, a bereaved wonderment. She knew this was his first time in her apartment after Laney's death as she sat on the love-seat with her cup, quietly deep in thought as she sipped her milk and coffee. At least this time he wouldn't need to comfort her grief over her dead lover. At least this time, she hoped, that she wouldn't have to show her vulnerable parts to him as he wielded a gun. Her home was already bloodstained as it was.
As though he picked up on her thoughts, he suddenly turned to her. "Let's go somewhere."
"Go somewhere? Why?"
"Because. Because we need some fresh air." The truth yet not the ultimate truth.
She relented almost too easily as she stood. "Okay. Whereabouts are you wanting to go?" He was relieved she didn't speculate further.
He quickly swallowed the rest of his coffee, wiping his mouth and heading for the kitchen to set his cup in the sink. If his life wasn't organized, he would make sure hers was. "Somewhere. Anywhere. The bridge - no. That park - no. I know someplace - it has water." She raised an eyebrow. "Just trust me, partner. I promise there's no ferris-wheel involved, no gum sticking to the bottom of your shoe."
Without thinking, a grin stretched her full lips because of him. "I trust you. I hope I won't be regretting it."
"Me too."
--
Susan hoped she wasn't making a mistake by leaving her gun at home. She was off duty after all - or was she really ever? David didn't have his; all the better. A slightly inebriated man wasn't good armed. Or was he?
The San Francisco beach was usually out in the open, exposed to whomever had eyes. Creegan led her to a place she didn't even know existed - a beach hidden by a thick grove of trees she couldn't name that was so dense, it seemed to choke the very air. It was nippy she had to admit; there wasn't a soul in sight and across the water she could see tiny pin-headed lights, all the colors of the rainbow. It was a beauty she never really took pleasure from and now she regretted it.
She followed closely behind him, high-heeled feet sinking in the sand and yet again she questioned her morale. Was it wrong to do something that was wrong but yet so right? They neared big boulders and she watched as he sat down on one of them, looking up at her and beckoning her to sit next to him with a palm raised up. The simple gesture was so meaningful as she complied, taking his hand and folded her body next to his. Realizing she was holding his hand longer than anticipated, she tugged for it back and he wouldn't respond she and looked at him. His eyes were across the water, gazing thoughtfully, lower lip pouted slightly and it was an expression she had always looked for. So she let him hold her hand resting on his thigh, his thumb rubbing absently on her knuckles - she didn't think it meant anymore than a friendly gesture.
Whence he began to speak, it was a silent connotation for her to only listen. "I remember taking Holly here when I popped the question." Still the mention of his ex-wife stung her. "At the time I was so sure I would love her and she would love me forever, through sickness and health, thick and thin or what have you. I was 26 years old, and she was 24. One love - or according to Bob Marley." He chuckled and she smiled a bit too sadly. "So when I took the job with the federal agency, it was only because I wanted to provide for our family and to better the world in which they were coming into. Helped ol' Hank found the OSC of San Furisco. Good guy, that Hank.
"A few months after Lily was born - that day came. The gun was cocked and loaded, that much I knew once I turned around. Just that it was aimed at my head was what took me by surprise. You know what the funny thing was? I wasn't looking into the barrel, nor the perp in the tacky ski mask. I would have thought that the old me would have taken the time to study the barrel of the gun, working on some special tactic to roll away or something my stunt double would do - but that's not what happened. I was reading of all the shitty things to do. Reading the single engraving below the barrel. It said 'stainless.'" She turned to lay her eyes on his face as his storytelling took her back in time. He looked more amused than anything else. "Stainless. It was everything but. The biggest stain of my life - something the baldest Mr. Clean could never be able to get rid of.
"In that one little moment I had gone from the sterile cop to something a little less poignant. Surprisingly I thought of nothing - like I didn't even expect to get shot - I didn't think of my wife, or my children or even myself. My mind was as blank as the white walls. Blank but with something dangerous in hiding and it all of a sudden sprung up on me when I was the most vulnerable. Everything was a blur then cut to the first time I awoke in the hospital. Funny the things one remembers." He smirked at the infamous quote coined from Hinks. "The word stainless was running through my mind faster than a speeding bullet - well, apparently not fast enough."
