The Fourth Time

She had run out of tears. She was sure of it. There was no possible way that Bernice had any more tears left in her body to cry. She has sobbed and screamed and wept with Josh's limp body in her arms. Her wailing cries had echoed through the warehouse chamber where her son had died. Alone and waiting for his mother to save him. And she had failed. And he was gone. And she had no more tears to cry.

That's what she'd thought, at least. Hoped. There were things to settle, work to be done. She was a hopelessly grieving mother, but she was also superintendent of Homicide. Her squad needed to nail that bastard for what he did. She had wanted to go with Josh, but she couldn't just wait around in Ronnie's office. She could wait in her own office. Focus on something else. Anything else.

How many times had she pushed her own feelings aside to get back to work? Too many times to count. And with her house full of cops and her steps dogged by uniformed officers and their pitying expressions, she needed to get back to her office and do whatever she could. To allow the shock to give her some productivity before the grief overtook her completely.

Terry had gone right back to the station after the coroner took Josh's body away. He had arrived to see Bernice crying. Heard her before he saw her. The sounds of her wailing despair had been an arrow through his heart.

Now he was alone. He closed the blinds on the windows to keep onlookers away. He didn't need anyone to know where he was right now. As far as anyone was concerned, this had nothing to do with him. And everyone could go right on believing that. But that was so far from the truth, Terry had trouble fathoming what he could possibly do now. He paced the floor. And he waited.

Bernice got to the police station and had Stanley Wolfe on her heels. He was a good friend. A good man. She liked him. Trusted him. But she was still his superior officer, and she wouldn't let him or anyone else forget it.

"Stanley, I am not going home yet. I am not going to walk into my house to find it filled with people. I will be in my office, making arrangements for my leave, and as soon as everyone's cleared off, then and only then will I go home," she insisted. Her voice was hoarse from the emotion that still lay heavy in her chest. A distant thought flickered through her mind: perhaps she would feel like this for the rest of her life. Surely this wasn't the sort of thing that ever got better or easier.

"You're in shock, Bernice, and I don't like the idea of you going home to an empty house."

She opened the door to her office as she told him, "I will be fine, Stanley!"

Terry stood in the middle of the office and stared at her as she entered.

Bernice blinked at him for a moment before telling Stanley to go. "I need to speak with Superintendent Jarvis in private, if you don't mind."

"I'll be going back to the interview." Stanley closed the door behind her and went downstairs to speak with his team and figure out how to get charges to stick on the man responsible for this atrocity.

Terry and Bernice were left alone. They didn't speak. They didn't move. He just watched her. And she watched him. The more he looked at her, the worse it was. Her face was stoic but the hurt radiated off her. Her anguish was a palpable aura around her that made the air heavy. And as Terry allowed himself to contemplate what Bernice might be feeling, his eyes welled up. He didn't bother to keep his tears from falling down his cheeks. He opened his arms to her.

Bernice shattered all over again. She rushed into his embrace and buried her face in his chest. She had thought she had cried all her tears. And perhaps she had cried all her tears for Josh and for herself. Now she cried for Terry.

It was better, he thought, to be able to hold her. Better and so much worse. Terry wrapped his arms around her soft, warm body. She was shaking with the force of her sobbing. He squeezed her tighter to him and his own tears continued to flow.

Fifteen years since that day in the motel. Fifteen years since their love affair, such that it was, had ended. Bernice told him she was pregnant and broke it off. She hadn't given Terry a choice. Perhaps that was for the best. But Terry has left his wife for her. He hadn't told Bernice that was why, nor had he ever told Pamela he'd been sleeping with another woman. He had never told a soul that he'd fathered a child. A child who had lived fourteen years without knowing his father. A child Terry had never met. A child Terry had loved from the moment he'd been conceived but never gotten the chance to know.

"I'm so sorry, Terry," she cried.

"Shh, none of that," he soothed. His voice cracked with emotion.

"He's gone. Our boy is gone. I couldn't save him. Our son is dead and he never knew his father. I never let you be his father."

That was the first time she had ever openly acknowledged Joshua's true parentage. It made his heart ache more than he ever imagined. "It's alright," he told her. "I understand. I know how it was. I probably would've been a crap father anyway."

Bernice pulled away slightly and looked up at him. "No you wouldn't. You would have been a good father for him. For us."

A strangled sob escaped him, and Terry pulled Bernice back into a tight embrace. "Water under the bridge now," he replied shakily.

Bernice kept crying, and so did Terry. They wept for the child they'd created. A wonderful child with whom they had never gotten to share the truth, the family they'd never really had. Josh was gone, and their hearts were shattered.

Eventually they fell into a calm numbness. Terry took Bernice's face in his hands. His thumbs wiped tears from her cheeks. Her eyes were bloodshot from all the crying. In all the tragedy of it, he couldn't help but contemplate how beautiful she was, even still. He leaned in and kissed her softly.

Bernice wrapped her arms around her neck and held him close to her, deepening their kiss.

They pulled apart, resting their foreheads against each other. "I'm so sorry, Bernice. I should've done more."

"We both should have done more." She kissed him again. For what else could she possibly do now?

Bernice pulled away from the kiss and buried her face in Terry's chest, taking comfort from this man she had adored for almost twenty years. Since that first time in his car, she had loved him. And not until this precise moment had she allowed herself to admit it.

"Terry?" she began with a strained voice.

"Yeah?" he replied softly.

"I've gotta do a few things here. Take...take care of things. For whoever is going to replace me. Actually it'll probably be you replacing me. They'll just keep you on, I'd imagine."

"I dunno. It's your squad, Bernice."

She shook her head. "I'm going to need to take some leave."

"Of course. I'll let you get to it," he said, pulling out of their embrace.

Bernice bit her lip and blurted, "If you can wait a bit, you can come home with me."

Her offer was a very kind one. One that would comfort them both, surely. But after so long, he didn't want it to be like that anymore. After so many times when she'd shared a bed with him for a few hours only to leave him cold when it was time to sleep, Terry couldn't handle that now. He didn't want to do anything she'd regret when the grief settled. Didn't want to take advantage of it. He loved her too much for that.

His moment of hesitation was enough for her to retract her offer. "No, bad idea. Never mind. Forget it."

Terry just nodded mutely. He gave a small sniff and wiped his face of tears and walked out. He would watch the interview. Terry would watch Stan and the team get a confession from the bastard that killed his son.