Fic: Every Fifteen Minutes, Chapter 3
Author’s Note: Once again, thank you to wicked_jade
Disclaimer: Purchasing the netbook from which I’m typing and posting this chapter was something that required research and careful thought. If buying something for $200 required that much effort, I doubt I could own Star Trek or make any profit from my work. Please don’t sue.
Chapter | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |
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Chapter 3
In life, there were certain definitive constants. In the same way she counted on the refreshing light of the rising sun in the morning and the relaxing dimness of it setting at night, Lynn Pike expected that each day, her husband would go off and do his job. Chris loved it, and there would never be any way she could ask him to give up his passion for the safety of a desk and a white collar nine to five. Like it or not, it was part of the trade off she accepted as a cop’s wife. She was fully aware that nothing was guaranteed in one of the most dangerous professions in the world, not even the right see the end of the night.
Lynn tucked Ethan in for the night and was about to start cleaning up the kitchen when the lead off news report filled the screen. She saw the telltale flashing blue and reds of the light bars filling up one side of the TV, and out of force of habit, looked over to see what the story was about. Through the news crew’s lens, a dramatic scene was unfolding in front of her with two very familiar faces taking center stage - Chris and his partner Len. Lynn sucked in a breath and unconsciously moved into the living room, sitting down on the overstuffed couch. Her eyes were stuck on her husband; the images nearly mesmerized her while she watched the rescue in progress. Chris pulled one person out of the wrecked car, laying the young girl on the ground before he started first aid. Over the sound of the irritating reporter’s voice, he looked up long enough to yell something to his partner.
Suddenly and without any warning, the car exploded, lighting the entire frame on the TV a bright, angry orange. When she saw the fireball and heard the concussive sound of detonation, she felt her heart skip a beat. The camera shook, presumably as the crew momentarily took cover, and for a couple of seconds, all she saw was a shot of the one of the most beautiful purple-blue-red-orange sunsets she’d ever seen. After what seemed like an eternity, the picture panned back in time for Lynn to witness Chris shield face with his arm while he dragged his partner back from the burning wreckage of the ruined vehicle.
It had been a very long time since she felt that kind of gut-wrenching terror on her husband’s behalf. The rest of the night was a blur as Lynn tried and failed to occupy her nervous hands with something - anything - to keep her mind from drifting back to the images she saw on TV. She couldn’t wait for him to get home, and when he finally walked back in the door, defeated and weary, she pulled him into a hug with the intent of holding on for the next three years. Her macho, US Marine husband assured her he was okay, and even though she could see through the very obvious façade, Lynn knew not to push him any father on the subject. She was simply thrilled he wasn’t hurt more seriously than a couple of burns on his hands and arms, because she knew it could have been much, much worse.
But as happy as she was to see him, Lynn couldn’t help but feel a small measure of irritation that he made no mention of the condition of his partner. McCoy, in most cases for Chris, was an afterthought at best, or a non-issue at worst. Her husband didn’t see the same gentle qualities in and about the young man as she did, though that fact didn’t come as any kind of surprise. Chris instead preferred to keep McCoy at arms’ length rather than initiate what would probably be a very good friendship if it were allowed to develop. Despite the fact that he’d thawed considerably after she invited Len to Christmas dinner, Chris was by no means friendly with the young man in anything other than a professional sense. As a cop’s wife and a modern woman all wrapped up into one, she would never proclaim to understand the old-school cop mentality. Even if she didn’t always respect it, she still had to live with it.
So when Chris got up out of bed at oh-dark-thirty to go on a drunk run to retrieve his partner, Lynn wasn’t sure how she should take it. It was no secret she’d been at odds with her husband over how he handled McCoy, and it became a bitter spot of contention for the pair over the winter. On the flip side, Lynn was also smart enough to take progress when she could get it, which meant she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth when her husband voluntarily went on his errand.
What he returned with (or rather, whom) did surprise her, however. She honestly expected Chris to either leave the man with AJ or to dump McCoy off at his place with little regard to how he would fare alone. But her husband’s grim face said it all, and Lynn felt her stomach clench when, for the briefest of moments, her gaze locked with Len’s on their way in the door. Even a bottle of liquor couldn’t hide the hurt and pain she saw in his green-grey eyes, and it made her shudder. It also strengthened her resolve to be an ally to McCoy, because it was abundantly clear the young man needed one.
“Mrs. Pike,” McCoy muttered with heavy, uncooperative lips and through half-lidded eyes as the two men passed. He stumbled over his own feet, only saved from falling on his face by the wall on his right and Pike on his left. A self-deprecating chuckle escaped his mouth while he found his fledgling balance, which was followed by the announcement of, “I think I’m a little drunk.”
“A little?” Pike snorted, raising an eyebrow before he shifted his hold on his unsteady partner. He grimaced when McCoy’s belt caught a tender piece of his singed arm, rubbing the scratchy gauze against his raw skin. Muttering under his breath, he added, “Jesus Christ.”
Lynn shook her head and gaped just long enough to take a breath before squared her shoulders and pushed past Chris and Len. She motioned with her head towards the hallway of the rambler-style house. “Sit him at the table while I get the guest room made up. I wasn’t expecting company tonight,” she said. The last part of the sentence, resigned and weary, was clearly meant for Chris, and he made the wise choice to keep his mouth shut. But the icy glare she shot him, the one that accompanied her sentence, left absolutely no room for misinterpretation. They were not done talking on the topic of one Leonard McCoy, and it was abundantly clear ‘upset’ was not nearly a strong enough word.
While Chris brought McCoy in for a rough landing at the kitchen table, Lynn walked past the pair and snagged a tall glass from the cupboard next to the sink. She filled it up with cool water from the tap and set it in front of Len, letting out a soft whistle when she was able to take a good, close up look at the man’s condition. ‘Low’ was the only word she could think of at 0400 in the morning that accurately described what a fine mess of a man Chris dumped at her kitchen table.
McCoy’s face was liberally sprinkled with stubble and his normally impeccably neat hair was messy as if he’d been running his hands through it all night. The black t-shirt he was wearing, the one that proudly proclaimed that, ‘I arm-wrestled Johnny Cash,’ was hopelessly rumpled under his green cargo style jacket. His lightweight blue jeans hung low on his hips, and Lynn could smell the pungent odor of the beer he’d picked up on his shoes and on the bottom of his pants from the floor of the Stumble. And although Len clearly tried to drink away his feelings, the dark circles under his eyes were still present and accounted for, along with the exacerbated lines around his mouth and eyes.
“My God, Leonard. What have you done to yourself?” Lynn asked with a sad little smile. Her hands ghosted over the identical bandages cocooning McCoy’s right hand and arm, mindful not to apply too much pressure, as she searched for physical confirmation he was as uninjured as Chris promised. But she barely caught her hand as it made its way up, seemingly of its own volition, to smooth out an errant chunk of hair sticking to Len’s sweaty forehead. Instead, Lynn used the opportunity to point toward the glass she set on the table, saying to her husband, “Do you think you can manage to get him to drink that?”
