Wow – thank you to my reviewers for making my week! You guys are the best! You really keep me going and I appreciate it!
Captn-Jacks-Bonnie-Lass – I just wanted to add that your comments on the last chapter helped me shaped the first part of the chapter – your reaction of being mad by the way the CIA treated Sands.
MontanaAntonia – I do have an original novel "in the works" – it's written, but my publisher experienced some (understandable) problems this last year, so I'm sort of stuck in limbo waiting… which gives me plenty of time to work on fanfiction, anyway ;-)
And here we go again, another LONG one!
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I am stone and I am blade
A sharp eternal instant
A darker heart a distant moan
Pleasures deep and spectral instinct
Look me in the eye
Speak it to my face
My hate is cold
As I fall from grace
So wish away my gravity
A curse the one and only
Lay terror tight unholy flight
Bear witness to the descent
Yet nothing is forever
So come nearer and confess
But like a tender bruise
Temptation waits in one caress
Look me in the eye
Speak it to my face
My hate is cold
As I fall from grace
Cast me out and save your soul
From madness rhyme and reason
You banish doubt I'll spread the fear
You'd better start believing
Look me in the eye
Speak it to my face
My hate is cold
As I fall from grace
- Siouxsie and the Banshees -
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Ryan Moss ……………………… Rupert Evans (Hellboy)
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Chapter Twenty Three:
One Cooks, the Other Doesn't
I need to get out of this room – I need to get off this floor and out of this building. I need to smell the fresh (?) air – and convince myself that they're really letting me go. And the fact that Paula Basil didn't try to disarm me really doesn't make me feel any more certain that the CIA's is going to let me walk out of here a free man… after all, an armed SWAT team could take me down pretty darned easy, no matter how much heat I'm packing…
However, Paula makes no attempt to stop me as I walk out the door with Spencer's lead in one hand, cane in the other. No one stops us in the hall – there are no armed gunmen waiting to take me in or rub me out… I know my way back to the elevators… and I don't even realize I've walked right past Eddas until I notice the scent of her cologne behind me. I don't care… I'm not stopping until I'm out of here.
She falls into step with me. "How'd it go?"
"It went. You been here the whole time?" I reach out and find the button to call for the elevator car – ok, that's the up – so this must be the down.
"I wasn't about to leave you."
"I'm touched," (yes, sarcasm – it's more to mask my surprise than anything else… although she probably just wanted to make sure I didn't screw up – or screw her over.)
The elevator arrives – and still no sign of trouble… "Do I even want to know what time it is?" I ask her as we step into the otherwise empty car.
"Half past four. Have you eaten?"
"No. Not hungry." Does she actually think they even made the offer?
"Why don't you let me buy you lunch anyway?"
I have to make a conscious effort to keep some rather surly comments to myself. Thankfully, Eddas picks up on my ill-humour pretty quick and doesn't say another word to me until we get to her car. I light up a cigarette before getting in. I think I almost feel as if I'm really going to get out of here in one piece… maybe.
"Would you like to go straight home – or can we swing by the office?" she asks while I smoke.
"Office is fine," I tell her. I don't want Emma to have to deal with me until I've had a chance to cool down, anyway. After finishing my cigarette (the last one in the only pack I brought) I slide into the passenger seat, and slump down as far as I can get, letting the hat fall half way down my face. I'm weary down to the soles of my boots. It wasn't so much the interrogation itself as the sheer – unfucking-believable-ness of it.
They really think that, for no real reason that anyone can give me, I would go out and assassinate the Mexican President (albeit indirectly). Forget what I told "The" about Corazon being that too-good piece of pork – I've never gone so far outside the parameters of an assignment that I took out a 'friendly target' just to make a little dough. I'm not that stupid – or that crazy (although I know that's what Collins is trying to insinuate.) I mean, Hell, the whole thing would gone that more smoothly if I wasn't trying to take out Corazon. Get El to take out Marquez – take out Barillo myself – take the money – pay my boys – go drink tequila on the beach… and it still wouldn't have worked.
I'd still be here, blind. Disfigured. Fucking mutilated. Ajedrez. Fuck me. Fuck me but good. I really didn't see it coming. I didn't see any of it coming. Because Milo was right – for the right person, I'm an easy target. I piss people off. I get caught up in my own schemes and this time – this time I got caught with my pants down.
