Author's Forethoughts:
Silkisms: moments of canon that make us fans say, "'The Powers That Be,' you've lost the privilege, we'll take it from here."
Fan-fiXtion: aforementioned remedy to said Silkisms. Just a quick fix, and voilà! The Silk magic we should have seen in the first place.
"TREK" follows the story arc created in the fan-fiX "The Three Faces of Fate," which alters the 4th Season by having The Sams together from the near start (addressing the Silkism of Rita saying 'I love you' in Natural Selection I). Pretty much all aspects of this season – sans Jillian, Eric, and Benny's reaction to Rita – could still be retained. "TREK" is also preceded by fan-fics "Closing the Books" and "Commitment," which are stand-alone beyond the romance tie to "Fate."
TREK
D of The DA's Office
Sergeant Rita Lee Lance entered the bullpen of Palm Beach PD's Homicide Division with a small stack of folders in one arm and the strap of her attaché case draped over her opposite shoulder. Her very own workspace was in sight, and if she could have cartwheeled over to it, she would have. Instead, she settled for a beeline, shifting the files to both hands so she could position them a foot above the desk's surface and let them drop in ceremonious good-riddance. Glancing back to the neon clock over the still-swinging door, Rita rolled her eyes.
4:45.
Sarcasm laced her features as she cited her court subpoena. "'Your presence is commanded at 8:30 in the forenoon.'" The black leather case was the next to go, placed beside the folder pile so she could shrug off the strap. "Unbelievable."
8:30 had turned into 11:30, and just when she thought she could make a break for it, she was re-called for 2:30. The saving grace for Assistant District Attorney and dear friend, George Donovan, was the companionship and quick lunch he had provided before that second bout on the witness stand.
"Back so soon, Lance?" Captain Harry Lipschitz quipped as he hit the coffee carafe just outside his office.
Rita groaned. "Slow...does not even begin to describe the wheels of justice. I honestly don't know how George does it, day in and day out."
"Remind him of that the next time he wants an arrest like 'yesterday.'"
Rita chuckled as she nodded in agreement and returned her reports to their rightful arrangement in the bottom drawer of her desk. "So, where's Chris?" she asked, referring to her partner of nearly five years, Sgt. Christopher Lorenzo.
"He finished the paperwork for the Cresswell case you two just wrapped up and seemed pretty anxious to split for the day. What? He have a hot date or something tonight?"
"I have nooo idea," Rita remarked in all honesty. The truth came only in the knowledge that she, herself, did not have any plans. This partner of hers just so happened to be her best friend – and the love of her life.
"Well, unless you really want to work on something tonight, take off. Enjoy your evening, Rita."
"Thanks, Cap. I might take you up on that. Have a good one."
As the Captain returned to his office, Rita attempted to pull out her desk chair, only to be met with more resistance than usual. Tugging harder, she was perplexed to find one of her duffel bags on the seat, and given its weight, she figured it was full. Unzipping it, she found a note on top of a stack of clothes.
Hurry up and wait!
After an entire day of mind-melting boredom,
you, my friend, need a challenge.
Are you ready, Sam?
Get more comfortable: I also packed your jacket –
it's supposed to be cooler tonight.
If you're feeling too tired, just give me a call.
If not...game on! Catch me if you can!
Do me a favor, please? On your way out,
stop by the bakery at Ocean and Seaview,
and pick up our order. Cool?
Tag! You're it!
See ya'!
"What are you up to, Christopher..." Rita murmured. Along with her black leather jacket, Chris had packed her a red cotton shirt, her black jeans, and her black boots. Most impressive, however, was the pair of thin, black socks. A contented smile spread across Rita's face. How many guys would know that boots required thinner socks? Alright, Lorenzo, you're on! she decided, invigorated by the whole note, its sweetness and its secrecy. With that, she zipped up the bag, grabbed her attaché case, and headed back out of the bullpen.
Unbeknownst to Rita, Harry had tilted the yellow slats of his office blinds so he could observe whether she turned right or left as she exited Homicide. He made his way back behind his desk, picked up the phone, and dialed. When the connection was made, he offered, "yeah, Lorenzo, it appears your partner is going to the Locker Room and not the Parking Garage. Can I buy a vowel now?"
His detective, it would seem, was eager to keep the conversation as cryptic as the original favor, joking with all sorts of sports references about some competition with Rita. The younger man's enthusiasm was making him tired. "Okay," he relented, "if my commission as your spy has reached its end, I bid you adieu. Buh-bye."
A decoder ring. Nearly three years spent with these people, and he still needed a decoder ring. When the topic was work, that petition was brusque, founded on good ol' fashioned, New York impatience. However, in response to this personal request, it was a plea made with only affectionate exhaustion. The energy of youth, so wasted on the young. Harry shook his head and chuckled softly. Truth be told? He genuinely cared for these two kids. They were gonna have beautiful children together someday.
Come on, now. What brought on that thought?
Not like it was a new thought – far from it – but nothing about Chris' scheme had raised any red flags. Still, with those two characters, it was impossible to tell. They had always acted, well, like they do.
Harry picked up the baseball from its cup on his desk and sat down, turning the leather over in his hands as his thoughts turned over in his mind. The reflection was nostalgic as he recalled his first few days with this squad. Had it not been for the personnel logs penned directly by Commanding Officers Hudson and Hutchinson, not a soul on this planet could have convinced him that there wasn't something going on between Lance and Lorenzo. Even with this foreknowledge, the initial observation of their chemistry had been staggering and suspicious.
