I don't own the characters and make no monetary profit from this story. Peter Gunn and Edie Hart own each other. My profit consists of the fun I have with them.

A Lifetime in Eight Days

Chapter 26: Photographs and Flashbacks

The lock clicked as Frank Gunn turned the key, the door swinging open on silent hinges. He toed it shut and headed straight for the kitchen, shoving his son's keys back into his pocket as he set a bag on the counter, quickly removing several items wrapped in white butcher's paper and placing them in the refrigerator. A couple days worth of meals still remained from the food Mother and Barney had supplied them with but Frank decided he wanted something special for this evening. He smiled as he thought about it, folding the paper bag and putting it away before heading back into the living room. He briefly wondered where Pete and Edie had gotten to then heard laughter echoing from upstairs, the light throaty sound of amusement he associated with the woman, something he was hearing much more frequently since they brought Pete home. The younger man's low tone followed, not exactly a laugh. A rumbling voice of disapproval? More light laughter followed as Frank's foot hit the first step and he slowly mounted the stairs. At the top he paused and rapped with his knuckles on the open bedroom door and poked his head into the room before entering.

Pete sat on the bed, his back against the wooden headboard, his long legs stretched out in front of him. One of the shoe boxes Frank had brought with him sat open beside him and several small piles of photographs were lying on the blanket. Edie sat across from him, between his feet, legs crossed Indian fashion as she sifted through pictures the man handed to her after first looking at them himself. Her lips still trembled with the laughter Frank had heard and Pete's forehead was creased with an exasperated frown.

"Edie..." The PI rolled his eyes, dropped the handful of photos he was flipping through and quickly leaned forward to make a grab for a small stack of glossies the woman had tucked under one knee. She was too fast for him, snatching them away and holding them out of his reach, her lips curving in amusement as the laughter returned in full force. She screeched as Pete scrambled to his knees and made a wild lunge for her hand but once again she was too quick, stretching her arm out toward Frank and entreating him to take and hold her prize while clutching at the detective's shirt with her other hand. Pete fell back against the headboard with a scowl for his dad as the older man gave his attention to the photographs and with a furtive peek at Edie as the bed frame behind him gave a tortured groan.

"Don't tell me you're still embarrassed by this old thing." Frank grabbed the wooden chair from beside the dresser, slid it over next to the bed and around to face himself and sat down, his arms resting across the back of the chair as he stared at the picture. "I happen to think you look pretty darn cute there dressed in nothing but your birthday suit." He gave Pete an amused glance and then had to laugh out loud at the look of pure frustration that darkened his son's face.

"You would," the man groused, picking up the pictures he'd dropped and tossing them haphazardly in Edie's direction, a couple of them fluttering to the floor for Frank to lean over and pick up and hand to the girl. He gave her a look but her attention had returned to the faces staring back at her from the photographs she was handling with much more care than Pete had. Something was going on here but he had no clue as to what or why.

"Yes, well..." Frank's gaze slid over the picture of his son, no more than two years old, standing beside the bathtub in the first house he and Elizabeth had been able to afford, one little hand fisted in the shower curtain and a mutinous look on his face as he rebelled against being lifted into the tub. Life in a small apartment hadn't been what Frank Gunn wanted for his family and the house, no matter the shape it had been in when they had first moved in, had quickly become home and had been that for the first eight years of Pete's life. "You never did want to get into that tub," he mused.

Edie glanced at Pete. He was rubbing the back of his neck as he squinted at some writing on the back of a photograph, seemingly paying her and Pop no attention. She smiled to herself, deciding the expression on his face at that precise moment exactly matched that of his two-year-old self in the picture in Frank Gunn's hand.

"It's okay if he doesn't want you to keep it," Frank grinned, holding the photograph out almost at arms length to take a last look at it before handing it and the others back to Edie. "That picture took on a life of its own after I had it developed. Pete's mom thought it was the funniest thing in the world and ended up giving at least one copy to everyone in the family I think. I still have one or two and I'm pretty sure my sister Patty has a couple. That woman never gets rid of anything." He leaned in conspiratorially, gave Edie a wink and spoke in a stage whisper. "So I can get you another one. You can have it enlarged and hang it on the wall inside the front door."

