Title: Weekend in the Country

Disclaimer: Blind Justice belongs to Steven Bochco Productions. No copyright infringement intended.

Rating: PG-13.

Spoilers: Set right after "Dance With Me."
Author's Note: Sorry this one took me so long—don't know why this scene was so hard to come up with. I hope the next one will come more easily. I wanted to finish their stroll in this chapter, but I'm heading out for vacation and was encouraged to post what I had!  Enjoy, and remember – feedback is much appreciated.

Chapter 4

(Christie's POV)

I dressed quickly in a pair of jeans and a soft pink, short-sleeved top, and ran a comb through my tangled hair. Scooping it up into a careless bun and securing it with a clip was by far the easiest way to deal with it. Then I headed downstairs to make conversation with my parents and help fix breakfast while Jim showered.

Breakfast consisted of my mom's whole-wheat waffles, along with bacon and fresh fruit, and afterwards, my mom, dad, and I sat at the kitchen table sipping coffee. Half my attention was focused on what my mother was saying to me, and half on Jim's phone conversation in the living room. Granted, it was the first time we'd ever left the dog with someone else, but I was still having a hard time seeing why Jim felt the need to call Karen and check up on Hank during a trip that was going to last less than 48 hours in all.

I looked up as my dad pushed back from the table and started gathering empty plates. "So, did you guys have anything in mind for today?" I asked brightly.

My dad didn't look at me, clearing his throat instead. He turned to carry his load to the sink, and my mom shot me an apologetic look. "Your father is going golfing," she said. "He has a regular tee time at 10 on Saturdays."

"Dad, could you maybe not spend the afternoon golfing after we drove all the way up here to visit you?" I asked. I could feel my brow furrow as I tilted my head, trying to convey my displeasure through narrowed eyes.

"I'm sorry, Christine," my dad offered lamely. "But we didn't know for sure if you were coming until the last minute, and it would've been rude to cancel at that point."

"Right," I snapped. "God forbid you be rude." My meaning was clear, and my dad held my gaze, his expression changing from defensiveness to slight irritation. More softly, I continued, an imploring note creeping into my voice, "Could you at least invite Jim to go with you?"

My dad scoffed condescendingly, then said in a low voice, "Christine, I don't think he would enjoy—"

"It's not about that," I interrupted. "It's about going golfing with your friends and not asking him to go with you."

"Christine…" My dad trailed off, apparently unable to come up with another argument against agreeing to my request.

"Jeff, maybe you should ask Jim to come along. He and Wesley would enjoy spending some time together."

"Wes isn't coming," my father said, coming back to the table and putting his hand on the back of one of the chairs.

"That's right, Ethan has a soccer game at noon," my mom remembered. "We could go to that, if you and Jim were interested," she said to me. "And Sarah and Wes invited us for a cookout at their house afterwards."

"Sounds good to me." All of us turned in surprise at Jim's voice. Looking casual—and sexy—in a slightly wrinkled black polo shirt and faded blue jeans, he made his way over to us from the living room doorway, one hand lightly tracing the kitchen countertops. He'd apparently tucked his cell phone into one of his pockets, because it was nowhere to be seen, and I knew better than to think that he'd put it down somewhere in the living room. "Been too long since I had one of Wes' hamburgers."

"How's Hank?" I asked.

Using my voice as an indication of where we were, Jim stopped just short of me, so I took another step closer to him. When I laid my hand on his arm, he moved to put his arm around me, an affectionate gesture that I appreciated. To answer my question, he shrugged, smiling faintly. "Karen says he's good—but we need to stop by the market on the way to her place tomorrow and replace the Boston cream pie that he helped himself to last night. She left it in a box on the kitchen counter."

"Ahh…" I said knowingly. "If he can smell it and get to it, he thinks it's his," I explained to my parents.

"I thought he had all this training," my mother said, surprised.

Jim chuckled. "He is well trained—but when he's not on the job, he can get into as much trouble as the next dog."

Seeing the expression on my mother's face, I smiled encouragingly, hastily adding, "But as long as there's no food out to tempt him, he's an angel. Right, Jimmy?"

Jim paused as he thought about what I was trying to do, then nodded. "Right. I did a regular obedience class with him, too, so he doesn't tear things up around the house."

"So, Jim, Christie was saying she wanted to take you down to see—look at—ah, visit the roses," Diane said, stumbling over her words.

I sighed. Lisa had done it right when she just asked Jim if he wanted to see the picture she'd drawn. But no, adults had to mess it up, complicate things by thinking too much. But Jim had to deal with this type of thing every day, I suspected, and knew exactly how to handle it. "Sure, let's go see them," he replied.