From day one, he had recognized their bond. Don't even get him started on the way they looked at each other. And, personal space? Yeah, right. That always was, and forever would be, a foreign concept. They craved physical contact – unconsciously or subconsciously. Outwardly, he still rolled his eyes at it all, but ever since he had really gotten to know them, he had been secretly rooting for the two detectives. Harry realized that if ever there were a pair who mirrored the respect, the sheer connection, and yes, the love that he shared with his own soulmate and wife, Frannie...it was Chris and Rita.
So, had anything really changed?
Nah, they were still as touchy-feely as ever, but never to the point of infraction. Not like there wasn't good reason. The shooting eight months ago – there was that. They almost lost Chris. Rita's very existence had been rocked, as well.
Crazy. Hundreds of teams had been under his watch throughout the years, with several similar or even worse incidents. And yet, only with these two was it personal.
No, parental.
Only with Chris did his wife cement herself to his bedside, spoon-feeding homemade chicken soup derived from her mother's special recipe. Only with Rita had he, himself, felt like a father and not just a CO, offering his shoulder to cry on. Never before had they felt so protective. Rita was easy to claim: she had no one. Chris became theirs when neither of his real parents bothered to show up at all. Was the dire situation enough to push the young duo into admitting their feelings for each other? Interestingly enough, each had been presented with the opportunity for an external romance after Chris' recovery was guaranteed. Neither took the bait. It always struck Harry as odd that Chris had never given a second glance to the pretty surgeon who had treated him. Equally strange was Rita remaining oblivious to the writer who had helped with the serial killer case...what-was-his-name, Eric something...who had clearly been attracted to her.
Nothing physical between partners.
This time Harry curbed the temptation to roll his eyes. Yeah, yeah, rules were rules, but he was a diehard romantic. So what. When it came down to it, if Chris and Rita's relationship had changed after the shooting, they obviously had been able to handle the partnership angle. Let the evaluation show, they maintained a near-perfect arrest record, just like every other year as a team. He might have to work – subtly, of course – some leads in high places to possibly bypass this rule. If his gut feeling were correct, that is. And for once in this business, the feeling wasn't giving him an ulcer.
Time to call in his partner for all things romance. Fran would let him know if he was way off base with their "kids." The bonus? Talking all-things-romance with his Frannie. After nearly forty years of marriage, he was still head-over-heels in love with that woman.
With great determination, Harry returned his baseball to its cup and picked up the phone again. "Frannie, sweetheart, put on your dancing shoes. I'm booking us a table at Tony's tonight. Occasion? What occasion? I need a special occasion to give the love of my life a night out on the town? A little Sinatra, a little Dean – sound good? I'm heading home as soon as I make the reservation. I love you, too, Honey..."
Rita entered Tate's Bakery and inhaled with deep appreciation. The heavenly aromas served to remind her just how subpar her courthouse lunch had been. She smiled at the grandmotherly figure behind the counter whose name tag read, "Penny."
"Can I help you, love?"
"Yes, I'd like to pick up an order under the name 'Chris' or 'Lorenzo,' please."
"Your timing is perfect. It should still be warm." With that, Penny turned and selected a baguette from the counter behind her. She wrapped it with great care and presented it to Rita.
"Penny, this looks fantastic – and smells even better!"
The older woman beamed in gratitude. "You're all set," she exclaimed, reaching down to the concealed shelf below the cash register, "except...for this." With that, she brought up a single red rose and an envelope. Handing them to Rita, her aquamarine eyes twinkled as she explained, "Sgt. Lorenzo said these were to be given to the most beautiful woman to come in here, tonight. Even if he hadn't mentioned your jacket, I would have known he meant you. You both are very lucky to have each other."
Rita was taken by complete surprise. Offering a radiant grin, all she could respond was, "yes...we are. Thank you, Penny."
...
Back in her powder blue LeBaron, Rita had not stopped smiling. She placed the baguette at a safe angle on the passenger seat and, not wanting the warmth of the bread to wilt the rose, gently lodged the snipped end of the stem between the two chair cushions so just its middle would contact the confection. Such care and precision lasted but mere moments. Rita stared at the beautiful flower and immediately picked it up again. This was so sweet of you, Sam, she thought, drawing in the intoxicating fragrance. Remembering the envelope, she finally returned the rose to its secured position and took out a note.
You've always been there for me, Rita.
You back me up and humble me down.
You can read my mind, my silences, my heart.
Go back – waaaay back in time.
A missing gun could have spelled my end:
IA was all over me, and it didn't look like
I could prove I made a good shooting.
You said to let you run with it – but hah,
I think you also told me not to do anything stupid.
"RING" any bells?
Stop in the café where an anonymous tip gave you and
Hutch the lead that would ultimately save my hide.
P.S: On your way back to your car, look around.
I've changed my mind...maybe the sax wasn't always
Born to be blue.
Aww... Well, this was unexpected. What on earth would have prompted Chris to write such a beautiful note?
