Fanfic: Close to Home Part 3
Title: Close to Home
Author Lindao
Rating: PG
Summary: Secrets, plots, and lies. For Team Machine, these things are a way of life. But for a few days in December, all the conspiracies are just a little sweeter. And though none of them have a real home, this Christmas, together, they might find something that’s close.
Word Count: 45,000 total-ish
Notes: Season 2, before "Shadow Box".
Yep, it's a late Christmas story, Sorry! Next in the Chaos AU, after "Sacrifice".
Chapter 1 Chapter 2
No one answered the knock, so Reese let himself into the hotel room. There was a battered suitcase on top of the dresser, with clothes strewn roughly in its vicinity. He did a more thorough search, then tapped his earpiece. “Finch? Farrell’s been here, but he’s not here now. What have you got?”
“Something disturbing,” Finch answered. “Susie’s credit card was used to secure a pay day loan from an on-line lender, in the amount of five thousand dollars.”
“That’s a big loan.”
“Especially for a man who just lost his job.”
“He has no intention of paying it back,” Reese said grimly. “I need to find him, Finch.”
There was a minute of nothing but keyboard. John looked around the room. It was grim, dirty. He’d lived in places just like this. He hadn’t minded at the time; he hadn’t much noticed his surroundings. But now it depressed him. He didn’t know anything about Farrell, really, except that the man had worn a uniform. And now he was in trouble. That was enough.
Finally Finch’s voice resumed in his ear. “He picked up the money from a Western Union just over two hours ago. I’m sending you the address.”
“Good.”
“I’ll see if I can locate the wife,” Finch continued. “She may have some idea where he’d go.”
Reese looked at the address on his phone. “Let me know.”
**
Reese stood outside the cash shop and looked around slowly. He knew this neighborhood. He’d been here before. Farrell was long gone; he was more than three hours behind him. But this neighborhood was a long way from the man’s home. He’d come here for a reason.
Down the block, a big square man stood next to the doorway of an empty shop. He was flipped through a comic book. Graphic novel, Reese hear Finch correct in his mind. Which meant, basically, that it was a comic book with cleavage. It seemed a little chilly to be reading outside.
Reese crossed the street and walked briskly right past the reader. The man barely glanced at him. He looked back to his comic, and Reese’s elbow caught him squarely in the jaw. The man fell neatly ouf ot sight beside the steps.
Reese went inside.
The front room of the shop was guarded by another goon, but he wasn’t much trouble. John dropped him, then continued to the back.
The show room, as is turned out. Not much of a store at that, just three folding tables, but all of them were covered with guns. There were two more men there. Reese looked them over quickly as they drew on him. He shot the younger one in the thigh, then turned his weapon at the older one but didn’t fire.
They stood very still for a moment, with their guns aimed at each other. The man was about sixty, with grey hair and a heavy jowl. His eyes were almost black. He considered John calmly. He decided, probably correctly, that Reese was faster. “You a buyer?” he finally said.
“Just browsing,” Reese answered.
The man’s gun came down. “Something special?”
“Guy was in here a couple hours ago. Five grand in cash. I need to know what he bought.”
ldquo;You a cop?”
“Not even close.”
The man tucked his gun into the back of his waistband. “Two AK’s, semi-auto. Six thirty-round clips, two hundred rounds. And a bag to carry them in.”
Reese felt his stomach lurch, but he nodded calmly. “Anything else?”
“Cheap-ass little thirty-eight. Loaded, but no extra rounds.”
“Thank you.” He glanced at the man on the floor. “I’ll show myself out.”
“Please do.”
Reese did. On the street and safely away from the gun shop, he called Finch. “We’ve got a problem, Finch. Farrell’s weaponed up, in a big way.”
“What do you think he’s planning?”
“To kill a lot of people.”
Finch went quiet for a moment. “Then we need to determine where.”
“His last job?”
“Perhaps. He was only there for five weeks. Not much time to work up a good hatred.”
“He’s been working on it for a long time, Finch. It’s just a question of what sets him off.” Reese looked around again. It was Sunday; the streets were quieter than usual. “How many people work there?”
There was a pause while Finch consulted with the deities of the internet. “Fifteen, currently.”
“No. What about the wife?”
Another admirably brief pause. “Just over three hundred.”
“Send me the address.”
“They’re closed today, Mr. Reese.” His phone chirped with the information he’d requested.
“Good. Maybe that will keep the body count down.”
