A round of thanks to all who read and reviewed the last chapter - your comments were nothing short of wonderful. I couldn't ask for a better bunch of readers!
Onward and upward. We're diving back into the mind of Fran Morgan for this one.
As always, happy reading =)
"The spirit of jazz is the spirit of openness." – Herbie Hancock
"Hello?"
"Hey, Mama."
"Derek! My baby boy, how are you?"
"I'm good, Mama. I'm good."
"Yeah? I'm glad – I worry when I don't hear from you for a while."
"Mama, it hasn't been that long," he says with a groan. I can practically picture him rolling his eyes.
"OW! What was that for?" he yells after I hear a smack resonate over the phone.
"Don't roll your eyes at your mother," I hear a muffled but familiar voice in the background say.
"I didn't," he says in protest, but his tone gives away his guilt. "OW. Jeez, woman. Will you stop hitting me?!"
"Be nice to your mother," the voice warns.
"Well maybe I would if I wasn't being assaulted," he quips back cheekily.
I grin widely at the exchange. I knew I liked her.
"So. Mama. How are you?"
"Oh, just fine. How's Emily?"
"She's good."
"You're quite the wordsmith, Derek," I reply with a hint of exasperation.
"Well, she is. Not much else to say."
"What are you two doing?"
"Nothing. Just hanging out. It's our weekly workout today."
"Workout, eh?"
"Yes, Mama. We go running, maybe lift some weights, do a little sparring."
"Mmhmm," I say, drawing out the syllables. "Sparring. Is that what they call it these days?"
"What they call wh- OH," he interrupts himself as it dawns on him. "Mama! Get your mind out of the gutter. That's terrible."
"I'm just saying, you're not getting any younger and I would like some grandbabies from you."
He groans again, "Not this again."
"Lots of them!"
"Aw c'mon, Ma."
"Okay, okay. So, what can I do for you?"
"I was calling to ask if it was okay if I came to visit this weekend. Although now I'm reconsidering…" he trails off, his voice still light with playfulness.
"Don't you dare. You can really come for the weekend?"
"Yeah, just the weekend though, I can't sneak away for any longer."
"Shame. You owe me more than a few days, Derek. It's been too long."
"I know, Mama, I know! I'm working on it, I promise. So, do you have plans or what?"
I grin, "No plans this weekend, so you're free to come. On one condition."
"What's that?" he asks.
"You bring Emily."
As I sit and wait for their flight to arrive, I'm thrown into the memories of the last time the two of them visited together. She was broken and a shell of her former self; he was lost and walking on eggshells around her. She was trying desperately to repair their friendship, while his only desire was to heal her. It had been a weekend filled with tension, but ultimately ended with her making huge strides forward, and him enjoying her progress. My heart and soul are full of hope that she is back to the confident and strong woman I'd met all those years ago, and has left behind the broken and shattered shell of a woman that held onto me for dear life as she sobbed out regrets in my kitchen. It's no way to live – something I know from experience.
My wandering mind is brought back to the present as I spy his familiar frame making its way toward me. I grin as our gazes meet, and he shoots me one of his wide smiles in return. My eyes shift to the woman walking beside him, and I'm pleased to see her step has a strength and confidence to it. She's put on some weight since I saw her last, thankfully, and seems to have shaken the emotionally drained look from her eyes. I shoot her a smile, which I'm pleased to see she returns. The smile, this time around, reaches her eyes as they twinkle with genuine happiness.
"Mama," he says, dropping his bags and wrapping his arms around me. "I've missed you."
"I should hope so, it's been months since I saw you," I say.
"Can we at least wait until we're at home before starting the guilt trip? Please."
I chuckle, and narrow my gaze at him. "Fine. But we're going to have a serious chat about those grandbabies you owe me."
Ignoring his groan, I turn my attention to Emily, who is watching our interaction with amusement.
"Emily," I say. "Wonderful to see you again."
"You too, Fran," she says as she gives me a quick hug.
"Well, let's get going, shall we?" I say.
I watch as Derek grabs his own bags, and snatches one of Emily's before she can pick it up.
"Derek," she says, her tone full of warning.
"Yes, Princess?" he replies, putting on a tone of innocence.
"I can carry my own bag, thank you."
"I know you can, I'm just choosing to be a gentleman about it."
She shoots him a glare before letting out a huff of frustration. But just as soon as the air has left her lips, a mischievous smile graces them. "Well, if you insist, then you can carry this one as well. A lady should never have to lift that – it's far too heavy," she says, her tone clearly patronizing.
