Alright ladies and gentlemen, you have in your possesion, the last chapter of Glass Slippers before the Christmas Season. I won't be writing a new chapter until the New Year so hopefully this will tide you over until then. If you've been reading '12 Days of Christmas' which you should be - if I do say so myself - you'll know that this was finished awhile ago, I just wanted to finish Moving Day before I published this. Alas I've been absolutely blocked with Moving Day so I will try my hardest to get it to you by Christmas if not, it'll be around then. I promise. So I'll be updating 12 Day every day until the 25th and you should get Moving Day sometime in there and you've got Glass Slippers so you should be very happy readers - willing to review even if it's just a 'nice job'? And while we're on that note, I'm going to shamelessly advertise 12 Days and Moving Day because I love them and I know you guys will too. So 12 Days of Christmas is the song that we all know and love with a Canadian Twist on it (you can find it on my profile page) and Moving Day began as just some sexual tension release and slowly grew some semblance of a plot. Basically, it's for all of your sexy needs (meaning no children :P). I think I've bothered you long enough, I'm sure you're anxious to read this new chapter of Glass Slippers. Afterwards, please review and if you want to follow me on twitter you can find me at vatrask
Enjoy 3
Thirteen days; that's how long it had taken for Kate to go down to the records room after she became a rookie police officer. Thirteen days before she couldn't take it any longer, the desperate voice of her mother pulling her into the depths where she now sat, two years later, hunched over a splintered wooden desk. Johanna Beckett's file, worn from use, stared back at her. It was another late night cram session between shifts, looking for any detail that she had missed in the first thousand times she had read the file; though she had a feeling this session would end as all the others had – fruitlessly. But she would not give up on her mother like everyone else had. Her mother deserved justice, and Kate would give it to her, no matter how long it took.
Unfortunately, she was getting nowhere, and the hour was passing one in the morning.
Sighing, Kate slapped the file closed and buried her face in her hands, ducking her shoulders over the table. She hadn't expected to be so tired after working the menial jobs that television never bothers to mention. As draining as it was, she was more determined with each passing day. If only each passing day provided her with hope.
Instead it was just one more day without her mother's guidance to help her along. One more day she hadn't spoken to her father. One more day alone in the city that never sleeps.
No rest for the wicked, right? What had she done that was so wicked?
Trying desperately to harshly knead out the frustration in her temples, she groaned as the ringing in her ears grew louder and louder until they suddenly stopped and she jumped to attention.
"What are you doing down here?"
With a hand to her heart, Kate half turned to face the suited man standing in the doorway, in an odd silhouetted form. "I was just looking at a file." She tried to sound casual, but even she could hear the strain and weariness in her voice. She was always a horrible liar and that hadn't really changed; nothing at all had changed. She turned back to the file, hoping in vain that the man would just walk away but of course she knew he wouldn't – it wouldn't be that easy.
"What's your name, rookie?"
Rolling her eyes, she tucked her head into the crook of her shoulder and grumbled, "Beckett."
She heard his footsteps stop for a moment before continuing toward her and felt his breath on the back of her neck before his head poked out beside her, reading the file name.
"This your mom?"
She closed her eyes, willing the memories – the images – of her body back into her pounding head. She turned away from the man's line of sight to keep from showing the way her nose scrunched in an effort to hide her tears.
"Yeah." Why was he making her so uncomfortable?
"Why are you looking at her file?" Her head shot up, nearly knocking him in the chin when she heard the genuine curiosity in his voice. "Just curious," she defended. She looked at him for the first time, really looked. He was middle-aged, maybe early forties, and had the look of a weathered veteran – the one who had seen too much and was tired but stronger – the one she wanted to be like. She wanted to get through this and come out stronger. Right now, though, every part of her was screaming that she wouldn't come out of this whole.
She suddenly realized that he had been observing her expression as though he were looking for a crucial piece of evidence – something that she was unintentionally revealing to this stranger.
"Bull;" he finally spoke, causing her to shift back uncomfortably. "Look, kid, I've been a homicide detective long enough to know that you can't dwell on the past. There's too much room for regrets and never enough room for happiness."
Kate just stared at this man – this stranger she had just met – who was suddenly analyzing her life and all she could think of was He's a homicide detective; he might know. "Do you know a John Raglan?"
Obviously he hadn't been following her train of thought; nonetheless he answered her. "I knew Raglan, yeah. Why?"
"Knew him?" she asked, feeling herself gaining the upper hand, finally.
"We've moved on, lost touch. It happens."
Well, it satisfied her question. It wasn't the answer she had hoped for. but it was an answer; Time to change the subject. She searched through their conversation for something else and only one thing stuck out at her. "So you work Homicide?"
"Yeah?" He was leaning against the table, completely engaged in their conversation; like he actually cared. Maybe she did, too.
"How do you do it?" She found herself asking. "How can you go about your day knowing that anyone could die at any moment and you won't be able to stop it?"
