Title: Weekend in the Country

Rating: PG-13 for mature themes and language

Spoilers: Set right after "Dance With Me"

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

Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews and emails, everyone. Very, very much appreciated. Think of them as motivating me to write more, and keep them coming. Constructive criticism always welcome. Sorry this took so long - been a bit stuck for a while. I hope the next one will be easier. Thanks to those of you who gave me early feedback and encouragement on this one. Enjoy.

UPDATE: Thank you, shmeep, for bringing to my attention the woeful fact that I changed from first person to third person narrative in this chapter! Silly me. I've rewritten it to reflect Jim's first-person POV so that it meshes better with the other chapters. I might have missed a "he" or "him" here or there—feel free to bring those to my attention if you so desire.

Chapter 3

(Jim's POV)

Even though no alarm sounded and no beeper went off, I awoke at seven the next morning. I stayed in bed for a while, listening to Christie's steady breathing next to me, thinking about the previous evening's events. We had both been quiet on the ride home, the encounter with Doug and my early exit hanging heavy between us. Christie's parents had arrived home shortly after we had, and though conversation over strawberry shortcake and coffee had been friendly enough, the feeling that my father-in-law was angry at me about something had only grown stronger. Not only had I been reading people for years as a detective, but I'd also had to learn to rely on what people's voices revealed to me about them, and his had clearly revealed the tension simmering in every word he said to me. I had finally excused myself, pleading exhaustion again, and gone upstairs. By the time Christie had followed, I'd been asleep.

Slipping from the bed, I thought about showering, but didn't want to risk waking anyone so early, so I decided to put it off for the time being. I'd worn a tee shirt and pajama bottoms to bed, so I knew I was decent to leave the bedroom. As soon as I stepped into the hallway, the welcome scent of brewing coffee greeted me. I listened intently as I moved down the staircase, gripping the banister, but even as I turned into the hall and went toward the kitchen, I couldn't detect any movement, and didn't sense a presence, as I often did when someone else was in the room. Maybe they had a timer on the coffeemaker.

I set about the methodical task of finding a coffee mug and maybe, if I was really lucky, some creamer. Though I remembered the layout of the house well enough from years of visits, I'd long forgotten where things were in the kitchen—if I'd ever known. I'd made my way through the cabinet directly over the coffeemaker and was rifling carefully through the next one when I heard the soft but distinct clink of a mug being set down on the table across the room. Startled, I turned. "Is someone there?"

After a moment, I heard someone clearing his throat, then, "It's me, Jim. Just having my morning coffee."

Christie's father. Why the hell hadn't he said anything? Suppressing a flash of anger, I managed a smile. "Jeff—sorry, uh, for snooping. I didn't hear you over there—you shoulda said something," I scolded the older man gently.

Another short and awkward silence. "I suppose I should have. I wasn't thinking. I'm used to enjoying the first cup alone, since Diane's a late riser—Christie's the same way, isn't she?"

I nodded. "Yeah, she is. Uh, am I getting warm here—" I jerked a thumb at the open cabinet behind me—"with the mug search?"

"Two more to the right."

I counted two knobs over, and my hand closed over a mug on the first shelf. "Thanks," I said, still irritated that Jeff hadn't said anything while I searched in vain. "Is there creamer or half-and-half somewhere?" Usually I just took it black, but the brew smelled so strong, I was thinking it might be wise to soften it a little on an empty stomach.

"Half-and-half in the fridge."

I moved cautiously toward the coffeemaker, then worked my way down from the top of the appliance to avoid burning my hands on the glass carafe. After I'd safely poured a cup, I took it to the end of the counter nearest the fridge, and opened the door. "Ah…what am I looking for here—a carton or…?"

"Yeah, it's in the door…uh, about shoulder level."

After a little fumbling, I found what I thought might be the half-and-half, and confirmed my suspicion by holding the open carton up to my nose. Hmmm…where would the silverware be? I wondered as I poured the cream into my coffee. At home I might've let the liquid run over my fingers into the mug so I'd know better how much I was pouring, but in front of my father-in-law, I thought it best just to estimate.