He squeezed me gently, then stepped away, holding me at arm's length. "I'm going to go put some shoes on," he said. "Do you need anything from upstairs?"

I shook my head, then voiced the negative reply. "No, I'm ready." I shot a look at my father, then cut my gaze to Jim's retreating figure, with the clear message that I wanted my father to speak up and tell Jim he was going golfing. But he just broke eye contact with me, and quickly turned away. My mom went to the sink to finish cleaning up from breakfast, so I took the opportunity to follow my father into the living room.

"Daddy, we need to talk," I began.

My father huffed. "It's just a round of golf, love. I'll be back for the cookout this afternoon."

"Not about that," I said brusquely, crossing my arms. "First of all, you didn't say a word just now. Jim might not have even known you were standing there."

"I didn't have anything to say, Christine. What would you have me say? 'Hi, Jim, by the way, I'm here'? Wouldn't that embarrass him?"

"Dad, I've asked you before to please speak up when he's in the room. It's not a difficult request. You're a very smart man, and I'm sure you can figure out a way to work yourself into the conversation."

My father held out his hands in a placating gesture. "You're right—I'll try to do better."

"Thank you. And there's something else…" I began, then hesitated. I didn't want him to think Jim had betrayed some guy code by telling me about their conversation this morning. "I know you're upset about Jim going back to work," I said vaguely. "But it's a fait accompli, Dad. He's made his decision, and I support him. So I hope you can make your peace with it and move forward in your relationship with him. I know he wants that."

As I spoke, I could see my father's face harden and become impassive. My father was such a reasonable, measured personality that I was surprised at the obvious depth of his displeasure with my husband. Jim was absolutely right that they'd never been exactly buddy-buddy, but my dad had always done his best to treat Jim with respect, if not the same warmth and camaraderie that he shared with Wesley, who just happened to also be a physician and to share a practice with him.

"I love you, Christine, and I have your best interests at heart," was his eventual reply, but his voice was cold, and I knew I wasn't going to get him to relent. Not that morning, anyway.

"I know you do. And my best interest is to have my dad and my husband getting along," I told him firmly.

By the time Jim came back downstairs, my mom and I were waiting by the front door. "Love the shoes," I teased him. Just peeking out from under his longish jeans were a pair of simple black leather slip-ons with rubber soles—by all accounts, the trendy new thing for metrosexuals. Rugged enough for outdoor wear, but sleek enough for clubbing. I'd picked them up on a whim at a wholesaler, since Jim had been complaining about not having any casual shoes except sneakers. I was half-surprised that he hadn't told me to return them. But he was probably just grateful not to have to try to pick out shoes himself. Clothes shopping was something the two of us hadn't done much of since the shooting. It was just unavoidably awkward—for him, probably because he had to rely on me so much, and hated being dependent, and for me? I wasn't sure why it was awkward, actually. I enjoyed Jim really needing me for something, so that wasn't it. But…I was also used to him being so in control and sure of himself—even since he'd lost his sight. But the first time I had to help him find the type of white tee shirts he liked, it was strangely like having a son instead of a husband.

Jim snorted in response to my flippant remark. "Hey, I'm just glad I'm not the one who has to look at them," he tossed back.

I giggled, and rolled my eyes at my mom, who managed a smile despite a tiny wince at Jim's self-mocking humor. I was actually pretty excited that he'd started poking fun at the blindness every now and again, because to me it represented a new level of acceptance. "They look good," I insisted. "Very stylish." Without missing a beat, I turned and grabbed his cane from the corner in which it still leaned from the previous day, and casually pressed it into his hand. "Here—you might need this. The ground is kind of uneven in some places."

"That's what I've got you for, baby," he said, reaching for me and pulling me to him with a flourish, ending with a dramatic kiss.

I laughed again. Was he in a mood, or what? The cloud of irritation that had hung over him after the early morning conversation with my dad had suddenly—and happily—lifted. "I'll keep an eye out, but I want the cane to back me up, since it's rough terrain out there."

"Okay," he agreed easily, and I nodded to my mom, who opened the door and held it for us, then followed behind us and shut it. I let Jim take the lead, figuratively speaking, letting him figure out how he wanted to travel. He ended up lightly grasping my arm but also walking more beside than behind me, and sweeping the cane in a small arc in front of him. Not great technique, but it worked for this particular situation. He found the porch steps before I even got there, and went down smoothly, then located an uneven place in the sidewalk and navigated that, too.

