A/N: I'm excited beyond belief that next month there will be a new movie! I know it was the love of the fans that kept this flame alive. I have all these questions about whether there was a time jump or if they start where they left off, and many others that I've attempted to fill in with my fics. My excitement led me to write this story to help get me through the final month of waiting. I intended this to be more lighthearted, but found it getting more intense than I'd imagined. There are still some lighter moments, and of course, have no fear, a happy ending. I hope you enjoy.
A Federal Case
Chapter 1
They didn't speak all the way into work. There was no discussion of the day to come, no good-natured bickering over the radio; indeed, it was forgotten completely, leaving them in charged silence. The Jaguar's occupants each focused stonily forward as the sounds of Denver's morning traffic engulfed them, along with the monotonous swish of the windshield wipers as they swiped away lacy snowflakes.
Oliver and Shane O'Toole had had their first fight since they'd married six months before.
And it had been a doozy.
Shane shifted her gaze to the passenger side window, staring blindly out at the cars that passed them, at the light snow that would ordinarily have given her a thrill of childlike excitement. But her thoughts instead were on what had transpired the night before….
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It was actually quite silly, she thought now. She'd been excited all day after she'd received the text notification that Oliver's fiftieth birthday present would arrive by six that evening, something that she knew he would love. After an intensive, two-month search online, she'd finally located the oldest edition of Shakespeare's First Folio that she could find (and afford) and in order to get it in time for his surprise birthday party, she'd had to resort to rather unsavory means-at least it would be considered as such in Oliver's viewpoint.
They'd arrived after work just in time to see the FedEx van come to a stop in front of their house. She'd glanced nervously at Oliver, whose lips had formed a straight line of disapproval.
"I can't believe someone on our street would be receiving a parcel from that—that brummagem delivery service!" he commented angrily.
Shane remained guiltily silent.
They unbuckled their seatbelts, and Shane bit at her thumbnail as she waited for Oliver to come around and open her door for her (a gentlemanly consideration she'd given up protesting), her eyes on the FedEx van.
The delivery man got out of his vehicle and began walking up the front sidewalk to their house, and Shane heard Oliver's indrawn breath. They reached the steps just as the man rang the doorbell.
"Excuse me, sir," called Oliver curtly. "I'm afraid you must be mistaken; we weren't expecting any deliveries from your…service."
"Shane O'Toole?" the FedEx man turned and asked Oliver, not reacting to Oliver's cold disdain. Shane felt her face go pink with embarrassment.
"I most certainly am not," Oliver replied. "I—"
"I'm Shane," she interrupted, reaching for the package. She felt the weight of Oliver's shocked gaze on her back.
"Oh, sorry ma'am. Could you please sign here?" He presented his tablet, and she quickly signed the screen with a trembling finger. "Thank you."
"Thank you. Have a nice day."
And the man went on his way, trotting back down the steps to his van at a stiff clip. He was pulling away from the curb before Shane could unlock the front door. She let herself in and left the door open for Oliver, hastening to a side table in the living room and shoving Oliver's book in a drawer. But she couldn't avoid her husband forever, even in his current mood.
"Ms. McInerney," he said sternly, lapsing to her maiden name—a habit he fell back into whenever he was annoyed with her, or, oddly, when he was feeling particularly flirtatious. His manner at that moment was not in the least bit flirty, unfortunately.
With an inward sigh, she met him in the foyer, steeling herself to face the music.
"Oliver, I can explain—"
"I should hope so," he said, hanging up his coat on the rack by the door. "Please help me to understand why an employee of the most honorable, historically noble mail delivery agency, known as The United States Postal Service, would resort to—indeed, lower herself to—enlist the services of Federal Express."
Shane felt her hackles rising at his haughty tone, and her fallback response to that had always been either sarcasm or coldness. It was a struggle to keep those emotions in check now. Unlike some women who seemed to equate conflict with passion, she had always hated when they argued. It had never excited her in the least. And so she moderated her voice and tried to explain as calmly as she could.