"Silverware drawer's next to the sink…to the left," Jeff said, apparently understanding the reason for my hesitation.

"Thanks." I returned the half-and-half to the fridge, found a spoon, then carried my mug to the table and sat down. "Sorry to interrupt your morning."

No response, and I figured—hoped—my father-in-law had shrugged or made some other dismissive gesture. I stifled a sigh. I knew certain tips for dealing with blind people weren't exactly intuitive, but it seemed like Jeff wasn't making much of an effort. I decided to try again. "The exhibit seemed to go over well last night."

"Uh-huh," Jeff murmured.

Although I hadn't heard it before, a familiar rustle suddenly alerted me to the fact that Jeff was reading a newspaper. "Is that the Times?" I asked.

"Nah," Jeff exhaled dismissively. "This is just the local paper. I read the Times online—too expensive to have it delivered."

"The Times has a great website," I said, eager to seize on a common interest. "I can usually get through the headlines at work in the morning, with my first cup of coffee. But now that we have DSL at home, I read as much as I want on the weekends. As long as Christie doesn't complain that I'm on the computer too much," he added with a chuckle. "Using a screenreader, even at top speed—which sounds like Alvin the Chipmunk, by the way—is pretty time-consuming."

Realizing that I was rambling a bit, I stopped myself, but all I got in response was a disinterested "Mmmm…" from the man sitting across from me.

Frustrated, I set my mug down, twirling it around on the tabletop, then shrugged my shoulders, cracking my neck. I drummed my fingers with my free hand, then slid the same hand along the table out of habit, feeling the smooth wood. Probably oak, based on the grain. It was a sharp contrast to the cheap, nicked fake-wood Formica of the tables in the squad that my hands were so used to.

"Jeff," I said, wanting to make sure I had his full attention. When I got no response, I plowed on. "Listen, is there…is there something you and I need to talk about?"

Again, my words were met with silence. Finally, Jeff replied blandly, "I don't know what you mean."

I clearly understood that the rustling of the newspaper was intended to signal the end of the matter, but I was damned if I was going to go back to pretending that nothing was wrong. I took a sip of coffee. "I just meant that…you're obviously upset with me about something. You've been upset with me about something for a long time. And I think we should talk about it."

More silence. I opened my mouth to try again, but was cut off by his father-in-law's curt reply. "What exactly do you think I'm upset with you for, Jim?"

I let a breath out slowly through my nose. Though I couldn't read Jeff's expression, I didn't think that fact put me at much of a disadvantage. I'd learned out of necessity this past year that there were four types of people in the world: those who could keep emotion out of their faces, those who could keep it out of their voices, those who could do neither, and those who could do both. Unfortunately, I knew from when I could see that my father-in-law was definitely in the latter category. Regardless, nothing could be done about it. "I, uh, I heard a rumor that you don't agree with my decision to go back to work as a cop. Is that what's been bothering you?"

"The police department offered you a very generous job, teaching at the academy."

I sighed, rubbing my finger along the rim of my coffee cup. Realizing that my face was angled down toward the table, I lifted it so that if I could see, I'd have been staring my father-in-law in the face. "I'm not a teacher, Jeff. I'm a homicide detective."

"And I'm a physician, and I'll be the first to champion the abilities of disabled people. But one thing blind people can't do? They can't be cops," Jeff countered, and I could hear the carefully suppressed anger edging into his voice. "I don't intend any offense—I really don't—but your career as a police officer should've ended at that bank last year."

I forced a smile. "It's not like I'm a beat cop, Jeff—I'm a detective. And you know what else? Blind people obviously can be cops—I'm living proof."

"Only because you forced the issue," Jeff said curtly.

Suppressing a desire to spew some choice curse words, I counted slowly to ten instead, employing one of the strategies Dr. Galloway had taught me for those times when my temper started to get the better of me. "I 'forced the issue' because I thought I could still do the job," I said finally. "And I guess I was hoping that maybe my family would support me."