“The whole thing?” Chris asked, eyeing the large glass with trepidation.
“Yeah, the whole thing, Chris. It’ll help a little with his hangover. You know that.”
Pike snorted, his mind flashing back to the often-spotty memories of some of his wilder, much younger days. “Don’t I ever,” he mumbled.
“Indeed. Now, when he’s done, bring him in. I should be ready by then.”
Pike shrugged and picked up the water, sighing heavily as he plopped his ass in the chair adjacent to his partner. He shook Len gently on the shoulder, careful not to upset the younger man’s tenuous grip on his equilibrium. Chris said a couple of soft but awkward words McCoy responded to with a mumble of his own, accepting the glass with unsteady hands before raising it to his lips. Lynn watched the entire exchange, and satisfied that Len might get something in his body other than alcohol, went off to make up the guest room.
Ducking back into her bedroom, Lynn rooted through Chris’ side of the dresser for something appropriate for McCoy to wear. She pulled out one of his favorite pairs of long, worn, oversized basketball shorts and a matching black t-shirt. The latter was emblazoned with the Triumph Motorcycles logo spread in recessed gold and black lettering across the chest, and equally careworn and soft. Satisfied, Lynn slammed the drawers closed and headed next door to the guest room. She let her thoughts wander as she set up the amenities - aspirin on the nightstand, a big bottle of water and a bucket lined with a garbage bag (just in case) next to the bed.
Lynn was just turning down the comforter when she heard the telltales scraping of feet and shoes against the wood floor of the hallway. For once, she didn’t care how badly her floor was being scratched or if she’d have to refinish it next year. She stuck her head out the door and, without so much as a word, moved around the opposite side of her husband and took up position under McCoy’s right arm. The younger man was out on his feet; the alcohol, weariness and general exhaustion of the day were all finally catching up with him. In his left ear, Chris was mumbling encouragement in low, hushed tones, hoping he could get his partner to the bed without actually having to drag him there.
The trio mercifully cleared the doorway, and Chris set Len down on the bed as gently as he could. Lynn coaxed McCoy’s right arm free from his faded jacket and pulled it clear from around his shoulders. He haphazardly flapped his left arm around when the cuff stuck to his watch, giving it a mighty, unsteady tug to dislodge it. Threads popped, and the garment eventually landed in a heap on the floor. McCoy’s gaze flicked sideways, almost groaning in relief when he registered the feeling of a real bed and sheets beneath him, and the sight of a pillow close enough for his to reach. Before either Pike could stop him, Len toppled over sideways, grabbed the extra pillow, and curled up on his side.
Chris pursed his lips. “He was out before his head hit the pillow,” he said with such softness in his voice that it made Lynn double take. It was the voice Pike normally reserved for his son, used only when no one else was around to hear it. Grumbling something rude to make up for the fact he about to show he cared, the sergeant reached out and grabbed one of McCoy’s feet, gently picking at the laces of his partner’s white Nike Air trainers.
There was no way she was seeing what her eyes were telling her. Chris Pike, her resistant, stubborn, hardheaded husband, was actually taking interest in his partner. As Len’s right shoe hit the floor, a very unprofessional snort escaped her lips, which was followed by several muffled giggles. The sound made Chris’ hands pause in mid-motion as they worked away at a stubborn knot in the laces of McCoy’s left shoe. He turned his head so he was in profile to her viewpoint and simply shook his head while he pulled Len’s shoe off his foot. Straightening, he grabbed both shoes off the floor and stepped back, which allowed Lynn to pull the covers over McCoy’s prone form. She pulled the clothes off her shoulders and laid them on the chair next to the bed. “So much for getting him changed.”
“Yeah,” Chris mechanically agreed a second before his eyes narrowed in recognition, actually seeing the two garments Lynn just laid over the chair. “Hey!” he hissed, pointing. “That’s my favorite shirt!”
Lynn shushed the sergeant with a finger and ushered him out the door. She closed it behind her just enough so a little bit of light would still filter in the dark room in case Len were to wake. Leaning against the hallway wall, she said, “Yes, it is, but it’s the only thing we have that will fit him. Remember? He’s bigger than you are.”
“Not by much,” Pike retorted automatically.
“Whatever, Chris. Now share.” Lynn replied with an incredulous shake of her head.
“I don’t have a problem with that, strangely,” he said, expression perplexed and voice sounding nearly defeated. He scratched his head and sighed. Pike’s shoulders slumped as he put his arm around his wife. He wrapped her up into a gentle hug and pulled her close to his body. “Go ahead and say it.”
“Say what?” she feigned. In reality, Lynn knew exactly where Chris was going, and it was something she’d been itching to remind him the entire night. The only thing stopping her was her overwhelming concern about her husband and his partner. But instead, she tightened her grip around Chris’ waist as they walked in stride down the hallway to their room. He leaned his cheek on the top of her head and dropped a kiss into her hair. Lynn smirked and bit her lip, finally saying the four words she’d been aching to say since he set foot back in the door: “Itoldyouso.”
Chris shook his head and let out a quiet, light laugh. His eyes sparkled when he looked down at her, stopping in the middle of the hallway to embrace his wife. “Yeah, you did, didn’t you? Damn you when you’re right,” he said. But as easily as the happiness appeared in his eyes, it dissipated just as rapidly when the pair passed their young son’s room.
Ethan’s door was open, and the five year old’s room awash with the gentle glow from his Jack Sparrow night-light. Chris pushed the door open just a little farther so he could see his son’s sleeping form. He needed visual confirmation that the little tiny chest was rising and falling from a child deep in sleep and dreamland. Pike felt some of the earlier tension unwind from his chest while he watched the most important thing in his life, safe and sound and away from all things that might hurt him. Ethan looked happy, content and innocent, which were three more adjectives than could be used for his father.
Lynn could see the troubled expression in Chris’ eyes, and she gave her husband a gentle tug at the waist to snap him out of his reverie. “Honey, what’s wrong?” When he didn’t respond, she waved one hand in front of his face and whistled. “Hello? Earth to Chris? Anyone home? You’re starting to scare me. What is it?”
Pike brought one hand up and dug the pads of his fingers into his eyes. He swallowed hard, the memories of the home visit he paid earlier during his shift to a random family he’d never see again still fresh in his mind. It made him shudder to think what he and Lynn might do if one day, God forbid, the roles were reversed and someone was visiting his house delivering the most awful news a parent could ever receive. He instantly pushed the thoughts away and said, “We’re going to do everything right with him, make sure he'll make good choices and have responsible friends. I know that. But, what happens when that’s not enough? What happens when someone else makes a bad choice for him?”
Lynn narrowed her eyes while she stepped out from under his arm. Warning lights erupted like klaxons in her head while she tried to make heads or tails of what, exactly, brought on such a sudden change in her husband’s demeanor. She was perplexed; as a sergeant and ten-year veteran of the police force, Chris was no stranger to the darker sides of law enforcement. But he had a personal rule that expressly stated all badges were to be checked at the door, and that meant that no serious shoptalk was to be allowed in his home. He claimed it was because when he was home, he wanted to be home, instead of distracted while he thought about what he could have done differently from latest shift.
