I'm hoping that the site is settling down and the glitches working themselves out. It's a bit unnerving when a chapter is there, then it isn't, wondering if reviews just aren't showing up in a timely manner or if people just aren't reviewing. Many thanks to those who have persevered through the frustrations to read and to encourage me with your kind reviews. Here is a new chapter for your reading pleasure. Warning: this one is a bit angsty as well.

Pick Up on Aisle 10: Chapter 9

The next morning, Frank woke early, as usual. He shaved, showered, and dressed in his usual 3 piece suit. As he was adjusting his tie, he found his gaze locking on the bare spot on his finger.

The spot his wedding ring had rested for almost 50 years.

'It's time," he reminded himself.

Time for a new start. With Lucy and their children.

He felt…hoped…that she was leaning towards accepting his marriage proposal. Towards making a family with him.

Downstairs, Pops had breakfast waiting. He noticed the older man casually glance at his hand. Holding it up, he wiggled his fingers.

"It's safely tucked away."

"How does it feel?"

"Odd."

"I have no doubt," Henry commented, twisting his own wedding band.

They ate in silence, then Frank gathered his things and headed out. He took a deep breath, noting the light fragrance he had come to associate with Lucy. Smiling, he recalled her leaning against him on the ride, her hand nestled comfortably in his.

And that kiss. Her lips, soft and warm against his. Her scent, the taste of their dinner on her lips, her body pressed against him, the desire sparking hot in his belly.

And other places.

He checked the time, wanting to hear her voice and wondering if it was too early to call. She had said she was an early riser. Though if she didn't go in to work until noon, she might be sleeping a little later.

Finally, he sent off a text.

'Good morning. You up?'

After several minutes, he got a text back with a thumbs up.

He pressed the 'call' button, listening to the ringing. After several rings, he frowned, wondering if he had misunderstood her reply. Maybe she wasn't up yet. Or maybe she wasn't close to her phone anymore.

Finally, he heard it connect.

"Hello?"

Her voice was soft, almost weak sounding.

His concern increased. "Lucy? I'm sorry. Did I wake you up?"

"No," she assured him. "Been up for a while."

She still didn't sound right.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "You don't sound good."

"Gee, thanks."

"You sound like you don't feel well," he clarified.

"No, I'm okay," she told him.

He expressed his disbelief with a snort.

"Really. I'll be fine. I'm just…"

"Lucy?"

"Damn it."

He heard the phone hit something hard, then muffled sounds coming from the speaker that he couldn't identify. He leaned forward to speak to his driver.

"I need to make a detour to Dr Makennas house."

"Yes, sir."

Continuing to listen, he finally puzzled out the sound.

Retching. Spitting. A flushing toilet.

Finally, she picked up the phone.

"Sorry about that. I'm okay. Just still waking up."

"I'm on my way," he told her.

"There's no need for that," she protested. "Shouldn't you be on your way to work?"

"I am," he replied. "But it's still early and I'm concerned about you."

"You shouldn't be, I'm just fine. You have important work to do and you left early yesterday because of me. I don't want to make you late today."

"That's not your worry," he said. "My calendar doesn't show anything urgent, and I need to check on you. Otherwise, I'll be worrying all day and won't be able to do a good job anyway."

"Fine," she finally huffed.

He glanced out the window to see where they were. "I'll be there in about 5 minutes," he told her.

When he arrived at her house, he quickly made his way up the front steps and knocked gently on her door, calling her name. He heard the sound of the alarm being turned off and locks being disengaged and finally the door swung open.

A few inches.

She stuck her face in the opening.

"See, I'm fine. Now, go to work," she told him, moving to close the door.

He stuck his foot out to prevent her from closing it completely.

"Can I come inside? Please? Just for a minute?"

She hesitated a moment, then sighed, stepping back and allowing him to enter the house. He turned to watch her as she closed the door and locked up again.

Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail and when she finally turned to face him, he noted how pale she was. He reached to cup her chin, lifting her face to look him in the eye.

"Fine, huh?"