**
The Chaos Café was packed. Donnelly slipped in through the back door and moved up the little corridor to the old bar.
Christine Fitzgerald was there, conveniently close, with her back to him. She had both hands on a tray on the bar. It was already loaded with five cups of various incarnations of coffee, and one of the baristas behind the bar was busily filling more. There were three others working behind the bar, and four waiters working the floor.
Between the noise of the coffee grinders and steamers, the rock music, and the increasingly loud chatter of the patrons, the café was deafening.
It was easy for Donnelly to slip up behind her undetected. He grabbed her arms firmly from behind, just above the elbows, and leaned close to speak in her ear, quietly but very sternly. “I am fully capable of buying my own lunch, Miss Fitzgerald.”
She chuckled, unimpressed. “And I’m fully capable of buying my own restaurant. What’s your point?” And then to the barista, “I need one more, with a depth charge.”
“Got it.”
“I’m also fully capable of finding my own dates.”
“Yeahhhh,” she answered, “I haven’t really seen any evidence of that.” The last cup hit the tray. She looked over shoulder. “Ronnie! Tray up!”
She turned and gently elbowed Donnelly back, balanced the tray above the heads of the crowd and handed it off to one of the waiters. Then she turned back, took his arm, and drew him into the doorway of the little office. “So how’d it go?”
“I’m not here to discuss my date. I’m here to discuss the fact that you …”
“If you’re calling it a date, it went well. Outstanding. Are you coming to the movie?”
“Christine …”
“Are you bringing Theresa?”
“You can’t just …”
“Ellis. She’s lovely. And she’s smart. And she’s a little bit shy. I knew you’d get along. So what are you mad about?”
Donnelly made himself take a deep breath; she was talking so fast he felt winded on her behalf. “I don’t like being ambushed.”
Christine tipped her head quizzically. “If I’d asked you in advance, would you have gone?”
“No. But that’s not the …”
“Yes, it is. It’s totally the point. So you met this wonderful woman and you hit it off and you have a second date and all is shiny. What’s the problem?”
The front door of the café opened and six more gamer-types game in. They were greeted loudly by their friends, and the whole noise level of the café jumped noticeably. Donnelly flinched, but Christine grinned. He drew her further into the office and pushed the door half-shut behind him. “What did I ever do that made you think it was acceptable for you to interfere in my personal life?”
She raised one eyebrow. “Well, you kissed me once, for starters. But beyond that, what did I ever do that made you think I needed your permission to interfere in your personal life?”
“Christine …”
“Ellis. Haven’t you spent enough Christmases alone?”
Her words brought him up short. Every argument, every objection he had, simply died. She was absolutely right. For the first time in a very long time he was actually, tentatively, looking forward to Christmas. Because of Theresa, and because of Christine.
And yet he couldn’t quite give up his reluctance. “The odds of this turning into anything long-term are incredibly remote.”
“Isn’t that always true?”
“My job, and especially this case, it consumes my life …”
“Take a chance, Ellis.”
He shook his head. “You’re absolutely relentless, aren’t you?”
“You should talk.”
Which reminded him of his primary interest in the woman. “Have you seen him? The Man …”
“No,” Christine cut him off. “And good, we got that out of the way. Look, just this once accept that I know what’s best for you.”
“I don’t think that’s …”
“You have a date for Christmas Day. If it doesn’t go anywhere beyond that, fine. You still had a date for Christmas Day. And I’ll find you a new one next year.”
“No,” Donnelly protested in genuine alarm. “No more. Just stop. You need to stop.”
“We’ll see.”
She was toying with him, and she was having way too much fun doing it. Worse, Donnelly realized, he didn’t have any effective way to stop her. “Christine, please. Please don’t do this anymore. I’ll bring Theresa to the movie, I’m sure we’ll have a lovely time, we’ll see where it goes from there, but please, please stay out of it. Whether it works or not, please stop.” His mind latched on to his one possible angle. “You know I’m not made for this kind of chaos. I can’t deal with it. Please. I am begging you. Promise that you’ll stop.”
Christine considered for a long moment. The teasing smile faded from her eyes, grew gentler, warmer. “All right,” she finally agreed. “You and Theresa are on your own from here on out.”
“Thank you,” he answered with devout gratitude.
“But if it doesn’t take, next year you’re fair game again.”
“Christine …”
“At least you’ll know it’s coming.”
“Why are you doing this? Why am I suddenly one of your projects?”