It irritated her. Really, it did. Lynn knew Chris’ reasoning was complete and utter bullshit, but the knowledge that he could come home to someone who didn’t expect him to he a cop every moment of his life kept him sane while he worked. However, she also knew he was doing it because he was still a chauvinist, thinking that his wife needed protection from the big, bad world.
Thank you, but no.
Placing her hands on hips, she fixed her ‘death stare’ on him and said, “Chris, what’s going on? What happened tonight? You gave me the party version, but I want the truth. I think I’ve earned it by helping you with Len,” she added as they walked into their bedroom. Lynn sat down on the bed and propped herself up with the fluffy, sham-style decorative pillow she grabbed from the floor. She glanced at the clock and sighed, knowing full well there would be no point in going back to bed when she was due to be up for work in twenty minutes anyway.
Chris joined her on the bed, sprawling across the massive width of their California King bed (his one indulgence when they’d purchased their house, and quite probably the reason for Ethan’s conception) while enjoying the blessed feeling of decompression. Pike was tired himself; it’d been a hell of a long night, and he felt sleep tugging at his already heavy eyelids. He let his feet dangle over the side of the bed and laid his head in his wife’s lap, letting out a low growl of contentment when she automatically started raking her fingers through his hair.
But as he was about to drift off, warm, safe and content, a thought struck him like a ton of bricks. Bright blue eyes snapping open, Chris looked up at Lynn and said after a beat, “You don’t bitch nearly enough about my job. Why?”
Lynn’s hand stopped its movement. She tilted her head to the side in baffled regard, face twisting up in bewilderment. The question was off the wall, and it caught her completely by surprise. Resuming her ministrations, she replied honestly, “Well, I could if you wanted me to. Believe me, Chris: there are times that I positively hate you and your damned job. But I don’t because there would be no point.”
He raised one eyebrow, genuinely surprised to hear such vehemence behind her voice and coloring her words. Chris shifted and asked, “Why don’t you ever say anything? You know, I hear it all the time from the other guys, how their wives bitch and whine and moan about them doing something different, but other than the occasional eyeroll, I get nothing from you.”
“And that’s all you’re going to get, my dear,” she started. At her husband’s perplexed expression, Lynn went on to explain frankly, “I hate you for being a cop sometimes. I do. There are some days I can’t describe how much I wish you could have chosen something different that doesn’t require the use of deadly force. I know you love it, but I hate your schedule, I hate your hours, and I sure as hell hate how dangerous it is. Even so, I couldn’t ever ask you to stop being a badge,” she said, pausing while she waited for his nod of approval for correct use of police lingo, “any more than I could stop making cakes.”
“Please don’t give that up. I like cake,” he said with a cheeky grin.
Lynn rolled her eyes. “Yes, dear. I know,” she said lightly, though her voice instantly sobered before she continued. In a much more grave tone, she said, “But, as much as you love my pastry skills, you know I don’t do it only because I love it. Don’t get me wrong - a big reason why I do what I do is because baked goods are my passion, but I also need a trade in case something happened to you. What if you died tomorrow, Chris? What would Ethan and I do? I have to have some way to support our son and me if you’re not around. And if I can do it with sugar, I will. Just as I love my trade, your passion is law enforcement, I will never discourage it, even on days when it pisses me off.”
Pike was silent for a few seconds, allowing her words to sink into his head. He never quite realized how deeply she was affected by his job on an emotional level. He knew it logically, but selfishly, Pike never gave her lack of complaints much thought. He swallowed hard, opened his mouth a couple of times while he tried to best formulate what he was feeling before he admitted, “That could have happened today.”
“What?”
“I could have died,” he answered flatly.
Lynn suppressed a full body shudder as the horrible images of a demolished car flashed through her mind. As hard as it was for her to think about the worst-case scenario, she knew it was even harder for her husband to admit it. It was, by all accounts, a big step. Sighing, she unconsciously wrapped her arms a little tighter around his shoulders. “I know,” she replied unsteadily as she focused on their reflection in the mirror situated on top of their giant mahogany dresser. Lynn bit her lip and asked her question again. “You want to tell me what happened tonight now?”
“Not really, but I know you’re not going to leave until you know what you want,” Pike replied, his answer rumbling from deep in his chest. He let out another long breath and ran his hands over his tired face. Before he could talk himself out of it, Chris started, “I know you think I hate McCoy, but dammit Lynn, I don’t.”
“Oh really?” she scoffed, bristling as some of her pent up frustration with her husband came bubbling out. “You could have fooled me. Chris, before you start, just do yourself a favor and quit while you’re ahead. You treat that young man down the hall as if he’s an imposition to you, or you pretend that he doesn’t exist at all. I’m not sure what’s worse. Either way, that’s not right because he’s your partner, so you’ll have to forgive me if I’m a little skeptical about your sudden change of heart.”
“Exactly, Lynn,” Pike said, cutting her off. “He’s my partner, not my son. I shouldn’t have to hold his hand. He’s a grown man - he can do what he wants and take care of himself once we’re off duty. We’ve had this discussion before.”
“Yes, I remember that really well,” she started. Lynn’s eyes darkened and her voice dropped to a deadly hiss. This was about to turn into a replay of the previous winter, and she did not want to rehash that epic battle if she didn’t need to. She could count on one hand the number of times she and Chris properly fought during their ten years of marriage, but the yelling, swearing, finger-pointing bout they had over McCoy right before Christmas was top on the list. “I distinctly recall that you slept on the couch for three days afterward because you pissed me off.”
“Hey, you’re not perfect here, either. You’re always pushing me to make friends with the guy when I have no interest in it. I’m supposed to train him to be a cop, not be his babysitter. Being his friend is not part of my job description,” Pike growled back at her. He could feel the tension winding its way through his frame again. After spending his entire night riding the hills and valleys of adrenaline, it was a tall order finding the energy required to bring forward such emotions when all he wanted was to go to sleep and stay there for a week.
Lynn, however, was having none of it, and since she wouldn’t let the subject drop until she made her point, she exclaimed, “Oh, you are so full of shit, Chris! What did I tell you at Christmas? Did it not sink in then? Because if it didn’t, let me go over it again: Len is not the type of guy who admits things out loud. He’s the opposite of you - a true introvert. And he’s not going to ask for help. Never. That’s not how his brain works. He’s going to suffer alone with the hope that someone might care enough to look. I know you won’t because you’re a stubborn ass who can’t take off the old-school sergeant blinders, but guess what? I care. I care about him. Under all the snarling and growling, he’s a very nice young man who’s also alone here and could use a friend. I thought you could be that for him, which is why I’ve been pushing you on the subject.”
“And I’ve also told you that, in my world, your way is not how it works! Period. It’s not part of the job!” he half-yelled back. He straightened into an upright position and ran one frustrated hand through his messy hair. Chris’ chest rose and fell quickly, his breathing rapid and shallow. His piercing blue eyes challenged his wife’s gaze, but neither was willing to yield.