"Has it been as warm here as it has in the city this spring, Diane?" Jim asked as we turned off the sidewalk and headed down the driveway. It was a perfectly gorgeous day—sunny, with a few scattered clouds, maybe mid-seventies. Glancing at my husband, his face slightly upturned toward the sun, I closed my eyes briefly, and immediately noticed a slight breeze and the loud hum of some insect nearby, neither of which I'd been aware of before.

"I don't know—how warm has it been in the city?" she quipped. It took a second for Jim to realize she was teasing, and when he chuckled, she answered, "I'd say we've definitely had a summer-like spring this year. I've enjoyed it—it's not the kind of heat that makes you want to stay inside and turn on the air conditioning."

"Just the kind that makes you wish you didn't have to wear a suit to work every day," Jim said with a cute half-smile, looking over in the direction of my mom's voice.

"I'm sure," she sympathized.

While we were walking, Jim had gradually moved his hand from encircling my arm to just resting his on the outside of my elbow, and now he moved lower and took my hand, swinging it loosely with his between us as we walked. Sometimes he trusted me to guide him like that, but that was only when the ground beneath was smooth and obstacle-free, and there weren't a lot of people around.

I was even more glad he had the cane a few moments later, when we angled left off the pavement into the uneven yard. "We're almost there," I told him. The pink and red roses, in full bloom, wound up and around a long split-rail fence that ran all the way to the road.

"I'm already there," he replied. "They smell great, Diane."

I glanced at my mom, and saw how happy the comment made her. "Too bad I didn't inherit your green thumb," I said.

"That's for sure," Jim echoed, smiling. "Didn't you kill a cactus once?"

"Very funny," I said, reaching over to punch him lightly in the shoulder. My knuckles bounced harmlessly off his muscle, which was hard as a rock, thanks to weightlifting in the precinct gym. "That cactus had some kind of disease when we got it."

At that moment, not paying the slightest bit of attention to the ground in front of me, I suddenly stumbled as I stepped into a small dip in the earth. Instinctively, Jimmy slid his hand up my arm and caught me in his sure embrace. "Whoa, steady there, sailor." Then, since he couldn't resist, he added, "Aren't you the one who can watch where she's going?"

"I can—that doesn't mean I always do," I reminded him, patting his arm and smiling. "Thanks for the catch."

"No problem."

When we arrived at the fence, I took Jim's hand and touched it to a particularly large, magenta bloom to show him where the flowers were. He folded up his cane and stuck it under one arm, then reached out both hands to explore.

"Be careful—they may be pretty, but the thorns are sharp," my mom warned. I was sure she'd said that many times before to my nephew and niece, and I shot her a look that said, Don't coddle.

Jim laughed. "I'll take my chances," he replied, squatting to stick his nose into one bloom. I knew exactly what he really meant—the roses wouldn't be pretty to him unless he could feel them. And I guessed that the occasional prick of a thorn would just make the experience more real and alive to him.

As Jim slowly moved down the fence, my mom and I stood chatting. At one point, I looked over toward the neighboring property across a large field, and was surprised to see what looked like a riding stables and ring next to the stately old farmhouse that had been there since long before my parents' home. "What's going on over there?"

"The owner passed away and left the property to a religious group, and they've started a non-profit therapeutic riding facility," my mother replied. "They're going to cater to riders with disabilities. The whole town has been involved in fundraising, and they're going to open by the end of the summer."

I scrunched up my nose in distaste. "Aren't you worried about the smell and noise and…everything?"

My mom smiled. "No, honey. They're far enough away that it won't bother us. And it's such a worthwhile cause."

"I suppose," I said reluctantly, nonetheless imagining a crowded parking lot and smelly horses traipsing all over my mom's beautiful roses.

After another minute, I went over to Jim, who was discreetly sucking on a finger. I giggled. "Every rose has its thorn," I whispered against his arm.

He took his finger out of his mouth and treated me to of his cute facial shrugs. "Small price to pay."

"You ready to head back?" I asked.

"Sure," he said, shaking out his cane and taking my arm. "Unless you want to wander around a little."

"Should I take that to mean you do want to wander around a little?" I asked with a smile. Sometimes Jimmy was such a typical guy. Well, okay, all the time.

"We could go down by the creek," my mom suggested.

I raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I don't know, it's kind of…that path is pretty rough, isn't it?"

"Come on, let's risk it," Jim said. "I'm sure I can catch you again if you have trouble."

My mom and I laughed, and I gave in easily, not wanting to stifle Jim's sense of adventure. "Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you," I told him.