But I'm not defeated. I'm not down for the count. In fact, I'm right where I wanted to be – oh bull shit, Sands. You never wanted to be in the passenger-seat of the head of the Intelligence Policy and Review Office's car. You never wanted to be a rat for the DOJ or anybody else. And it's not the ethics of being a rat that bug me. Ethics in general have never presented real a problem for me – the ones I don't like, I simply ignore. Pretty much that's my take on rules, too. If it doesn't suit my needs, out the window it goes.
But I just never wanted to be here. I never wanted to be in DC – or at least on my way back to it. I never wanted to be fucking blind – I never wanted to have my eyes fucking drilled out while I watched
"Whatever happened down there, you brought it on yourself. You always do," Paula's accusations still ring painfully in my ears. Like she fucking thinks I don't know it's my fault. "If you were burned, it was only because you were already a lost cause, Jeff. You've been a lost cause – a liability for years – you're just too blind to see it." Too blind. Now that's funny. Really fucking funny. Almost as funny as… Christ. "You really didn't see it coming, did you?" Ajedrez. Fucking perfidious bitch. I can feel myself sinking further and further into melancholy and I make no effort to stop it.
"You sure you're up to –" Eddas. Right. In a car. On my way to fucking D.C.
"I said going to the office was fine," I snap back at her. And take a breath. "I'd – rather give myself a little time before getting back to my daughter." And fuck me, but I never wanted to be this God damned honest either. Although there's another thought, "Say, since you're like my big boss lady and everything, can I get you to look at something for me?" Because maybe sinking into melancholy really isn't the best use of my time.
"Why – what did you do?"
A joke – my Christ – well, yes, literally, it just might be the Second Coming if Marlina Eddas has a sense of humour. I favour her with a half a smile, "I need someone who understands legal crap to have a gander at some paperwork I've recently gotten my grubby little paws on."
"What sort of paperwork?"
"You know, this whole sight impaired thing makes it a real fucking bitch to know for sure," I take a quick breath and tell myself to simmer down. "Emma was dumped off at my sister's house by some attorney – he left some paperwork. I'd like a real lawyer to look at it – because – I just don't trust her mother to have been able to make any kind of competent decisions regarding – well anything." I need a cigarette.
"What exactly are you expecting to find?"
"No clue. But – I'd like to – just make sure – Holly's estate was – together." It is really hard talking about Holly this way – like she's really dead. I mean, I know she's dead – but – I don't know. It just wasn't supposed to happen this way. And next to me, I can almost feel Eddas bristling. "What?" I don't quite snap at her.
"So – you want to see – what kind of – estate – your ex left your daughter – see what's there?"
"Oh Christ – I want to make sure Holly didn't leave behind a mountain of debt, ok? She couldn't even balance a checkbook – and I don't know if Em – or maybe Milo – happened to mention it, but she had fucking lupus, so if there's bills that need to be paid – I'd just like to know about it up front. I don't like surprises."
There's a brief pause, probably while she digests not only what I said, but the tone I said it in – because yeah, I'm still pretty pissed at Holly for up and dying (I know, like she had a fucking choice in the matter…)
"How long have you been divorced?"
"We were never married." I really need a cigarette.
"You realize that that makes it less likely someone will come looking to you for –"
"I'm thinking of Emma. And the idea was to get my mind off this shit from today and onto something less likely to make me want to shoot someone. I'm not a gold digger – my daughter has a college fund that I set up the day I found out about her." Emma could probably get a doctorate from any Ivy League school with what's in there already. I told you – it was important to me to make sure my kid was taken care of… I just never expected it to become so – hands on.
"I'm sorry. Of course I'll look over whatever paper work you want me to," is that genuine contrition I hear in her voice…?
"Thank you. So how long we gonna play boss lady and good little toady?"
"I highly doubt you'll ever be anybody's good little toady, Sands."
I just smirk.
And I think she might be smiling… "At least until this is over. You'll have to appear before a federal judge at some point – it's just a formality. I realize you're not big on trusting people –"
"I trusted a woman in Culiacan," I tell her, making no real effort to hide my feelings on the subject. "And I got my eyes screwed out because of it." And I trusted another woman in Culiacan… she turned out to be an angel who saved my life… maybe more… But… it's time to put that in the past… where it belongs… even if it hurts… It's time to move on – figure out the future. Because I know it may not always seem like it, but I do like to plan ahead. "So how about it – how long should I expect to be in your office?" I ask again.
"I really may be able to use your insight on a more – permanent – basis –as long as you don't start threatening to shoot half my staff."
"Does that mean the other half is fair game? We're going to have to figure out some system so I know which is which – because colour coded ties would really be a wasted effort you know. Maybe little beepers on the half I'm allowed to use for target practice?"