"It was my only option, Oliver, I promise you."
"I'm sure you know, dear wife, that the USPS offers overnight services as well, or three-day priority mail."
"Of course I know this. I believe I have worked for the USPS for nearly as long as you have. But sometimes, when you order something online, you have no choice as to the mail service the seller uses."
"Aw," he sniffed. "You used the internet rather than ordering from a respectable catalog or through a telephone call with an actual person…"
"Yes, dear husband, that's the way things are often done here in the twenty-first century." The sarcasm was creeping in, despite how hard she was trying. Sometimes he just brought out the worst in her. "You are totally overreacting to this, Oliver."
"Am I?"
"Yes. You're acting like I've committed treason or something." She dropped her shoulder bag on the foyer table.
"It was a traitorous act to the fine institution we serve."
Shane looked heavenward. "My only act was to try to get my package to my home as quickly as possible. You know as well as I do that the USPS isn't always reliable."
Oliver drew in a sharp breath. "Take that back."
"Come on, Oliver, we work at the DLO. We've found letters dating back decades."
"And rarely is that the postal service's fault. It's almost always human error."
"And whose fault is it when mail gets caught in machinery?" She countered. "Not to mention the fact that we have a shortage of employees, so the mail now takes longer to get where it's going, and stamp prices have gone sky-high. Healthy competition from independent delivery services has been a good thing. It's made us try new ways to up our game. Don't get me wrong, I love where we work, but there's nothing in my experience that government does efficiently."
Oliver frowned. "I don't even know who you are right now."
"I'm your wife, and you have to trust that I did what I did for good reason."
Oliver's eyes narrowed. "And what, pray tell, was so important that you had no care for the manner of delivery?"
"I prefer not to say," Shane replied airily, choosing that moment to remove her own coat, brushing past him to hang it up alongside his.
"May I ask why?" Oliver asked tightly.
"You may ask, but wives are not obligated to share all of their secrets."
Oliver fell silent, and when she turned back to him, he was looking at her with such an expression of hurt and betrayal, she almost relented.
He cleared his throat. "Holly used to say almost the exact same thing."
It was Shane's turn to be shocked. "I can't believe you would compare me to her. Have I ever given you reason to doubt or mistrust me?"
"Why yes," he said, too quickly. "That time when you read my letter to Holly before mailing it on to her without my permission."
"I—I thought you had forgiven me for that a long time ago." The memory of that terrible time between them made her eyes suddenly sting with unshed tears.
"I have, but you asked if there was ever a time—" And finally, he really looked at her face, and she could see the dawning of regret. "Shane—" he began, the anger suddenly draining from his words, from his expression. He took a step toward her, but she brought up her hands and walked around him back to her coat. She took it off the hook and grabbed her purse.
"I'm trying very hard not to loose my temper, Oliver, so I'm going over to Rita and Norman's for awhile."
"Shane, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"
"No, you shouldn't have. Don't wait up."
And she left, careful not to slam the door, and went toward the driveway where her car was parked. A sharp pain in the vicinity of her heart made her pause, and she turned around and went quickly back into the house. Oliver was still standing in the foyer where she'd left him, staring morosely at the door. His eyes widened in surprise at her sudden reappearance.
"I'm coming back, Oliver," she reassured him. "And I love you. But right now, I need some time, okay?"
All he could do was nod, but she saw the relief on his face before she left. A moment later, she opened the door again. "There's leftover spaghetti in the fridge." And then she was gone for real.
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Shane had needed to get the last-minute plans for Oliver's birthday party settled, so it hadn't been a total loss going over to see her best friends. When Norman went out to pick up some Chinese food, she'd confided in Rita about her disagreement with Oliver.
"Oh, that must have been very upsetting," her friend said.
"And stupid. It just got too out of hand. I know we both said things we didn't mean. Well, and some things we did."
"Your first fight as a married couple?" Rita asked gently, knowingly.
