This took awhile, but here is the next chapter. I want to apologize for all the wait, but things will be better. Thanks Natasha for your help.

The More Things Change

Chapter 3

The rattle and wheeze of the ancient air conditioner woke her. Karen smiled as she slid out from under Frank's arm and drifted off to the kitchen to get something to drink. Orange juice, tomato juice, beer; nope: no beer for a while. Karen smiled as she pulled down one of the jelly jars she used as glasses and poured herself some OJ. Then the long low rumble of a very masculine snore made her head jerk up. God, he was noisier than a freight train. Looking over her shoulder Karen could see her entire studio apartment. There was Frank, stretched out on her daybed taking up so much space that she had to crawl on top of him to fall asleep. Of course, that wasn't any hardship. She smiled as she walked over to watch him breathe. He was such a big man, even fast asleep he filled her little apartment to capacity and beyond.

Little apartment; it was too small for her now, but all she did was sleep here. Add a baby to the mix and the place was impossible. Add baby and Frank, Karen realized as a smile flitted across her lips, there was no way to pry Frank Daniels out of her life now and she wasn't sure she wanted to.

"Karen," Frank's sleepy voice sounded vaguely alarmed that she was gone.

"Right here," she sighed, "I was thirsty. Do you want some juice?"

"Nyah, just you," he swiped his arm out to pull Karen back into bed and showered both them and the bed with orange juice.

"Damn," they both yelped as Karen went running for a sponge. Frank vainly trying to strip the sheets, with him in them, off of the bed only to have himself and the bedclothes tumble onto the floor.

He looked up sheepishly, "well, that's one hell of a mood breaker."

"I don't have another set of clean sheets," Karen looked down at Frank and started to giggle. Soon they were both on the floor shaking with laughter.

"What a revolting predicament," Karen said in her best Sylvester the Cat voice.

"Well, this is another fine mess you've gotten me into," Frank groused, but then reached out and took Karen's small, strong hands in his calloused ones.

"Marry me."

She stopped laughing.

"This is as close to on bended knee as I'll ever get. Marry me and we can burn this damn bed. I'll take you away from Canarsie… all the way to Yonkers."

"You idiot," she straddled his lap and put her head on his shoulder,

"Yeah, I was joking about the Canarsie part, but not about, you know, the 'marry me' part."

Karen leaned back so she could see Frank's face clearly. "This isn't because I'm pregnant." She sounded suspicious.

"Kinda," Frank looked serious, "I was going to wait for 'Be Kind to Gimps Week' to see if it would make a difference, but this gave me a teeny, tiny excuse to speed things up."

"I don't know," Karen hid her face against Frank's broad shoulder again.

"Why?"

"Cause the good guys never stick to me. And you're so good and I keep thinking one day you're gonna disappear."

Frank tipped her head back and so he could look her straight in the eye. "I am never going to disappear."

"Oh, god, I hope you didn't just jinx us."

"Me too, I still haven't seen Paris.

Friday was another morning of waking up to the sound of retching. Christie wasn't getting any better. The vomiting was pulling every spare bit of energy out of her body. Jim could feel her skin becoming drier and her bones more prominent at her wrists and her ribs. He just didn't understand what Christie was afraid of. He was at the end of his rope and if he couldn't get his wife to return to voluntarily go to the doctor's he was going to drag her there while he still had a wife to drag.

Then he heard it, breaking glass and something; someone falling.

"Christie!" Jim sprang from the bed and ran straight to the sound of his wife's sobs, oblivious to the bite of broken glass stinging his feet.

"Jimmy, stop… I dropped the coffee pot," Christie sounded tired and disgusted with herself as she sat on the coffee covered floor. "It was too heavy."

"That's it, no more. I am calling an ambulance and you are going to emergency right now." His words were harsh but not even the feel of spilt coffee stopped Jim from sliding down beside her and gathered Christie into his arms to hold her close.

"You might need some doctoring too, Detective," she sniffled as she noticed the blood seeping from his feet.

"We'll worry about that later," Jim stood, pulled Christie to her feet and then picked her up and carried her to the couch. Once he had her settled Jim found the phone and dialed 911.

Lieutenant Fisk waited for Karen Betancourt to catch her as she walked into the squad. "Karen, go pick your partner up at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital and make sure he gets home and stays home."

"Columbian Presbyterian; did something happen?"

"You could say that. He'll be off his feet a few days so get him home." Fisk tried to retreat into his office before Karen asked the inevitable.

"What about his wife?" Karen was really confused, where was Christie Dunbar?

"She was admitted for observation," her boss turned back to her. "If you don't want to go I can always send Russo. I'm sure that'll make Dunbar's day." Fisk saw Karen roll her eyes. "Go get your partner and then get back A.S.A.P."

Jim leaned heavily on crutches trying vainly to keep all his weight off his stitched up left foot while Karen unlocked the front door. Hank's overly exuberant welcome nearly knocked him flat on his ass as he tried to hobble inside.

"Hank, I'm sorry boy," Dunbar crooned to his dog. "He needs a walk Karen, right now."

"Oh my god, Jim," Karen couldn't believe the blood; it looked like it had been splashed across the kitchen floor and smeared clear through to the living room. "This looks like something I saw during the Tongue Collector case. Stay there while I sweep up the glass. This stuff will cut through those bandages and that slipper like they weren't even there."

"Later, walk Hank first. I'll sweep up."

"Now, how are your gonna juggle crutches and a broom? Just stay put or get to the couch and I'll be back soon."

Karen tried to guide Jim to the couch. He shrugged her off, balanced carefully on the crutches and he listened to the rattle of Hank's leash and door closing behind him. Then he swung each crutch forward in a tight arc hoping they would push the broken glass away as he moved to the dining table. Jim couldn't imagine what he looked like, sporting a NYPD windbreaker to cover his t-shirt and whatever sweat pants the EMT had found in the bedroom for the ride to the hospital. He knew he looked like a bum. Hell, he probably looked like his father after one of those five day drunks.

Stop; concentrate on Christie and her getting better. Christie told him to think good thoughts even though she had IV's in both arms. Good thoughts… yeah, sure, absolutely; he'd think good thoughts right after he swept the broken glass off the kitchen floor.

"Jim," he heard Karen bump through the door and stop dead as she saw him push a broom over the hardwood floor. "You just don't listen, do you?"

"I'm a big boy, mommy." He leaned on his left crutch and pulled the broom over the sticky mess, "I'm just not used to chaos anymore and I can damn well sweep the damn floor."

"Hey, I didn't say you couldn't sweep the 'damn' floor, I just I'd do it. You have eight stitches in your left foot and you're supposed to stay off it until it's healed." Karen tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for Jim to get out of her way. He didn't move. "How the hell you gonna dance at my wedding if you really screw up your foot?"

Jim's head shot up, "wedding? You and Frank?"

"Yeah," there was a smile in her voice, "and if you say a word to Selway and Russo you're gonna need those crutches a long, long time."

Karen pulled a stool away from the breakfast bar and slapped it twice. "Park it here and I'll tell you all about my romantic proposal… and I'll check the floor."

"All you'll find is coffee." Jim smirked.

tbc