(no subject)
Title: Bullet
Rating: PG 13. Character injury. Hurt/Comfort, gotta love it.
A/N: Nearly a year ago, I posted a story called "The Return". This is a sequel. The earlier story is on my journal page or with Ralst. It is a universe where Blair returns to Peekskill after her divorce from Cliff, Natalie is Mayor, married to Snake, and Jo is the Chief of Police. I read an old interview with the great Della Street ( aka Cav) where she said that she would write a bunch and then go for a long time without writing. So stretches of silence don't mean the end to the community. Just rest periods.
“OK, so you took a bullet for me. My husband thanks you, my kids thank you. But you sure as hell can’t leave me like this. Don’t you know the grief I’ll get from Mrs. G, Tootie, Blair? Oh god, Blair. It’ll be a friggin nightmare. So you stay with me, Jo, just stay with me.”
I shakily raised my hand to Nat’s face. It was such a nice face, even with tears coming down. “I’ll try,” I whispered, before everything went dark.
***************************************
It hadn’t started out to be a bad day. In fact, waking up next to Blair Warner in the palatial master bedroom of the Windermere Farm manor house definitely had its charms.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Blair purred, trailing her fingers across my collar bone. “You were wonderful last night.”
“Last night? It was like an hour and a half ago. And you weren’t so bad yourself.”
“Hmm. So, would you like me to bring you breakfast in bed?”
“Nah, I gotta get up. I wanna take my run.”
“Are you sure? Hilde made some scones. You deserve a little treat, precious.”
Precious? “OK, what’s up?”
“What do you mean?”
“Precious, breakfast in bed. I know you, Blair. Something’s up. Something I won’t like.”
“You are so suspicious, Jo,” Blair huffed. “Can’t I show a little affection to mon petite chou?”
“Oh boy, here comes the French. It must be really bad.”
Blair sighed, pushed off of me and sat up against the headboard. “Oh all right. It’s nothing really. I just have to go into Manhattan tonight. I’ll miss the town meeting.”
I shrugged. “No biggie. Trust me, it won’t be that scintillating. Mrs. Harris and Mr. Lazzaroni will argue about the Founder’s Day theme; Scott and Bruce will suggest some idiotic public art project; George will complain about the recycling rules, and, in the end, Nat will have them all eating out of her hand.” I had seen Mayor Greene in action enough times to know what I was talking about. “So, what? Are you going to see your Dad?”
“No. I’m having dinner with an old friend.”
“Oh yeah? Anyone I know?”
Blair bit her lip. “Sort of. It’s my ex husband Cliff. “
My throat closed, like an allergic reaction. “Cliff?” I choked out
“Yes, Cliff. Jo, don’t look like that. You’re getting hives. He’s in town for a medical conference. We’re just having dinner. You have absolutely nothing to worry about.”
Nothing to worry about. Handsome, beloved by parents, golden boy surgeon on one hand-- scruffy, barely tolerated by parents, lesbian, small town cop on the other. No, nothing at all.
“So why do you want to see him?”
“As I’ve said, we’re still friends. He says he wants to tell me something. Actually, I think he might want to get remarried. My friends from Dallas say he‘s been seeing someone pretty seriously.”
“Remarried? No way!” I blurted out.
Blair looked at me quizzically. “You sound annoyed.”
Oddly enough, I was. Don’t get me wrong. The end of Blair’s marriage was the best thing that ever happened to me. She had come back to Peekskill after nearly a decade and amazingly enough, we had gotten together. Still, Cliff shouldn’t be getting over Blair Warner just like that. I know I never could.
“It’s barely a year since your divorce. The grave is hardly cold.”
“The grave? Not precisely the word I would have chosen. Well, be that as it may, Cliff has every right to get remarried," Blair pronounced.
I didn’t buy her calm. “C’mon Blair, don’t you find it a little bit insulting? I mean you were together for almost ten years.”
“Jo, although slightly insane, it’s sweet of you to be so protective of my marital reputation, but, believe me, I would be happy if Cliff moved on. I mean, I have.”
“Have you?” I had to ask.
She shook her head. “You still don’t believe it, do you?”
“Believe what?”
“That I chose you. That I want to be with you. That Cliff is in the past.”
Looking at her, smiling that half smile, blonde hair tumbling around her bare shoulders, brown eyes sparkling, the snarky retort died on my lips.
“I want to believe it,” I murmured.