Internal Affairs... Rita searched her memory. She and Chris had had several standoffs with IA, but his mention of Hutch narrowed them down. Ah, yes, of course. The case where Chris had been driving home and was the first to respond to an all-units alert of a robbery in-progress. One suspect, age seventeen, had fired a gun at Chris before his accomplice fled the scene in a pickup truck. Chris' return-fire had been ultimately fatal, but when no gun was found at the scene, the suspect appeared unarmed.
Enter in IA and Rita telling Chris to "say, 'I promise'" when he didn't immediately respond to that suggestion of hers not to do anything stupid. She laughed as she remembered instructing him, "you work on your caseload, or you work on your tan."
All throughout their partnership, there had been this give and take, this volley of support. Chris always did the same for her, too; they were equals in every aspect. It went beyond entrusting their very lives to each other. Simply put, it was as natural to them as breathing. "What has you so sentimental, Sam?" Rita murmured aloud.
Back to the task at hand. There had been an anonymous tip… What was the name of that café? Cressview? No, Cressmont. The Cressmont Café. Apparently, that would be her next stop. Rita started up her vehicle and put the note on the passenger seat. A lopsided grin escaped as she glanced back over at the card. 'RING any bells'… That's clever, Christopher. Very clever. But! So am I...
Before throwing the car into drive, she briefly held up the back of her left hand. These days, she would wear upwards of four rings between both hands. Three, could be swapped. The remaining one? Never. The finger placement might change, but never the hand nor the configuration: Chris had presented it as "taken," she always wore it as "taken." It had been bestowed on her for her loyalty, even before he knew IA had cleared him of the shooting. It was a ring whose design had remained virtually unchanged for 400 years, its claim throughout the centuries heralding, "let love and friendship reign."
Rita gave her head a quick shake. Palm Beach wasn't very big, and she was already nearing the café. Time to snap out of the reverie.
Oh, I'm onto you, Lorenzo.
Rita exited the Cressmont Café, chuckling and shaking her head once again. Along with another rose, she carried a medium-sized white box. Between her previous stop and this one, if Chris' goal was for her to gain ten pounds, they were well on their way to mission accomplished. The carton contained a glorious heap of sacristains and two slices of the most gorgeous looking Napoleon and opera cake she had ever seen.
This package, Rita set on the floor of the front passenger seat. After adding the rose to the protected place of the first one, she closed the door and gazed at the shops. No note yet.
The sax wasn't always born to be blue...
The corner store across the street was Music Mart. She had never been inside it but was pretty sure that years ago she learned it belonged to Chris' high school friends, Tina and Howie. Well, here goes nothing. Good thing she asked questions to strangers for a living; walking in blind to all these shops could become very embarrassing.
...
Rita clutched the lower flaps of her open jacket as she made her way haltingly through a narrow aisle stacked high with cymbals on both sides. As the corridor opened to the rest of the store, she spied a man about her age writing furiously on a receipt pad from behind the counter.
"Almost finished," he mumbled, "there!" He punctuated the end of the note with great flair. Looking up to Rita, he smiled. "Hey, how you doing? Sorry about that; I've been working in the studio all week, and a specific lyric finally came to me. If I didn't write it down immediately, I knew I'd lose it."
"Oh, no problem," Rita laughed. She cocked her head and questioned, "Howie?"
"Guilty! What can I do you for?"
"I'm Rita Lance. Chris Lorenzo is my partner, and..." Her sentence trailed off, hoping this intro would further her mysterious quest.
"Rita! You're here!"
Raising an eyebrow, she smirked. "I'm glad one of us knows why."
"Man, it's Friday already, isn't it? Like I said, studio work all week. I'm not sure about Chris, but Tina would have had my head if I messed this up for you." He jogged into the back office and returned with an unmarked, burned CD and its case, a rose, and the next envelope. Setting them all on the counter he exclaimed, "I can't believe we've never met before. The four of us definitely need to go out together."
"Absolutely! That would be great."
"Are you having fun so far?"
Sea-green eyes danced with love, appreciation, and suspicion as Rita gestured to the items. She opened and closed her mouth, debating her response. Finally, she offered, "I'm, ah, increasingly curious as to what I'm going to find next."
"I'll bet. Listen, Rita, I've known Chris for forever. It took him long enough, but I always knew that once he fell – really fell in love – he'd fall hard. Best friends make the best lovers." Howie took out the CD and placed it in the large stereo system behind him. "You've gotta hear this... You like Latin Jazz?"
Rita was grateful when he turned his back. It gave her a split-second chance to internalize his words. She'd reflect on them later.
A conga drum, imitating the beating of a human heart, came through the speakers. Soon a second heartbeat, introduced by the double bass. Overtop this pulse, a slow, seductive melody offered by timbales, claves, and güiro, trumpet, piano, and guitar. With a sultry, trilled note, an alto saxophone began to hypnotize in the forefront.
It was only years of decorated, undercover experience that kept a blush from reaching Rita's cheeks as she lost herself in the rhythm of the music. Howie hit 'stop' way too soon for her liking.
"For a detective who hadn't practiced in years, the boy can wail, right?"
Rita blinked. "Wait, that was Chris?"
A sly grin spread across Howie's face. "He'll be apologizing to you personally, but he wanted you to know that there may not have been as many pick-up games in the last few months as he said there were."
"That was Chris?" Rita repeated.
"Yeah, he wanted to surprise you."
"He succeeded."