She doesn't say anything – but I think she's smiling – I think she's starting to get me. It's not that I wouldn't use anyone in her office for target practice – but just because I have no qualms about doing something doesn't mean I'm really going to go out and do it… I realize the difference between D.C. and Mexico. That's the difference between me and a real psycho-killer. (Guess that makes me a pseudo-psycho-killer?)
I sit back and listen to the road go by… it seems that the further we get from Spy Central the less my head hurts… although I should probably consider taking something for the pain… eventually. Mostly I want a cigarette – and I want a drink. And I should probably want food… eventually...
… Eddas 'shows' me around the office an introduces me (and Spencer) to a few of the people who are going to have to put up with me (seems most of them know my reputation, oh goodie…) But I play nice just because it is always a bad policy to shit where one sleeps, so to speak. I even play nice when Eddas introduces us to my 'assistant,' an eager little beaver named Ryan Moss…
I have Spencer say hello first, then step up to the plate with about as much enthusiasm as I bet you're imagining I've got.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sands," the kid sounds more than a little wet behind the ears… and I have to wonder if her decision to give me a male 'assistant' was biased by anything Milo might have told her…
"Do me a favour – drop the Mister, ok?" I tell him – although I do accept the hand that I'm very sure has been thrust in my direction… yup, right where I thought it would be. At least his grip is a little firmer than I'd anticipated – I match it, but don't do anything to hurt the kid.
"What – should I call you, then, Sir?"
Oh Christ, from bad to worse, "Just – Sands is fine – no titles necessary. Or if you're feeling all warm and cozy like, you can call me Jeff." Which I think surprises Eddas – what did she think – I ate assistants for breakfast? Or has Milo clued her in on quickly I dislodge partners… of course she wouldn't really need Milo for that. She's apparently seen my file… "Oh – say, Boss-lady – would you mind if I cut out of whatever you have planned for me tomorrow morning? I have an appointment with the Spanish Inquisition."
"Beg pardon?"
"Emma's school. Parent teacher conference."
"Ah. All right. Tomorrow after lunch we'll go over everything that happened today – and go ahead and bring in that paperwork you wanted me to look over. I'll arrange for you to be picked up around – one?"
I nod, and hand her her 'phone' back. "Enjoy the show."
"I'm sure I will."
"One thing you should probably get on right away, though – start crawling up Dan Collins' keester. Hit him hard and fast."
"Collins – I thought your plan was to squeeze on Officer Suarez?"
I favour her with a sly little half smile, "There are times when shit rolls up hill. Milo tells me Collins is laying low, going about his business – and a wee bit nervous since my body has yet to be recovered. Suarez on the other hand is getting comfortable."
"Make Collins more uncomfortable he goes to Suarez – "
"Then start poking around at her, she cuts him lose, burns him the way he burned me. And I can guarantee that he'll have the goods on her." Which could make me obsolete – except that they'd never have gotten to Collins without me… I hope…
"All right," Eddas says after a moment. "Anything else I should know about right now?"
"It's all on there," I nod towards where I heard her put the phone down. "I figure you're going to go over it tonight – if you have any questions, you have my number." Which means I can't get half as drunk as I was planning on…
"I have something for you," she says then.
"Oh? My birthday was a couple of weeks ago but hey –"
She just sighs, "It's that permit to carry a concealed weapon you asked for – as I'm assuming you've been suspended. Just – bear in mind –"
"I'll behave," I promise (in a mildly sarcastic tone). This is actually enough to improve my mood – I mean, it's not like I care about bending a few laws, it just makes my life so much easier when I don't have to wrangle with the Roscoes and Andy Taylors of the world. "I'll even get you those serial numbers I promised." Although letting Emma near my guns to write them down does make me just a wee bit nervous there, folks...
"All right. Well – I suppose we're done for the day, unless you'd like to change your mind about lunch – or dinner I suppose by now – "
I just shake my head. I'm tired of playing nice. I'm sick of being around people. I've done my duty, proven that I can indeed be a good little rat when I need to. And even I've gotten some cheese for my trouble – now it's time to go find out what kind of mischief my darling little muffin has gotten herself into while I was out…
… they say that when you lose one sense – take one's sight, for instance – that the remaining four senses sort of go into overdrive to make up the difference. And so it is that weary to the core, I step into the townhouse Milo's beau is kindly letting me use and become instantly aware that everything is wrong.
My first hint might normally have been the music – because I've had enough time to become acquainted with just about everything my adorable daughter listens to… oh boy have I become acquainted with it.