She pressed her lips together and straightened. Glaring at him.

"Yes, I'm absolutely fine. As you can see."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I thought you said you didn't have morning sickness," he commented.

"Not much," she reminded him. "Like I said, I keep crackers and water on my nightstand and have a few bites before I even get out of bed and usually, after a minute or two, that's enough for me to get on with my day."

"Usually?"

"Usually. There's been a couple of days when it hasn't been, and it seems today is one of those days. It should pass pretty soon, though," she assured him. "I just need to…"

She paused, swallowing hard and taking a deep breath.

"Throw up," she finished, pushing past him to rush down the hallway and into her bathroom.

Sighing, he shed his overcoat and followed her. He stopped in the door or the bathroom, an image popping into his mind as he watched her kneeling in front of the toilet. Giving himself a shake, he stepped closer, kneeling next to her to pull her hair back while rubbing comforting circles on her back.

When she was through heaving, she reached up and flushed, sitting back on her haunches with her eyes closed. Frank stood, finding a cup on the counter. He filled it with water and handed it to her.

"Rinse," he commanded.

Nodding her thanks, she took the cup and did as she was told. He opened the cabinet under the sink and found a washcloth. Getting it wet, he eased down next to her again and reached over to wipe her face.

She relaxed under his gentle touch, finally opening her eyes and smiling at him.

"How are you?"

As she started to reply, he continued.

"And if you say 'fine,' I'm calling bullshit on you."

She grinned weakly.

"Better. At the moment."

"I'll take that."

After a few minutes, she sat back, resting against the side of the bathtub. She drew her knees up, resting her head on them as she wrapped her arms around them.

"Sorry about that," she whispered.

"Don't worry about it. What do you need?" he asked gently. "More crackers? Toast?"

"Might help," she admitted, finally looking up at him.

Standing up, he wet the rag again and laid it across the back of her neck, lightly kissed the top of her head, then made his way into her kitchen.

He opened the cabinets, quickly locating crackers and a loaf of bread. He dropped a couple of pieces into the toaster, then continued looking around, wanting to be able to offer drinking options as well. Pulling his phone out, he took a moment to text Baker that he was running a little late, but should be there before his first scheduled meeting of the day.

When everything was ready, he located a tray and set everything on it, then took it back to the bathroom where Lucy still waited, right where he had left her. He set the tray on the counter, then ducked back into her bedroom, grabbing a throw off of a chair by the window.

Back in the bathroom, he draped the light blanket around her shoulders, set the tray on the floor, then lowered himself with a grunt, his back against the cabinet so he could face her.

"Okay," he told her. "For your entree, we have plain crackers or plain, dry toast. Your drink options for the meal include water, ginger ale, peppermint tea, or orange juice."

She looked up at him.

"I went foraging in your kitchen. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," she assured him. "I'll try the ginger ale."

He opened the bottle and handed it to her. She pulled the blanket around herself, took a few small sips, then leaned her head back with a nod.

"Thank you."

She opened her eyes again, then reached out her hand to rest her hand on top of his.

After several more sips of the drink, he offered her the saucer of toast.

"Or would you rather have the crackers?"

"Toast is good," she replied, reaching over with her free hand to take it.

He watched as she nibbled a corner off, then set it down to take another drink. Her color was returning to normal and she relaxed a bit, no longer poised to lunge at the toilet.

"You really are a good man, Francis Reagan," she told him again.

He shrugged. "It's the least I could do. Considering this whole situation is at least partly my fault."

"True," she replied, "But I've known of more than a few similar situations where the man involved did considerably less. And I did offer you an out."

"That's not who I am."

"Speaking of who you are," she commented, "What do you prefer I call you? You introduced yourself as 'Frank,' but your father calls you 'Francis,' which I know is actually your name, but maybe he's the only one who can call you that. And I think anyone else I've heard address you has called you 'Commissioner' or 'Sir.'"

He grinned as he took the empty plate from her and offered her the glass of orange juice."

"Well, Commissioner, PC, and Sir are out. Those are professional titles and our relationship is not a professional one."

