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Careful
by Autumn Skies
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I've been told I'm a careful man.
But then I've been careful all my life.
Careful about what I say, the things I commit to, the people I associate with and most importantly, in not letting too much of what's inside show.
If I came out and said what I truly felt, saw, smelled, heard or tasted, I'd be in deep shit. Or out on my ear so fast, my head would spin. Cut off from everything and everyone I'd ever known. My old man always said so. He knew how to quash me with just a look or a frown, or a shake of his head. And that was just part of his own personal shorthand I learned to read so well.
Dad had more hidden agendas than the CIA. And his ceaseless tirades, lectures and schedules sucked every bit of fun and spontaneity out of my childhood. Everything in the household was calculated, from the amount of time we spent together down to Sally's meal plans. I grew to hate his regimen. So much so that when I got old enough, I ran headlong into the army.
Ironically, that's where I finally got a taste of freedom and personal power. For the first time in my life, other people looked up to me for a change. I got to stamp my own brand of authority on the soldiers under my command. Some liked me, some didn't, but they all followed my orders. I made the decisions.
Until that fateful mission in Peru.
And then there was just me, and of course, the Chopec. If it weren't for Incacha, I'd probably have ended up dead, along with all my men. Instead, I was accepted into the tribe as one of their own. A guardian, they called me. I assumed it because of the uniform I wore and the weapons I carried. But Incacha knew better. He became my friend and shaman. He helped patch my wounds, taught me to speak the language, showed me the ways of his village and integrated me into their lives. I'd never felt such welcome or acceptance before.
And with that acceptance, I regained something infinitely better than authority. Freedom. I could just be me, weirdness and all. It didn't matter that I could see things no ordinary person could possibly see or hear things no one else could possibly hear. The Chopec took it all in stride. As if it were nothing, only natural.
I never realized how much I'd miss them, once I returned to the States. Back to my so-called normal life. A life where I'd have to hide from myself again.
It wasn't too hard at first. After my discharge, I drifted for a short while, but returned to Cascade. For some reason, I wanted to be back on home ground, but not necessarily around my family. As far as I was concerned, my father and brother were no more than strangers.
Eventually a friend of mine suggested I try police work. And it appealed to me. I enrolled in the academy, did well, joined the Cascade PD and ended up assigned to Vice. That was the beginning of a wild ride into the seamy side of life. It was raw, edgy and a chance for me to let go of my good boy upbringing. I did things I'd never done before, not even in the army.
My attitude was pretty skewed by the time I was partnered with Jack, but he helped bring me back to center again. He showed me the ropes without being heavy-handed or patronizing about it. He was sly and glib, but he looked out for me, the way an older brother or uncle would. His disappearance hit me hard. Something I've never really gotten over. It left a hole I didn't think could ever be filled, especially by another partner.
This coincided with the time Simon Banks became the newly appointed captain of Major Crimes. He was one tough boss. One who wouldn't let me get away with squat. I admired him for that and for being in a position that couldn't have come easy to a man of his race and background. But he didn't carry a chip on his shoulder that I could see nor did he abuse his power or authority. He was tough-minded, but fair. And along the way, he became my friend.
Still, I kept everyone else at arm's length until I met Carolyn. She was different from the other women I'd dated. Not only was she attractive, but smart, competent and independent. I found her interest in me extremely flattering. It seemed I'd finally gotten my shot at a normal life.
In hindsight, I see that we both miscalculated badly. Our personal styles were just too different. I hold things inside, solve problems my own way, without help. That's the way I was raised. And after my experiences in the army, Peru and Vice, I found I couldn't really open up to her the way she wanted. Aside from confidentiality issues, the past was just too painful for me to discuss.
Carolyn grew up differently. She was one of four siblings and the Plummers were a close-knit family. She talked to her sisters, brother and parents on an almost daily basis. They shared holiday outings, went to dinner, squabbled occasionally, but stayed comfortably intertwined with each other. It bothered and puzzled her that I was so estranged from my own blood. It was something she never quite understood. Plus she hated the fact I wouldn't share all my thoughts and feelings with her.
For her sake I tried, but it was tough going. Far tougher than the obstacle course I had to run in the academy. Or even some of the perps I've gone after. All I've ever gotten for opening myself up was grief and heartache. But she couldn't see that.
"For god's sake, just tell me what's going on in that head of yours," she'd yell at me from time to time.