“Because I like you,” she answered, as if that were the most obvious thing in the world.
“If you liked me, you’d leave me alone.”
Christine shook her head. “Left alone, you are too much alone. Like me.”
“Will you be alone?” he asked suddenly. “On Christmas?”
“No. I have places to be. Friends to be with.”
“Will you be at the movie?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.” She smiled, pleased with herself. “I rented out the theater for the matinee.”
“The whole theater.”
“And gave tickets to all my friends. It made gift wrapping so much easier this year.”
Donnelly stared at her. “You’re serious.”
“I am.”
Her announcement actually made the whole tickets aspect a little easier to swallow. “You never run out of ways to surprise me.”
“I hope not.”
“I don’t suppose you gave a ticket to your friend in the Suit?”
Christine sighed. “You really are obsessive, aren’t you?”
“You already knew that.” Donnelly sighed himself, looked around the sparsely-furnished little office. “She is very nice.”
“Theresa? Yes.”
“So this means you and I are definitely breaking up?”
She chuckled. “You and I, Ellis, are not dating. If we were, it would mean that you were dumping me right before Christmas in favor of a librarian that you just met and that would suck. But we’re not and we never were, so everything is shiny.” She paused. “Shiny. Damn. I gotta stay away from the Browncoats for a while.”
“The what?”
“Never mind.”
“So we were never dating?” Donnelly asked. “Not even that first night?”
“Maybe that first night,” she conceded. “But since you wouldn’t kiss me after that, we definitely aren’t dating now.”
Donnelly studied her for a moment. Her bright blue eyes were calmer now, less manic, warm but somehow a little sad. Serious, finally. “Maybe I was afraid that if I kissed you again, things would get completely out of control.”
“I think being completely out of control once in a while would do you a world of good.” Her voice was very gentle, taking the sting out of her words.
“I would hate it,” he said. “But I wish … things could have been different.”
“We would have had to be completely different people. And completely different people would probably never have met at all.”
“True.”
“Paradoxes. I hate paradoxes.” Christine brightened a little. “But speaking of which. Christmas night, Doctor Who special, viewing party here. You should come, after the movie.”
Donnelly frowned at her. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Ahhh. Not a Whovian. And doesn’t know Browncoats.” She nodded wisely. “More reasons that we’re not dating.”
“Not a Whovian,” he agreed. The word felt strange in his mouth. “I might watch the show anyhow, but I think it will be at home, in my quiet apartment on my own couch, well away from those people.” He gestured to the ever-louder café beyond the door. “Perhaps with just one lovely librarian next to me.”
Christine smiled her approval. “Solid plan. Let me know how it turns out.”
“No,” Donnelly answered firmly. “Whatever happens between Miss Ramos and me going forward is none of your business. Agreed?”
She sighed heavily. “Fine.”
“Christine.”
“Fine. I promise.”
“Thank you.” He touched her arm. “And … thank you for the introduction.”
Something crashed loudly at the front of the café, followed by shouts and hoots and applause. “I need to get out there,” Christine said, rolling her eyes. “I’ll see you on Christmas, if not before.”
She leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. Almost without meaning to, he turned his face and touched his lips to hers. It was very brief, hardly more than a brush, but then she stayed there, her face close to his, her blue eyes sparkling up at him, and suddenly he was breathless. “Can I …” he asked, and then stopped, because he didn’t know what he wanted, only that he wanted it.
“Kiss me goodbye?” Christine suggested, very softly.
“Yes.”
“Yes, please.”
It wasn’t a deep kiss, nor a very long one, and certainly not nearly as passionate as the kisses on that first night had been. It was sweet, and it hurt. If you dared, Donnelly thought, you could keep her. If you could let yourself be completely out of control, even for a minute. Just grab her, just … He couldn’t, and they both knew it. It didn’t make the kiss any less sweet, or the longing any less sharp. She will always be the one that got away, he thought, and this is the moment that she slips irrevocably out of my reach. nbsp
nd that was how it had to be.
He drew his lips away from hers.
For one impossible instant she clung to him. It was quick and then it vanished, but it had undeniably been there, that one second when he knew that she felt the pain, too.
It was madness, Donnelly thought. But it was there, in her kiss, in her eyes. One flash of longing. Calm me, tame me, keep me. And then it was gone.
Gone. Done. He would go on to date Theresa, and Christine would go on to date whatever hapless man in uniform next crossed her path, probably, and that was the end of it. And it was for the best. It was absolutely for the best.