Suddenly, I couldn't sit still any longer, so I pushed back from the table, grabbed the mug, and started toward the sink. When I got there, I poured the rest of my coffee out, and set the mug in the stainless steel basin. With my back still turned, I snapped, "You know, I had a hard enough time convincing the department I could do the job. That I could still be a cop. I really don't want to have to stand here and convince you."

"Maybe you can do it," Jeff replied. "But you shouldn't. You got shot in the line of duty, and now you're back out there again like nothing happened! Don't you think you're even more likely to get injured again—or maybe killed this time? I think it's selfish of you, if you want to know the truth. Didn't you think about Christie at all in this?"

I turned and took a few steps toward the table, reaching out for the refrigerator to orient myself. "I would be no good to Christie if I wasn't a cop. It's all I know how to be besides a soldier, and I'm pretty sure the Army wouldn't take me back at this point."

"That's a pretty limited attitude, Jim. People learn new skills every day."

"I don't want to learn new skills, except the ones I have to to do my job." I took a deep breath and another step in the direction of his voice. "Listen, Jeff, I understand where you're coming from. A lot of people still don't think I can do this. But Christie and I talked a lot about this when I first decided to try to get my job back. And she's supported me from the beginning. Doesn't that count for anything?"

Jeff muttered something incomprehensible under his breath. "Maybe Christie didn't have all of the facts at hand," he said, with a slightly ominous tone to his voice, as if he was leaving something unsaid.

"What's that supposed to—?"

My brow furrowing, I started to ask Jeff to explain himself but was interrupted by light footsteps entering the kitchen, then a bright "Good morning!" that I recognized as my mother-in-law.

I closed my mouth and smiled grimly. "'Morning," I said, turning toward the sound of her voice.

"Did you sleep well?" Diane asked, and again I could smell her floral perfume as she moved toward me.

I desperately wished Diane would leave the room again, so we could finish our conversation, but it wasn't going to happen, so I finally answered, "Fine, thanks. Is Christie up?"

"I heard the shower running, so she must be. You have time to take a shower before breakfast too, if you want, Jim."

I stood still for a moment, then nodded, reaching a hand out in search of the island counter. "Okay. Thanks." My heart still beating faster than usual from the tense exchange, I left the room and continued upstairs. The shower was off, but I could hear Christie moving around inside the bathroom, so I went into the bedroom and dug into my duffel bag for the jeans and polo shirt I'd brought to wear that day, plus underwear and socks.

When Christie came into the room, I asked abruptly, "Is there soap and shampoo in there?"

"Yeah," she said. "Good morning to you, too," she added lightly.

I sighed, biting my lip. My back still to her, I added, "Good morning." I carefully folded my clothes over my arm and turned to go to the bathroom.

"Hey," Christie said, intercepting me with a hand on my arm. "You okay?"

Belatedly, I realized my face still bore the traces of emotion from the heated conversation with Jeff. I struggled to relax my expression, forcing a smile. "I'm fine."

"I think I've heard that before," she said calmly, with a hint of frustration at my vague answer.

There was no way I was going to tell her how Jeff hadn't spoken up when I first entered the kitchen. Instead I snapped, "Your dad doesn't think I should be a cop. No—he doesn't think I can be a cop."

Christie sighed. "He said that?"

"Yes, he said that," I repeated angrily. "Do you—do you think it was selfish of me to go back to work? And be honest with me."

"Selfish, how?"

"I don't know—I guess not considering what was best for you."

"Of course not," Christie said softly. "I knew you were a cop when I married you, and that didn't change at the bank that day. And what's best for me is for you to be happy."

Almost despite myself, I felt my anger melt away at her words, and I reached a hand up to her cheek. "I love you."

I felt her smile against my fingertips, and couldn't help but smile in return. I didn't get to experience a full-watt Christie smile very often these days. "You don't do that enough, you know," she said softly.

"What?"

"Smile," she replied. "Go take a shower. I'll get Mom to make waffles. And Jimmy…don't worry about my dad. He's just overprotective, and he hasn't had enough time to adjust to the new you. None of them have. Just give it some time, okay?"

I inhaled deeply, letting the air seep out through my nose before answering. "Okay." Bending my head, I planted a quick kiss on her lips, then headed for the bathroom.