4.08 "Ask the Dust" - 10/30/94
She's sad.
Rita doesn't go looking for her father's memory often. In this case, the memory found her in a photo album belonging to Karen Krane.
Rita played at the mansion as a little girl and rode the Victory Flyer tricycle that now adorns a corner of her living room, weathered from decades of neglect. Chris wonders if this is what Rita's heart looks like on the inside, rusty and dirt-soaked from years of abandonment.
Her dad and Karen's brother were friends long ago before business deals collapsed and lives shattered. Karen always wondered what happened to little Rita Fontana in the wake of Donald's downfall, yet no one ever searched for answers. Although Chris is starting to suspect that's not entirely true- maybe it's not a coincidence that the Krane Foundation paid for Rita's college education.
He wonders if she's contemplating the same thoughts as she gazes out the window, a spectacular sunset streaking the sky in brilliant pastels. They're seldom out of work early enough to catch these from her breathtaking apartment view, and he wonders if that's one more thing adding to her melancholy tonight.
He hates when she's sad.
He's restoring the tricycle for her, a promise he was happy to make, and got her to laugh a little when he said it would be a nice reprieve from the endless Charger grease stains. He'll polish it to a shine, replace the chain, put on new tires, and add a cute little basket and bell. Something her kids will love one day, a little extra present from their Uncle Chris.
When he said this aloud she visibly winced. He didn't realize he hit a nerve, and now he's sorry he said anything at all.
He wants that for her: marriage and children, a life beyond hurt and heartbreak and homicides. He doesn't know Eric well yet, but he gets the impression that children might not be a priority for him, let alone marriage. He's trying not to be that guy again, the one that warns guys off or puffs his chest, stakes his claim on his best friend when he has no right to interfere.
And he has Jillian, so this shouldn't bother him as much as it does. Right?
But he sees her, and she's sad, and he wants to make it all better. Wants to fix her heart like the trike, save it from its demise in a forgotten shed, buff out the cracks and dents and scrapes it has survived along the way. Make it sparkly and new.
Even if it means being overly friendly and cordial to her new boyfriend.
However, tonight there's no Eric or Jillian, just them. The case is solved, Karen is safe, and they have a little time before the next phone call inevitably comes, and they do it all again.
He can be here for her the way she's been there for him these past months. Bonds strengthened by trauma, intensified by grief, complicated by circumstance.
Solidified by unyielding love.
Chris ambles easily around her space, setting down two glasses of wine and a bowl of popcorn before stepping over to admire the view.
"Pretty," he murmurs, but he's looking at her.