"He wanted to do something special. So, he came to me with this whole crazy idea about making you run all over town. He asked if I had any music he could learn, and I told him I'd be happy to lay the percussion tracks for him. I was able to call in a couple favors and get the other musicians we needed. Chris kept his horn here; we worked whenever we could, and I spliced it all together. There are five different songs on this CD – and I promised him that I'd only give you a taste. The rest, you are to enjoy together."
"I'm – speechless. Really, I am. Thank you, Howie. Doing this for him – for me... You're a great friend. Sneaky, but great."
Rita held the CD in her hands. The roses were sweet, the food was a nice surprise, but this... The time and effort Chris had put into this gift was precious. With a sigh, she leaned as far to her right as she could, placing the case up against the furthest side of the dessert box. This way, it would be out of reach for her next driving mission, and she wouldn't have to battle the urge to listen to more of it without Chris.
Now, back to Howie's comment about her Sam being in love. The words rang true, but not just for Chris. She fit the bill just as well: when they both had 'allowed' themselves to fall, they had fallen hard.
Best friends make the best lovers...
If ever there was a concept she had resisted with every fiber of her being.
How many times had they been told that throughout the years? Too many to count. Of course, now –with every aspect of her relationships with Chris as strong as ever – it was easy to admit there were inherent truths to the adage. Clarity, in an action, was never an issue when viewed with hindsight; the decision made, the leap of faith already taken.
It had been that fear...
The fear of losing their friendship, the most important – no, the most vital – connection either of them had ever possessed. It was unfounded, yes, and possibly even an insult to the power of their unbreakable bond. But, like Chris had said to her when he gave her the Irish friendship ring: "I learned a very important lesson through all this. When it comes down to a choice between friendship and sex, no contest...no, sex does not win every time."
While the foundation for both friendship and love had formed virtually instantaneously upon meeting eight years ago, love did not assume its place until eight months ago. Who knows how long they would have gone on denying it...if only Chris hadn't been shot. With his life hanging in the balance, all priorities were reset. It could go unspoken no more.
Once again, Rita forced herself to snap out of her reflections. Wait, where am I going now? Amused that she didn't have a clue, she opened the latest envelope.
Start with a weasel-y, little Jack of All Trades.
Add in a local mafioso who tips his hat to the likes of
Dutch Schultz. Just for kicks, tack on an international,
high-end luxury thief. Throw me into the mix, and
it sounds like a recipe for a good ol' time, huh, Sam?
Ah, memories.
So, in return for his silence on my true identity,
this smooth-talking mobster of yours proposed a trade:
A rat for a rat.
Personally, though? I think he just wanted to wine and dine you.
Well, now it's my turn. Châteaubriand for two: you and me.
Make sure not to leave without the bottle of your favorite vino.
Rita read the note a second time. You're serious? Chez Jean-Pierre? The upscale French eatery was certainly not their usual go-to establishment, but it did call to mind their meals from the past week. With several new assignments, plus wrapping up their most recent ones, dinners had been thrown-together affairs. Châteaubriand was definitely a step up.
As she headed for North County Road, Rita's thoughts turned to the undercover operation Chris had highlighted. They had had hundreds, probably even thousands of cases together as a team. While it would be impossible to remember them all, most stood out for one reason or another. And this one... This one possessed a single element that, for her, would define it forever.
Protectiveness.
What she remembered most, about the entire case, was that her main concern had been Chris' safety. Hers must have been on his mind as well because it was the only time she could ever recall the two of them specifically threatening the bad guys for putting their partner in harm's way. And, interestingly enough, both threats were made with that exact same wording: "my partner."
Perhaps, it was because the term was so sacred to them both. It went beyond their position on the force; it defined every aspect they shared in each other's lives.
Hmm. Rita furrowed her brow. Apparently, she was back to thinking about loyalty, friendship, and love again. She played with the ring whose meaning was so prominent in her mind tonight, as she waited for a stoplight to turn green.
The strange part about this particular case? It wasn't even that dangerous. Fine, yes it was risky, but they had been in plenty of tighter spots before and since. It sounded desensitized, but tons of people had shot at her over the years. Dare she say, it went with the territory. Why then, here, would Chris tackle a gunman to the ground and issue such a warning with only his fists? He had emphasized with each punch, "don't you EVER take a shot at my partner, you get me, HUH?!"
Now, as for herself, she knew her own reasoning for, well, emphasizing the mortality of a certain delinquent, was far more personal. Her target was Chris' aforementioned weasel, the one and only Cotton Dunn.
See, Chris had Cotton. She had Donnie. While both of them had made peace with the other's charismatic criminal, neither would be willing to fully swap. Case in point, mere hours after having a heart-to-heart with Cotton, where she had learned and understood more about him, she was threatening his life. She had expected more from him. Chris trusted him, and he knew it. Yet, there he was, worrying about his future and making her drive around in circles while Chris was unarmed on the hook, pretending to know how to crack safes.
She could remember her exact words: "You let me tell you about your future, Cotton. If anything happens to my partner – anything at all – you're not going to have to worry about being arrested, you're not going to have to worry about going to prison. Do you understand me?"
This "nudge" had convinced the con man to offer up the actual address of Chris' location.
At the end of the day, no further harm had come to either partner or perpetrator. The case, however, remained perplexing to her, not offering any new insight into the veiled, unconscious rationales that had directed her and Chris.