His eyebrow shoots up in response. "Of course, Princess," he says, emphasizing the endearment.
"And you know what? My purse is hurting my shoulder a bit. Do you mind carrying that as well?"
He gulps. "Your purse?"
She smiles, feigning innocence. "That's not a problem, is it?" she asks, holding out her bright red purse to him.
"But it's a- You really want me to- But I'll- And I'm not-"
"I thought you were a gentleman, Derek," she says, after winking at me.
He meets her gaze and shoots her an unimpressed look before snatching the purse from her hands.
"Hey, be careful with that. Cost me a full pay-cheque. Right, where's the car parked?" she asks as she steps in line with me, leaving Derek a few paces behind to negotiate the bags.
"This way, my dear. Not too far. Although maybe we should send him to load the luggage and fetch the car," I say, my own tone becoming mischievous. "After all, it's a bit of a walk, and my old feet could use a rest…"
She grins, "Of course. You don't mind, do you Derek?"
"This is what I get for being a gentleman," I hear him grumble behind us.
We drove back to the house, thankfully avoiding most of the traffic, and stopped en route to pick up some pizza for dinner, which Emily insisted on paying for.
"You're putting me up for the weekend, it's the least I can do," she'd said, her tone leaving absolutely no room for debate. Derek just shrugged, no doubt used to her stubbornness.
After making Derek drag the bags into the house, we sit down to enjoy dinner and chat. It only takes a few minutes' worth of time in their presence for me form some suspicions about the two friends and former partners sitting in front of me. A fleeting touch, a lingering look, a subtle smile, or a twinkle of the eyes give it away. While I'd had my suspicions of what might be back when Derek brought her here to heal almost a year ago, I can tell now that they are, without a doubt, madly in love. It would appear my jokes about sparring weren't as far off as Derek had vehemently suggested.
"So, Emily. Derek tells me you travelled a lot when you were a child?" I ask, focusing my attention back on the conversation and away from my wandering thoughts.
She nods, "Yeah. My mother's an Ambassador, so we moved around a lot with her postings."
"That must have been hard – never staying in one place for too long."
She offers a half smile. "Yeah, I suppose. But on the flip side, by the time I was 10 I'd seen more countries than most people see in a lifetime, so I guess it was pretty special too."
"Was it mostly European countries you lived in?"
She nods once more. "Yeah, Italy, France, Russia, Ukraine, Spain," she lists, counting them off on her fingers. "Germany, Belgium and the U.K. for a little while. But I also lived in several Middle Eastern countries, and there was a short spell in Morocco too."
I can't help my jaw from dropping slightly. My eyes shift to Derek, and I see his jaw has dropped as well.
"I didn't realize you moved around that much," he says, his eyes wide with surprise.
She shifts in her seat, clearly uncomfortable with the attention focused on her.
"Hang on, do you speak all those languages?" he asks, his eyes still wide.
She shakes her head, "Not fluently, no. But I can make myself understood in most of them."
"Remind me to bring you along on any vacations I might go on," I say with a smile.
"Emily Prentiss, tour guide, at your service," she says with a half bow and a wide grin.
I turn over for what seems like the hundredth time tonight and groan as my eyes flit to the clock on my bedside table. 5:16am – just too early to be up and milling about in the house while there are guests. I resolve to make myself some tea and enjoy an extended morning routine. I make my way to the kitchen, but stop at the entrance when I realize there's already someone up and in the kitchen. She's seated at the table, a mug of hot liquid in her left hand, and a pen in her right, her eyes flitting back and forth over a folder open in front of her. She pauses occasionally to make a note, or take a sip of the beverage.
I walk slowly toward the table and am surprised that such a highly trained FBI agent hasn't heard me approaching, but then I remember she's an instructor at the Academy now. Still, you'd think that old habits would die hard. But then I spy the ear-buds in tucked into her ears. Taking care not to spook her, I take the long route around the kitchen to allow her time to spot me in front of her. When she notices my presence she drops her pen, and pulls out her ear buds.
"I didn't wake you, did I?" she asks, her eyes already full of apology.
"No, no," I reply quickly. "Just couldn't sleep anymore, you know? Guess it's all this excitement of having guests," I say with a smile.
She smiles warmly in response. "I guess so. I hope you don't mind, I made some tea."
"Not at all, dear. In fact, I could use a mug if there's any left."