Lynn blinked first, challenging her husband with, “Why? Why can’t it work? I don’t understand. You know, we argued about the exact same thing at Christmas, and you couldn’t explain it then. Why not?”
“Because!” he cried, bringing his hands up in balled up fists near his face. “That’s just how it is! You don’t wear a uniform, Lynn. You won’t understand!”
Her jaw fell open silently, indignation brewing in her eyes. “Oh, so now because I’m not a cop I can’t grasp the simple concept of human emotions? I don’t think so, Chris. That’s a horseshit answer and the easy way out, and you know it,” she shot right back, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at her husband. “What about you and Jack? Why can that friendship work so well, but not you and McCoy? Why is it so impossible for you care about Len like you care about Jack?”
“That was different! That is different!”
“Why?” she questioned, eyes flashing as her father’s temper took over the higher functions of her brain. Jabbing a finger into the mattress, she demanded, “Explain it to me now, because you’re right: I sure as hell don’t get it, and I don’t get you.”
“Because!” he started, pausing to take a deep breath before he actually broke into a full-out yell that would wake the entire house. “It worked because I didn’t have to teach Jack anything. I didn’t have to train him, and I wasn’t responsible for his well-being,” he finally admitted. “I told you before I’m not a babysitter, and I meant it.”
Finally. Lynn knew if she pushed the buttons in the right order, eventually Chris would cough up the real reasoning behind his trepidation. She always theorized, but until he voiced it, it was simply that: conjecture. But now that she was able to get him going in the right direction, it was just a matter of guiding the ship to port. “So if you don’t want to babysit him, then why in the hell did you bring him here tonight? May I remind you that you’re the one who did that, not me. I didn’t tell you anything other than you needed to take care of it, so don’t you dare try and pass the buck on this one,” she shot back.
Chris’ face fell, all the fight seeping from his tired body. With a wry smirk, he looked up at Lynn and said, “Although it pains me to admit this, he’s a good kid, despite being rougher around the edges than I was.”
“I find that last part very hard to believe, my dear,” she replied, feeling her heartbeat calm considerably as the anger rush faded.
“You don’t ride with him everyday,” he said, shifting so he wasn’t sitting in such an awkward position. His right foot was beginning to tingle in that annoying early stage of falling asleep. Chris straightened the extremity, giving his foot a healthy shake to restart some of the previously cut off blood flow. He blew out a breath and flopped back down on the bed. He laid his hands on his chest, interlacing his fingers while he thought of what to say. More seriously he said, “He’s got a chip on his shoulder big enough to cover the entire state of Georgia and a snarky attitude to match.”
“Why do you think that is, Chris? Take a couple of seconds to think about it this time before you answer.”
“I know what you want me to say - he’s an insolent pain in my ass because he doesn’t think he has anything to lose by being a cranky bastard. But the question now is do I agree with it?” he said, eyes roaming blankly around the speckled ceiling. After some hesitation, he said, “And I think the answer now is ‘yes’.”
“Well, hallelujah. He’s getting it,” she muttered.
If Pike heard her, he didn’t acknowledge it, instead pressing forward with, “I was afraid for him tonight. You know, everyone says I have a hero complex, but his is ten thousand times worse. He absolutely has no regard for himself, and some days, I want to punch him in the face for it. He drives me nuts.”
“And do you know why that is? It’s because you care, Sergeant Christopher Pike,” Lynn said in a much softer, much more loving voice as she took up a horizontal position next to him. She shifted until she was face to face with him, pillowing her chin on the backs of her hands. Smirking, she asked, “Are you getting soft on me?”
“Apparently,” Pike snorted out before he shuddered. His eyes went blank before continued with, “I got the driver out of the car pretty easily, but her door was intact. She had cuts all over her body, which was where my attention ended up. I had a pretty good view of the underside of the car, and I could see the gas tank had ruptured and was leaking everywhere under the car. And then I saw the engine smoking, and I knew it was about to become a very, very bad day. I started to get up, but I had to tie off the tourniquet I was applying to my victim so she wouldn’t bleed out, and I thought the time it took me to do that was going to cost me my partner.”
“Where was Len?” she asked, trying to reconcile his first-person account with the pictures from the news report she saw earlier.
“He was on the passenger side, wedged between the car and the tree. The door and the window were both demolished and he was trying to get to the passenger who had been thrown into the backseat. I didn’t see her and I’m sure she was already gone, but you know McCoy. He wouldn’t give up, even when I was hollering at him to get his ass away from the damned car. Lynn, I saw that car go up tonight, and I thought I was going to be pulling back a dead man by the time I got there. Aside from what happened to Jack, it was the longest ten steps I’ve ever taken. And then we had to go tell the family, which was a million times worse than normal, if that’s at all possible. McCoy looked like he was going to throw up on me the entire time we were there, and since he’s in our guest room now, you obviously have seen the end results. And that brings me to my next question: now what?”
Lynn took a couple of seconds to digest her husband’s soliloquy before tilting her head to the left. “Chris, as happy as I am that you just told me that, I want you to put yourself in Len’s shoes for a few minutes. You’ve been around the block a time or two, so you’re no stranger to stuff like this. It’s terrible, but you have the ability to deal. How old is he? Twenty-three? Twenty-four? How would you have dealt with something like this at that age?”
“Not well, but I would have handled it,” he answered honestly after some hesitation.
Nodding in agreement, Lynn continued. “And now, imagine that you’re an introverted personality living in a place where you have few, if any friends outside your work, and that your macho attitude is a perquisite for earning the respect of the people who don’t know you very well because you won’t let them in. Finally, imagine all of that and add to it that you don’t have a real support system or anyone to vent to like me, and I think you’ll see why Len ended up in the shape he’s in at the Stumble tonight.”
Pike laid still and let all the thoughts swirling through his head compartmentalize themselves, drifting to the correct places in his brain. If someone were to listen carefully enough, it was almost an audible thing, how hard Chris was thinking. Snapping out of his nearly catatonic state, he licked his lips and said, “All right. You win. I can see how this is a problem.”
“I knew you would,” Lynn said triumphantly, rolling off the bed to head for the bathroom. “Just remember, Chris: whether you like it or not, he’s our responsibility now. When you took him as your rookie, you signed yourself up for that job. He’s got nothing here - no family and I’d guess no real friends, and despite that tough, I-hate-the-world attitude, it’s not really who he is. Think about that every time you want to punch him because he’s not listening to you, and ask yourself why he’s doing it. It might help.”
Chris pursed his lips silently and covered his face with his hands. “I am never taking another rookie partner ever again,” he mumbled. “My wife is about to adopt mine, and there is not enough space in this house for anyone else.” Smiling, Chris called after her retreating back, “But this has nothing to do with you being right. Again. Nothing at all. So don’t be thinking this is going to be a daily occurrence!”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, dear.” No, Lynn wouldn’t dream of thinking she should always be right. She would just dream of something else entirely.