"Your children don't call you Sir?"

He hesitated. "That depends on the situation. I do have professional interactions with Danny and Jamie and Eddie and Joe. And Erin, to a lesser extent. In those circumstances, they do address me formally by my title. They were taught the proper use of 'Sir' and 'Ma'am' when they were kids, but most of the time, it's just 'Dad.' I expect it will be the same for these two," he said, gesturing towards her stomach.

"What did you call your parents?" he asked.

My father was always 'Sir' or 'Officer'. Mother was 'Mother' or 'Sharon.'"

"Seems rather formal."

"Nothing else was tolerated," she told him. "I asked once why they weren't mommy and daddy like other kids had." She paused, her fingers toying with his. "I learned not to ask that question."

"I'm sorry."

He squeezed her fingers, then continued. "My parents were the only ones who ever really called me by my full name. Well, them and the nuns at the Catholic school I went to. Pops is the only one left who still uses it. Everyone else uses Frank."

"Okay," she nodded, "Frank it is."

"Actually, I kind of liked hearing you call me Francis," he told her. "It's something different, something special between us."

"Do you think Henry would be okay with it?"

"I imagine he would. But you can ask him." He pulled his phone from his pocket and opened the screen. "He told me last night to give you his number and tell you to call him if you needed anything."

Her phone dinged as the number came through. She picked it up and added him into her contacts. Frank noticed her wince as she turned to set the device on the edge of the tub behind her.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she replied, waving off his concern. "I've just been sitting in the floor here for too long."

"Likewise," he told her. "Do you think you're alright to go back to the other room now?"

After considering for a moment, she nodded. "I think that the worst of it has passed. Hopefully done with the puking for a bit."

He slowly climbed to his feet. She handed him the tray and the dishes he had brought in earlier so he could set them on the counter before reaching to offer her a hand up.

Picking up the tray, he followed her into the kitchen. She took the cup of tea from him and sunk tiredly into one of the kitchen chairs.

"You can just leave that on the counter," she told him. "I'll clean up later."

"It just needs to go in the dishwasher, right?" he asked, as he rinsed the used glass and plate. At her nod, he opened the appliance and loaded the dishes in.

"You want some coffee?" she asked, moving to get up.

He glanced at his watch.

"Or do you need to go?"

"I'll stay a little longer," he told her, gesturing for her to stay seated. "Have a cup of coffee. I want to be sure you're okay before I leave."

"I'm fine. Better, anyway," she amended at his look.

"You need anything?" he asked. "More toast? Egg? Coffee?"

She shook her head. "I'm good for now."

He fixed his coffee and came to sit across from her.

"Thanks for coming," she told him softly. "I knew it would pass and everything would be okay, but it was nice to have you here."

Reaching across the table, he wrapped her hand in his.

"I want to be here for you. That's part of why I want us to get married. So I can be with you to help out in situations like this. Not that I did much…"

"Yes, you did," she assured him. She took a sip of her tea, then looked at him, head cocked slightly. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"When you first came into the bathroom, you had a look on your face. Worried. Upset."

"Of course I was. I don't like seeing you sick."

"It was more than that," she replied. "You looked…pained. Far more pained than a touch of morning sickness called for."

"That looked like more than a touch of morning sickness."

"Not really. It pretty much passed in a couple of hours, and it's usually not even that bad. From what you said, your daughter in law had it much worse."

"Maybe, but it was bad enough. I hate that you have to deal with any of it at all. This is part of why I think we need to be married. I need to know what's going on with you. I need to be able to help you when you're dealing with stuff like this. When you're not feeling well."

Before she could respond, he continued.

"I know it's not bad, in your opinion, and it's not often, but as the pregnancy progresses, I'm going to worry more. If you're sick, or hurting, or even just need something from a shelf you can't reach. Especially since I know you're not very willing to ask for help. I need to be able to see you, to know that you're okay. And I don't mean that in a 'stalkery' way. I just worry."

"I know you do. And I'm sorry. I'm just not sure I'm ready to take that step."