She slipped out of his arms, out of the office and into the chaos of the coffee shop
Ellis Donnelly watched her go, and then slipped out the back door himself, absolutely certain that he’d done the right thing, and mercilessly, relentlessly smothering the small voice in the corner of his heart that told him to turn back.
**
Greg Farrell wasn’t hard to find, once Reese knew where to look.
The man was pacing on the sidewalk across the street from the office building where his wife worked. He looked strung-out, exhausted. Anxious.
He had a big black duffle bag over his shoulder. Carrying that much fire power might have made Reese anxious, too.
He slapped at his earpiece. “Finch? How many people inside right now?”
“Give me a minute.”
Reese waited, watching the man pace. He stopped every so often and looked across at the targeted building. Checking the sight lines, Reese knew. Scouting the area.
He didn’t seem to be much interested in an escape route, though.
The longer he paced, the more agitated he got.
“Mr. Reese,” Finch said finally, “I’m up on the security cameras. There’s a guard in the lobby and another walking rounds, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone else in the building.”
John felt his shoulders relax. “Then it’s not today,” he said. “Probably.”
“What’s he doing, then?”
“Planning.” Reese nodded to himself. “Pull the fire alarm and wait right there.”
“He’d be caught.”
“Eventually. And he doesn’t care.”
There was another pause, this one without a keyboard accompaniment. “What are we going to do, Mr. Reese?”
“We’re going to stop him from killing anyone,” Reese answered simply. “After that - I don’t know.”
The line stayed quiet, but he knew Finch was still with him.
Greg Farrell sat down on a bench, dropped the black bag at his feet, and put his head in his hands.
“He’s at the end of his rope, Finch.” He’d been there himself, and he knew that Finch remembered.
“Can we find a way to throw him a lifeline?” Finch asked immediately.
And that, Reese thought, is why I would tear this city apart to find you. Harold. “We can try.”
“Detective Carter may have some resources.”
“If she doesn’t, Christine does. Hang on, Finch.”
Farrell had made some kind of decision. He stood up, straightened his jacket, picked up his bag. Then he started walking, away from his target, with speed and purpose.
“I’ll get back to you,” Reese said. He trotted after the man.
Author Lindao
Rating: PG
Summary: Secrets, plots, and lies. For Team Machine, these things are a way of life. But for a few days in December, all the conspiracies are just a little sweeter. And though none of them have a real home, this Christmas, together, they might find something that’s close.
Word Count: 45,000 total-ish
Notes: Season 2, before "Shadow Box".
Yep, it's a late Christmas story, Sorry! Next in the Chaos AU, after "Sacrifice".
Chapter 1 Chapter 2
No one answered the knock, so Reese let himself into the hotel room. There was a battered suitcase on top of the dresser, with clothes strewn roughly in its vicinity. He did a more thorough search, then tapped his earpiece. “Finch? Farrell’s been here, but he’s not here now. What have you got?”
“Something disturbing,” Finch answered. “Susie’s credit card was used to secure a pay day loan from an on-line lender, in the amount of five thousand dollars.”
“That’s a big loan.”
“Especially for a man who just lost his job.”
“He has no intention of paying it back,” Reese said grimly. “I need to find him, Finch.”
There was a minute of nothing but keyboard. John looked around the room. It was grim, dirty. He’d lived in places just like this. He hadn’t minded at the time; he hadn’t much noticed his surroundings. But now it depressed him. He didn’t know anything about Farrell, really, except that the man had worn a uniform. And now he was in trouble. That was enough.
Finally Finch’s voice resumed in his ear. “He picked up the money from a Western Union just over two hours ago. I’m sending you the address.”
“Good.”
“I’ll see if I can locate the wife,” Finch continued. “She may have some idea where he’d go.”
Reese looked at the address on his phone. “Let me know.”
**
Reese stood outside the cash shop and looked around slowly. He knew this neighborhood. He’d been here before. Farrell was long gone; he was more than three hours behind him. But this neighborhood was a long way from the man’s home. He’d come here for a reason.
Down the block, a big square man stood next to the doorway of an empty shop. He was flipped through a comic book. Graphic novel, Reese hear Finch correct in his mind. Which meant, basically, that it was a comic book with cleavage. It seemed a little chilly to be reading outside.