"Yes, I suppose it is. I can't believe he still has hangups where Holly is concerned. I thought we'd laid all those doubts to rest the day we got married."
"I think it's like PTSD," Rita said wisely. "Something can trigger those old fears sometimes. It's like when Norman eats seafood."
"What?" Shane laughed at the abrupt and strange turn of the conversation.
"Yeah, eating seafood reminds Norman of that time he was on his cousin's boat fishing. He fell into the lake and nearly drowned. He can't swim."
"Norman can't swim?" Shane said in surprise.
"No, his cousin can't—he's the one who fell in. It was a very scary few minutes, and they both coughed up a lot of lake water. So now, whenever there's fish on the menu, he coughs, remembering how he almost lost his cousin."
Shane bit her lip to try not to laugh. "Is his cousin okay?"
"I believe so. He's a lifeguard now in the summer. Norman inspired him to learn to swim and save lives. I'm so proud of him. Of Norman, I mean. Oh, and his cousin too, of course. I only found out about it myself when I made fish sticks when we first got married. He coughed and coughed for hours…"
Shane's brow furrowed in confusion. "But, Rita, I've seen Norman eat seafood before." Then, a thought occurred. "By chance, did you do something uh, special with those fish sticks?"
"Well, I made a fancy dipping sauce."
"And what was in this fancy dipping sauce?"
"The main ingredient was siracha, but I thought that it didn't give the right amount of zing, so I started randomly adding things from the spice rack. Norman said it was delicious, or at least I think he did, he was coughing so much because of the fish sticks."
Shane covered her smile with her hand. Knowing Norman, he made up that elaborate story about the fish allergy and the fishing trip to save Rita's feelings. It was a known fact that Rita was a very adventurous cook, and sometimes that adventuresome experimentation made her creations inedible.
"Well, I will try to remember never to serve Norman seafood."
"That's probably a good idea," Rita agreed. "So you see, maybe FedEx is Oliver's fish sticks."
Shane smiled and patted her friend's hand. "You may be right, Rita."
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When Shane arrived home that night, it was after ten, and Oliver was already in bed. He'd left the porch light on for her, as well as a lamp in the living room so she wouldn't come into a dark house. His continued thoughtfulness reassured her that this was just a disagreement; they would get past this. She went into the bathroom and prepared for bed, then entered their bedroom.
Oliver's deep breathing led her to their bed, and she climbed in and lay there in the dark, listening to him sleep. A few tears slipped from her eyes and she scooted closer to her husband, pressing her body against his bare back. He gave a contented sigh in his sleep, and he found her hand and held it against his chest. Shane pressed her lips against his warm skin.
"Good night, my love," she whispered.
And then, she slept.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxx
The morning found her alone in bed, and Shane heard the shower running. She sighed, wishing she might have awakened with him, so she could apologize and maybe enjoy making up with him before they had to get ready for work. But he'd gotten up before his old clock radio could click on with soft classical music, and she had the distinct feeling he was avoiding her.
"Still mad at me, I guess," she said to the empty room.
She reached over to Oliver's side of the bed and turned off the music, then waited in the silence for the shower to turn off. She contemplated joining him, making up with him in the most pleasurable way she could think of, but she knew that this was something they would have to talk through. The things they'd said the night before couldn't be washed away in a passionate tryst, and there was also the mortifying thought that he might rebuff her if he was still angry.
A few minutes later, he came out of the bathroom, his hair slicked back, a towel wrapped about his waist. He stopped short when he saw that she was awake, her eyes skimming the lines of his chest and arms, following a stray water droplet that slid down his stomach and beneath the towel. She felt her heart pick up speed, and she was about to get up and embrace him, but he interrupted her train of thought, seemingly unaware of her admiration.
"Good morning," he said politely, then turned toward the closet to pick out the day's shirt, suit and tie.
"Morning, Oliver. Hey, can we talk about last night?"
"I have that meeting this morning at the Capitol Hill branch. Please hurry if you intend to ride with me."
"All right," she said, crestfallen, and walked past him into the steamy bathroom.
