Story Notes:
This is set in early 2015, after John rejoined the Salem PD but before the big reveal about Paul. Marlena and John are still “taking it slowly” at this point, so the general rating isn’t a typo. 😉
I knew when I agreed to carry a badge again that something like this would happen sooner or later, but I was really hoping for later. It’s not that I think Doc’s going to hold it against me or anything–she encouraged me to take the job, after all–but I still hate having to cancel on her, especially on such short notice.
She answers on the half-ring, and she sounds so happy to hear from me that I feel even more like a heel. “John! I didn’t expect to hear from you for at least another hour. Did you get off work early?”
“Not exactly.” I close my eyes for a moment, shutting out the controlled chaos going on around me as best I can. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I’m not going to make dinner tonight. A call went south this afternoon, and I’m gonna be at the scene for a while yet, then probably up to my eyeballs in paperwork for another couple hours.”
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, yeah, but one of the rookies got himself knocked around a little, and a few of our guys got a bit overly enthusiastic, and it’s–” a complete clusterfuck “–gonna take a while to sort out.”
“Oh. Well, as long as you’re okay. Raincheck?”
“Absolutely. I’ll call you tomorrow,” I add, glancing up to see that Roman has finally arrived to–I hope–take command of the scene.
“Okay. Good night, then. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I answer, earning myself an amused glance from one of the crime scene techs. Not that I care–I missed a lot of opportunities to say those words to Doc over the last couple of years, and I don’t ever plan to miss another one.
Well, that went better than I expected, I think, and slide my phone back into my pocket so that I can go update Roman about what went down here.
***** ***** *****
A couple of hours turned out to be a pretty accurate estimate on the paperwork, and it’s a little after nine by the time I finally put my truck in park outside my building. It’s been a while since I was this tired at the end of a workday. It’s a good kind of tired, though–the kind that says I’ve actually accomplished something. Abe was right about this being the kind of work I love. The thought that the guy we collared today is going to spend a few years locked up well out of hitting range of his wife and kids is extremely satisfying.
I still hate that it cost me dinner with Doc, though. I’ll make it up to her, but I really wanted to see her tonight.
I wish now that I’d asked if I could call her when I got home. That way I could at least hear her voice. I could call anyway, I think, heading up the stairs to my floor. The building does have an elevator, but it’s slower than molasses in January, so I don’t typically bother.
Which is why I see Doc before she sees me. She’s standing outside the door of my apartment, eyes on the elevator, as I emerge from the stairwell. Her hands are full of takeout bags from the Chinese place down the street, but I can still read her body language. She’s nervous.
“Hey, Doc,” I call softly, not wanting to startle her.
She spins around, obviously a little afraid of how I might to react to finding her here. “I know I should have called–”
That’s as far as she gets before I sweep her into my arms. I’m allowed to do that again, now, and I swear a hug has never felt better. “Oh, man, is it ever good to see you.”
She laughs into my collar. “Likewise.”
I bury my face in her hair and breathe her in, and it’s like every bit of stress from this incredibly long and tiring day just melts away all at once.
“Are you sniffing me or the food?” she asks, sounding amused.
“Both,” I admit, and pull back to dig out my keys. “Give me just a second here and I’ll help you with that.”
“You don’t have to invite me in,” she says as I’m wrestling with the deadbolt. “It’s fine if you’re tired or if you… I mean, I had them bag it separately, so–”
The lock finally yields, and I step inside to flip the lights on and turn back to face her. “Please come in. I’m never too tired to enjoy your company.”
She follows me inside and stands looking around curiously as I lock up behind us. There’s not much to look at, really–the decor is strictly Generic Furnished Apartment, right down to the obligatory print of Monet’s Waterlilies on the opposite wall.
“Love what you’ve done with the place,” Doc says teasingly as I turn and reach to take the bags out of her hands.
“I’ll tell my decorator you approve,” I answer, making her laugh. “Had you been waiting long?”
“Just a few minutes.”