Thrown into all these thoughts from the past, Rita wondered if Chris had been equally nostalgic when he set up this trek, or if he had simply picked the food and a case that matched each site. The only way to find out was to keep going. Eventually, he would be the prize at the end, and she'd have her answers.
She braked in front of Chez Jean-Pierre and sighed, wishing she hadn't changed out of her business suit. As luck would have it, the dress-code crisis was short-lived. She put her window down as an extremely young, albeit polite, parking attendant approached. Realizing that he knew her car, Rita answered affirmatively to the formal address of her unmarried title and last name, which were posed as a question. She should have known. She followed his instructions and pulled into the first parking spot off the road. Getting out, she walked around the car and opened the back-passenger door. The valet returned with a large bag containing the dinner boxes, and a long, slender bag that held the bottle of wine. He fit them securely on the floor and closed the door.
In trade for another rose and envelope, Rita offered him his tip and they both laughed. Further joking on her casual attire, she thanked him for sparing her the awkwardness of entering the elegant restaurant. With a simple nod of understanding, he sent her an envious grin as he pulled at the collar above his overly tight bow tie.
Rita pulled back onto the main road, surveying her surroundings. The mall, she decided. The mall was just a few driveways down, and the outskirts of the lot would be vacant by now so she could read Chris' next note in privacy. She chuckled softly: music, dinner, and dessert – what other stops could he possibly have her make? She threw her car into park once again and added a third envelope to the growing stack tucked under the baguette.
Let's face it: our job has trained me to notice clothing –
more than the average guy ever would.
Formal, informal, you look GOOD in everything you wear, Sam.
I especially like it when you opt for nothing at all!
But, let's get back to your current attire.
This outfit holds very special meaning for me.
It will remain forever imprinted on my heart.
Go to the mailbox of the place where my whole world blew up...
And a miracle gave me a second chance for life – and for love.
High, low, high. It was a roller coaster of emotions that passed over Rita as she read the heartfelt clue. Well, at least she knew that the next part of her journey could be made on auto-pilot. She was heading home: that mailbox was her own. It was a good thing, too. Of all the memories she had reminisced tonight, these would be the deepest.
"'My whole world blew up...'" she whispered aloud.
She knew those words.
She looked down at her clothing. Was this really what she had been wearing that day? She couldn't remember, but it didn't matter. I know what you mean, Sam...
In absolutely no way did she doubt Chris' recollection. It was what he had seen the moment he realized she was still alive – the moment his worst, living nightmare had finally come to an end. In contrast, she, herself, could list off what they both had on the night he was shot at Debra Bouchard's.
It was amazing, the role perspective played in any given event.
She had been completely clueless when she entered her apartment, relaxed after a mini vacation to Sanibel and Naples. Granted, she hadn't expected to be looking down the barrel of Chris' gun, but honestly, that wasn't what had surprised her. If she lived to be a hundred, she would never forget the expression on his face. He looked as if he were seeing a ghost – and, as far as he was concerned – he was. At the time, all she could offer was sympathy and visible, tangible, audible proof that she was alive. True empathy was six months out. Little had she known as she came through her front door that night, that in half a year's time, she would be in Chris' position. Now, every time she replayed the scene of coming home, it was textured with parallels to him being shot. It mirrored the moment he had fully awakened in the hospital, and she truly had him back. It also highlighted the compounded torture he had endured while she had been away.
She had thought her Sam was dead, but only for a moment. Chris had fought that reality for nearly a full day. She had battled the possibility of still losing him; he thought he had already lost her. The two events possessed such a gravity... The blessing in their outcomes simply could not be ignored. Indeed, a miraculous second chance for life and for love.
The sun was low in the western sky when Rita finally pulled into her parking space at home. With a glance to the passenger side of her car's interior, she chuckled and opted to leave all the loot where it was situated. Who knew what her mailbox would yield.
Sure enough, there was no "mail" to be found. Instead, two folded paper bags with handles, and the now-familiar rose and envelope combination. Rita went straight for the envelope so she wouldn't have to juggle the rest while reading.
Red skies at night, sailors delight...
Congrats, Sam! You made it!
By now, you have more than you can carry.
Did you find the extra bags I packed in the mailbox?
Here's to hoping you had as much fun as I did.
I love you heart and soul.
I'm waiting at Our Spot...
Don't forget the CD!
At last, the clues had wound down, and her Sam was close by. The trek through both town and time had been a blast; something Rita would never forget. Add it to the list of amazing memories she had recalled tonight.
So many memories... Some light-hearted, some life-altering. All precious. Alter even a single one and, would she still be standing here right now?
If Chris hadn't been shot, no.
Despite being a hell she would never want them to relive, it was the only event – in all their years together – that had forced them to admit their love. Forced, being the operative word.
Rita smirked in defiance. That first 'I love you,' while heartfelt, had nothing to do with choice. What happens when you feel like your heart has been ripped out, you've barely slept in three nights, and then you realize that the most important person in your life is not going to die? You slip – and you tell him you love him.
Call it what you will, fate, destiny, Divine intervention. Anything but choice.
Agony, was Rita's vote, though she remained unfazed by the admission and its truth. The blissful outcome, eight months of the most spellbinding love she had ever known, had long-since tempered her confession with acceptance and absolution. But, at the time...
At the time, it was her avowal – not Chris being shot – that had plunged her into the dark night of the soul.