“Mmm. Let’s see what I can do to convince you,” she said, moving away from the headboard, and straddling my hips.
The run could wait.
**************************************
“So, will you spend the night at the loft?” I asked, trying to keep my voice casual, as we pulled up to the Peekskill train station. Blair had bought a New York City loft a few months ago. She announced that although Windermere Farm and Peekskill were home, we needed a quote “pied a terre.” She also decided that since she was now living, how did she put it, a more bohemian life, namely shacking up with her old boarding school roommate, it had to be in trendy Soho above some feminist art gallery. Sometimes I really wonder where she gets this stuff. Anyway, it was a pretty nice place and we had a lot of fun there. I tried to get the picture of Cliff also having fun there out of my head.
“I doubt it,” Blair replied. I’ll try to catch the train back tonight. Don’t worry though; I’ll call Mannie’s Car Service.”
“No, I’ll pick you up. Just give me a call. The town meeting will be over by nine. Nat doesn’t like making anyone miss ER.”
“It could be late.”
“I don’t mind.”
She smiled and fluffed my bangs. “My own personal police escort. How flattering. Oh, here comes the train. Have a good meeting tonight, darling. Don’t let Natalie impose martial law.” She gave me a quick kiss and left the car.
“Bye,” I called out after her. “Have a good time yourself and say hello….” I trailed off. Who was I kidding? The last thing I wanted was for anyone to have a good time or say hello. Get a grip, I told myself. It’s just dinner. Still, it was going to be a long night.
My mood hadn’t improved a few hours later as I listened to Mr. Lazzaroni drone on about noise ordinances. Now I love our town, I really do, but there‘s only so much kvetching I can take. Nat has a lot more patience, but even her eyes were starting to glaze over.
“You don’t seem to have a problem with the Langley frat boys. They’re allowed to carry on at all hours,”
the ninety year old, who ran the social life of the Peekskill senior center with an iron fist, declared. “You know what you are, you’re ageist.”
“Now you know that’s not true, Mr. Lazzaroni,” Mayor Greene retorted. “It’s just that the Saturday morning Polka lessons are drawing complaints from the neighbors. The tuba sounds carry; what can I tell you. Just consider moving them to later in the day.”
“We need our afternoon naps.”
“Tell you what, have them between four and five thirty and I’ll let you use the town gazebo free of charge for the end of the class recital.”
“Hmm, maybe,” Lazzaroni mused. “On one condition.” He was a sharp negotiator.
“Yes?”
“The Mayor honor me with the first dance.”
Nat smiled. “You may not know this, Mr. Lazzaroni, but I do a mean oberek. It’s a date. And with that, good citizens of Peekskill, I propose that the meeting be adjourned.”
“I second,” I jumped in quickly. “All in favor say aye.”
A chorus of ayes, a slam of the Mayor’s gavel, and everyone stood up to leave the hall. Nat stayed behind with me as I checked my voice mail.
“So, has Blair called yet?” she asked.
“Not yet,” I replied tightly.
“Jo, you have nothing to worry about.”
“People keep saying that,” I muttered. “It’s a jinx.”
Natalie chucked as we headed for the parking lot. “Cheer up,Chief. The town survived Reunion Week. The state gave us the funding for the new computers. Snake doesn’t have to do the Tulsa run and the twins are over their colds. Life is sweet.”
“Excuse me, Mayor Greene?” A voice came from the shadows.
“Yes?”
Now I hadn’t survived growing up in the Bronx in the seventies without some serious antennae. The back of my neck started to tingle. “Get behind me, Nat,” I ordered, pulling her back and confronting the speaker.
“OK, buddy, what do you need?”
He stepped closer and I saw a flash of metal.
Fuck. I lunged and knocked him to the pavement. As we grappled, I heard a steam of really impressive curses and then a pop.
Then things turned to slow motion, as I wondered why I couldn’t stand up. There was a lot of yelling. A scream or two. Suddenly, my subordinate Sergeant Ziaukes was looming over me while, out of the corner of my eye, I saw about a third of the Peekskill population piled on top of the assailant.
“Jesus, Chief. You’ve been shot,” the Sergeant exclaimed.
I looked down at the growing stain on my shirt. “No shit, Sherlock. Secure the scene. Protect the evidence. And don’t forget to read the bastard his rights.” Ziaukes’s image started to fade as the sound of sirens grew louder.