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Next Up: McCoy is in for a rude awakening, both figuratively and literally.
Disclaimer: Purchasing the netbook from which I’m typing and posting this chapter was something that required research and careful thought. If buying something for $200 required that much effort, I doubt I could own Star Trek or make any profit from my work. Please don’t sue.
Chapter | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |
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Chapter 3
In life, there were certain definitive constants. In the same way she counted on the refreshing light of the rising sun in the morning and the relaxing dimness of it setting at night, Lynn Pike expected that each day, her husband would go off and do his job. Chris loved it, and there would never be any way she could ask him to give up his passion for the safety of a desk and a white collar nine to five. Like it or not, it was part of the trade off she accepted as a cop’s wife. She was fully aware that nothing was guaranteed in one of the most dangerous professions in the world, not even the right see the end of the night.
Lynn tucked Ethan in for the night and was about to start cleaning up the kitchen when the lead off news report filled the screen. She saw the telltale flashing blue and reds of the light bars filling up one side of the TV, and out of force of habit, looked over to see what the story was about. Through the news crew’s lens, a dramatic scene was unfolding in front of her with two very familiar faces taking center stage - Chris and his partner Len. Lynn sucked in a breath and unconsciously moved into the living room, sitting down on the overstuffed couch. Her eyes were stuck on her husband; the images nearly mesmerized her while she watched the rescue in progress. Chris pulled one person out of the wrecked car, laying the young girl on the ground before he started first aid. Over the sound of the irritating reporter’s voice, he looked up long enough to yell something to his partner.
Suddenly and without any warning, the car exploded, lighting the entire frame on the TV a bright, angry orange. When she saw the fireball and heard the concussive sound of detonation, she felt her heart skip a beat. The camera shook, presumably as the crew momentarily took cover, and for a couple of seconds, all she saw was a shot of the one of the most beautiful purple-blue-red-orange sunsets she’d ever seen. After what seemed like an eternity, the picture panned back in time for Lynn to witness Chris shield face with his arm while he dragged his partner back from the burning wreckage of the ruined vehicle.
It had been a very long time since she felt that kind of gut-wrenching terror on her husband’s behalf. The rest of the night was a blur as Lynn tried and failed to occupy her nervous hands with something - anything - to keep her mind from drifting back to the images she saw on TV. She couldn’t wait for him to get home, and when he finally walked back in the door, defeated and weary, she pulled him into a hug with the intent of holding on for the next three years. Her macho, US Marine husband assured her he was okay, and even though she could see through the very obvious façade, Lynn knew not to push him any father on the subject. She was simply thrilled he wasn’t hurt more seriously than a couple of burns on his hands and arms, because she knew it could have been much, much worse.
But as happy as she was to see him, Lynn couldn’t help but feel a small measure of irritation that he made no mention of the condition of his partner. McCoy, in most cases for Chris, was an afterthought at best, or a non-issue at worst. Her husband didn’t see the same gentle qualities in and about the young man as she did, though that fact didn’t come as any kind of surprise. Chris instead preferred to keep McCoy at arms’ length rather than initiate what would probably be a very good friendship if it were allowed to develop. Despite the fact that he’d thawed considerably after she invited Len to Christmas dinner, Chris was by no means friendly with the young man in anything other than a professional sense. As a cop’s wife and a modern woman all wrapped up into one, she would never proclaim to understand the old-school cop mentality. Even if she didn’t always respect it, she still had to live with it.
So when Chris got up out of bed at oh-dark-thirty to go on a drunk run to retrieve his partner, Lynn wasn’t sure how she should take it. It was no secret she’d been at odds with her husband over how he handled McCoy, and it became a bitter spot of contention for the pair over the winter. On the flip side, Lynn was also smart enough to take progress when she could get it, which meant she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth when her husband voluntarily went on his errand.
What he returned with (or rather, whom) did surprise her, however. She honestly expected Chris to either leave the man with AJ or to dump McCoy off at his place with little regard to how he would fare alone. But her husband’s grim face said it all, and Lynn felt her stomach clench when, for the briefest of moments, her gaze locked with Len’s on their way in the door. Even a bottle of liquor couldn’t hide the hurt and pain she saw in his green-grey eyes, and it made her shudder. It also strengthened her resolve to be an ally to McCoy, because it was abundantly clear the young man needed one.
“Mrs. Pike,” McCoy muttered with heavy, uncooperative lips and through half-lidded eyes as the two men passed. He stumbled over his own feet, only saved from falling on his face by the wall on his right and Pike on his left. A self-deprecating chuckle escaped his mouth while he found his fledgling balance, which was followed by the announcement of, “I think I’m a little drunk.”
“A little?” Pike snorted, raising an eyebrow before he shifted his hold on his unsteady partner. He grimaced when McCoy’s belt caught a tender piece of his singed arm, rubbing the scratchy gauze against his raw skin. Muttering under his breath, he added, “Jesus Christ.”
Lynn shook her head and gaped just long enough to take a breath before squared her shoulders and pushed past Chris and Len. She motioned with her head towards the hallway of the rambler-style house. “Sit him at the table while I get the guest room made up. I wasn’t expecting company tonight,” she said. The last part of the sentence, resigned and weary, was clearly meant for Chris, and he made the wise choice to keep his mouth shut. But the icy glare she shot him, the one that accompanied her sentence, left absolutely no room for misinterpretation. They were not done talking on the topic of one Leonard McCoy, and it was abundantly clear ‘upset’ was not nearly a strong enough word.
While Chris brought McCoy in for a rough landing at the kitchen table, Lynn walked past the pair and snagged a tall glass from the cupboard next to the sink. She filled it up with cool water from the tap and set it in front of Len, letting out a soft whistle when she was able to take a good, close up look at the man’s condition. ‘Low’ was the only word she could think of at 0400 in the morning that accurately described what a fine mess of a man Chris dumped at her kitchen table.
McCoy’s face was liberally sprinkled with stubble and his normally impeccably neat hair was messy as if he’d been running his hands through it all night. The black t-shirt he was wearing, the one that proudly proclaimed that, ‘I arm-wrestled Johnny Cash,’ was hopelessly rumpled under his green cargo style jacket. His lightweight blue jeans hung low on his hips, and Lynn could smell the pungent odor of the beer he’d picked up on his shoes and on the bottom of his pants from the floor of the Stumble. And although Len clearly tried to drink away his feelings, the dark circles under his eyes were still present and accounted for, along with the exacerbated lines around his mouth and eyes.
“My God, Leonard. What have you done to yourself?” Lynn asked with a sad little smile. Her hands ghosted over the identical bandages cocooning McCoy’s right hand and arm, mindful not to apply too much pressure, as she searched for physical confirmation he was as uninjured as Chris promised. But she barely caught her hand as it made its way up, seemingly of its own volition, to smooth out an errant chunk of hair sticking to Len’s sweaty forehead. Instead, Lynn used the opportunity to point toward the glass she set on the table, saying to her husband, “Do you think you can manage to get him to drink that?”
