Title: Weekend in the Country

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Set right after "Dance With Me"

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Characters belong to Steven Bochco Productions.

Summary: Jim and Christie visit Christie's parents for the first time since the shooting, and drama ensues.

Author's Note: This will be a multi-chapter fic- not sure how many yet. Please let me know what you thought.

Chapter 1

Honk!

The earsplitting sound made me jump, and out of the corner of my eye I could see Jim doing the same next to me in the passenger seat. I jammed on the brake and our Volvo lurched to a stop as I looked back to see a little sports car race down the street past where I'd been trying to pull out of a parallel parking space.

"What happened?" Jim asked sharply.

"I looked before I started pulling out—that guy came out of nowhere!" I cried in annoyance—both at the other driver and at my husband, somewhat irrationally. "Don't start in on my driving, please, Jimmy. Everything's fine."

"Hey, calm down. I just wanted to know what happened, that's all," my husband replied mildly. "I deserve to know if my life shoulda been flashing before my eyes…you know, so to speak."

I glanced over at him, and his blond head was turned toward me, that impish half-grin revealing his teasing intent. He'd taken off his suit jacket and tie, and his pale gray shirt, open at the collar, made his sparkling blue eyes seem even lighter than usual.

My heart still pounding from the close encounter, I couldn't quite bring myself to smile, but I managed a little humph to acknowledge his joke. Then I checked the street carefully and flipped on my turn signal in preparation for pulling out. On the second attempt, I merged into the flow of traffic, just in time for the light to turn red ahead of us at the next block. Sighing with impatience and frustration, I pressed the brake sharply again.

"Sorry," I said finally. "I just…you know I hate driving at rush hour. I guess I'm a little on edge."

"Don't we usually head up Saturday morning to avoid all this?" Jim waved his hand toward the window to indicate the gridlock around us.

Running a hand through my hair, I realized how hot and sticky I was, with the late afternoon sun shining in through the windows. I reached down to turn up the air conditioning. "We don't usually go at all. Do you realize it's been a year ago at Christmas since we went to visit my parents?"

"They came to visit us a couple times, right? I mean, it's not like we haven't been a little preoccupied lately." Jim reached for the air vents and angled them away so they wouldn't blow directly in his face.

"I know, but…my mom's been bugging me to come up ever since you went back to work. And it's time we got back in the habit—they're not getting any younger."

Jim snorted. "Your parents are as healthy as horses, both of them."

"Still…" I couldn't think of a valid argument on that issue, so I switched tacks. "I don't know about you, but I'm really looking forward to getting out of the city for a couple days."

Jim shrugged. "Be nice if we coulda let Hank roam around a little," he said. I could hear the petulance creep into his tone, and knew what was coming next. "Speaking of which, what kind of people don't let a blind guy bring his guide dog to their house, huh?"

I took my eyes off the road for a half-second to send a glare in his direction, even though I knew he wouldn't appreciate it. "How many times are we going to have this conversation?" I asked pleadingly. "My mother's cat would have a heart attack if Hank stayed there. Please, Jimmy, just try to understand."

Jim drummed his fingers on the console between the driver's and passenger's seat. "I just can't help thinking it has to do more with your mother worrying about her white carpets."

I sighed loudly to indicate my disagreement. "Karen will take good care of Hank this weekend. She even seemed like she was looking forward to it. And plus, it's not like you need him in the house, and that's mostly where we'll be."

Jim shrugged. "I guess. It's just…it feels weird, you know, going without him."

"I'm sure you'll manage," I said, not quite managing to keep an edge of sarcasm out of my reply. I sighed, realizing how bitchy I sounded and not meaning to. "Look, I'm sorry. I know you should be able to bring Hank anywhere you want. Maybe we can talk to Mom about it this weekend, explain that he's very well behaved around cats, see if we can get her to change her mind for next time."

"How about next time I just stay at home with Hank?" Jim replied in a caustic tone. "I'm sure they'd be just as happy with that arrangement."

I rolled my eyes. "That's not true—Mom specifically asked if you could make it. And the reason we're going up tonight instead of tomorrow is because Dad has a new exhibit at the gallery and there's a reception. I told you that last week. That's why I asked you not to change clothes after work."

Jim groaned. "You're kidding—they asked us to come up to go to a photography exhibit, huh?"

"This is important to my dad," I replied defensively. "Isn't it better than them not asking us to go just because you're blind?"

Jim shrugged. "I guess."

We were quiet for a few minutes, as I negotiated my way through busy streets, trying to reach the interstate to head north to Connecticut. "Hey, did you bring those magazines Kathy sent you last week?" I remembered suddenly. "I left them on your suitcase this morning."