However, something else serves as my first clue that my life is about to go very seriously awry.
See, while I would, under just about any other circumstance, be pleased as punch to come home to the aroma of a perfectly prepared puerko pibil – I know my Emma cannot cook to save her life. And my mind can only think of one person capable of creating such olfactory perfection... I wonder fleetingly if I'm really just asleep – perhaps I dozed off on the ride here… (although admittedly, my dreams involving Beth are always either a Hell of a lot more torrid than her fixing me dinner or they involve breaking glass and flying bullets.)
But… no… this doesn't feel like a dream. It feels like a set up… not the usual kind, but a set up just the same.
The scent of orange floral musk approaches on feather light feet, accompanied by delicately jingling bells. "Hey there, Cowboy," says a soft, familiar – angelic – voice – in a tone that lends the impression that the speaker is feeling just as uncertain as I am… not that the feeling of being on (almost) equal footing is doing much to make me feel better.
Besides, her voice turns my insides to jello – and I can't possibly feel like I'm on any kind of firm footing when my insides are – well jello. It probably doesn't help that she's standing just close enough that I can feel her warmth – but not so close that she's touching me. I wonder if she has any idea how hard it is for me to just stand where I am, when all I want is to… in the past, fuckmook… in the fucking past…
"What – what ah are you doing here?" I manage to find my voice after entirely too many heartbeats.
"Milo," her tone remains soft – uncertain. She knows something's wrong, I know she does.
(And oh yeah, I am going fucking wring his neck for this…)
Just the same, I make every effort keep my face carefully guarded, my tone neutral. "And – the feds?" Because I know Milo wouldn't have sent her here just so she could get herself arrested. (I'm still going to kill him. I'm going to string him up by the balls and… and just… I don't know what, but I'm sure I'll be able to come up with something that's nice and creative.)
"He told me not to worry about it – just that I'd have to deal with Neal sooner or later – but that it would probably be later."
She wouldn't ever have had to deal with Neal if Milo had left well enough alone – because I was going to deal with Neal. Hey, I said I wasn't going back, I didn't say I wasn't going to go meet up with that asshole in a nice dark alley some night… I strain to hear any other sounds in the townhouse… you know, the sounds of my child who let a complete stranger in while I was out. I'm going to wring her neck too.
"Emma took Cicily to a movie."
Oh fucking fantastic… I managed to go a whole day without worrying about her (much) and now she's off at a movie again…? With Cicily – so now I can worry about both of them? Now I think I really am going to wring her neck…
"Emma asked me to give you her cell phone number – and to tell you not to worry about her."
"Spiffy."
"Milo called her to tell her I was coming, Sheldon – she didn't let a stranger in."
"Would you please stop that!" I suppose I didn't really mean to snap at her – and hearing Beth take a step back, a soft, startled gasp escaping her throat, I do feel bad, but fuck me I'm not in the mood for this. My head is pounding, I haven't eaten since breakfast (which I only barely picked at anyway), and I need a fucking cigarette. Oh yeah, and we all know just how much I just love surprises… "When did Emma say she'd be back?"
"She – she didn't. They didn't leave that long ago – so – it'll probably be a while. She promised she'd keep her phone on in case you – needed anything."
You mean other than to wrap my hands around her throat and squeeze until it's purple and blue, just like her hair…? I really need a cigarette… but first things first. Actually – first things first, then second things second – before undoing Spencer's harness, I tell him to go 'say hello' to Beth. The importance of introducing him to strangers I didn't want him to be wary of was something Zach stressed – along with the fact that dogs are very good at picking up on their owner's moods – so I suppose I'd better let him know that she's not the source of my ire.
And I listen – after he sniffs her hand, Beth kneels and lets him get a better 'look' – then tells him what a good boy he is. I kinda gotta smile. Even if I don't want to. I've really missed the sound of her voice…
I kneel and undo Spencer's harness while she's petting him – and for three whole seconds there's that feeling again, a man and a woman just going about the routine of their day… damn, I missed that too. It's followed quickly by the sensation of knives twisting in my gut… I give Spence a quick petting and let him go flop down on what has become his favourite chair. Looks like I'm not the only one who's weary to the core. Well, at least one of us gets a rest – but what is it they say, no rest for the wicked?
I am very aware of Beth watching me as I hang up his harness and my hat on the pegs by the door – then I strip out of my suit coat – at least she doesn't seem surprised that I'm armed. I slide the shoulder holster (my harness) off and slip it over the arm of the chair, over my jacket.