*******************************
Rating: PG 13. Character injury. Hurt/Comfort, gotta love it.
A/N: Nearly a year ago, I posted a story called "The Return". This is a sequel. The earlier story is on my journal page or with Ralst. It is a universe where Blair returns to Peekskill after her divorce from Cliff, Natalie is Mayor, married to Snake, and Jo is the Chief of Police. I read an old interview with the great Della Street ( aka Cav) where she said that she would write a bunch and then go for a long time without writing. So stretches of silence don't mean the end to the community. Just rest periods.
“OK, so you took a bullet for me. My husband thanks you, my kids thank you. But you sure as hell can’t leave me like this. Don’t you know the grief I’ll get from Mrs. G, Tootie, Blair? Oh god, Blair. It’ll be a friggin nightmare. So you stay with me, Jo, just stay with me.”
I shakily raised my hand to Nat’s face. It was such a nice face, even with tears coming down. “I’ll try,” I whispered, before everything went dark.
***************************************
It hadn’t started out to be a bad day. In fact, waking up next to Blair Warner in the palatial master bedroom of the Windermere Farm manor house definitely had its charms.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Blair purred, trailing her fingers across my collar bone. “You were wonderful last night.”
“Last night? It was like an hour and a half ago. And you weren’t so bad yourself.”
“Hmm. So, would you like me to bring you breakfast in bed?”
“Nah, I gotta get up. I wanna take my run.”
“Are you sure? Hilde made some scones. You deserve a little treat, precious.”
Precious? “OK, what’s up?”
“What do you mean?”
“Precious, breakfast in bed. I know you, Blair. Something’s up. Something I won’t like.”
“You are so suspicious, Jo,” Blair huffed. “Can’t I show a little affection to mon petite chou?”
“Oh boy, here comes the French. It must be really bad.”
Blair sighed, pushed off of me and sat up against the headboard. “Oh all right. It’s nothing really. I just have to go into Manhattan tonight. I’ll miss the town meeting.”
I shrugged. “No biggie. Trust me, it won’t be that scintillating. Mrs. Harris and Mr. Lazzaroni will argue about the Founder’s Day theme; Scott and Bruce will suggest some idiotic public art project; George will complain about the recycling rules, and, in the end, Nat will have them all eating out of her hand.” I had seen Mayor Greene in action enough times to know what I was talking about. “So, what? Are you going to see your Dad?”
“No. I’m having dinner with an old friend.”
“Oh yeah? Anyone I know?”
Blair bit her lip. “Sort of. It’s my ex husband Cliff. “
My throat closed, like an allergic reaction. “Cliff?” I choked out
“Yes, Cliff. Jo, don’t look like that. You’re getting hives. He’s in town for a medical conference. We’re just having dinner. You have absolutely nothing to worry about.”
Nothing to worry about. Handsome, beloved by parents, golden boy surgeon on one hand-- scruffy, barely tolerated by parents, lesbian, small town cop on the other. No, nothing at all.
“So why do you want to see him?”
“As I’ve said, we’re still friends. He says he wants to tell me something. Actually, I think he might want to get remarried. My friends from Dallas say he‘s been seeing someone pretty seriously.”
“Remarried? No way!” I blurted out.
Blair looked at me quizzically. “You sound annoyed.”
Oddly enough, I was. Don’t get me wrong. The end of Blair’s marriage was the best thing that ever happened to me. She had come back to Peekskill after nearly a decade and amazingly enough, we had gotten together. Still, Cliff shouldn’t be getting over Blair Warner just like that. I know I never could.
“It’s barely a year since your divorce. The grave is hardly cold.”
“The grave? Not precisely the word I would have chosen. Well, be that as it may, Cliff has every right to get remarried," Blair pronounced.
I didn’t buy her calm. “C’mon Blair, don’t you find it a little bit insulting? I mean you were together for almost ten years.”
“Jo, although slightly insane, it’s sweet of you to be so protective of my marital reputation, but, believe me, I would be happy if Cliff moved on. I mean, I have.”
“Have you?” I had to ask.
She shook her head. “You still don’t believe it, do you?”
“Believe what?”
“That I chose you. That I want to be with you. That Cliff is in the past.”
Looking at her, smiling that half smile, blonde hair tumbling around her bare shoulders, brown eyes sparkling, the snarky retort died on my lips.
“I want to believe it,” I murmured.