“The whole thing?” Chris asked, eyeing the large glass with trepidation.
“Yeah, the whole thing, Chris. It’ll help a little with his hangover. You know that.”
Pike snorted, his mind flashing back to the often-spotty memories of some of his wilder, much younger days. “Don’t I ever,” he mumbled.
“Indeed. Now, when he’s done, bring him in. I should be ready by then.”
Pike shrugged and picked up the water, sighing heavily as he plopped his ass in the chair adjacent to his partner. He shook Len gently on the shoulder, careful not to upset the younger man’s tenuous grip on his equilibrium. Chris said a couple of soft but awkward words McCoy responded to with a mumble of his own, accepting the glass with unsteady hands before raising it to his lips. Lynn watched the entire exchange, and satisfied that Len might get something in his body other than alcohol, went off to make up the guest room.
Ducking back into her bedroom, Lynn rooted through Chris’ side of the dresser for something appropriate for McCoy to wear. She pulled out one of his favorite pairs of long, worn, oversized basketball shorts and a matching black t-shirt. The latter was emblazoned with the Triumph Motorcycles logo spread in recessed gold and black lettering across the chest, and equally careworn and soft. Satisfied, Lynn slammed the drawers closed and headed next door to the guest room. She let her thoughts wander as she set up the amenities - aspirin on the nightstand, a big bottle of water and a bucket lined with a garbage bag (just in case) next to the bed.
Lynn was just turning down the comforter when she heard the telltales scraping of feet and shoes against the wood floor of the hallway. For once, she didn’t care how badly her floor was being scratched or if she’d have to refinish it next year. She stuck her head out the door and, without so much as a word, moved around the opposite side of her husband and took up position under McCoy’s right arm. The younger man was out on his feet; the alcohol, weariness and general exhaustion of the day were all finally catching up with him. In his left ear, Chris was mumbling encouragement in low, hushed tones, hoping he could get his partner to the bed without actually having to drag him there.
The trio mercifully cleared the doorway, and Chris set Len down on the bed as gently as he could. Lynn coaxed McCoy’s right arm free from his faded jacket and pulled it clear from around his shoulders. He haphazardly flapped his left arm around when the cuff stuck to his watch, giving it a mighty, unsteady tug to dislodge it. Threads popped, and the garment eventually landed in a heap on the floor. McCoy’s gaze flicked sideways, almost groaning in relief when he registered the feeling of a real bed and sheets beneath him, and the sight of a pillow close enough for his to reach. Before either Pike could stop him, Len toppled over sideways, grabbed the extra pillow, and curled up on his side.
Chris pursed his lips. “He was out before his head hit the pillow,” he said with such softness in his voice that it made Lynn double take. It was the voice Pike normally reserved for his son, used only when no one else was around to hear it. Grumbling something rude to make up for the fact he about to show he cared, the sergeant reached out and grabbed one of McCoy’s feet, gently picking at the laces of his partner’s white Nike Air trainers.
There was no way she was seeing what her eyes were telling her. Chris Pike, her resistant, stubborn, hardheaded husband, was actually taking interest in his partner. As Len’s right shoe hit the floor, a very unprofessional snort escaped her lips, which was followed by several muffled giggles. The sound made Chris’ hands pause in mid-motion as they worked away at a stubborn knot in the laces of McCoy’s left shoe. He turned his head so he was in profile to her viewpoint and simply shook his head while he pulled Len’s shoe off his foot. Straightening, he grabbed both shoes off the floor and stepped back, which allowed Lynn to pull the covers over McCoy’s prone form. She pulled the clothes off her shoulders and laid them on the chair next to the bed. “So much for getting him changed.”
“Yeah,” Chris mechanically agreed a second before his eyes narrowed in recognition, actually seeing the two garments Lynn just laid over the chair. “Hey!” he hissed, pointing. “That’s my favorite shirt!”
Lynn shushed the sergeant with a finger and ushered him out the door. She closed it behind her just enough so a little bit of light would still filter in the dark room in case Len were to wake. Leaning against the hallway wall, she said, “Yes, it is, but it’s the only thing we have that will fit him. Remember? He’s bigger than you are.”
“Not by much,” Pike retorted automatically.
“Whatever, Chris. Now share.” Lynn replied with an incredulous shake of her head.
“I don’t have a problem with that, strangely,” he said, expression perplexed and voice sounding nearly defeated. He scratched his head and sighed. Pike’s shoulders slumped as he put his arm around his wife. He wrapped her up into a gentle hug and pulled her close to his body. “Go ahead and say it.”
“Say what?” she feigned. In reality, Lynn knew exactly where Chris was going, and it was something she’d been itching to remind him the entire night. The only thing stopping her was her overwhelming concern about her husband and his partner. But instead, she tightened her grip around Chris’ waist as they walked in stride down the hallway to their room. He leaned his cheek on the top of her head and dropped a kiss into her hair. Lynn smirked and bit her lip, finally saying the four words she’d been aching to say since he set foot back in the door: “Itoldyouso.”
Chris shook his head and let out a quiet, light laugh. His eyes sparkled when he looked down at her, stopping in the middle of the hallway to embrace his wife. “Yeah, you did, didn’t you? Damn you when you’re right,” he said. But as easily as the happiness appeared in his eyes, it dissipated just as rapidly when the pair passed their young son’s room.
Ethan’s door was open, and the five year old’s room awash with the gentle glow from his Jack Sparrow night-light. Chris pushed the door open just a little farther so he could see his son’s sleeping form. He needed visual confirmation that the little tiny chest was rising and falling from a child deep in sleep and dreamland. Pike felt some of the earlier tension unwind from his chest while he watched the most important thing in his life, safe and sound and away from all things that might hurt him. Ethan looked happy, content and innocent, which were three more adjectives than could be used for his father.
Lynn could see the troubled expression in Chris’ eyes, and she gave her husband a gentle tug at the waist to snap him out of his reverie. “Honey, what’s wrong?” When he didn’t respond, she waved one hand in front of his face and whistled. “Hello? Earth to Chris? Anyone home? You’re starting to scare me. What is it?”
Pike brought one hand up and dug the pads of his fingers into his eyes. He swallowed hard, the memories of the home visit he paid earlier during his shift to a random family he’d never see again still fresh in his mind. It made him shudder to think what he and Lynn might do if one day, God forbid, the roles were reversed and someone was visiting his house delivering the most awful news a parent could ever receive. He instantly pushed the thoughts away and said, “We’re going to do everything right with him, make sure he'll make good choices and have responsible friends. I know that. But, what happens when that’s not enough? What happens when someone else makes a bad choice for him?”
Lynn narrowed her eyes while she stepped out from under his arm. Warning lights erupted like klaxons in her head while she tried to make heads or tails of what, exactly, brought on such a sudden change in her husband’s demeanor. She was perplexed; as a sergeant and ten-year veteran of the police force, Chris was no stranger to the darker sides of law enforcement. But he had a personal rule that expressly stated all badges were to be checked at the door, and that meant that no serious shoptalk was to be allowed in his home. He claimed it was because when he was home, he wanted to be home, instead of distracted while he thought about what he could have done differently from latest shift.
