Crimes & Punishment-(Closed)

[Roxanne Ballard (DELETED 7623)]

MUSIC to set the mood

Roxanne Ballard Other None Luck Rp arc Failed

I wait a few minutes before getting out of the car once I am home. I stare at the glow of the street lights and the steam rising from random spots on the exterior of the buildings surrounding the one we live in. How do I tell him about the night that won’t go away until I do? I don’t want to even if this is nothing new to either of us.

The car door seems unusually light in my hand as I send it to shut with the brush of my fingers. I lock it and watch the dome light in the interior until it finally flickers then fades to darkness. If I don’t I risk not having a ride to work when the pager goes off. I know it's a relic but it's the same car I had since college. He helped pick it out and that is a huge part of its sentimental value. A souvenir of a past that was growing more difficult maintaining with the time it has endured.

It was cold and getting colder. Despite the declining weather I couldn’t stare long enough at the car that needed it's duct tape changed on the rear fender. I spot Lucas peeking out the kitchen window while waiting inside. It was my sign that very shortly the truth would set me free. Once I purged it of course. I kick my boots at the step knocking the snow from the soles and make my way in. So far everything is routine.

I set my briefcase on the counter and lean in giving the recent smoker a kiss. He knows he has been busted and this time I ignore it. I am the one about to deliver the deal breaker of the night. The dice had been rolled and I was the one with the explaining to do instead of Marlboro man.

The aroma of the sauce is enough to have me dip my fingertip in the bubbling pot and bring the blistering marinara sauce to my lips. I lick it clean and smile what perhaps would be the last time for the evening. I feel like **** and know it is time to tell him. I reach for the stack of mail on the counter and open the first one without looking at the front.

“Tastes great.” I pull open the refrigerator door and grab him one of his favorite beers. He would likely need it. I leave the wine where it is at. I am pretty sure I will be drinking it once he takes off after I tell what I know needs to be said. “I swear we live on spaghetti.”

I set the beer down and unfold the paperwork in my hands. It has to do with Lucas as it has his name on it. I barely read what else is beyond that because the name reminds me the man is making our dinner and shouldn’t wait for the truth any longer.

“Lucas, I fucked up.”

It is the words we both use when starting up that topic we hate yet find ourselves entertaining at least once a year. I want to say more but what is there to say? I am sorry would be kind of after the fact and really sound weak. The truth was there. I did **** up. It was meaningless and yet it happened. So now it was out there and we were both privy to it.

When I finish with the confession I finally look back down to the papers in my hand. I feel everything inside my body sink in awareness at what the papers are for. I fold them up and toss them on the counter. I look at him because I wouldn’t know how not to even at moments like these. as guilty as I was feeling there was a part of me that wanted tear the roof off the space we stood in. He was on his way out before I ever opened my mouth.

“Karma. It comes back in spades.”

Why was I acting all bent out of shape? I was the one who fucked up. Because the truth always has a way of kicking my *** really good and Lucas is always there to witness it. It wasn't his fault he was assigned to training that would last a year or more far enough away that it would require hopping a plane just to see him. I was getting way too old for this ****. So was he. It didn't ease how it burned a hole right through me as soon as I looked into his eyes. It made it all that much worse what I had done.

“I fold. You win.”

[Lucas Ballard]

Those words. From anyone else it could mean a fender bender. It would mean they screwed up at work, it could mean they forgot to pick up milk at the store on the way home. From either of us it meant only one thing though. It meant that once again they'd bumped uglies with someone else. She'd fucked another guy. Instantly Neil's face came to my mind.

Roxanne's steaming plate of spaghetti is in my hand before I have processed what I'm doing and it's suddenly airborne. Airborne until it explodes against the window on the other side of the room, plastering noodles onto the glass there as marinara sauce and broken fragments of china explode out, bathing the carpet in a orangish mess beneath the point of impact. **** this ****. I'm getting sick of it. "Are you ******* kidding me? Again? Who?"

Questions are flying through my head. I'm not paying attention to the stupid papers in her hand. I'm just pissed off that again she's given her body to another. ******* vivid imagination! Why couldn't I have a shitty imagination? Why do I have to see her in flashes bent over her desk at work, or screwing some guy in our car? I'm close to tunnel vision I'm so furious. When would we be done with this crap?

Looking at her my rage ebbs, wavers, flows out of me, replaced by an inner emptiness and a horrible feeling like a hollow weight in my gut. It feels so... disgusting. "What the **** Roxie?"