He was going to live; she had him back. To have him back, only to lose him and his friendship by her own doing, that was a fear virtually paralyzing in its magnitude.
Rita let out a soft laugh, blessed with the hindsight of knowing allll that pain could have been bypassed if she had simply given Chris the chance, the opportunity, to say 'I love you' back. Turns out, the reciprocation would have been immediate.
Ah, but no. Change even that aspect of the past and, no, she might not be standing here right now. She needed those events with Chris to play as they did. She needed, after crossing their only verbal line, to end up at "her spot."
The private beach, adjacent to her apartment complex.
Growing up on an island no more than three-quarters of a mile wide meant that she and Chris had a deep, almost spiritual connection with the ocean. The last time that spot had been hers alone, was the only time, ever, when the ocean had provided her no comfort.
Now, there was a day for the record books. The complete emotional gamut – if the emotion exists, she experienced it that day. Just thinking about it brought on a wave of exhaustion.
She had parked herself in the sand before sunrise, spending a handful of futile hours drowning in mental interrogation with no rescue in sight. Returning home, though, it was a triple dose of intervention that would ultimately turn the tide and heal her emotional maelstrom.
Rita took great pride in remembering that she, herself, had initiated the remedy with a self-imposed, swift kick in the behind to end her pity party. It was then followed up by a surprise visit from Fran, whose motherly love and permission for the romance had calmed her mind enough for her to finally, really sleep. A deep sleep. Too deep.
Enter in Chris, who had discharged himself from the hospital in a rather cavalier fashion, eager to get to her. He found her coming out of the worst nightmare she had ever had in her life, which – given her previous experiences – was saying a lot.
He had been desperate to convey his feelings. Fearing she would try and stop him again, he dived deep into their history, offering her time after time where he could have slipped and uttered those three precious words.
All the loyalty, all the friendship manifested in eight years of memories culminated into an ultimate surrender to a truth too long ignored.
And then, there was love.
Unabashed love that vaporized fear with its intensity, its totality, its perfection.
Rita closed her eyes for a brief time, lost in those treasured first moments she knew she would remember forever. But then, she took a deep breath and slowly let it out, reassuring herself that she was still alone at the mailboxes. Quickly, she removed the bags and the rose and shut her own box. Starting back toward her car, her thoughts continued where they had left off.
Sunset, that special day, had seen the new lovers walking the private beach, a spot they would now claim as "theirs." There was peace to be found in the waves, once again. The direction of the sun had changed, and as far as east is from west, was how far Rita knew her mindset had changed from the start of the day.
That was some day, she laughed to herself. Further amusement came in feeling tonight's full circle. After her jaunt around the entire city and so much of their past, Chris' final cryptic clue was leading her back to that special strip of sand.
In the whole of her life, she had never given the concept of soulmates much thought, until now. Soulmates existed and she had found hers, of that, she was certain.
Red skies at night, sailors delight...
She really needed to tell Chris why it meant so much to her every time he used that phrase. First things first.
Next stop, the beach.
The deep reds and fiery oranges of the sunset splashed across the horizon, painting the ending of the day with a technique like no human artist could ever master. Rita approached the beach and could see her silhouetted soulmate, watching the waves and the sky as she watched him.
Chris, ocean, sunset. Of everything on earth, it was this trifecta that represented her greatest sources of peace and security. Having all three together elicited a contented sigh. As Rita came closer, her eyes narrowed with predatorial appreciation.
Ooh...
Heaven help her, he was wearing jeans. That was downright tactical: she loved it when he wore jeans – and he knew it. The distressed denim, clinging in all the right places, was topped off with his brown leather jacket, also a favorite. Suitable, Rita realized. Like everything else this evening, the coat came with history. Years ago, a bullet had gone through-and-through the left sleeve and the arm inside it, and while Chris was healing, she had surprised him by having the jacket repaired.
"So, a series of notes said I'd find you here, Sneak," she quipped, announcing her presence.
"Hah!" Chris turned around, offering Rita a dazzling smile as he held out his arms. "I knew you'd figure it out, Detective!"
He closed the distance between them, giving her only a quick kiss on the lips before taking advantage of her hands being full. Going in straight to nuzzle her neck, his mouth settled atop the quickening pulse to be found there, his warm breath sending shivers down her spine. Not to be left out, his fingers spanned across her sides and trapped themselves beneath her jacket. Reluctantly, he finally pulled away, and inquired, "was it fun? Did you like that, Sam?" He took the bags, leaving her with only the roses.
"I loved it! It was cerebral, it was nostalgic... It was special to just the two of us. Thank you very much, Christopher. How in the world did you even come up with such an idea?"
Chris stepped aside and gestured with great dramatic flair to the table a few yards away. "Happy birthday!"
Rita cocked her head. "Thank you?" She arched an eyebrow and offered him a lopsided grin. "You, ah, you do know that my birthday isn't for another two months, right?"
"I do, indeed. I've never missed it in eight years, right?"
"Right."
"But! This is different. This...will be the first birthday for either of us that we'll be celebrating as a couple. Besides, it's not easy surprising a detective, you know."
Rita, still caught up in the "game feel," was sent reeling for the millionth time tonight.
Chris' plan had been in the works for months.
Beyond that, he was projecting their relationship two months into the future, knowing that they would be together for her actual birthday. "You're serious, aren't you?"
"Absolutely!" Chris led her to the table. "Rita, I want you to know how much you mean to me."