"I understand. And I'm not trying to push. Just remember that I'm here for you, married or not."

"I appreciate that. I just hate to bother you. I know you have other responsibilities, important responsibilities. People counting on you."

He squeezed her hand. "I want you to know that you can count on me. That you and our children are important to me."

Smiling, she returned the squeeze. "And you are to me. That's why I want to know what was on your mind earlier."

Frank sighed heavily, then looked at her.

"Mary."

Setting her mug aside, she moved her other hand to clasp his.

"The chemo."

He nodded. "It hit her so hard. She couldn't keep anything down, not even water. None of the anti nausea medications seemed to help. Some days, she couldn't even move from the bathroom floor."

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"And I couldn't do anything. I couldn't make it better. I couldn't help. When I tried to pull her hair back, it came out in my hand. The slightest touch left her with bruises. I was afraid to touch her because I knew it would hurt her, but I needed to, to reassure us both. But in the end, none of it mattered."

He took a deep breath, pulling himself back to the present, and looked at the woman across the table from him.

"I'm sorry," he told her. "I'm sure you didn't want to hear all of that. She's been on my mind a lot recently…more than usual."

"It's okay," she assured him. She touched his left hand ring finger, stroking the bare skin there. "I understand completely."

"Thank you," he told her softly.

"Tell me about her."

"Are you sure?"

"Please."

Voice breaking, he did.

From that first sight in the hall.

Sharing their hopes and dreams.

The Marine Corp and the NYPD for him.

Her passion for children. School and a career in social work, then raising a houseful of her own.

Meeting the parents.

How she had bonded with Henry and Betty from the beginning.

Her father hadn't taken for Frank quite so quickly.

His daughter deserved better. Someone with a better career plan. Someone who could better support her.

Eventually, he had come around, realizing his daughter had made her decision and he had no say in the matter.

The arrival of Joe, then Danny a mere 11 months later had put her plans for school and a career on hold. When there were no more children in a few years and Joe was ready for kindergarten and Danny for preschool, she planned to start back.

Then Erin arrived. And Jamie a couple of years later, and she decided to focus on her own children, throwing herself into the full time job of keeping them in line. She was the homeroom mother, the field trip chaperone, and the president of the PTO as well as volunteering for several children's programs through the church.

He talked of trips, some family vacations, some getaways just for the two of them, the children in the capable hands of their grandparents.

Her skills as a cook. As an organizer and advocate for the less fortunate.

Family celebrations.

Christmas.

Easter.

Birthdays.

First communions.

The special way she had of just making things better for her family.

"She sounds amazing," Lucy told him, tears in her own eyes. "I'm so glad that you had something so special."

"Things weren't perfect. She wasn't crazy about me being a police officer. She worried every time I went to work. Kept telling me about this factory or that firm that she had heard was hiring. I thought about trying something else so she would be more at ease, but I just couldn't imagine myself doing anything else. I was meant to be a cop."

"You were meant to serve."

"I was. Then Joe followed my choices and Danny followed his brother. She begged them not to, then begged me to talk them out of it."

"Did you try?"

"I told them the truth. That it's a tough life. Long periods of nonstop sameness broken up by brief terror inducing events. Long hours. Bad pay. Little appreciation."

"But they chose to do it anyway."

"They chose to do it anyway. Erin and Jamie both talked about joining the force, too, but didn't. Erin decided she didn't really want to and got Mary to tell me not to push. Jamie was torn between law and law enforcement. I guess I felt a bit guilty about the older boys' choices, so I encouraged him to go law school. Told him that if he wasn't sure, then he probably wasn't cut out to be a cop. A part of me was glad when he decided on law school because it made his mother happy and it meant that he wouldn't be facing all the stuff we deal with day to day. But I was also sad, because I knew he would be a great cop. He's great with people. Smart. Capable."

"But he decided to join the force after all."

"After his brother was killed, he felt he could make more of a difference out on the streets than he could in a stuffy office or courtroom."

"And now you're glad because he is a great cop, but now he's having to deal with all the danger."