And Beth is still watching (very conspicuously silent) as I stalk into the kitchen and find my cigarettes (slamming the cupboard door shut without quite meaning too… I'm fucking dancing on razor blades here…) She's so quite for a second there I wonder if she's even still breathing.
I hate this. And I'm having a hell of a time getting the pack open… I finally break the silence – mostly because it is threatening what little sanity I think I have left: "Look, I'm sorry I snapped at you, ok?" The edge hasn't left my voice – I'm pissed, I can't help it. I'm an asshole – she should just get over it – or if she can't get over it, she should just go back to fucking Culiacan so I can take care of business (mine and hers) and – and then she can just go have a peachy keen life like she's supposed to. Like Holly was supposed to. "I don't do too well with unexpected anything. And you've gotta admit, Sugar Butt, this is pretty fucking unexpected." I finally get my cigarettes open. I swear it isn't usually this much of a challenge, even if I can't see a fucking thing any more.
"I'm sorry." And she sounds so – hurt. So – breakable…
I immediately regret all my stalking, huffing and puffing, not to mention the surly tone I've managed to maintain since walking in the door. I take a deep breath and let it out. It's not her fault. I mean – she should have said no, no matter how much he tried to cajole her – but Milo has been on this – this fucking cupid kick since he met her. To be honest, I'm surprised Beth hasn't shown up sooner. (And I'm telling you right now, this doesn't change a God damned thing. I'll play good host – it's only fair, she was a good host to me – and then she's on a plane back to Culiacan – and then I'm going to sneak out from under Eddas' watchful eye just long enough to take care of this Neal guy. Sooner or later – sooner or later! She's never going to have to deal with that fuckmook. Not now. Not ever. Oh yeah, and then I'm going to wring Milo's fucking neck!)
Without bothering to ask, I light up two cigarettes and hand one over to Beth.
"Now look who's psychic," there's just a ghost of a smile in her voice.
"No – just psychotic. Which I figure makes nicotine a requirement for being in my company." I finally manage to get the snarl out of my tone.
Beth's soft laugh is truly the sweetest music… even if it's painfully short lived.
I take a long slow drag off my smoke – no amount of nicotine is going to help my nerves right now – but smoking gives me something to do. Something to concentrate on other than the knives twisting and churning around inside my gut. "Something smells grand," I say at last, because I feel like I need to come up with something to fill this void that's developing between us.
"It should be ready soon." Her tone is still – soft. Uncertain. She feels it too, I know she does; I wonder if she hates this void-thing as much as I do.
"So you've been here a while." It's not quite a question…
"We got here around two."
"Ah. So you were right about Emma – about – finding her." I gesture towards the living room – we might as well be comfortable in our discomfort. (And I wonder just what the two of them talked about for three hours… and why does thinking about it make me a wee bit nervous…?)
I listen as Beth moves ahead of me… I should probably tell her just how few people have ever been brave (or stupid) enough to turn their backs to me… but maybe this wouldn't bet he best time for that.
"I'm glad you two found each other."
It sounds more like she's trying to fill the void than actually talk to me…
"She'd just been dumped off at my sister's," I park my ass on the sofa.
Beth joins me – but she leaves a full cushion between us, "Emma said her mother had passed away a few months ago."
"Yeah."
"Are you ok?"
"What – about Holly? I hadn't spoken to her in – years. Why wouldn't I be ok?" So much for keeping that frosty edge out of my voice…
"I just – remember how you talked about her."
"I'm fine." Damn. I really don't mean to be like this. I try to warm up my tone a little, "But – you – you were right."
"My gut feelings usually are," she says in a tone that sounds like – like something breaking.
"Your gut tell you anything else lately?" I ask – even though I don't really want to hear the answer…
She doesn't say anything.
I'm going to take that as a yes. I never could put anything past her… but… but I'm not quite ready to deal with that. "Look – Beth – I don't know if Cicily told you what she gave me –"
"I told you she adored you."
"Yeah. And – it's mutual, it really is. But – you know I'm not going to keep it, right?" Even if I wasn't ever going back, I was always planning on getting that book back to them. No matter how much comfort it brings… it's not mine to keep and I know it.
"That's between you and Cicily. Don't even ask me to get in the middle of it," anger? There's an edge of warning, anyway.
"Beth – you're her mother – she's seven. She didn't know what she was giving away."
"Of course she did."
She can't be fucking serious…
"When I gave her that book it became hers to do with as she pleased. If you want to give it back to her – that's up to you. But – don't expect me to quietly take it back and tell her later that you didn't want it."