Rita now took in every detail of the spread. She had no idea where Chris would have scored a white linen tablecloth, but the two place settings were from the fine china set she had inherited from the Lances. Her crystal basin was the centerpiece, filled with water and floating votive candles to be lit once the sun went down. A blue-glassed vase from her baker's rack displayed a bouquet of roses, no doubt numbering at seven stems. Rita added the five that had accompanied her for varying lengths of time during her trek, reuniting the dozen. She also recognized her portable CD player, which was emitting a soft jazz favorite of Chris'. Then, two smaller objects caught her eye. As unremarkable and commonplace as a bottle opener and long lighter could be, they represented an attention to detail that caused her head to duck.
Overwhelmed and touched, she ran a delicate fingertip along the edge of one of the plates. "Chris, the work, the effort. I can't believe –" Rita shook her head. "No one has ever..." She turned to him, placing her hands behind his head and drawing his lips to hers. The searing kiss deepened instantly as her heart and soul attempted to convey all she couldn't verbalize.
Chris was left with the tables turned as he still held the paper bags and could only use his mouth to accept and reciprocate the connection. When Rita pulled back, he offered, "well, they should have. But, I'm glad to be the first – and the last."
He separated from her and began removing items from the bags. "Ready to eat?" Testing a dinner box, he whistled at the heat. "Still hot."
"Good!" Rita exclaimed, as she sat down across from him. "Yes, I'm starving." She kept a hand at the side of her face as she spoke, holding back her hair.
Chris cocked his head and motioned for her other hand, beckoning her to stand. "Here, Sam," he offered, "switch." With that, he led her to the opposite seat and helped to push in her chair. Taking her previous seat, he explained, "the wind. Is that better?"
"Thank you, Detective. Yes, that's much better. Who says chivalry is dead?"
The candles were now burning, their flames casting shadows and fragmenting in intricate patterns as the light refracted throughout the crystal bowl. Rita was mesmerized.
"How was court?"
She beamed; her trance dispelled. She had forgotten all about court. "Eh. You pegged it perfectly. Tedium at its finest. Your timing for this was spot-on, Sam."
"Once you got your subpoena, I knew. Game day."
"Yeah, but you would've already been working on the CD by the time I got the subpoena. Spill it. How did you come up with all this?"
"It all started with the CD. I knew I wanted something unique. Something that was just for you. Once that was set, I was trying to figure out how to present it. I was in the car; I was thinking about you. I passed Chez Jean-Pierre – and you know what came to mind?"
"What?"
"Dutchie and I got the shaft there. Do you remember that?"
"Oh, I remember." Rita looked down at her plate, trying to hide her grin. "Sorry, Chrissy."
"Funny," Chris smirked. "Anyway! That made me think of the Rossler case. Then, as I passed the mall, I remembered the slew of times we've almost been run down in that parking lot. Next, came the boardwalk where we always eat and hash out cases that bring us to the area. I realized; every place I drove by gave me a memory of you. Street after street. By the time I neared my apartment, I could see your car, and I knew you were waiting for me."
Chris paused, his expression smoldering in the candlelight as he reminisced. "Rita, I love you so much. I wanted you to relive just a few of the special times we've had together. The entire city became my playground. Hardest part was narrowing down my choices."
"Well, I thank you again. It really was fun – and delicious." Rita lifted her wine flute and sat all the way back in her chair. She folded her left arm across her body, using it as brace for her right elbow so the glass remained near her mouth. Regarding Chris with playful suspicion, she ventured, "let's get back to the CD, shall we? Tell me more about all those pick-up games in the last few months." With that, she took a sip of wine.
"Here! Have a bite of opera cake, Sam."
"Ah huh." Rita accepted the forkful, arching an eyebrow in challenge as she awaited the explanation.
"Interpretation, Sam, it's all about interpretation. Howie and I never had a set schedule. If a time worked for both of us, we'd 'pick-up' a jam session. And all this? Well, this was definitely a 'game.' So, so there you go. Pick-up games."
"I see. Pick-up games."
Rita set down the glass and slid her hand over Chris' free one, her voice textured with longing as she asked, "can we listen to more of your music now?"
"You got it!" Chris immediately stopped the current disc and switched it out. "Dance with me? It's been a while."
"No, it hasn't," Rita purred, rising with equally feline grace. "We just dance differently these days."
The comment earned her a seductive growl as Chris hit 'play.' Before his first song started, he offered, "this is for you, Sam. Sometimes, words just aren't good enough."
Rita understood. Music was a language of love, spoken to the soul, directed to the heart. This was a special message from Chris meant only for her.
The lone drumbeat became that of her heart, her eyes never breaking contact with Chris' as he slowly approached. He reached her just when the second, deeper beat began, as if taking it on for his own.
With an arm over his shoulder and her other hand in his, Rita whispered her heartfelt gratitude across Chris' lips. Anticipating the saxophone, an appreciative moan escaped against his neck.
The traditional dance pose lasted but mere moments. The outsides of their leather jackets felt cool and hard in the wind, but the malleable, silken linings had absorbed their warmth. Rita slid her hands over Chris' tan dress tee, playing with the muscular planes of his chest before sliding around to his back, enjoying the heat.
In turn, Chris splayed his hands beneath Rita's coat, trailing them up her ribs so his thumbs could brush the undersides of her breasts before reversing down across her hips, all the while drawing hypnotic patterns in time with the music.