"And because Mary would be upset."

Lucy gave him a sad smile.

"Your turn," he told her. "Tell me about Oscar."

After a moment of thought, she did.

About the teenaged boy as St Annes who had dragged her out of the kitchen to enjoy the spring weather because he was getting tired just watching her trying to find things to do.

About his time on the streets. No father. Teen aged mother who left him with her older brother to join a gang.

His uncle. A military veteran who did his best by the boy, but suffered severe PTSD that kept him turning back to drugs. It was a cycle of cleaning up, getting a job and a place to live, reclaiming his nephew and doing well.

For a while.

Until something went wrong and the downward spiral would start again and Oscar would end up back in the system.

About sharing their hopes and dreams.

How he hadn't laughed at her when she said she wanted to become a doctor.

"I can empathize with Mary's fears," she confessed. "When he told me he planned to enlist in the Marines after he graduated, I was terrified for him. I watched the news and read the papers. I knew that the Marines were always the first ones to go into dangerous situations. I knew that they were usually the ones on the front lines in the heat of the action, whatever and wherever it may be. I knew it was important to him, that he wanted to serve like his uncle had, so I just swallowed hard and wished him luck."

He joined up and, due to his skills with a weapon, had soon been assigned to a special unit and shipped off to parts unknown. He told her that he loved her, but not to wait for him.

She did, though, their letters and e-mails keeping them close.

His return to the states a week after her 18th birthday.

His proposal, and their hurriedly planned wedding in the garden at St Annes.

His decision to reup for another tour. The bonus he would earn.

"He never could tell me what he was doing or where he was going, but I knew by the bonus that it was dangerous."

An operation gone wrong, and the loss of a comrade.

Finally, it was enough, and he decided to move to the next chapter of his life.

Of their life together.

Joining the NYPD.

Had to be safer than whatever he had been doing before, right?

The house they found and the plans he had for renovations. The car his buddy had left to him.

His excitement to become a father, and his grief for their baby.

That morning.

She had worked overnight and they had plans to meet up for coffee at a certain spot on his patrol route.

Then, all hell broke loose.

The explosions and people pouring into the hospital.

A message left on her phone.

Still saved.

He and his partner were inside the tower. Directing people out.

It was bad.

He loved her.

The long weeks of waiting, knowing he was gone, buried in the rubble somewhere.

Finally, the news.

His remains had been identified.

Now, it was Frank's turn to offer comfort.

"I'm so sorry," he told her.

"You were there, too, weren't you?"

He nodded. "I worked the piles, digging through the rubble for survivors, then for remains. Civilians. Cops. Firefighters. So many."

"Are you okay? I know that so many of the rescuers that were there have developed health problems."

"I'm fine," he told her. "I've visited hospital rooms and gone to funerals for others who were there with me, but for some reason, I'm still fine."

"But you feel guilty that you are."

"Of course," he admitted. "I'm Catholic. We specialize in guilt."

"That we do," she agreed with a snort.

After a moment, she continued. "Do you feel guilty about this?" she asked, once again touching the spot his wedding ring had rested.

He sighed. "No. And yes."

"Oddly enough, I understand," she told him. "The first time I went out with a man after Oscar, it just felt so wrong. Like I was betraying him. Betraying what we had."

"Exactly. Even though I know in my head that marriage ends with the death of one partner, I still felt like I was cheating on her somehow. That I had no business enjoying myself with another woman."

"The fact that you were still wearing your ring tells me that you still have that feeling."

"Maybe. To some degree. As I said, I've dated some. Even had a couple of intimate relationships. But I always held something of myself back."

Lucy nodded. "I found it so hard to open myself up to anyone else. To trust them with the things that I had trusted him with. I never let myself get to a point where physical intimacy was considered. Until you."

He looked up to find her watching him.

"There's just something about you that made me feel safe. Comfortable. Willing to trust."

"Agreed. I told you I was attracted to you the first time I saw you, standing there at the end of the aisle, trying to get my attention."

"Flirting badly," she admitted.