Reese crossed the street and walked briskly right past the reader. The man barely glanced at him. He looked back to his comic, and Reese’s elbow caught him squarely in the jaw. The man fell neatly ouf ot sight beside the steps.
Reese went inside.
The front room of the shop was guarded by another goon, but he wasn’t much trouble. John dropped him, then continued to the back.
The show room, as is turned out. Not much of a store at that, just three folding tables, but all of them were covered with guns. There were two more men there. Reese looked them over quickly as they drew on him. He shot the younger one in the thigh, then turned his weapon at the older one but didn’t fire.
They stood very still for a moment, with their guns aimed at each other. The man was about sixty, with grey hair and a heavy jowl. His eyes were almost black. He considered John calmly. He decided, probably correctly, that Reese was faster. “You a buyer?” he finally said.
“Just browsing,” Reese answered.
The man’s gun came down. “Something special?”
“Guy was in here a couple hours ago. Five grand in cash. I need to know what he bought.”
ldquo;You a cop?”
“Not even close.”
The man tucked his gun into the back of his waistband. “Two AK’s, semi-auto. Six thirty-round clips, two hundred rounds. And a bag to carry them in.”
Reese felt his stomach lurch, but he nodded calmly. “Anything else?”
“Cheap-ass little thirty-eight. Loaded, but no extra rounds.”
“Thank you.” He glanced at the man on the floor. “I’ll show myself out.”
“Please do.”
Reese did. On the street and safely away from the gun shop, he called Finch. “We’ve got a problem, Finch. Farrell’s weaponed up, in a big way.”
“What do you think he’s planning?”
“To kill a lot of people.”
Finch went quiet for a moment. “Then we need to determine where.”
“His last job?”
“Perhaps. He was only there for five weeks. Not much time to work up a good hatred.”
“He’s been working on it for a long time, Finch. It’s just a question of what sets him off.” Reese looked around again. It was Sunday; the streets were quieter than usual. “How many people work there?”
There was a pause while Finch consulted with the deities of the internet. “Fifteen, currently.”
“No. What about the wife?”
Another admirably brief pause. “Just over three hundred.”
“Send me the address.”
“They’re closed today, Mr. Reese.” His phone chirped with the information he’d requested.
“Good. Maybe that will keep the body count down.”
**
The Chaos Café was packed. Donnelly slipped in through the back door and moved up the little corridor to the old bar.
Christine Fitzgerald was there, conveniently close, with her back to him. She had both hands on a tray on the bar. It was already loaded with five cups of various incarnations of coffee, and one of the baristas behind the bar was busily filling more. There were three others working behind the bar, and four waiters working the floor.
Between the noise of the coffee grinders and steamers, the rock music, and the increasingly loud chatter of the patrons, the café was deafening.
It was easy for Donnelly to slip up behind her undetected. He grabbed her arms firmly from behind, just above the elbows, and leaned close to speak in her ear, quietly but very sternly. “I am fully capable of buying my own lunch, Miss Fitzgerald.”
She chuckled, unimpressed. “And I’m fully capable of buying my own restaurant. What’s your point?” And then to the barista, “I need one more, with a depth charge.”
“Got it.”
“I’m also fully capable of finding my own dates.”
“Yeahhhh,” she answered, “I haven’t really seen any evidence of that.” The last cup hit the tray. She looked over shoulder. “Ronnie! Tray up!”
She turned and gently elbowed Donnelly back, balanced the tray above the heads of the crowd and handed it off to one of the waiters. Then she turned back, took his arm, and drew him into the doorway of the little office. “So how’d it go?”
“I’m not here to discuss my date. I’m here to discuss the fact that you …”
“If you’re calling it a date, it went well. Outstanding. Are you coming to the movie?”
“Christine …”
“Are you bringing Theresa?”
“You can’t just …”
“Ellis. She’s lovely. And she’s smart. And she’s a little bit shy. I knew you’d get along. So what are you mad about?”
Donnelly made himself take a deep breath; she was talking so fast he felt winded on her behalf. “I don’t like being ambushed.”
Christine tipped her head quizzically. “If I’d asked you in advance, would you have gone?”
“No. But that’s not the …”
“Yes, it is. It’s totally the point. So you met this wonderful woman and you hit it off and you have a second date and all is shiny. What’s the problem?”
The front door of the café opened and six more gamer-types game in. They were greeted loudly by their friends, and the whole noise level of the café jumped noticeably. Donnelly flinched, but Christine grinned. He drew her further into the office and pushed the door half-shut behind him. “What did I ever do that made you think it was acceptable for you to interfere in my personal life?”