Pete released a huge sigh and have his father a disgusted look.

"Don't give her any ideas."

"Has anybody ever told you you're a party pooper?" Frank shook his head forlornly, a secret smile in his eyes. "You'll change your tune one of these days when its your own kid. It won't seem so silly or embarrassing then." The smile traveled from his eyes to his lips as he saw Pete's eyes shift quickly to the blonde woman then back to the box he was refilling. Edie didn't look up from her intense perusal of the photo Frank had returned to her, but the tender curve of her lips was visible through the soft curtain of her hair as she bent over her prize.

The three sat in silence for a few minutes as Edie looked through the last few items Pete handed her. Frank watched her for a moment, glanced at his son to find the younger man staring at his girlfriend, an appreciative gleam in his eyes, then remembered something as his own gaze fell to the shoe box of photographs Pete now had on his lap. The older man unfolded himself from his chair, pulling it back into place against the wall and maneuvering past the bed and dresser to the closet, emerging a few moments later to somewhat hesitantly hand a small square of paper to Pete.

"It got separated from the rest of your things." Seeing the careful manner in which his son handled the photograph he was handed, Frank Gunn decided he really didn't need to say anything further about where it had been and how it came to be in his possession. He noticed Edie eyeing their exchange curiously but she didn't say anything.

"I wondered where it was when I went through my wallet." Pete's voice was soft. "I was actually kind of surprised I still had a wallet," he half joked. He could feel the imminent return of the headache he thought he'd shaken with a couple of aspirin after his shower.

She's very pretty. You carry her picture around in your wallet so she must be your girl. Is she your girl?

His fingers tightened on the photo.

I saw her, you know. Going into your apartment building with that cop Jacoby.

His eyes recognized the brown stains for what they were. Dried blood.

I bet she'd be a real nice girl to have. And blonde. Just like that other girl. You remember that other girl, Gunn? The one that ended up dead over across the tracks?

His gaze found Edie's and he felt the warm flush that accompanied a cold sweat.

Are you okay?

His lips parted and for the briefest of moments Pete wondered if he had said the words out loud. But Edie's concerned expression didn't change. She continued to meet his gaze with that soft blue stare that could turn his world upside down.

I'm fine, just fine. Don't worry about me.

His heartbeat kicked up a notch and then another. He had awakened and she'd been beside his bed. And she had smiled as only she could. She'd held water to his lips and read to him and fed him soup and hadn't looked away when the doctor pulled aside the bed covers and the cotton gown and uncovered all those bruises. She had showered him and shaved him and dressed him and undressed him and cried over him and brought him home and stayed with him. She had called Pop and told him what happened and Pop had come and Pete knew there was a story there that he didn't know about yet. But he knew he would. All in good time. She had done all those things. For him. Because she loved him.

"I'll always worry about you."

Edie's forehead crinkled in confusion, her eyes narrowing into those pretty half moons like they always did when she was trying to figure something out. Sudden understanding lit up her face and she smiled that big smile he loved and just as suddenly the bile rose in his throat as he saw in his mind's eye the body of a young woman lying in a heap next to the railroad tracks, her pretty smile gone forever, her blonde hair streaked with mud, her clothing torn. And her face became Edie's face, her smile Edie's smile, her hair the soft blonde of the woman sitting on the bed with him. Suddenly his legs were over the side of the bed and he was in the bathroom and on his knees vomiting into the toilet, his head pounding, his heart pummeling his chest, his hands clenching the cold porcelain.