It irritated her. Really, it did. Lynn knew Chris’ reasoning was complete and utter bullshit, but the knowledge that he could come home to someone who didn’t expect him to he a cop every moment of his life kept him sane while he worked. However, she also knew he was doing it because he was still a chauvinist, thinking that his wife needed protection from the big, bad world.
Thank you, but no.
Placing her hands on hips, she fixed her ‘death stare’ on him and said, “Chris, what’s going on? What happened tonight? You gave me the party version, but I want the truth. I think I’ve earned it by helping you with Len,” she added as they walked into their bedroom. Lynn sat down on the bed and propped herself up with the fluffy, sham-style decorative pillow she grabbed from the floor. She glanced at the clock and sighed, knowing full well there would be no point in going back to bed when she was due to be up for work in twenty minutes anyway.
Chris joined her on the bed, sprawling across the massive width of their California King bed (his one indulgence when they’d purchased their house, and quite probably the reason for Ethan’s conception) while enjoying the blessed feeling of decompression. Pike was tired himself; it’d been a hell of a long night, and he felt sleep tugging at his already heavy eyelids. He let his feet dangle over the side of the bed and laid his head in his wife’s lap, letting out a low growl of contentment when she automatically started raking her fingers through his hair.
But as he was about to drift off, warm, safe and content, a thought struck him like a ton of bricks. Bright blue eyes snapping open, Chris looked up at Lynn and said after a beat, “You don’t bitch nearly enough about my job. Why?”
Lynn’s hand stopped its movement. She tilted her head to the side in baffled regard, face twisting up in bewilderment. The question was off the wall, and it caught her completely by surprise. Resuming her ministrations, she replied honestly, “Well, I could if you wanted me to. Believe me, Chris: there are times that I positively hate you and your damned job. But I don’t because there would be no point.”
He raised one eyebrow, genuinely surprised to hear such vehemence behind her voice and coloring her words. Chris shifted and asked, “Why don’t you ever say anything? You know, I hear it all the time from the other guys, how their wives bitch and whine and moan about them doing something different, but other than the occasional eyeroll, I get nothing from you.”
“And that’s all you’re going to get, my dear,” she started. At her husband’s perplexed expression, Lynn went on to explain frankly, “I hate you for being a cop sometimes. I do. There are some days I can’t describe how much I wish you could have chosen something different that doesn’t require the use of deadly force. I know you love it, but I hate your schedule, I hate your hours, and I sure as hell hate how dangerous it is. Even so, I couldn’t ever ask you to stop being a badge,” she said, pausing while she waited for his nod of approval for correct use of police lingo, “any more than I could stop making cakes.”
“Please don’t give that up. I like cake,” he said with a cheeky grin.
Lynn rolled her eyes. “Yes, dear. I know,” she said lightly, though her voice instantly sobered before she continued. In a much more grave tone, she said, “But, as much as you love my pastry skills, you know I don’t do it only because I love it. Don’t get me wrong - a big reason why I do what I do is because baked goods are my passion, but I also need a trade in case something happened to you. What if you died tomorrow, Chris? What would Ethan and I do? I have to have some way to support our son and me if you’re not around. And if I can do it with sugar, I will. Just as I love my trade, your passion is law enforcement, I will never discourage it, even on days when it pisses me off.”
Pike was silent for a few seconds, allowing her words to sink into his head. He never quite realized how deeply she was affected by his job on an emotional level. He knew it logically, but selfishly, Pike never gave her lack of complaints much thought. He swallowed hard, opened his mouth a couple of times while he tried to best formulate what he was feeling before he admitted, “That could have happened today.”
“What?”
“I could have died,” he answered flatly.
Lynn suppressed a full body shudder as the horrible images of a demolished car flashed through her mind. As hard as it was for her to think about the worst-case scenario, she knew it was even harder for her husband to admit it. It was, by all accounts, a big step. Sighing, she unconsciously wrapped her arms a little tighter around his shoulders. “I know,” she replied unsteadily as she focused on their reflection in the mirror situated on top of their giant mahogany dresser. Lynn bit her lip and asked her question again. “You want to tell me what happened tonight now?”
“Not really, but I know you’re not going to leave until you know what you want,” Pike replied, his answer rumbling from deep in his chest. He let out another long breath and ran his hands over his tired face. Before he could talk himself out of it, Chris started, “I know you think I hate McCoy, but dammit Lynn, I don’t.”
“Oh really?” she scoffed, bristling as some of her pent up frustration with her husband came bubbling out. “You could have fooled me. Chris, before you start, just do yourself a favor and quit while you’re ahead. You treat that young man down the hall as if he’s an imposition to you, or you pretend that he doesn’t exist at all. I’m not sure what’s worse. Either way, that’s not right because he’s your partner, so you’ll have to forgive me if I’m a little skeptical about your sudden change of heart.”
“Exactly, Lynn,” Pike said, cutting her off. “He’s my partner, not my son. I shouldn’t have to hold his hand. He’s a grown man - he can do what he wants and take care of himself once we’re off duty. We’ve had this discussion before.”
“Yes, I remember that really well,” she started. Lynn’s eyes darkened and her voice dropped to a deadly hiss. This was about to turn into a replay of the previous winter, and she did not want to rehash that epic battle if she didn’t need to. She could count on one hand the number of times she and Chris properly fought during their ten years of marriage, but the yelling, swearing, finger-pointing bout they had over McCoy right before Christmas was top on the list. “I distinctly recall that you slept on the couch for three days afterward because you pissed me off.”
“Hey, you’re not perfect here, either. You’re always pushing me to make friends with the guy when I have no interest in it. I’m supposed to train him to be a cop, not be his babysitter. Being his friend is not part of my job description,” Pike growled back at her. He could feel the tension winding its way through his frame again. After spending his entire night riding the hills and valleys of adrenaline, it was a tall order finding the energy required to bring forward such emotions when all he wanted was to go to sleep and stay there for a week.
Lynn, however, was having none of it, and since she wouldn’t let the subject drop until she made her point, she exclaimed, “Oh, you are so full of shit, Chris! What did I tell you at Christmas? Did it not sink in then? Because if it didn’t, let me go over it again: Len is not the type of guy who admits things out loud. He’s the opposite of you - a true introvert. And he’s not going to ask for help. Never. That’s not how his brain works. He’s going to suffer alone with the hope that someone might care enough to look. I know you won’t because you’re a stubborn ass who can’t take off the old-school sergeant blinders, but guess what? I care. I care about him. Under all the snarling and growling, he’s a very nice young man who’s also alone here and could use a friend. I thought you could be that for him, which is why I’ve been pushing you on the subject.”
“And I’ve also told you that, in my world, your way is not how it works! Period. It’s not part of the job!” he half-yelled back. He straightened into an upright position and ran one frustrated hand through his messy hair. Chris’ chest rose and fell quickly, his breathing rapid and shallow. His piercing blue eyes challenged his wife’s gaze, but neither was willing to yield.