But the more she yelled, the more I'd freeze up and the more frustrated she got. It was a vicious cycle. Maybe with a little more time and coaxing I'd have eventually opened up, but she never gave me the chance. Patience was not one of her long suits. Despite my warnings, she thought I'd change and open up, once we were married, and I tried, to some degree. I had dinner with her folks, talked to her siblings and immersed myself as much I could in her family.
But it wasn't the smoothest of fits, to say the least. Not that Carolyn's parents weren't always polite to me, but I sensed some hesitation and even apprehension on their part. I gathered that her mother always thought her oldest daughter would marry someone with status and money. Like a bank president or corporate CEO. Not a police detective.
"I know Jim's good at what he does dear, but have you thought about what'll happen to you if he gets hurt, or god forbid, killed?" I overheard her say once during a family picnic. "Couldn't he find a safer line of work?"
Carolyn just snorted. "Oh sure, Mother. Like he'd listen to me. He likes what he does. There's nothing I can do about it."
So much for spousal support.
Later that evening, I asked Carolyn for her honest feelings about my being a cop.
"It scares me sometimes, how intense you get," she said after some hemming and hawing. "Like it's somehow your personal responsibility to catch each and every criminal out there. I just don't want to see us ending up like Betty and Stan." Betty's husband, a patrolman, had been shot in the back during a botched liquor store holdup while trying to protect some customers in the line-of-fire -- two young teenagers. He was now in a wheelchair, paralyzed from the waist down.
"You won't," I assured her. "I'll be careful." But I don't think she believed me.
And despite her assertion that she understood the pressures of the job, the long hours still took its toll. As the head of the forensics lab, she knew I dealt with some ugly, horrific cases from time to time. Things I didn't want to bring home or talk about. It's one thing to be safely ensconced in a sterile lab, picking apart bits of physical evidence as opposed to being at the crime scene, seeing the actual victim or their remains and dealing with shell-shocked family members.
It was far easier to withdraw than rehash the gruesome details. Eventually Carolyn felt she had better things to do than wait around for me to confide in her.
In the end she decided it was all a mistake, that we'd be better off as friends. And she was probably right. At least the fighting stopped, but the divorce was yet another painful blow. Another failure to add to my life's score card.
So I moved on as best I could. Concentrated on my job, kept my interactions with Carolyn on a professional level and my romantic outings casual. I was lonely, but it seemed a small price to pay to keep disappointment and heartache at bay.
But then the weirdness I thought I'd left behind in Peru returned with a vengeance during the Switchman case and I seriously thought I was going to lose it all -- my job, my mind, my sanity. My carefully constructed life was coming apart at the seams and there was I could do nothing to stop it.
Then one afternoon, he suddenly appeared. And nothing has been the same since.
It seemed a cosmic joke at first, that my savior would turn out to be some punk, long-haired, wet-behind-the-ears, hyperactive kid from the university. But no matter how much grief I gave him, he refused to back off. Instead he burrowed his way into my life, into my job, under my skin and into my head. Smashed any preconceived notions I had about myself and proceeded to redefine my entire existence.
It was painful process and I fought him tooth and nail from the get go. But I was only fighting myself and he knew it. He was patient, persistent and unyielding. And he taught me more about myself in the first six months of our partnership than anything I'd picked up in the past three decades.
And even after three years, I'm still learning.
But I can put what I've learned to practical use now. Especially on a day like today. I could easily hear the Volvo approaching from six blocks away and listened as it pulled up into its usual parking spot. The engine was shut off, there was the shuffle of books and papers then the sound of the backpack yanked off the passenger side seat. The car door slammed shut and footsteps trotted up toward the entrance and into the stairwell.
Soon keys jingled in the lock and the front door opened and closed. I smiled in anticipation as my partner dropped his backpack on the floor with a plop and tromped into the living room. There was pause, then I heard the glass door slide open. I felt his warmth at my back.
"Hey Jim."
I held out a bottle I'd been keeping chilled in a cooler next to the lounge chair. "Hi yourself."
He took the beer from me, raised it and swallowed then settled against the balcony railing next to me. "Thanks, man. So, how long you been out here?"
"Not that long. Maybe half an hour."
"Something on your mind?"
I shrugged. "Just thinking."
"Yeah? What about?"
Funny, when anyone starts prying I bristle immediately. But this is Sandburg. He's my Guide, my friend, my partner, my own personal safety net.
"I was thinking about Carolyn."
"Oh." I don't know which surprised him more. The fact that I actually came out and said what I was thinking or that I'd been contemplating my ex. He gripped his bottle more tightly and I pretended not to notice him studying me out of the corner of his eye.
"Regrets?"