“How’d you know which apartment was mine?” I ask, leading her toward the kitchen. Not that I mind her knowing, but I don’t remember having told her anything more than which building I live in.
“I described you and your usual order to the delivery guy at the Chinese place, and he immediately identified you as ‘the good tipper in 4B.’ Of course, the twenty dollar bill I laid on him probably didn’t hurt.”
“Anybody ever tell you you’d make a good detective?”
“Once or twice.”
I set the bags down on the counter and turn to find her eyeing my dining table, which does double duty as my desk…which means it’s covered in a three-inch-thick mantle of papers. “I, uh, wasn’t exactly expecting company.”
She looks like she’s trying not to laugh. “You normally eat in the living room, I take it?”
“Yeah. I can clean it off, though–”
“It’s fine,” she says, laying her hand on my arm. “Really. When in Rome and all that.”
So we plate our food–I’m determined to be at least that civilized–and carry it back out to the living room.
“Now pay attention,” I say, setting mine down on the coffee table for the moment, “because we have an extensive drink menu here at Casa Black. Your options are water, beer, or coffee if you feel like waiting for it.”
“Gee, the selection is mind-boggling,” she replies, playing along. “I think I’ll stick with water.”
“It’s a good vintage,” I answer, straight-faced, and her laughter follows me back into the kitchen.
I return with her water and my beer, sit down on the opposite end of the couch from where she’s settled, and try very hard not to fall on my food like a starving dog. With, I’m afraid, somewhat limited success–I missed lunch, and breakfast was fifteen hours ago.
Doc is polite enough not to comment on my appetite. “Can you talk about it?” she asks instead when I finally come up for air. “Whatever happened, I mean?”
“In general terms, sure. Domestic violence situation gone wrong–not that those ever go right, really–and the rookie who responded didn’t take the guy quite seriously enough. By the time backup got there he’d gotten the worst end of a pretty bad fight, and then the perp decided it would be a good idea to take his wife hostage–he wasn’t very good at that part, fortunately for us–and then… It was just an all-around zoo.”
“Wow. At what point in all of that did you show up?”
“The uniforms had gotten the wife clear, but the guy was still swinging, and I got the sincere pleasure of taking him down, cuffing him, and arresting him for assaulting an officer and resisting arrest, among other things. Which is great because it means he’ll do time whether the wife presses charges or not.” I pause to drink some more of my beer. “And how was your day?”
“Well, nothing so dramatic as all that, but it was…long and frustrating, actually.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. No major disasters, just one of those days where every little thing that could go wrong did. Our receptionist called in sick, my patients either cancelled at the last minute or showed up at the wrong times, I forgot a staff meeting, and the ER needed five psych consults in one day, which I’m convinced has to be some sort of record. By the end of it I was just about ready to scream.”
She glances up from her food and sees my expression.
“What?”
“You amaze me, that’s what. You had the day from hell, and I cancelled on you, and you still brought me dinner.”
“Oh. Well, yes. I wanted the day to end on a better note. For both of us.”
“Mission accomplished,” I answer, and raise my beer in salute.
She reaches out to clink her glass against my bottle, and we both laugh and settle back to finish our food in companionable silence.
I’m not sure what Doc’s thinking about, but I’m working up the nerve to make her an offer. She kicked off her shoes when we sat down, and a couple of times while we’ve been eating I’ve caught her flexing her toes and wincing, which is a sure sign that she spent a little too long in those heels today. I hate to see her in any kind of pain, and this at least is something I’m confident I can fix…if she’ll let me.
Now or never, I think as we both sit forward to set our empty plates on the coffee table.
“I know it’s late,” I begin, wanting her to have a graceful out if she wants it, “but I’m not too tired to manage a foot rub, if you’re interested.”
She freezes.
“That sounds lovely,” she says after a moment, and I brace myself for the but I have an early morning or, even worse, the but I don’t think it’s a good idea that I’m sure must be coming. Instead, she sits back and turns to put her feet in my lap.