"Oh for fuck's sake – she's just a kid. She can't make that kind of decision – your mother gave you that book!" I don't believe we're even having this conversation. She should just take the book – and that would just be the end of it… "I know you intended for her to pass it down to her children some day."
"Yes. But – once I gave it to Cicily, it became her book – and she chose to give it to you. I can't tell her what to do with her things."
"And you're honestly ok with her just giving it away?"
"I don't have to be ok with it. Only Cicily does. And she is. We did talk about it, Sheldon, after she told me what she'd done. She wants you to have it."
"And you – you're not mad at her?"
"Over a book?"
Ok, let's try logic… "Do you even begin to realize how valuable the book in question really is?"
"There are things in this world more valuable – more important – than money. But – I suppose if someone wanted to sell it – yes, I have an idea what it's monetary value might be. However since I never intended to sell it – it's a moot point."
"It is not a moot point!"
"We can go around all night if you want to – I'm not going to take it back. If you want to give it back to my daughter – it's between the two of you. Leave me out of it."
I grab the ashtray off the coffee table and stamp out what's left of my cigarette (which isn't much). Then I hand the ashtray over to her because even if she wasn't the same long angry drags off her smoke as I've been taking from mine, I'm sure hers has to be about spent as well…
"You're not being difficult on purpose are you?" I ask (I honestly don't remember her as being this infuriating). I want another cigarette, but I hold off becauseBeth is already pretty testy with me – over something that shouldn't require nearly this much discussion – I don't feel like having her testy with me over chain smoking, too.
"Not the way I'm pretty sure you mean the question," she tells me. "I just want you to realize that Cicily is her own person. I respect her enough to let make her own decisions."
"She's seven. We're talking about something that's been in your family for – what – all those other dates and names – "
"Yes. My mother. Her mother. Her mother. And you're right, it is a very precious thing. My mother gave it to me the year before she died – and we read it every night. But 'losing' the book doesn't strip me of the memory. I'll have that as long as I live."
"But –"
"No. If you want to give it back to her, you have to give it back to her. I will not do your dirty work for you."
Ok, so maybe I was trying to take the coward's way out… but how do I explain to a seven year old that I can't keep something like that? How do I explain to either her or Beth that I was never going to come back… that I was really going to be one more broken promise – one more disappointment… and that I'm only doing it because I don't want to hurt them…
I swallow the cold lump that's forming in my throat (it matches the cold hurting in the pit of my stomach.) "There's – there's something else we need to talk about," I begin after a moment – because – there is no coward's way out of this one. I owe her – something. (I owe her everything… but all I have is nothing.)
"I already know," Beth tells me softly. "But – we're both adults, right? A kiss is just a kiss – we both know it doesn't really mean anything more – and – I can't hold a promise made in – in the kind of mixed up state you were in against you."
And here I didn't think I could hurt any worse… "Things just – got more complicated," I tell her. It's a lie – but – I don't know quite how to make the truth come out. "I – did mean everything I said when I said it." I really don't want to be one more broken promise…
"I know. Plans change. It's ok. It – it happens."
I hate that tone in her voice – I hate it that she doesn't even sound angry with me – that she just – accepts that whatever it was – or wasn't – it just isn't any more. "Look – "
"Sheldon – no," Beth cuts me off before I can shower her with lame excuses. "I – I didn't expect anything out of you."
Oh Christ…
"I'm just happy to see you again. You're really looking good – I'm – I'm glad – honestly glad."
I almost laugh – I'm looking like shit and I know it. But… "That's only because I had a Hell of a doctor – even if she isn't likely to win surgeon of the year."
I hear her laugh – I love her laugh… but it's so short lived… "I should see how dinner's coming," she says, then.
"Can – can I give you a hand?" I ask – because I just want try and enjoy this little bit of time with her.
"You could set the table," she suggests, "Save me from going through every cupboard to find the dishes."
I smile – there's just something humourously ironic about her saying that to the blind guy.
I get the table set while she handles the pibil – we also have rice and steamed vegetables – although in case you never happened to notice, I'm not real big on the food that food eats. Yeah, Holly and I used to have some real lively dinner conversations all right…
But – setting the table – listening to Beth quietly move around the kitchen – I get that 'normal' feeling all over again – and it feels so good. I know it won't last, it can't last – but – I let myself pretend anyway. And then I hear the sound of two glasses being set down… "Is that what I think it is?" I ask with a mischievous grin.
"Of course."