[Roxanne Ballard (DELETED 7623)]

Spaghetti was no longer on the menu. Dinner was over before it began. I don't take my eyes of Lucas. Not that I am concerned he will raise a hand in anger, because I am not. We have both been guilty of some less than stellar reactions. Wasting perfectly good food in a world plagued with starving people was one of those. Random hook-ups to scratch that curious itch was another. Striking out in anger at each other was something we didn't do. We never had. That was not how we were raised. Our parents were the rare exceptions to the violent world around us that we tried to live up to. At least we could say we managed to learn that much from their collective efforts. I wouldn’t ever intentionally hurt him. Even he knows that despite the way we are facing another round of ‘What the ****, Roxie.’ Neither of us are saints and it just so happens that this time it's my halo that is visibly bent and in need of repair.

“Nice.”

I am already in the process of the clean up needed. I love the rug. It was one of the few decorating touches we both agreed on. I had waited seven business days to be shipped from a place neither of us will have a reason to travel to and now it could be ruined. If the stains left behind don’t lift with his mother’s fail proof tomato stain trick doesn’t come through then it will be something that needs replacing along with trust, time and whatever else it takes to make this forgivable. I am digging under the cupboard and once I find the recycled DAWN dish soap container I head to the evidence that meatballs don’t always stay on the spaghetti.

“Looks like we get what is it…” I glance over my shoulder back at him while I scrub vigorously at the incriminating orange oil stain trying to set in. “a year to get over this? Maybe two if you decide to finally get back at me for the year break I took because I thought I couldn’t get over you and my dentist?”

I have a habit that needs breaking. I blot at the solution that smells like anything but cleaner and wonder if this time it will be it. Will I finally give up this ridiculous and dysfunctional pattern we have of thinking it is okay to go off course now and then? I also wonder if his mother uses lemon and garlic in everything she conjures up because I am wading in a cloud of the combined scents. I rise from the spot I was working on hoping I was in time to save it. A trip to the dry cleaners tomorrow will be the final confirmation needed to decide.

“I …”

The phone that usually rings when the kid or relatives call breaks my oncoming plea for a truce. I set the cleaner bottle and the cleaning cloth down and answer it with the typical greeting that likely will have a tone of being distracted like I currently am. Whoever is on the other end will usually pick up on it and I will be prepared to make some reasonable excuse to call them back. Instead of this all working out like it already had in my head I am thrown off by the sound of his mother’s voice clearly in a panic. I ask her to calm down and repeat what she said. Her crying was not helping but understandable once the second attempt finally explained why she was so upset. I feel dizzy and my chest hurts instantly. I look to Lucas and feel my mouth dry up in not knowing how to tell him.

“We are on the way.”

I set the receiver down on the base with a hand that was not shaking until that moment. I look at him and try to swallow while I absorb what I know will be a crisis for so many reasons.

“Lucas.” My eyes are watering as I feel the color in my face settle somewhere down by my feet. “Your dad has had a heart attack. It isn’t good. Your mom is at the hospital and they are working on him.”

I stare at him. Nothing like this has happened before.

[Lucas Ballard]

I've never hit my wife. Not once. I've wanted to. More than once and usually in this exact scenario. Then the hammer drops on the anvil, striking while the iron is still hot and throwing sparks over everything in my world. I'm not over the initial shock of her cheating when she tells me my old man's had a heart attack. I pretty much emotionally shut down at that point at let the calculating side of my take over. I'm on autopilot as I move to the coat rack, pulling hers out first and holding it out for her to slip into. Then I grab my on. I open the door and I'm out in the hallway with my mind swimming in a little piece of this private Hell that is my life right now.

As I pass by the table I catch sight of the letterhead she'd opened. C.S.I.S. So it looks like there's all three bad things out of the way if the superstition thing is accurate. My wife is ******* some guy, my dad just had a coronary and I'm going to be heading to Ottawa leaving my family broken behind me.

It never rains, but it...

...it's ******* raining outside. You've got to be ******* kidding me.

I throw my arms into my jacket, roughly shrugging it over my shoulders and zipping it up. How the **** can it be raining when it feels negative fifty thousand degrees out? It really is a cold day in Hell and my life is crashing down.

I make it out to my "company" car before her and fumble the keys into the ignition. Catching a glimpse of my eyes in the rear view mirror I wonder if I'm okay to be driving. I look haunted. ****, I feel vacant and haunted.

She's got thirty seconds to get her *** down here or she can take her own car to the hospital. I'm not sure why I'm waiting for her right now. What the hell could we have to say to one another at this point? I need time to think and everything is going too damned quick. The world is a blur and I feel like I'm standing still in a maelstrom.