"Yeah, a few I guess." Her lack of tolerance and understanding for one thing, along with my temper and my fears. But it's all past history, water under the bridge. Can't say I regret where I'm standing right now.
"You miss her?" His voice was steady, but I could hear an underlying tone of concern, no, more like uneasiness in his question.
"No, not really." I saw his shoulders relax.
It was a gorgeous day. One of those clear, cloudless afternoons where I could see effortlessly out past the harbor into the bay. Smell the ocean breeze, count the swells, watch brown pelicans dive headlong into the blue-green water and the gulls soar lazily overhead.
A treat for the eyes, but not half as interesting as the one standing next to me in faded blue jeans.
"What else?"
"Hmm?"
"What else are you thinking about?"
I've never met anyone with such curiosity or persistence. But no matter how sullen or short I get, he'll wait for a response with a level of patience no one's ever matched.
"Oh, this and that. You and me. This day." I gestured at the sky with one hand.
He raised an eyebrow and gave me one of his 'how much have you been drinking' looks.
"Relax," I smiled. "This is still my first beer."
The kid's got amazing eyes. Always so alert and alive.
"Know what day today is?"
"Um, Thursday?"
I shook my head. "No, Chief. I mean the date."
"What about the date?" He squinted a bit as he shaded his eyes from the sun. "And what's so significant about today?"
"Your memory's slipping, Darwin. Maybe you need to take some of those ginkgo biloba pills you keep touting."
"Oh yeah? I dare you to spell it correctly."
I whacked his head gently as he pulled away.
"Hey, be nice or I'll sue, you big brute."
After taking another swig, I looked into his face. "Today's the day I first met you."
He blinked in surprise. "You mean at the hospital?"
"Yeah."
"I'll be damned. If I'd known you were going get sentimental I'd have hung onto that lab coat and name badge. What's it been now? Three years?"
"Something like that." Three years, eighteen hours and twelve minutes to be exact.
He grinned back at me. He has no idea how much it warms me when he smiles like that. I edged a little closer until our hips were almost touching.
"I'm amazed you kept track." He clinked his bottle against mine.
"So you got any dinner plans for tonight?"
He shook his head. "Nah man. Was figuring on putting a salad together and reheating leftovers. That is, if we still have any leftovers."
If we do, I'm throwing it away. "We don't, so put on a jacket 'cuz we're going out."
"Out? As in a restaurant? On a school night, yet?" His eyes got big. He put a hand up as if to check my forehead. I pushed it down.
"I'm fine, Sandburg," I mock-growled. After putting my bottle down I moved right in front of him. He watched but didn't stir.
I looked down into his deep, blue eyes. Eyes so knowing and bright I could easily get lost and never climb out. I took my finger and traced the side of his cheek down to his chin. I felt him suck in his breath and heard his heart beat faster.
"What's going on here, Jim?"
I twirled a lock of his hair around my fingers. I could smell traces of the shampoo he'd used. Some new botanical blend with rosemary and jasmine. Not a bad combination, but his own natural scent was even better. "I was just thinking it was about time."
"Time? Time for what?"
"Time I did this." I leaned in slowly and watched his face. He blinked once but didn't pull away as I eased my mouth against his. Slowly, gently and lightly.
The feel of those warm, lush lips was unbelievably, inexpressibly sweeter than anything I could've imagined. Not only could I taste him, but I could sense everything about him all at once. The cotton cloth sliding against his skin, the glint of sun on his hair, the soft puff of his breath against my face, the flutter of his heart and the slight tremor that just ran through his body.
I nibbled on his lower lip and he opened his mouth to me and pressed the tip of his tongue against mine. For that brief moment, time dropped away, leaving us both in a private, special space of our own.
He sighed as I finally pulled away. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were almost black. "Oh man," he said softly. He looked dazed which I have to admit, made me feel smug.
"You okay?"
"Yeah. Just give me a minute." He closed his eyes, took a deep breath then let it out slowly all the while keeping a warm hand pressed up against my chest. Then he opened his eyes and looked at me solemnly. "So what's up with that?"
"Oh, I wanted to mark the occasion." I knew my casual act wasn't fooling him one bit. But it really didn't matter. I was tired of being careful. Tired of holding back, never saying what I really felt. Or wanted. And after all these years, I knew exactly what I wanted. Finally.
I smiled back as his fingers curled around my shirt. He tugged me closer as he tilted his head up. "Sure you don't mind if the neighbors see us like this?" he asked with just a hint of challenge.
"No, Chief." I bent down to taste his mouth again. "I really couldn't care less."
***--- The End ---***
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