“Mmm. Let’s see what I can do to convince you,” she said, moving away from the headboard, and straddling my hips.
The run could wait.
**************************************
“So, will you spend the night at the loft?” I asked, trying to keep my voice casual, as we pulled up to the Peekskill train station. Blair had bought a New York City loft a few months ago. She announced that although Windermere Farm and Peekskill were home, we needed a quote “pied a terre.” She also decided that since she was now living, how did she put it, a more bohemian life, namely shacking up with her old boarding school roommate, it had to be in trendy Soho above some feminist art gallery. Sometimes I really wonder where she gets this stuff. Anyway, it was a pretty nice place and we had a lot of fun there. I tried to get the picture of Cliff also having fun there out of my head.
“I doubt it,” Blair replied. I’ll try to catch the train back tonight. Don’t worry though; I’ll call Mannie’s Car Service.”
“No, I’ll pick you up. Just give me a call. The town meeting will be over by nine. Nat doesn’t like making anyone miss ER.”
“It could be late.”
“I don’t mind.”
She smiled and fluffed my bangs. “My own personal police escort. How flattering. Oh, here comes the train. Have a good meeting tonight, darling. Don’t let Natalie impose martial law.” She gave me a quick kiss and left the car.
“Bye,” I called out after her. “Have a good time yourself and say hello….” I trailed off. Who was I kidding? The last thing I wanted was for anyone to have a good time or say hello. Get a grip, I told myself. It’s just dinner. Still, it was going to be a long night.
My mood hadn’t improved a few hours later as I listened to Mr. Lazzaroni drone on about noise ordinances. Now I love our town, I really do, but there‘s only so much kvetching I can take. Nat has a lot more patience, but even her eyes were starting to glaze over.
“You don’t seem to have a problem with the Langley frat boys. They’re allowed to carry on at all hours,”
the ninety year old, who ran the social life of the Peekskill senior center with an iron fist, declared. “You know what you are, you’re ageist.”
“Now you know that’s not true, Mr. Lazzaroni,” Mayor Greene retorted. “It’s just that the Saturday morning Polka lessons are drawing complaints from the neighbors. The tuba sounds carry; what can I tell you. Just consider moving them to later in the day.”
“We need our afternoon naps.”
“Tell you what, have them between four and five thirty and I’ll let you use the town gazebo free of charge for the end of the class recital.”
“Hmm, maybe,” Lazzaroni mused. “On one condition.” He was a sharp negotiator.
“Yes?”
“The Mayor honor me with the first dance.”
Nat smiled. “You may not know this, Mr. Lazzaroni, but I do a mean oberek. It’s a date. And with that, good citizens of Peekskill, I propose that the meeting be adjourned.”
“I second,” I jumped in quickly. “All in favor say aye.”
A chorus of ayes, a slam of the Mayor’s gavel, and everyone stood up to leave the hall. Nat stayed behind with me as I checked my voice mail.
“So, has Blair called yet?” she asked.
“Not yet,” I replied tightly.
“Jo, you have nothing to worry about.”
“People keep saying that,” I muttered. “It’s a jinx.”
Natalie chucked as we headed for the parking lot. “Cheer up,Chief. The town survived Reunion Week. The state gave us the funding for the new computers. Snake doesn’t have to do the Tulsa run and the twins are over their colds. Life is sweet.”
“Excuse me, Mayor Greene?” A voice came from the shadows.
“Yes?”
Now I hadn’t survived growing up in the Bronx in the seventies without some serious antennae. The back of my neck started to tingle. “Get behind me, Nat,” I ordered, pulling her back and confronting the speaker.
“OK, buddy, what do you need?”
He stepped closer and I saw a flash of metal.
Fuck. I lunged and knocked him to the pavement. As we grappled, I heard a steam of really impressive curses and then a pop.
Then things turned to slow motion, as I wondered why I couldn’t stand up. There was a lot of yelling. A scream or two. Suddenly, my subordinate Sergeant Ziaukes was looming over me while, out of the corner of my eye, I saw about a third of the Peekskill population piled on top of the assailant.
“Jesus, Chief. You’ve been shot,” the Sergeant exclaimed.
I looked down at the growing stain on my shirt. “No shit, Sherlock. Secure the scene. Protect the evidence. And don’t forget to read the bastard his rights.” Ziaukes’s image started to fade as the sound of sirens grew louder.
*******************************