[Roxanne Ballard (DELETED 7623)]

I feel like I should be struck by lightning. Pretty sure I meet the requirements if it is an act of God making it happen. I ignore our whole history and see only what I have done in the last seventy two hours? I am surprised I can estimate the time. Everything is nearly a blur except the fact that I have a jacket on and am getting caught in a downpour that makes no sense since I am trudging through snow to reach the car. I step to the side of his company car quickly as I pull open the door. I don't think he would intentionally run me over but there is a part of me that isn't willing to bank on him being entirely rational at the moment. He and his father are close. I don't think a guy could admire his father more than Lucas does his own. He was faced with possibly losing his hero and it didn’t help that I started things off with a punt to his ego.

The accident in 2002 had Bernard Ballard losing his left leg was hardly the battle that a massive coronary could prove to be. Riding lawn mowers get away and run over people all the time. Lucas handled it well once he found that Bernie could still take care of business. He often joked it was the best thing that happened to him. He claimed it put an extra spring in his step.

I slide into the passenger seat and close the door. I hope this is not where he disappears inward. Last time it took two months of therapy, several mind altering prescriptions and me sleeping in the on call staff cot until he got over it. I look at my cell phone as the car starts moving and think of Andrea. She is Bernie’s favorite grandkid. I don’t open the screen to send a text. It will only upset her when we don't have anything to tell her that will reassure her everything will be okay.

“Need me to drive?” I ask but with the car moving I figured that is was about as bright as asking if it was raining out.

Lucas was at the wheel and I was aching from guilt of what I had done. Sorry was not going to be a verbal band aid to the newest wound on our marriage that I selfishly inflicted. It would be an insult. My timing as always sucked. I buckle up and inhale deep. Before I can think straight it comes rolling out of my mouth.

“Everything is going to be okay.” I was batting a thousand everytime I opened my mouth.

[Lucas Ballard]

I've got my blinders on. I ******* adore my wife. I love her. Even right now while she's trying to open the lines of communication while all I want is for all the noise in the world to go away I don't begrudge her anything she wants or needs. Except that one thing that she just told me she had. I begrudge the **** out of that. I want to turn to her and ask her, "How could you???" But really, she "could" the same way she and I both "Have" in the past. I remain tight-lipped.

It's not that I put my dad before my wife. Not in the slightest. Roxie is literally my better half. I would die if it meant she would live. I would suffer any torment to keep her from having to. Except maybe being fucked in the ***. I'm not a fan of the thought. She likes it. That one is all her. No, it's not that Roxie comes second, it's that I'm worried, scared for my father. I know our marriage will work out. I know this because our current bump in the road is one we have faced a lot of times before. My dad though, this is scary ****. The acceptance into C.S.I.S. is a hit. I never applied. I'm wondering how the hell they got my application, processed it, then decided I would make a good candidate when I never applied. I wonder again who the hell it was she was sleeping with. It seemed like a power play the exact same way I pulled when I had a trainee sent to Toronto to live out his career as a beat cop when the same thing happened before.

No, I'm still pissed at her, but worried for my pops. He takes precedence because honestly, I know Roxie and I will be okay. His life is on the line and my mom, well, she'll simply be freaking out.

My folks have been together forever. High School sweethearts like me and Roxie and orthodox enough that if they did have issues like my marriage has had, tradition dictated that I shouldn't (and don't) know about them.

I swerve hard when I almost plow a vehicle in front of me. Agitated I put the blue light on the top of the car and turn it on. People think that a cop has the right of way at lights. They think that they have the right to stop traffic to get where they are going. For the most part, they don't. Some places have a law that if a cop or any other emergency service vehicle has someone pulled over, you are required to treat the scene like a construction or school zone. You slow down, move into the far lane until you are past them and then you are free to haul ***.

Cops are still required to stop at intersections, lights, siren, no matter what.

I don't. Right now the car is singing it's "Hi! I'm 5-0" song and throwing blue over the scene like it's a K-Mart sale. My foot is leaden and it's not likely to waver from the gas pedal unless not doing so will kill us.

The 20 minute drive takes roughly 8 and a half minutes.

Eight and a half minutes of silence from me. Eight and a half minutes of us both rolling things around in our heads.

When we do arrive I leave the car with lights still flashing in the ambulance lane of the ER and I'm out of the car and into the building like lightning.

Wouldn't be the first time Roxie's had to drive a police vehicle without authorization.

[Roxanne Ballard (DELETED 7623)]

The sound of an approaching ambulance siren is amplified with the opening of drivers door. Lucas is a blur of movement as I unfasten my seatbelt. I don’t bother with trying to track his movements. He is already gone as he should be given the shape his father is in and in all likelihood his mother as well.