She raised one eyebrow. “Well, you kissed me once, for starters. But beyond that, what did I ever do that made you think I needed your permission to interfere in your personal life?”
“Christine …”
“Ellis. Haven’t you spent enough Christmases alone?”
Her words brought him up short. Every argument, every objection he had, simply died. She was absolutely right. For the first time in a very long time he was actually, tentatively, looking forward to Christmas. Because of Theresa, and because of Christine.
And yet he couldn’t quite give up his reluctance. “The odds of this turning into anything long-term are incredibly remote.”
“Isn’t that always true?”
“My job, and especially this case, it consumes my life …”
“Take a chance, Ellis.”
He shook his head. “You’re absolutely relentless, aren’t you?”
“You should talk.”
Which reminded him of his primary interest in the woman. “Have you seen him? The Man …”
“No,” Christine cut him off. “And good, we got that out of the way. Look, just this once accept that I know what’s best for you.”
“I don’t think that’s …”
“You have a date for Christmas Day. If it doesn’t go anywhere beyond that, fine. You still had a date for Christmas Day. And I’ll find you a new one next year.”
“No,” Donnelly protested in genuine alarm. “No more. Just stop. You need to stop.”
“We’ll see.”
She was toying with him, and she was having way too much fun doing it. Worse, Donnelly realized, he didn’t have any effective way to stop her. “Christine, please. Please don’t do this anymore. I’ll bring Theresa to the movie, I’m sure we’ll have a lovely time, we’ll see where it goes from there, but please, please stay out of it. Whether it works or not, please stop.” His mind latched on to his one possible angle. “You know I’m not made for this kind of chaos. I can’t deal with it. Please. I am begging you. Promise that you’ll stop.”
Christine considered for a long moment. The teasing smile faded from her eyes, grew gentler, warmer. “All right,” she finally agreed. “You and Theresa are on your own from here on out.”
“Thank you,” he answered with devout gratitude.
“But if it doesn’t take, next year you’re fair game again.”
“Christine …”
“At least you’ll know it’s coming.”
“Why are you doing this? Why am I suddenly one of your projects?”
“Because I like you,” she answered, as if that were the most obvious thing in the world.
“If you liked me, you’d leave me alone.”
Christine shook her head. “Left alone, you are too much alone. Like me.”
“Will you be alone?” he asked suddenly. “On Christmas?”
“No. I have places to be. Friends to be with.”
“Will you be at the movie?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.” She smiled, pleased with herself. “I rented out the theater for the matinee.”
“The whole theater.”
“And gave tickets to all my friends. It made gift wrapping so much easier this year.”
Donnelly stared at her. “You’re serious.”
“I am.”
Her announcement actually made the whole tickets aspect a little easier to swallow. “You never run out of ways to surprise me.”
“I hope not.”
“I don’t suppose you gave a ticket to your friend in the Suit?”
Christine sighed. “You really are obsessive, aren’t you?”
“You already knew that.” Donnelly sighed himself, looked around the sparsely-furnished little office. “She is very nice.”
“Theresa? Yes.”
“So this means you and I are definitely breaking up?”
She chuckled. “You and I, Ellis, are not dating. If we were, it would mean that you were dumping me right before Christmas in favor of a librarian that you just met and that would suck. But we’re not and we never were, so everything is shiny.” She paused. “Shiny. Damn. I gotta stay away from the Browncoats for a while.”
“The what?”
“Never mind.”
“So we were never dating?” Donnelly asked. “Not even that first night?”
“Maybe that first night,” she conceded. “But since you wouldn’t kiss me after that, we definitely aren’t dating now.”
Donnelly studied her for a moment. Her bright blue eyes were calmer now, less manic, warm but somehow a little sad. Serious, finally. “Maybe I was afraid that if I kissed you again, things would get completely out of control.”
“I think being completely out of control once in a while would do you a world of good.” Her voice was very gentle, taking the sting out of her words.
“I would hate it,” he said. “But I wish … things could have been different.”
“We would have had to be completely different people. And completely different people would probably never have met at all.”
“True.”
“Paradoxes. I hate paradoxes.” Christine brightened a little. “But speaking of which. Christmas night, Doctor Who special, viewing party here. You should come, after the movie.”
Donnelly frowned at her. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Ahhh. Not a Whovian. And doesn’t know Browncoats.” She nodded wisely. “More reasons that we’re not dating.”