Jim looked over in my direction and sighed. "Yeah, I know. They were kinda hard to miss."

"That was the point," I replied lightly.

"You know, I really don't need a lecture about practicing Braille every three days."

"Apparently you do," I said calmly. "I haven't seen you reading anything in months."

He shrugged. "What do I need to read, exactly? I got a scanner, a laptop that talks to me, and I can get all the books on tape I want at the library…"

"It doesn't matter, Jimmy. Kathy says if you don't know Braille, you're functionally illiterate."

"Hey," he barked. "Ease off, will ya? The day you lose your sight, we'll talk about this again. Until then, I get to decide this one for myself, okay?"

"Fine," I replied tightly. "Then the next time Kathy calls, you get to tell her that. So she'll stop nagging me about it."

"Oh, my God," Jim groaned, sounding exasperated. "She's my rehab counselor, not my mother." He paused, then added, "And neither are you."

We lapsed back into silence then—me because I was hurt by his offhand comment, and him probably because he'd slipped into his typical argument avoidance mode. God forbid we ever work anything out so we can put it behind us. He'd rather suppress it all until the next time something blew up and all the old hurt and frustration came spewing out again. That had been the pattern since the beginning of our relationship—going from one blowup to the next, never resolving anything. We had an appointment on the calendar to meet with the couples therapist that Dr. Galloway had recommended, and I couldn't wait to get there and hopefully start fixing things between us. Not just smoothing over things, but getting to the root of our problems. If Jim could open up enough to let it happen.

"Hey, did you ever make the reservations for Boston?" Jim asked, breaking into my thoughts. "I gotta tell the lieutenant whether I'm taking the days or not."

I nodded, then said, "Yeah—they still had room at the hotel, thank goodness. We'll go up Wednesday night, the 15th, and the conference is Thursday and Friday, then we can do some sightseeing on Saturday and Sunday." I hesitated, afraid of the answer to the question I was about to ask. "You're sure you'll be able to get off?"

I looked over to catch his nodded response. "I mean, unless there's some kind of emergency," he added. "You know it's never a 100 sure thing. But it looks good."

"Good," I said softly. "I'm glad you're coming with me. We're going to have a great time."

As we drove north out of the smothering traffic and exhaust fumes, I thought as I often did these days how grateful I was that I had the gift of sight, enjoying the view as the city gave way to roadside trees and billboards. Driving to Bristol, the town where my parents lived, always brought evoked memories of my childhood, and my mood lifted as we passed the exits for each small town near the interstate. The last time we'd made this trip, and many times before that, Jim had been driving, and I'd enjoyed the chance to relax and watch the world go by. At least he couldn't comment on my driving much anymore—his "helpful hints" from the passenger seat used to be one of the things about him that annoyed me the most.

The ride was quiet, with neither of us having much to say. Since he wasn't able to enjoy the scenery, Jim had brought along his laptop to keep from being bored, and as soon as our conversation had petered out, he'd stuck his earpiece in and started typing. Every so often, I'd glance over at him, concentrating hard on the mechanical voice emanating from the earpiece, staring intently at nothing. His short blond hair was sticking up in all directions, as usual, and I could see some stubble on one cheek that he'd missed that morning while shaving.

Eventually, I grew tired of the silence between us. "Whatcha workin' on?" I asked softly, casually.

"My notes from an interview we did today," Jim replied.

I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't, so I pressed on. "What's the case?"

Jim cleared his throat, and I wondered if that meant he was irritated at having to explain. "The DOA we had Monday—the guy in the park we thought was a drug deal gone bad? Can't find any evidence that he used, so we're having to look into other areas of his life, see if anyone mighta had a reason to kill him. Interviewed the wife and girlfriend today."

"An ex-girlfriend?" I clarified.

Jim was silent for a moment. "No. He was seeing someone on the side."

"Oh." A familiar twinge of hurt and jealousy sprang up inside me at the mention of infidelity. "You sound pretty matter-of-fact about it."

"I am," Jim said. "It's a fact—the guy was stepping out on his wife, Christie. And when someone turns up dead with no other explanation, gotta think it was either for love or money."

"Couldn't it have been a random killing?" I asked.

"Not likely," Jim answered. "Usually it's someone the person knows. If we don't get any leads in the next couple days, though, we'll start looking at recently released cons with a history of random gun violence."

"I don't know how you do it," I said after another moment. "You see the worst of human nature every day."

Jim shrugged. "Somebody's got to. Might as well be me."