"I thought it was cute."

She rolled her eyes.

"But when we finally got a chance to actually sit down together and talk, I really felt a connection. That feeling of safety, like you said. It was later, after everything, when I got home that the guilt hit."

"That it was wrong to feel that with someone else."

He nodded. "That's probably a big part of why I didn't follow up with you. I told Pops that it was because I didn't get your number, but that was an excuse. I could have gotten in touch if I had tried. Being attracted to you physically was fine, but for it to feel deeper…"

"Was a little scary."

"Exactly."

"To open up. To actually want to tell you things that might chase you away," she admitted.

"Like what?"

"The stuff about my parents. My screwed up childhood. The rape."

"None of that was your fault, you know."

"Sort of." She looked at him again. "I know logically, but sometimes the emotions don't believe the logic, you know."

He got up, fixing himself another cup of coffee and her another cup of tea, giving them both a few moments to collect themselves.

When he sat down across from her again, he once more took her hand.

"You don't have to tell me about the assault if you don't want to."

She squeezed his hand in thanks, took a sip of her tea, then looked up at him again.

"There's really not much to tell, I don't suppose. It was about 8 years ago. I covered a shift at one of the clinics downtown. It had been a rough day and I was ready to get home, so I headed out to my car alone. He grabbed me from behind and dragged me into a dark alley."

Pausing, she took another drink.

"I tried to fight him off. Used all the self defense tricks Oscar had taught me. I kicked and scratched and bit, but, in the end, he was bigger and stronger and he did what he wanted to."

She met his gaze, gauging his reaction.

"I did what you're supposed to do. I called the police. Filed a report. Went to the hospital. They collected the evidence. Nail scrapings. Blood. Semen. Hair. Took pictures."

He nodded, his gaze never leaving hers.

"They kept me informed on the investigation, but, other than tying my attack to a couple of others in the area, there wasn't much to report."

"They never made an arrest?"

She shook her head. "No arrest. Not even any real suspects, as far as I know. I was told the DNA was in the database, so any new entries would be compared, but I suppose it's basically a cold case now."

"Unfortunately, there are far too many of those."

"I know. I don't doubt that the police did the best they could."

"I can follow up, if you'd like."

"Please don't. Your people need to be focusing on more recent cases, ones that they have a better chance of closing. If something comes up and they catch the guy, that's great. If not, that's fine, too. I survived and have gone on with my life. Mostly."

He smiled at her. "You're a strong woman, Lucy Makenna."

"I haven't had a choice."

"Your Oscar sounds like a good man. The two of you were blessed to have found each other. I'm sorry you didn't get more time together."

"I doubt you felt like you and Mary had enough, either."

"No. No, we didn't."

He cleared his throat. "Did the two of you ever talk about what he wanted for you if something happened to him?"

At her confused look, he clarified. "If he were to die?"

"Of course. I think that's kind of a standard thing when the military ships you off somewhere. The letters, the insurance. The plans and directives. Since his next job was still risky, he just kind of left everything the same."

"Same here. But I was talking about a more personal level."

"You mean, dating? Maybe remarrying?"

He nodded.

"He told me he wanted me to be happy. To live my best life and not close myself off from a new relationship. Easier said than done, though."

"Yeah. I had told Mary basically the same thing. Even got my parents to promise to encourage her to get back out there, if needed."

"Instead, you were the one left behind."

Now, it was his turn to stare down into his cup.

"At the end, she had decided not to pursue any more treatment. Hospice care. Comfort treatment only."

Lucy rubbed his hand.

"She told me that she didn't want me to be alone. She wanted me to find someone." He flashed her a grin. "Even gave me a list of 'approved candidates' for the position."

"Interesting."

"Mostly ladies we knew from church. Friends from her volunteer work. Moms of friends of the kids. Mostly widows. A couple of divorcees. Pros and cons listed for each. Why she thought we'd be a good match."

"Very organized approach."

"She was nothing if not organized. I listened. Agreed with her."

"But had no intention of ever following up with any of them."