Lynn blinked first, challenging her husband with, “Why? Why can’t it work? I don’t understand. You know, we argued about the exact same thing at Christmas, and you couldn’t explain it then. Why not?”
“Because!” he cried, bringing his hands up in balled up fists near his face. “That’s just how it is! You don’t wear a uniform, Lynn. You won’t understand!”
Her jaw fell open silently, indignation brewing in her eyes. “Oh, so now because I’m not a cop I can’t grasp the simple concept of human emotions? I don’t think so, Chris. That’s a horseshit answer and the easy way out, and you know it,” she shot right back, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at her husband. “What about you and Jack? Why can that friendship work so well, but not you and McCoy? Why is it so impossible for you care about Len like you care about Jack?”
“That was different! That is different!”
“Why?” she questioned, eyes flashing as her father’s temper took over the higher functions of her brain. Jabbing a finger into the mattress, she demanded, “Explain it to me now, because you’re right: I sure as hell don’t get it, and I don’t get you.”
“Because!” he started, pausing to take a deep breath before he actually broke into a full-out yell that would wake the entire house. “It worked because I didn’t have to teach Jack anything. I didn’t have to train him, and I wasn’t responsible for his well-being,” he finally admitted. “I told you before I’m not a babysitter, and I meant it.”
Finally. Lynn knew if she pushed the buttons in the right order, eventually Chris would cough up the real reasoning behind his trepidation. She always theorized, but until he voiced it, it was simply that: conjecture. But now that she was able to get him going in the right direction, it was just a matter of guiding the ship to port. “So if you don’t want to babysit him, then why in the hell did you bring him here tonight? May I remind you that you’re the one who did that, not me. I didn’t tell you anything other than you needed to take care of it, so don’t you dare try and pass the buck on this one,” she shot back.
Chris’ face fell, all the fight seeping from his tired body. With a wry smirk, he looked up at Lynn and said, “Although it pains me to admit this, he’s a good kid, despite being rougher around the edges than I was.”
“I find that last part very hard to believe, my dear,” she replied, feeling her heartbeat calm considerably as the anger rush faded.
“You don’t ride with him everyday,” he said, shifting so he wasn’t sitting in such an awkward position. His right foot was beginning to tingle in that annoying early stage of falling asleep. Chris straightened the extremity, giving his foot a healthy shake to restart some of the previously cut off blood flow. He blew out a breath and flopped back down on the bed. He laid his hands on his chest, interlacing his fingers while he thought of what to say. More seriously he said, “He’s got a chip on his shoulder big enough to cover the entire state of Georgia and a snarky attitude to match.”
“Why do you think that is, Chris? Take a couple of seconds to think about it this time before you answer.”
“I know what you want me to say - he’s an insolent pain in my ass because he doesn’t think he has anything to lose by being a cranky bastard. But the question now is do I agree with it?” he said, eyes roaming blankly around the speckled ceiling. After some hesitation, he said, “And I think the answer now is ‘yes’.”
“Well, hallelujah. He’s getting it,” she muttered.
If Pike heard her, he didn’t acknowledge it, instead pressing forward with, “I was afraid for him tonight. You know, everyone says I have a hero complex, but his is ten thousand times worse. He absolutely has no regard for himself, and some days, I want to punch him in the face for it. He drives me nuts.”
“And do you know why that is? It’s because you care, Sergeant Christopher Pike,” Lynn said in a much softer, much more loving voice as she took up a horizontal position next to him. She shifted until she was face to face with him, pillowing her chin on the backs of her hands. Smirking, she asked, “Are you getting soft on me?”
“Apparently,” Pike snorted out before he shuddered. His eyes went blank before continued with, “I got the driver out of the car pretty easily, but her door was intact. She had cuts all over her body, which was where my attention ended up. I had a pretty good view of the underside of the car, and I could see the gas tank had ruptured and was leaking everywhere under the car. And then I saw the engine smoking, and I knew it was about to become a very, very bad day. I started to get up, but I had to tie off the tourniquet I was applying to my victim so she wouldn’t bleed out, and I thought the time it took me to do that was going to cost me my partner.”
“Where was Len?” she asked, trying to reconcile his first-person account with the pictures from the news report she saw earlier.
“He was on the passenger side, wedged between the car and the tree. The door and the window were both demolished and he was trying to get to the passenger who had been thrown into the backseat. I didn’t see her and I’m sure she was already gone, but you know McCoy. He wouldn’t give up, even when I was hollering at him to get his ass away from the damned car. Lynn, I saw that car go up tonight, and I thought I was going to be pulling back a dead man by the time I got there. Aside from what happened to Jack, it was the longest ten steps I’ve ever taken. And then we had to go tell the family, which was a million times worse than normal, if that’s at all possible. McCoy looked like he was going to throw up on me the entire time we were there, and since he’s in our guest room now, you obviously have seen the end results. And that brings me to my next question: now what?”
Lynn took a couple of seconds to digest her husband’s soliloquy before tilting her head to the left. “Chris, as happy as I am that you just told me that, I want you to put yourself in Len’s shoes for a few minutes. You’ve been around the block a time or two, so you’re no stranger to stuff like this. It’s terrible, but you have the ability to deal. How old is he? Twenty-three? Twenty-four? How would you have dealt with something like this at that age?”
“Not well, but I would have handled it,” he answered honestly after some hesitation.
Nodding in agreement, Lynn continued. “And now, imagine that you’re an introverted personality living in a place where you have few, if any friends outside your work, and that your macho attitude is a perquisite for earning the respect of the people who don’t know you very well because you won’t let them in. Finally, imagine all of that and add to it that you don’t have a real support system or anyone to vent to like me, and I think you’ll see why Len ended up in the shape he’s in at the Stumble tonight.”
Pike laid still and let all the thoughts swirling through his head compartmentalize themselves, drifting to the correct places in his brain. If someone were to listen carefully enough, it was almost an audible thing, how hard Chris was thinking. Snapping out of his nearly catatonic state, he licked his lips and said, “All right. You win. I can see how this is a problem.”
“I knew you would,” Lynn said triumphantly, rolling off the bed to head for the bathroom. “Just remember, Chris: whether you like it or not, he’s our responsibility now. When you took him as your rookie, you signed yourself up for that job. He’s got nothing here - no family and I’d guess no real friends, and despite that tough, I-hate-the-world attitude, it’s not really who he is. Think about that every time you want to punch him because he’s not listening to you, and ask yourself why he’s doing it. It might help.”
Chris pursed his lips silently and covered his face with his hands. “I am never taking another rookie partner ever again,” he mumbled. “My wife is about to adopt mine, and there is not enough space in this house for anyone else.” Smiling, Chris called after her retreating back, “But this has nothing to do with you being right. Again. Nothing at all. So don’t be thinking this is going to be a daily occurrence!”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, dear.” No, Lynn wouldn’t dream of thinking she should always be right. She would just dream of something else entirely.
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Next Up: McCoy is in for a rude awakening, both figuratively and literally.