Finally he locked eyes with her, discovering the abnormal shine to her eyes. "So you see, you complete me Susan. I don't panic for no good reason. We're a team. Be my mother hen or my friend - just be by my side. You're like my left-hand man," he stumbled. "Woman." He managed to pull a smile out of her before he looked down at their joined hands; an infinite gesture of friendship and perhaps, if he was capable and if she was willing, something more. "So how about that saying, 'what doesn't kill you makes you stronger'? If I remember correctly it did kill me - am I allowed to say it made me stronger?" Susan laughed heartily at that, sniffling a bit as the tension broke.
"I don't know. I guess they meant it if it killed you permanently but you - you're just too stubborn to die."
"Yeah, really." He smiled ironically before it faded. "You know, Holly told me she wished I died the day I was supposed to - she wasn't the only one that was pissed off Akins went after my children. Even so, I felt sorry for taking away the man she loved, for taking away the girls' father."
She found all the more reason to dislike Holly. "You may have taken Holly's husband away but your girls will always have you as their father. Blood is thicker than a marriage band or a flimsy piece of paper." She simply added, "Holly just wasn't strong enough." But would she have been?
"What about love?"
The word startled her and she blinked for a moment; she felt his eyes on her but she ignored it. "If you really believe your love for Holly is that strong then I won't stop you. But if you believe that the love you have for two souls you brought to life isn't as strong . . . then I'm going to call you a fool."
David took to heart every single word; they were heartfelt and they were from Susan so they meant a whole lot more. He eyed the water's surface in the distance, gray-blue eyes searching. "Her face - Holly's - was the saddest face I've ever seen especially because I knew her - thought I knew her. Her face was the saddest besides yours."
She received that in retrospect. "You think I look sad?"
"All the time. Don't take it as an insult but instead take it to heart . . . at least you feel. Your face can project any sort of emotion with the slightest glance better than anyone else I know. Knowing that your job hasn't left your heart hardened and indifferent but quite the opposite. That's one of the many things I admire about you, Susan." I just wish I knew what you're carrying inside that's making you more like me.
Her throat worked and he tilted his head as he looked at her. A slight breeze blew and she shivered; that was his invitation to wrap an arm around her shoulders to her closer. She didn't shy away this time. "I've got to admit," she admitted quietly. "that's definitely not something I've been doing intentionally . . ."
"I know. You try to hide it. You'd make a lousy actress." She nudged him with an elbow as he chuckled lightly. Taking a deep breath, he leaned a cheek against her hair and this time he could breathe in as much as he wanted. "So now you really know everything about me - can't I ever know everything about you?"
She felt that one coming. She saw it like a train coming beyond the horizon. She weighed it, considered the hell out of it as she looked at every single fold and crease in his hand, each callused patch on his palm like a palmistry lesson. Both their hands had touched evil, but not fully grasped it and that had to mean something. They were in this together - a professional marriage. Just . . . hold on. "Ask me anything."
He definitely didn't expect that. "My turn now huh . . . are you sure?"
"Sure I'm sure."
"Sure you're sure?"
"David. Just ask a damn question already."
"Okay, okay, let me think about it." She felt like she was on the verge of falling over the edge of a cliff. Closing her eyes she waited . . . and waited . . . and waited some more . . .
"David."
"Right. Um . . . what music do you listen to?" She leaned away from him to stare directly into his eyes. He thought to start with an innocent question before easing onto touchy territory. "What? It's a question and it's mine and I'm asking it."
Sighing, Susan shook her head, comically bemused. "Jesus, heh, um . . .? Oh God, I don't know - The Police? Nine Inch Nails? Aerosmith, Depeche Mode. Um . . . If you want to go modern - Jet. Hm - the Eurythmics. Billy Idol." She began to laugh, throwing her head back and he pleasantly watched as she finally had the courage to give a piece of herself to him. "The Pet Shop Boys! Loved Domino Dancing - I used to dance with Michael before he --" Her voice was clipped short with a sharp silent pair of scissors, her eyes staring off into space - just realized the territory they were entering.
He tightened his hand around hers. "Close your eyes Susan and just tell me. Don't think - just say."
Easier said than done. "Can't - Can't we just go back to my apartment? It's cold."
He revised that with a steady gaze. "Tell me one thing I don't know and we'll go." Great - another game. Cruel yes, but it had to be done. She stared right back, silent, eyebrows drawn and was instantly labeled uncomfortable. He was doing it again.