"No. I never planned to allow anyone new to matter to me that much ever again. And I knew that with the family we had, I certainly wouldn't ever have to worry about being lonely."

"And you've stuck to that."

"Like I told Pops, I hadn't found anyone else I couldn't live without. But maybe now, I have."

"Your kids," she commented, moving a hand to her abdomen.

"My kids," he agreed. "And I've also decided that I don't want to live without their mother. That you are probably someone I can love like that, if I'm willing to let myself."

Before she could respond, he continued.

"Please don't feel pressured. I'm still not pushing, but I do want you to know what I'm thinking."

"Thank you. I do want to take your thoughts and feelings into consideration," she assured him.

"Oh. I also have a confession," he told her.

She looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"I know I told you that I hadn't told anyone else about our situation."

"But you have."

"I did. It slipped my mind at the time. The officiant at the christening is an old friend and he could tell that there was something on my mind. We stepped into his office and I laid the whole thing out for him."

"What did he have to say?"

"Not much. Mostly, he listened. Reminded me that God has a plan, even when we feel we've messed up. Prayed with me."

"I don't have a problem with that. I suppose we need all the prayers we can get figuring this out."

His phone buzzed and he pulled it out to check the message.

A reminder from Baker of his schedule for the day.

"You need to go," she commented, moving to stand up.

He stood as well. "I should. Are you going to be okay? Do you need anything else before I go?"

"I'm okay," she told him. "I'll probably try to get another hour or so of sleep, then shower, eat, and head in to the hospital. I appreciate you stopping by. It was nice to have you here, even though I wasn't a good hostess."

They walked to the door and he pulled his overcoat back on.

"I was glad to be able to help," he replied. "Please call me if you feel that bad again."

"I will."

"Promise?"

She hesitated a moment. "Promise."

"What time do you get off tonight?"

"I'm scheduled until 10. And I will call you when I get home," she told him.

"Good. Thank you."

He leaned down to kiss her, but she held up her hand to stop him.

"Are you sure you want to do that after what you witnessed in the bathroom? I haven't had a chance to brush my teeth."

Grinning, he ducked around her hand and lightly kissed her anyway.

"I'll talk to you later," he told her, opening the door. She stood on the porch, watching him cross to his waiting vehicle before closing and locking the door. Detouring through the kitchen, she grabbed her mug of tea and the crackers before returning to her room. She set her alarm for an hour, then climbed back into her bed.

The ride to 1PP was uneventful and he arrived in plenty of time to go over his notes before his meeting.

"Everything okay, Sir?" Baker asked, handing him a folder as she took his overcoat and headed to the coat rack.

"Everything's fine. Just checking in on a sick friend," he told her.

"Nothing serious, I hope," she commented, her attention captured by the strands of long, blonde hair stuck to his coat.

"No. Nothing to worry about."

"Good."

Hers, perhaps? Transferred from the car seat? Or from brushing against him in the office? Or when she took it from him?

But it was longer and had more curl to it than hers did.

Or Eddies.

And she noted a light, crisp scent.

Definitely feminine.

She had smelled it before.

Recently.

But where?

And who?

"Abigail?"

She started. His tone indicated that this wasn't the first time he had called her name.

"Yes, Sir?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, Sir. Just thought I was going to sneeze," she improvised.

He looked down at the folder she had given him.

"What do you think Drummond is going to want to focus on most here?" he asked her, picking up a pen to add notes.

She took a moment to order her thoughts, moving to take a chair in front of his desk. Opening her own notes, she cleared her throat.

"There seems to be a lot of concern about the increase in traffic."

Another unplanned chapter and a slightly longer one. My plan was to move things along, but someone asked if Frank and Lucy were going to discuss their concerns and their pasts and I realized 'Of course the will,' and took a dive town another rabbit hole. I know people are looking forward to the meeting of Lucy and the rest of the Reagans. I will get there. I just need to stop trying to estimate when. It will happen and will hopefully be worth the wait. Your patience is greatly apprecitated, as are your comments. I hope you enjoyed.