“Not a Whovian,” he agreed. The word felt strange in his mouth. “I might watch the show anyhow, but I think it will be at home, in my quiet apartment on my own couch, well away from those people.” He gestured to the ever-louder café beyond the door. “Perhaps with just one lovely librarian next to me.”
Christine smiled her approval. “Solid plan. Let me know how it turns out.”
“No,” Donnelly answered firmly. “Whatever happens between Miss Ramos and me going forward is none of your business. Agreed?”
She sighed heavily. “Fine.”
“Christine.”
“Fine. I promise.”
“Thank you.” He touched her arm. “And … thank you for the introduction.”
Something crashed loudly at the front of the café, followed by shouts and hoots and applause. “I need to get out there,” Christine said, rolling her eyes. “I’ll see you on Christmas, if not before.”
She leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. Almost without meaning to, he turned his face and touched his lips to hers. It was very brief, hardly more than a brush, but then she stayed there, her face close to his, her blue eyes sparkling up at him, and suddenly he was breathless. “Can I …” he asked, and then stopped, because he didn’t know what he wanted, only that he wanted it.
“Kiss me goodbye?” Christine suggested, very softly.
“Yes.”
“Yes, please.”
It wasn’t a deep kiss, nor a very long one, and certainly not nearly as passionate as the kisses on that first night had been. It was sweet, and it hurt. If you dared, Donnelly thought, you could keep her. If you could let yourself be completely out of control, even for a minute. Just grab her, just … He couldn’t, and they both knew it. It didn’t make the kiss any less sweet, or the longing any less sharp. She will always be the one that got away, he thought, and this is the moment that she slips irrevocably out of my reach. nbsp
nd that was how it had to be.
He drew his lips away from hers.
For one impossible instant she clung to him. It was quick and then it vanished, but it had undeniably been there, that one second when he knew that she felt the pain, too.
It was madness, Donnelly thought. But it was there, in her kiss, in her eyes. One flash of longing. Calm me, tame me, keep me. And then it was gone.
Gone. Done. He would go on to date Theresa, and Christine would go on to date whatever hapless man in uniform next crossed her path, probably, and that was the end of it. And it was for the best. It was absolutely for the best.
She slipped out of his arms, out of the office and into the chaos of the coffee shop
Ellis Donnelly watched her go, and then slipped out the back door himself, absolutely certain that he’d done the right thing, and mercilessly, relentlessly smothering the small voice in the corner of his heart that told him to turn back.
**
Greg Farrell wasn’t hard to find, once Reese knew where to look.
The man was pacing on the sidewalk across the street from the office building where his wife worked. He looked strung-out, exhausted. Anxious.
He had a big black duffle bag over his shoulder. Carrying that much fire power might have made Reese anxious, too.
He slapped at his earpiece. “Finch? How many people inside right now?”
“Give me a minute.”
Reese waited, watching the man pace. He stopped every so often and looked across at the targeted building. Checking the sight lines, Reese knew. Scouting the area.
He didn’t seem to be much interested in an escape route, though.
The longer he paced, the more agitated he got.
“Mr. Reese,” Finch said finally, “I’m up on the security cameras. There’s a guard in the lobby and another walking rounds, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone else in the building.”
John felt his shoulders relax. “Then it’s not today,” he said. “Probably.”
“What’s he doing, then?”
“Planning.” Reese nodded to himself. “Pull the fire alarm and wait right there.”
“He’d be caught.”
“Eventually. And he doesn’t care.”
There was another pause, this one without a keyboard accompaniment. “What are we going to do, Mr. Reese?”
“We’re going to stop him from killing anyone,” Reese answered simply. “After that - I don’t know.”
The line stayed quiet, but he knew Finch was still with him.
Greg Farrell sat down on a bench, dropped the black bag at his feet, and put his head in his hands.
“He’s at the end of his rope, Finch.” He’d been there himself, and he knew that Finch remembered.
“Can we find a way to throw him a lifeline?” Finch asked immediately.
And that, Reese thought, is why I would tear this city apart to find you. Harold. “We can try.”
“Detective Carter may have some resources.”
“If she doesn’t, Christine does. Hang on, Finch.”
Farrell had made some kind of decision. He stood up, straightened his jacket, picked up his bag. Then he started walking, away from his target, with speed and purpose.
“I’ll get back to you,” Reese said. He trotted after the man.