"You really are an angel," but not my angel, my brain tells me… I'm not sure if that was my sadistic streak talking – or just some pragmatic little voice telling me that it's time to start moving on…
"Sheldon? You ok?"
I feel her hand on my arm – and I can't fucking breathe. If could actually see, I'm sure I'd be having that sort of tunnel vision thing going… which is a really fucked up feeling when you can't fucking see… "Yeah – yeah, just a headache," I lie. I do have a headache – but that isn't the real problem... not my angel… not any more…
"Why didn't you say something? Where do you keep the painkillers?" she starts to pull away.
I place my hand over hers, keeping her there – because I just like the way it feels to have her this close to me. "I'm – I'm ok." I'm shaking.
"Are you sure? Maybe you should lie down –"
"I'll be ok," I lie some more – because I don't want anything to stop us from sitting down at the table and sharing a meal like normal people. I want to maintain the fantasy for just a little while longer, you know, the one where I do actually get to live happily ever after… I just want to pretend she isn't going to leave…
"When was the last time you saw a doctor?" Beth asks me.
"Saw, Darlin'?" (I am smiling, despite the acerbic edge in my voice.)
"You know what I mean," and I'm very sure she's smiling despite the mild exasperation in hers. I can almost feel the look she's giving me, too. She knows me too darned well…
"It's – just – just been a fuck of a day, that's all," I give her hand a little squeeze… but she doesn't squeeze back…
"I guess I didn't help it much."
"No – I mean – don't – just don't sweat it – you're here – so – you're here."
"Look, if you're worried about us hanging around –" Beth shifts away from me, pulling her hand out from under mine…
It's like something inside is just – tearing. I'm not ready to think about her leaving… not yet. Just – just give me a little longer… "You put my ass up for two weeks – I know there's not much space – but the least I can do is –"
"Cicily and I will find a hotel," her tone leaves little room to argue.
"For – how long?"
"Probably just until tomorrow."
"Beth – you don't have to run off – come on – this is D.C. – you and Cicily should go sight seeing or something – I –" I really don't want you to leave… I know I don't get happily ever after… but can't I have a couple of days?
"Look – I can only pretend for so long that this doesn't hurt, ok?"
Her – tone – her words – everything catches me completely off guard (including my own desperate need to have her not go.)
"Excuse me – I'm sorry – " Beth is up and out of the room before I can stop her…
…I listen as she heads for the downstairs bathroom. She turns the water on... and I just sit there not knowing what to do.
………………………………….
Beth nearly trips over me when she finally comes out; I'm sitting on the floor just outside the bathroom door. Waiting. (With a big hairless cat in my lap. What can I say – they both like me. I really cannot sit down around here with one or the other finding it's into my lap. Isn't that just swell…? Not that I give a flying fuck right now. I'm pretty sure it's asleep anyway.)
I'm smoking. I'm drinking. But I'm not drunk. Not yet. Oh yeah, and I turned that God damned cell phone off. If Eddas wants to talk to me – she can just fucking wait until morning. I am off the clock. For the first time in sixteen fucking years, I am off the clock. (Please don't tell me you were labouring under the delusion that any of those vacations I ever took couldn't have been – and weren't from time to time – cut short without notice because my bosses snapped their fingers. Real agents don't retire – and we don't take vacations either. But – not tonight. Tonight I am off the fucking clock and anyone who doesn't like it can just go straight to Hell. I think I even remember where I left that cute little hand basket...)
And, it would seem that when she's upset, Beth babbles – or at least that's what it sounds like to me…
"I should – go – um – just let me – program in the number for Emma's phone into yours – and – maybe get your number so I can call and – and let you know what motel I'm at? When they're done with the movie – would you just ask your daughter to drop Cicily off – I'll pay for the cab –"
"Beth – slow down," I reach up – but she avoids my touch. I just keep reaching – and she keeps avoiding.
"It's no big deal – we're adults – it's just that this adult really needs to get out of here right now – I'm sorry – I don't really mean to dump – to dump getting Cicily to me on you – but –"
But she trusts that I'll do it, I can hear it in her voice. What kind of woman trusts me with her kid's safety… "Please – just – just slow down a minute. I want to talk to you."
"I – have to find a motel –"
"Beth – please," I hold my hand out to her.
After a (painfully) long moment, I finally feel her fingers touch mine – I give a gentle tug and coax her onto the floor next to me. (And she's sitting so her legs are touching me… she's wearing one of those flowey skirts of hers, I hear her arrange it under her…)
"I swear – I never meant to hurt you."