"By focusing on the living."
She was stunned into silence for a moment before responding with her gut. "But you work homicide. Isn't it your job to honour the dead?"
"No, it's my job to honour those the dead left behind – to take care of them. Make sure they get closure. The living always come first."
"So you're just supposed to forget the people who've died?"
"Not a chance. You never forget them; but dwelling on their death instead of focusing on their life is as bad as letting them be forgotten. You stop caring about the dead, more of them show up."
Suddenly this conversation struck a chord inside that she hadn't intended to be struck. This was hitting too close to home but it was too late to back out now. "But even if you care, the killers can go free."
"That's right." The room was suddenly thick with a heavy silence. "And that's why we keep fighting so that they know, no matter how many times they knock us down, we're still gonna get back up."
"And what if you can't get back up?" she whispered; her eyes boring into his with an intensity that she hadn't felt before.
"Then you find someone to lean on." His answer was so profoundly simple that she was silent for a moment, her fingers, playing with the frayed edge of the file, before she put to words the one thing that had been squeezing her heart for two years.
"I just don't understand how people can do this to each other."
He stood, indicating the end of the conversation. "That's what you're here to figure out."
"I'm here to catch my mother's killer." She spoke with determination, not turning to meet him as he headed for the doorway.
"Better be careful, kid; that's a dark road you're heading on."
This time, Kate looked directly at him, meeting his eyes in challenge. "I'll go as far as it takes to find the ones responsible for her murder and bring them to justice."
"Just be careful, all right?" It was incredible, Kate thought, that he genuinely seemed to care for her well-being – a fact which struck her deeply.
"Hey, I didn't catch your name," she called, leaning over her chair to grab his attention as he turned the corner. The man paused at the threshold, his hands grasping the door frame as though his life depended on it.
"Montgomery. Roy Montgomery."
"Thanks."
"Anytime, kid."
Kate rung her hands for the thousandth time since stepping out of the cab and they were no dryer for it. To say she was nervous would be a grave understatement – one she was barely willing to admit. She hadn't spoken to her father in two years; after their fight over the police academy, she rented a horrible apartment in a horrible part of the city and moved out on her own. She had regretted every day of it. Now she was standing at his doorstep, praying that something hadn't happened to him and the longer she stood there, the worse she felt. More out of fear for what she would find on the other side, she knocked on the door and waited for him to answer. After a few moments of shuffling and bangs (as though someone were running into numerous items), Jim Beckett opened the door on his daughter with a lazy smile and a sway in his step. The sight of her took his smile away, though he still leaned against the door as though his life depended on it. "Katie, so you've come to apologize?"
She closed her eyes, hoping to block out the stench of booze on his breath and the slur of his speech; nothing had changed since she'd left – maybe it was a mistake to return at all. "No dad," her voice was soft but steady "I've just come to see how you are."
He raised his arms wide enough to through his delicate equilibrium off balance and he stumbled into the hallway, allowing Kate to see into the house a little clearer. Dirty clothes, moulding take out containers and countless bottles of liquor were strewn around the once immaculate living room, confirming her suspicions that he was still drowning his sorrows. How he could cling to the past like that was disgusting and heartbreaking. "Well as you can see, Katie, I am perfectly fine so you don't need to be worried about me." She wanted to gag at the state of her once admirable father grasping a hold of a door that barely represented her home anymore.
"Of course I'm worried, Dad, you're sick. Look at you; this has to stop." He was silently observing her for a moment before he reached over the threshold and pulled his daughter a little closer by her coat.
"Well, look who's talking miss 'I have everything under control." She turned her face away as she placed her hands over Jim's and tried to pull away. He had never been this bad before.
"Dad-"She grunted, but he wasn't finished apparently.
"Don't think I don't know what you've been doing the last two years. Wallowing in your mother's murder, barely keeping your head above water; being obsessed with her won't bring her back Katie."
That snapped her attention. "A drinking yourself to death will?"
When she finally broke free, it was Jim who pushed her to the porch where she looked up at him with a mixture of shock and anger and a hurt she didn't think she could still feel. "Don't come trying to fix my problems until you've fixed your own." With that, he slammed the door in her face, leaving Kate to her thoughts and her tears on what had to be the coldest night of the year.
She walked back to her apartment in silence passing by store after store until she looked up as she crossed the street. 24 hour liquor store; open for your convenience. As she stared at the flashing sign, she glanced at her surroundings, almost afraid that someone was watching her, before crossing the street. She walked past the liquor store with a quick spit to the ground before continuing to her apartment a few blocks around the corner.
Tonight she would give in to temptation and read a book – maybe by her new favourite writer – instead of wallowing in the past. Tonight she would cry into her pages and forget that she had tried to reconcile with her father – forget everything Montgomery had said. This was about the dead.
Oh and have a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. See you guys in January!