She didn't see him close his eyes against the pain of seeing her leave.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
They arrived at the DLO, and Oliver slowed the car in the loading zone so she could get out. By then the snow had really picked up, and she moved automatically to kiss his cheek. His face was smooth and he smelled wonderful, and she would have lingered, but he was staring straight ahead, as if waiting patiently for her to finish.
"I'm sorry," he said, for not opening her door. "I'm running late. I don't have time to come in."
"Okay. See you later?"
"Yes."
She slid out of the Jaguar but stood a moment longer with the door still open as the flurry whipped around her in the wind.
"I love you, Oliver," she said hopefully, her eyes welling.
He hesitated, but then her heart leapt when he finally turned to look at her, his eyes momentarily softening. "I love you too."
She held his gaze for a moment, then she closed the door and watched him drive away. At least he was talking to her, she thought; the rest would come later.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
As Oliver pulled away in his Jag, he glanced up at the rearview mirror and saw Shane still standing there in the falling snow, staring after him. It broke his heart, and he knew it was all his doing, all his overreaction. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, mentally chastising himself for reverting back to the hardened, bitter man he used to be.
When he'd awakened that morning, wrapped in Shane's arms, he'd forgotten his anger for a moment. Even in sleep, he'd clung to her, his soul craving her healing closeness, her abiding love. Half asleep, he'd turned to face her, nuzzling into the warmth of her neck, feeling her body close to his. He almost woke her up to show her how sorry he was, to show her his love in the best way he knew how. But that wouldn't solve anything, he'd realized, and gently disentangled himself from her to get up and take an early (initially very cold) shower.
Now, as he headed for the Capitol Hill branch, he realized that his mind would not be on his work.
"Dear God," he prayed aloud, "please help me to find a way to make this right. I need your help. I need your guidance. Please lead me down the path I need to go."
At the next intersection, he turned onto a road leading out of the city and to the edge of the mountains.
Joe O'Toole opened the door in surprise at seeing his son so early on a weekday morning. The only time he'd known Oliver to miss work was for his honeymoon six months before, so he was automatically concerned that something must be very wrong. One look at the younger man's face, and he was ushering him inside out of the cold.
"Come in, son," he said, nodding to the couch in the cozy living room.
The smell of the fire in the wood stove and fresh coffee enveloped Oliver in warmth as he sat down on the overstuffed couch. His father soon joined him, bearing two mugs of strong black coffee. Oliver accepted his cup with a grateful nod, and Joe, still clad in a plaid flannel robe, pajama bottoms, and slippers, sat in the easy chair beside him.
"What's going on, Oliver?"
"I've really mucked things up with Shane, Dad, and I don't know how to take it all back."
Relieved that no one had died, Joe took a fortifying sip of coffee and settled into father mode. "Whatever you've done, Shane loves you and I know you'll find your way. What happened?"
Oliver explained everything, staring straight at the flickering flames within the glass doors of the wood stove. When he finished his tale of woe, he looked over at his father, giving him a self-deprecating grin.
"It all sounds really stupid now, saying it out loud."
Joe smiled back. "Yes, it does. So why the overreaction? Obviously something has opened old wounds. I can't help but feel my jumping ship to FedEx is partly to blame."
Oliver looked sheepish. "I know now you hadn't meant to hurt me or the family name by that. I guess it seemed at the time as another betrayal, that you no longer wanted to even be employed by the same company I worked for."
"You know it was for other reasons. I felt I'd lost you as well as your mother, and working at the USPS was just another reminder of all that I'd lost. It was a new start for me. Plus, the pay was better."
"I realize that now, of course. But when I discovered that Shane had used FedEx, it brought everything back."
Oliver took a drink from his mug. It was even stronger than he liked it himself, but he welcomed the bitterness and the heavy jolt of caffeine; it had been a rough night.
"To top it off, she left me, Dad, last night. Oh, she rushed to reassure me that she was coming back, but still, I hadn't felt so lost and lonely and angry since Holly…"
"Equating Shane with Holly is really unfair, Oliver."