"I believe that. I really do," she's shaking. "I believe you meant every word you said, when you said it. And – I know – plans change. Life happens. It's ok – but I just – I need to get back home. I have patients who need me – and I to figure out how to iron out this mess with Neal once and for all – because – I can't just – pretend it doesn't exist."
"Don't worry about him."
"Sheldon – don't." (Yeah, she understands exactly what I mean…)
"It won't be because you asked me to. It'll be because I want to. Because I've wanted to for a long time."
"I don't care. I'm asking you not to."
"Why?"
"I didn't ask you to explain your morals or ethics to me. I never asked you to justify anything at all. So – please just return the favour because I – I just don't want to get into some big philosophical debate with you right now."
I put out my cigarette. "All right."
"All right you understand or all right you'll leave Neal alone?"
Damn. "All right. I understand. And – as long as – as long as he never comes looking for me, I won't go looking for him."
"And you won't do anything to make him come looking for you."
I favour her with a half smile – she really does understand me… damn that is scary. "Deal."
"All right," she starts to stand.
I pull her back – although I make every effort to be gentle about it, because I know what she's like… "We're not through."
"What else is there to say?"
"I want something from you. I want you to – to go find someone who makes you happy. I'm not saying I'm so full of myself that I'm afraid you're going to pine away after or anything – I just – I want you to be happy." All the things I should have said to Holly… not because I believe she pined away for me, not the way we left things – I just think that – that I should have said this to her. I should have at least told her how much I wanted her to go have the happy ending I just couldn't give her. "I want you to find someone who – who can give you everything you deserve – and I don't want you to sell yourself short, either." Go find someone who can truly love you… because if I can just believe she's going to go be happy… I might be able to be ok.
"Finding him was easy – he sort of fell into my flower bed one day. It was the holding on that I couldn't seem to manage –" her voice catches – but – she manages to recover it, "And it's not like I really blame him for not wanting me. I know – I know I'm that broken little statue on the shelf, the one that everyone is afraid to pick up because of all the sharp little edges – all the cracks and chips. I know I'm hard to handle – difficult to even look at – even for a man who can't see me."
I open my mouth to say I'm sorry – just because I don't know what else to say – but she cuts me off.
"There's nothing for you to be sorry for. I'm the idiot who let herself believe – believe that a guy like you could have any interest in someone like me. I knew coming here was a mistake but – but there's knowing and there's knowing. And it's ok. I'm just a nurse, right? Just someone who patched you back together."
Oh my Christ… she sounds… just like me.
"I – I really should go – "
"You can't."
"Look, unless you're planning on tying me down –"
"Well there's a tempting thought," I favour her with a wicked grin (because yes, there was small smile in her voice, too) – and at least I get a little bit of a laugh for my quick come back. But… "You're more to me than just a nurse who patched me up. Christ, Beth – I'm over here trying to figure out what you could possibly want with a guy like me. I have nothing to give you. You know who I am – what I am. I'd be – just one more in a long line of bad relationships – and – and I'd rather have you hate me for breaking a promise than to ever hurt you." Oh fuck me, but there it is, I said it out loud. (And don't you think for one instant that this gets Milo off the hook. His balls are mine – and not in any way he's going to enjoy.)
Beth is very quiet for a very long while – I listen as she pulls her knees up – I think she's wrapped her arms around them… I pour a shot of tequila into the glass and pass it over to her. She takes it wordlessly – downs it… tequila really isn't a sipping drink. I probably should get her a glass of wine… but her voice stays me before I really have a chance to act on that thought:
"I'm willing to risk getting hurt. Because I do know who you are – what you are. And I've never been afraid of that. But you'd have to be willing to trust me. To let me in. To – not be so afraid of hurting me."
"That's a tall order, there, Darlin'."
"Nothing worth while is ever easy."
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Morning smiles
like the face
of a newborn child
innocent unknowing.
Winter's end
promises
of a long lost friend.
Speaks to me of comfort
but I fear
I have nothing to give.
I have so much
to lose here in this lonely place.
Tangled up in your embrace
there's, there's nothing I'd like better than
to fall.
but I fear
I have nothing to give.
Wind in time
rapes the flower
trembling on the vine
and nothing yields to shelter
from above.
They say temptation will destroy our love.
The never ending hunger
but I fear
I have nothing to give
I have so much
to lose here in this lonely place
tangled up in our embrace
there's nothing I'd like better than
to fall
but I fear
I have nothing to give.
I have so much to lose.
I have nothing to give.
We have so much to lose...
- Sarah Mclachlan -