I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding and pick up her right foot to begin gently reacquainting myself with what used to be familiar territory. Doc has cute little feet, soft and feminine with their pink-polished toenails, and every time I do this I’m struck all over again by the difference in our sizes. Her personality may fill up a room, but my hand wraps easily around her entire foot. A surge of protective tenderness washes through me, and all the masculine instincts I’ve spent the past couple of years repressing stir to life again, reminding me that caring for this woman is a privilege to be cherished.
It takes her a little while to relax into my touch, but I don’t mind. I’m good at this, and I know it, and I have every intention of taking my time. This is the most she’s let me caretake her since I came home, and I don’t want to rush it.
So I gradually pull out all the stops, using everything secret I’ve ever learned about massage in general and Doc in particular, and by the time I finish with her right foot and reach for her left she’s melted into the cushions like she may never move again. Which would be fine with me, actually–I could do this all night.
“I’d forgotten how good at this you are,” she murmurs, not opening her eyes. “If the cop gig doesn’t work out, you could always hang out a shingle.”
I laugh and give in to the temptation to drop a quick kiss on her instep. “Thanks, but your tootsies are really the only ones I’m interested in rubbing.”
“Lucky me,” she answers, and makes a little sound of relief as I go to work on her arch.
It’s incredibly gratifying to have her here in my space like this, comfortable and relaxed and content to let me look after her for a little while. The physical part is wonderful–I love being allowed to touch her again–but it’s the trust that almost brings tears to my eyes. We still have a lot of work to do, but I’m really starting to believe we’re gonna be okay.
I’ve been working on her feet for quite a while when a jaw-cracking yawn escapes my best efforts to contain it. “Sorry.”
Doc opens her eyes and smiles ruefully, looking far more awake than I’d assumed she was. “I think that’s my cue to head home so that you can get some sleep.”
Much as I hate to admit it, she’s right. My next shift starts at eight, and my body doesn’t handle all-nighters like it used to. So I carry our plates back into the kitchen while she gathers her things, returning just in time to help her into her jacket.
She looks at me oddly as I grab my keys from the table beside the door. “Going somewhere?”
“Just walking you to your car.”
“That’s really not necessary.”
“Indulge me.”
“John.” She gives me an exasperated look. “Does it occur to you that I made it here just fine under my own power?”
She’s kind enough not to say And that I was fine while you were gone?, but I can hear it anyway.
“I know you can take care of yourself,” I answer, looking her in the eye. “This isn’t about me questioning your judgment or your abilities.”
That goes a long way toward smoothing her ruffled feathers, but she’s still not satisfied. “Then what is it about?”
“I spent an hour of my afternoon interviewing a woman who’d just had the crap beaten out of her,” I say bluntly. “Am I feeling a little overprotective tonight? Probably. But I’m not going to apologize for wanting to make sure you’re safe. I love you.”
Her expression softens. “I love you, too. And I appreciate your caring. You’re welcome to walk me out.”
The elevator takes its usual forever to make it to my floor, and Doc surprises me by reaching for my hand while we’re waiting. We hold hands all the way out to her car, in fact, right up until she has to let go to find her keys.
“Thank you for dinner,” I say, “and for the company.”
“Thanks for letting me stay.” She hesitates for a moment, then tosses her purse and her keys onto the driver’s seat and reaches up to pull me down into a kiss–a long, slow, lingering kiss.
It’s our fifth real kiss since I came home (not that I’m counting), and it’s the first one she’s initiated, and it feels like heaven on earth.
“Thanks for the foot rub,” she murmurs when she finally releases me.
“Wow. And here I was worried I was out of practice.”
She laughs. “You can practice on me again some other night. For right now, go lie down before you fall down.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I wait on the sidewalk until she’s safely locked in her car, engine running and headlights on, before heading back upstairs. There’s a spring in my step that definitely wasn’t there a couple of hours ago, and in spite of my exhaustion I have a feeling it’ll be a while before I get to sleep. But I can only imagine that when I do, my dreams are going to be good ones.
The Jarlena Journal 