I reached over and brushed his cheek with the back of my hand. He reached up and took my fingers in his, squeezing lightly, then brought them to his lips and kissed them gently. The impulsive act of tenderness surprised and touched me. "Are we there yet?" he asked, smiling at the childish phrase.

I chuckled as my eyes scanned the roadside for an exit number or billboard sign. "Maybe 30 minutes out," I estimated. "And that's the last time you get to ask that question. You know how long it takes to get there, and you're wearing a watch—that's why I bought it for you, so you'd stop asking me what time it was every five minutes."

"Yeah, but bugging you is so much more fun," Jim teased.

"Is it fun to have to hitchhike to your in-laws' house?" I shot back, smiling.

Jim held his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay. Geez, you don't cut a guy any slack, do you?"

"You wouldn't have it any other way, sweetie," I said in a syrupy voice.

Another silence descended between us, but this time it felt less tense to me, so I let it ride. Jim kept working on his notes for a while, and finally shut down the computer and reached into the backseat to put it back in its carrying case. "Battery's dying," he explained. "Remind me to charge it when we get to your parents'."

I nodded. "Okay."

"So…" Jim started, and from the tone of his voice, I knew whatever he said, it wasn't going to be pleasant. "There anything I should know before we get there? Like, is your family mad at me?"

I thought about that for a moment, choosing my response carefully. "Why do you ask?"

"I don't know," he started. "They've just been kind of distant ever since I got shot—especially your dad. He barely said two words to me when they were at your sister's place for Christmas."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Jimmy."

"Look, if they're just being weird about the blindness, that's one thing. But something tells me there's something else going on."

"What exactly do you think is going on?"

"I don't know," he said, then added, "It's just…you know your dad's never been my biggest fan—"

"That's not true—" I started to interrupt, but Jim held up a hand.

"We both know it is," he continued. "But since I got shot, it seems like he's…I don't know, mad at me or something. He even avoids talking to me on the phone."

I sighed. "I don't know much. He keeps stuff to himself—like somebody else I know," I said pointedly. "But…I know he was upset that you didn't take the teaching job the department offered you. I think he's worried that you're going to get hurt again, now that you're back on the job. And, you know, carrying a gun, being out in the field."

"I'm a cop, Christie," Jim said, obviously frustrated. "I'm not a teacher. You understand that, right?"

"Yes, Jimmy," I replied. "But my dad's worried—about you, and about me, if something were to happen to you. He wanted you to retire when you got shot, and start another career. You can hardly blame him."

"You know what? Actually, I can," he retorted. "He's never even tried to understand who I am. Let's face it—he didn't want you to marry a cop in the first place. Especially one from Red Hook who joined the Army out of high school and has a drunk for a father."

"That has nothing to do with anything," I said defensively. "My dad's a small town doctor with three daughters—you two just don't have much in common. But he's always treated you like a son. Even before we were married."

"Yeah—the son that could never quite measure up to his expectations," Jim replied bitterly. "Sarah married a doctor, and Kelly married a lawyer," he continued, referring to my two older sisters. "But not you—you had to go marry a New York cop." Jim uttered a short, dry laugh. "I bet he's mad at me for getting shot because he thinks I won't be able to support you, so you can stay at home and have babies, like your sisters."

"Jimmy, that's a terrible thing to say," I said softly. "He doesn't feel that way, and neither do I. I love my career—I don't do it because I have to, I do it because it's who I am. And my father knows that."

"If you say so," Jim replied. "But I'm telling you, he's been upset about something since before I even started trying to get my job back."

"I think it's all in your head, Jimmy. You'd just been shot and lost your sight. It was an emotional time for everyone." I put my hand on his thigh, and he covered it with his hand. "Dad'll come around once he sees how well you're doing now. Just don't talk about Hank getting kidnapped by drug dealers, or that guy shooting himself in front of you, okay? Talk about writing reports and working forgery cases, boring stuff like that."

Jim laughed. "Check—no kidnapping or suicide stories. How about busting down a guy's door and getting sucker punched in the gut?"

My eyes widened in horror in the split second before it occurred to me that he was joking. "I think the most excitement my dad's ever seen in his job was the time Mr. Henderson had a heart attack in the office and Dad had to do CPR until the paramedics came. He just doesn't get why you do what you do."

"And he doesn't want to," Jim added, then sighed. "Look, I'll leave out the dangerous stuff, but if he brings up the teaching job, or asks why I went back to work as a cop, I'm gonna lay it on the line for him, Christie."

"Just be nice about it. Try to understand where he's coming from, too."

Jim nodded. "I will if he will."

"Good." The next exit was the one for Bristol, and I angled the car off the interstate, headed for my childhood home. "We're almost there."

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