Oliver set down his mug on the coffee table and stood abruptly. Joe watched as his son began to pace.
"I know that. I knew it the moment her name came out of my mouth, but somehow I couldn't stop myself. You should have seen the look on Shane's face. I immediately felt contrite, but the damage was done, and she…left."
"Probably before she made matters worse by losing her temper too, I bet," Joe surmised. "And so you gave her the silent treatment this morning?"
"Not because I'm still angry with her—I just feel so ashamed. I don't know what to say to make it right."
"An apology might be a good start."
"I've tried, but the words won't seem to come. I feel emotionally stunted right now, and she was right to point out that she's done nothing to deserve my lack of faith in her. If only I could take back every hurtful thing I said to her."
"You can't, son. But there are things you can do to make it up to her. Starting by getting your butt back to the DLO and quit hiding behind silence and pride. You know as well as I do how lack of communication leads to the demise of a marriage."
"Yes, you're right, of course. But what should I do exactly?"
"She likes yellow roses, if I remember right."
"Yes, yes she does." Oliver's face brightened somewhat at the reminder, and the beginnings of a plan. "Then what?"
"Get her alone and tell her all the things you've just told me about your fears and reminders of the past. She's a smart, understanding lady; she'll forgive you, I have no doubt, and probably has already figured out where all this is coming from, and is waiting for you to get it together and humble yourself before her."
Oliver missed the sparkle in his father's eyes. His son was fifty years old, but he still saw the uncertain boy sometimes, the boy who had felt such loss and loneliness and heartache. Shane had come along and saved him, but sometimes he still needed a swift kick in the pants to remind him of that. That Oliver came to him for advice now warmed Joe's heart. Being included in his life had gone a long way toward healing his own past of loss and betrayal.
"You think that will be enough?" Oliver asked uncertainly.
Joe grinned. "I'm sure you'll think of something else that will make everything better. The reward for a good fight with your wife is always how great making up can be."
Oliver blushed. He'd already thought of that himself that morning, and his heart skipped a beat in anticipation of finding that closeness again with his wife, of the confirmation that their love could survive anything—even his stupidity.
His sense of purpose restored, he gave a relieved sigh. "All right. I should be off then."
He looked at his dad, who was serenely sipping his heavy-duty coffee.
"Thanks, Dad," he said, his eyes watering in gratitude. Joe set down his coffee and rose, gathering his not-so-little boy into his arms.
"I'm glad I was here," he said meaningfully, his own eyes filling. He hugged him tighter and patted his strong back. "You know, if you feel you need it, counseling can be a great help. It helped me."
Oliver pulled back. "Really? You?"
Joe chuckled. "I know, I may seem totally put together, but it took a long time to get to this point. Love is a wonderful thing, Oliver, but once you've been burned by it, the pain can linger a long time after the damage has been done, and those instincts of self-preservation can block you from truly experiencing it again. You've been blessed enough to find a woman who truly loves you, whom you can trust completely. If you need help recognizing that you deserve that love, it won't hurt to get some help. Maybe even as a couple. Had your mother been interested…"
"I'll consider that. And I'm sorry, Dad. I forget sometimes that Mom didn't just leave me. But I pray you find someone like my Shane, who will bring true love into your life."
Joe's smile now was a bit wobbly. "Thank you, son. But until that happens, I'm so grateful that I have you. Now, go kiss and makeup with that amazing wife of yours."
They embraced again, and a revived Oliver set out again into the snowy morning, a new mission on his mind and in his heart.
A/N: I'd originally thought this would be a one-shot, but I think it needs another chapter to tie things up. I think it would be unrealistic with all their baggage, that it would be smooth sailing all the time. A special thanks to the POstables on Twitter (X) for all their great suggestions for this fic, but especially to nettiemac001, whose idea was the inspiration for what you've just read. Thanks everyone for reading. Chapter 2 will be coming soon!