Just do it. You want to. He won't judge you - this is David. He never says anything to deliberately offend you. Besides, he's tried hard not to keep anything from you while you're going all double-standard. If you don't tell him today, who knows if you ever will.
You trust him.
-I- trust him. The inner turmoil within raged then dissipated. One shaking breath at a time, she managed to throw her heart out on the table, knife and all. "M-My fiancé committed suicide in a bathtub shortly after he got home from a job he hated. By then he was always a bit mentally unstable. He did it finally succeeded that day . . . he was in debt, bankrupt and . . . and . . ." She closed her eyes tightly; she felt nauseated. "Our two week old baby girl, she . . . d-died of a weak heart." Her voice cracked - she cracked. "He had just murdered someone in cold blood to take out his frustrations in. His life . . . full and misery as it was . . . was ended by him. I never got the chance . . . the chance to tell him I . . . I never got the chance to tell him one last time. "
She couldn't meet his eyes when she began to sob. Choking sobs, the kind of sobs that wracked a person who didn't cry often - tried not to cry as much as possible and were composed even when alone. They were soft and sharp, breathy as though the emotion she felt was too strong to express in any human way. Her chest heaved with a grief he could never fully comprehend. With a gentleness that encompassed anything he had orchestrated before, he took her chin in one hand while the other touched her face, wiping her cheeks, caressing her forehead and running two fingers over her bottom lip. He felt like a blind man with his hands on the most beautiful imperfect woman with the most beautiful human heart - and he had never seen it until now hereafter she would always own a part of him.
She trembled, shaking not from the cold. Who knew how many years she has been wracking herself of all the blame and guilt that had been heaped onto her. What with Laney, and now this guy who he had never even met. He would gladly die and stay dead if he himself were to leave her behind, but death was always the easy way out. He knew all too well. Therein lies the punch-line.
I complete you too. "You wanted to know why Susan. I'll tell you why. This," His hands framed her face, his forehead resting against hers, their breaths intermixing as she continued to cry. "This is why."
--
Notes: I derived the whole 'stainless' shpeal from seeing it on a PILOT screen-capture located at TouchingEvilFans . c o m where the shooter's pointing his gun at him, and I noticed the little words engraved into the gun. Idea popped into head and voila. :D Michael, supposed name of Branca's fiancé - I really didn't know his real name and I don't know if that is his real name or not. It just fit him - other people have named him Michael - so Michael he is. Bob or Frank just didn't make it in the cut yet he needed to be mentioned in a first-name persona. As for Creegs not telling her how he truly feels just yet, I like the fact that some people can express so much without using the word 'love.' If only there was a better word. 'Love' is just too overused nowadays. I myself wouldn't use it lightly - it's like one of those things. Whew. See ya'll next chap!
Lovely reviewers:
asd: No. No way. You've gotta be pullin' me leggie. Best Touching Evil storythere is?? LOL! As much as I want to stay humble, I'm only human man. I'm gonna take that in stride tho. Me so flattered! THANK U.
Kaitland: I [heart] the show too. :D Thank you so much - I agree. I'm all for the Breegan-bragade! LOL
Jennifer: Awesome that it's getting better n' better. This chap didn't have that much action, but it was a chance for the two to get closer before anything else happens that might pull them apart [spoiler!! haha]. Thanx!
Galxychld: Hallie IS a creep. Sheesh! Haha. There's a link in my profile down below where I found a pic of a model that is how I wanted to portray Hallie. I'm glad you like the story so far!
ColinsChick: I try - and it isn't that easy to know all the right quirks and antics that apply to Creegan 'cuz there are some people out there who make him act like he's retarded [hee]. Ah well. He's hot! TX!
Mrs. Rhett Butler: Ah we meet again! lol Roswell huh? Never saw it. I wish I did - so many peeps have been telling me how wonderful it is. Do tell! lol Paper cuts huh? Yowch. [throws box of bandages at you] Catch! lol You were definitely right in all aspects considering Hallie=obsession. Creegan=likes to use 'fuck' or any other formof profanity. That's one reason that makes me love the guy haha.
NBLkolt: Aw! You're too nice! Seriously. Hehe - I'm glad Hallie's labeled as a psycho. Hallie "Psycho" Piper. It's a good thing she didn't bust out a knife or something and start attacking Creegs in the shower! [Psycho music] haha.
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