Pete was unaware of Pop taking half a step in the same direction then pausing as Edie brushed past him, her gentle touch and soft voice letting the older man know she'd take care of the younger. Then she was beside him on the hard floor, her fingers gentle on his neck and against his hair. A damp cloth cooled his face and a tumbler of cold water was pressed into his hand. After a while, after his stomach had emptied itself of everything it held, he slumped backwards against the side of the bathtub and she sat beside him and he listened as she quietly began to talk about the week he had been missing and how she had stayed here at his apartment because once she had come over with Jacoby she couldn't bear to leave. How friends had stopped by constantly – his, hers, theirs. How Mother had been here with her that morning Jacoby had come by to inform her about the house the police had raided and how they had found personal items there that belonged to him and that he was probably dead. She told him that Jacoby didn't say the words, wouldn't say the words, but she had seen it in his eyes and heard it in his voice. She told him about the anger and fear and frustration and rage and helplessness she had felt. Anger at herself for the pain she had caused him. Fear that she'd never see him again. Frustration with Jacoby at what she perceived as his ineffectiveness. Rage against the person who had done this to him. Helplessness at being unable to do anything herself. And she'd ended up right here where they were now and had done the same thing he had done. Mother had found her and tucked her into his bed and told her that everything would be all right.

Pete shifted on the hard tile and reached his arm around her, pulling her tight against his chest and burying his face in her hair. She reached for his other hand, pulling it toward her, separating the square paper he still held crumpled between his fingers. She saw her own face staring back at her from the photograph and without warning something deep down inside her snapped and she was crying into his shoulder in a way she had never cried in her entire life. Great heaving sobs that came from some unknown recess deep within her body, inside her soul, from the secret places in her heart. She clung to him desperately, hands grasping at him as he pulled her into his lap and raised his knees up and held her there in the warmth and tightness of his embrace, his arms and body providing a refuge she had been afraid she had lost forever. His cheek once again found the softness of her hair and he rocked her as he uttered tender words of comfort, holding her as the sobs were slowly reduced to hiccuping breaths and the tears subsided and began to dry upon her cheeks.

As he felt her relax against him Pete lifted his head and looked down at Edie's face, at the streaks of her tears and her runny nose and red eyes and flushed cheeks. He reached up and ran his fingers through her hair and brought his hand back down and used his palm to tenderly wipe the remaining moisture from her cheeks. When she didn't react to either caress he came to the conclusion she'd cried herself to sleep so he sat there and held her until his legs fell asleep and the light from the bedroom window dimmed and grayed. She woke when he finally moved, his back sore from sitting on the cold floor and leaning against the tub.

"Pete?" Her voice was groggy and confused as she slid from his lap.

"You know what?" He turned and moved to his knees with some effort.

"What?" Edie struggled to her feet feeling stiff and awkward and not quite all there.

"We're quite the pair." Pete accepted Edie's assistance to help him stand.

"I guess we deserve each other." She attempted a smile.

"You know what else?"

The woman's smile grew a little as she hesitantly shook her head.

"Mother's a pretty smart woman." His lips straightened as he returned her smile. "When she says everything will be all right then everything will be all right." His palms framed her face and he leaned forward to gently kiss her lips. "And everything's all right. I'm here and you're here. We're both where we belong. Together." Pete swallowed thickly as the truth of those words settled in. "Neither one of us is going anywhere ever again." His lips met hers in another kiss and he leaned his forehead against hers. "I promise."

"I love you, Pete."

"I'm glad you do." He smiled again and his breath was warm against her face.

Edie pulled away and made a face, feeling sticky and clammy and disheveled.

"I need to take a shower."

"Again? You just took one with me." Pete watched as she began to unbutton her blouse. "You must be the cleanest girl in town," he teased, reaching behind her to unclasp her bra and then helping her step out of her slacks. "Need any help?" He winked, still trying to lighten the mood.

Edie shook her head and wiped at her face as Pete turned the water on and pulled the curtain into place.

"I just don't want your dad to see me like this. I'll only be a minute."

He nodded, saying he would tell Pop she'd be right down. He'd probably started supper so long ago it would be considered leftovers by now. He turned to leave the bathroom then turned back, pulling the shower curtain aside to look in on her, admiring for a moment the way the warm water streamed down her body, the steam curling the tips of her hair and bringing a pink blush to her skin. He smiled at her questioning look.

"You don't have to worry about what Pop might think. He thinks you're pretty no matter what you look like." His eyes smiled at her. "Just like I do."