"There should be. Have a seat, I'll get it," she says, jumping out of her own seat. "How do you take it?"
"Milk and sugar," I reply. "What are you doing up so early, anyway?" I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.
"Unfortunately my recent shift in careers has led to a big increase in paperwork, and I couldn't quite get away with leaving it all for Monday," she explains.
As she grabs me a mug and pours me some tea, my attention is drawn to the music still playing through the ear buds. I smile when I recognize the song.
"You're a jazz fan?" I ask.
"I'm sorry?" she says in confusion. I point to the ear buds. "Oh, right. Yeah. My grandfather was a big fan, and he introduced me to it. I've loved it ever since."
"Derek's father was a big swing and jazz fan," I say, my lips curling into a fond smile.
"Really?" she says as she places the mug of tea in front of me and sits down at the table once more.
I nod, "He introduced me to all the greats, and a few of his favourite unknowns. He always used to say you could judge a person by what they thought about cops, kids, and jazz."
"Well I happen to be pretty supportive of law enforcement, love kids, and clearly am fond of jazz. So what does that make me?"
"In his eyes, perfect," I say with a chuckle that she joins in with.
"What was he like?" she asks before taking a long sip of her tea.
My expression turns thoughtful and I exhale a large breath.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-," she says quickly.
"Oh no, dear. I just haven't spoken about him in a while. I don't mind, I like remembering the good times," I say with a smile, interrupting her efforts at backtracking. "He was an amazing man, a real charmer – not a whole lot different from Derek, actually. He had the same lopsided grin when he wanted something and the same million dollar smile when something went his way."
She smiles and nods in recognition.
"He was a bit of a joker, always pulling pranks on his partner at work and horsing around with Derek and the girls when he was home. I remember a few times when Derek was still a baby he'd come home after a long and terrible day, turned on the radio and swept me into his arms, dancing me around this very kitchen."
"He sounds like a wonderful man," she says with a smile.
"He was," I say thoughtfully. "He would've liked you."
"Oh? Just because I passed his test?"
I laugh, "That would've gotten you in the door, but your sense of humour would've let you stay. That and how you handle Derek."
She grins, "Well, someone has to keep him in check, otherwise his ego would crush him and everyone around him."
"Speaking of my darling boy, how long have you two been together?"
Her eyes widen slightly before she shakes her head. "I should've known we wouldn't be able to hide it from you. Almost a month."
"I knew it," I say triumphantly. "I knew you two would get together." She blushes in response and buries her face in her hands.
"How long have you known?" she asks, lifting her head from her hands.
"Since you came to visit a year ago."
A surprised expression appears on her face. "That long?"
I nod.
"But we weren't even together- Goodness, did everyone know that long ago?"
I shrug. "Maybe, maybe not. But you can bet your ass they know now, sweetheart."
She groans. "So much for keeping it low-key. How did you know?"
"Mother's intuition."
We settle into silence as we each sip our tea and allow the quiet sounds of the jazz music still playing to permeate the air. The sun begins to creep above the horizon and a few rays of light make their way through the kitchen window.
"What was your husband's name?" she asks suddenly.
The confusion must be plain on my face, because she elaborates. "Derek never told me. Actually, we haven't really talked about him at all, and I was just wondering."
"Benjamin," I say. "But he usually went by Benny."
She smiles. "Seems fitting."
"How do you mean?"
"There've been some pretty big Benny's in jazz and swing music over the years: Benny Goodman, Benny Carter, Benny Golson… He's in some pretty good company, I'd say."
I smile, "Yeah, I guess he is."
"Thank you, Fran. For everything."
"Everything?"
"For this weekend, for taking the time to get to know me, for raising such an amazing man, and for that weekend last year."
"My pleasure, Emily. You're important to Derek, so you're important to me."
Her face lights up once more as a smile dances on her lips and her eyes twinkle. It occurs to me that just the night before I'd seen the same expression on Derek's face after she finished telling a story. There's hope for those grandbabies yet, I think.
I'd love to hear your thoughts/impressions on this one, if you have the time.
I had a completely different conversation written between these two, but I totally got stuck on what to name Derek's dad (I'm a bit of a stickler for details...), and out of frustration ignored it for a few weeks. I came back to it, threw on a a jazz/swing playlist to get my creative juices flowing, and one Benny Goodman song later I had not only his name, but an entirely new conversation (and one which I like a whole lot more).
Finally, if anyone has any suggestions or ideas for future conversations, my ears are wide open.