One song melted into the next, and still they swayed.
Intoxicated by the woman in his arms, Chris nuzzled Rita's ear and asked, "do you like your gift?"
"Mm hmm. You were right to have changed your mind, Sam. That sax is red hot – it's anything but blue." At the mention of Chris' clue and the memory which had inspired it, Rita locked gazes with him, smiling. She looked to the ocean, then back to him. "Here. I like that we wound up here tonight, Chris. Our first evening together, we sat at this very spot and reminisced the past. Going down memory lane tonight...to end up here, is special."
"It's still not scary?" Chris quipped, referring to a conversation from that magical first evening.
Rita chuckled, knowing exactly what he meant. "A long time ago I told you that to love someone – as much as I love you – would be fantastic and scary. It's not scary." She wound her arms around his waist. "No. It's still not scary. It's humbling, it's awe-inspiring, but it's definitely not scary." For a moment, she laid her head on Chris' shoulder, enjoying a few more beats of music as she gathered her thoughts. "I owe you an explanation, Sam. The 'red skies' rhyme. I know that everybody knows it, but every time you say either part..."
"I knew it! I've never pushed the issue, but it always seems to register with you."
"You're right, it does." Rita's eyes took on a far-away expression, the scene playing out behind them stretching decades into the past. "My dad and I memorized it together."
With a languorous blink, and a smile forming just as slowly, she returned her focus to Chris. "It's probably my favorite of our rhymes. So, eight months ago, I sat here at sunrise. 'Red skies in the morning, sailors take warning.' It was the greatest storm of my life. I stood to lose everything. I had long-since lost him and now, I thought, I was going to lose you. Flash forward to sunset of that same day. 'Red skies at night, sailors delight.' Everything was perfect. Beyond my wildest dreams. It was the polar opposite of the morning. Not only did I have you back – and then some –" Rita laughed and ducked her head, "– but you knew the rhyme. You...mean everything to me. Hearing you say it, when I was on top of the world, restored my peace with the memory of learning it. It was a connection between you and my dad."
Rita offered Chris a quick peck on the lips. "Bet you weren't expecting all that, huh?"
"Hah! No...but thank you. Thank you for sharing it with me."
Desire filtered back in as Rita returned her focus to the music. With a Latin flair to match the rhythm, a simple bending and straightening of her knee swept her pelvis across Chris'. The deep groan it elicited was drawn out even longer as she raked her nails against the grain of his jeans.
Chris caressed Rita's left palm with his thumb as he brought her hand up and kissed the ring he had given her so many years before. "Care to continue this dance somewhere else?"
"Can I help you pack up?"
"Nope! I've got this. You lugged most it all around town and out to here."
"Hmm. Well, in that case, I'll take the CD and get a head start. If, that is, you're up for another round of the game."
"Head start, huh? Do tell."
With a single, slender finger, Rita traced a path across Chris' strong jawline. Gazing higher, iridescent green eyes darkened as they met impassioned blue. "So, there's this place... It's a special place – several miracles have happened there, actually. Two new starts, if you think about it. It's warm. It's colorful. We've shared countless meals there, dancing, sleepovers with actual sleep, sleepovers without any sleep. Think you can find it, Sam?"
"If I win, will you be the prize?"
"I think the prize will be shared, and we'll both win."
"Game on, then."
"Game on!"
The End
Author's Afterthoughts:
~ Y'all, I have never been bored with and sick of a story before, but I gotta admit, I had had my fill of "TREK." Much whining and procrastinating (squirrel!) ensued as I battled the writer's block surrounding the section commonly referred to as "The Beach." Anything but The Beach! Please don't make me work on The Beach! A fun fact into my writing process: I very, very rarely write a story start-to-finish. I'll have a general idea, maybe certain scenes that I know need to be included, but I write as The Muse leads me. If that means the final scene hits me first, so be it; some random scene on what will become page 10, fine. So, with "TREK," I had it whittled down to everything but two sections of The Beach. There was much elation to be had when The Muse finally took pity on me, I was able to write those scenes, and I could, at long last, put this story to bed. This story was MY trek, LOL!
~ Chris' 2nd – 4th clues, and Rita's thoughts surrounding them, contain Silk canon. Here is the listing of episodes referenced in "TREK": Internal Affair (S1e18), Hot Rocks (S2e7), The Party's Over (S3e10), Dark Heart (S3e22), and technically Natural Selection (S4e1). Chris' 5th note, and Rita's musings, are throwbacks to "The Three Faces of Fate."
~ In the episode "Hot Rocks," the restaurant where Donnie and Rita shared châteaubriand is not named. (Bistro) Chez Jean-Pierre was used because it was a similar establishment in real-life Palm Beach. Sadly, it closed in 2020 before this story was completed.
~ I will admit to a small, subtle jab at canon scenes such as the Ending Tag of "Glory Days." I'm sure it was a matter of lighting, background, the wind along a shoreline being unpredictable, et cetera, but for heaven's sake could they have shot from the opposite side so Mitzi wouldn't have had to keep moving her hair out of her face? ;)
~ Between the craziness of this year, an appreciation for romance, and probably even the firsthand familiarity with this special beach...the Resauthor seemed to have a soft spot for this particular story. It is to her that I dedicate "TREK."