I look behind me across the empty space of the back seat where there is a secure barrier of unbreakable glass and metal to protect the officer from the offending party. Usually I would think nothing of it but for the moment I feel like perhaps I belong back there. The guilt only lasts a few seconds it takes for the ambulance arriving to breeze around the car and do a quick stop in front of the space Lucas abandoned the car.

Like a circus act of a well rehearsed acrobatic team the crew of scrub clad emergency room staff files out of the sliding glass doors while the back doors of the working rig open. The driver reaches up and begins tugging on the rolling gurney where a paramedic is actively performing chest compressions on the body it is straddling. I know it is not appropriate but I move quickly to the driver's side and buckle up. As I do the one responsible for driving the patient to the one place they may still have a chance of surviving pauses to look back at the source of the lights that are still washing over the hood and now the rig in a precise pattern. I get the second ‘what the hell look of the night’ and I feel like disappearing into thin air. I pop the door open with my left hand. The combined sirens instantly are loud as expected.

“Sorry, I am moving the car!” I call out as the chill of the damp winter air rush into the interior of the car. Beams of blue and red lights slide over the hood of the car.
“Roxanne!”

I hear a familiar voice as I close the driver's door and begin backing up. The passenger's window is subjected to a set of palms banging frantically. I hit the brake hoping my luck has not run out and I have created another emergency right there in front of the sliding doors.

I fumbled with the locks and buttons and finally the passenger window rolls down. I recognize the paint on the nails which are attached to the fingers curled over and riding the window down. Allison is letting herself into the vehicle thanks to the fact one of the buttons I pressed granted her access to the inside of the vehicle neither of us are authorized to be in possession of let alone operating.

“Allison?!” I am resuming the backing up of the vehicle that could land us both in hot water if I don’t get it out of the way. “Jesus…” I push a little too hard on the gas pedal and we are flying backwards and skim the curb that lines the drive up causing the back of the car to bounce up and land hard. “What the hell are you doing?”

The car is moving forward and heading towards one of the reserved parking spaces nearby for official vehicles. Lucas’ car obviously qualifies. I swerve into the spot and hit the brake quick enough that it sends Allison jolting forward until her hands braced against the dash like she half expected having to do so.

“Being subjected to your driving yet again, Roxie.”

Predictably the one woman I spend more time with than any other member of my team growls. Of course she grabs the door handle hard sending the passenger door to her right back open. Once she steps out her eyes are down shooting daggers at me as I scramble my shaking fingers to shut all the lights and noise off. The driver’s window goes down while the passenger’s window goes back up.

“Top buttons, Roxanne!”

Once I accomplish the task of turning off everything I exit the vehicle and lock it up. I look across the roof of the car and wonder how I took such a brief ride in Lucas’ car with her. Neither of us were on the clock. I clear the front of the car quickly moving as fast as I could in a jog towards the very spot the ambulance was finally unloaded.

“What is going on?” The voice behind me is loud and trailing me as I run through the doors that just so happened to be in the process of sliding open.
“Lucas’ dad was brought in. Doesn’t sound good.” I run past the usual faces I recognize from random trips that are required for the coroner’s office and typical investigations.
“Dr. Ballard.” A nurse pauses in the hallway waiting for me to move through while Allison is squeaking close behind in her shoes that sound like the soles are newer than mine.
“Lucas?” I breathe out and the nurse points to the hall I was heading for. It is where I will be stopped eventually and most likely find Lucas and his mother.
“I’m with her.” Allison keeps up despite it being the area for family only.

I arrive at the desk responsible for taking the calls, the general business of managing the area where they are working on him. I watch the staff moving around quickly, a few bodies darting through the doors that lead to the surgical suites and pretty much where I am not currently welcome despite my profession. It is not my club. I get what they can’t save. Then I answer the questions as to why they couldn’t. I feel weighed down and powerless all at once. I hear the sudden sounds of a female crying and I hope it isn’t his mother. My heart bottoms out at my feet as I turn to finally face Allison.

“I am waiting for Carlos.” She cleared her throat while her eyes bounced across my face looking for clues as to what emotional state I was in. I feel my right brow shoot upward and she doesn't miss it. Her eyes chase it. “He...uhmm...nevermind. He will be fine.”

I find myself in an unexpected embrace with a hand gently rubbing what are meant to be small soothing circles into my back. It doesn’t make me feel better. I feel like I am on the outside and it is where I belong. I hear the crying continue behind the doors that block me from identifying if it is or isn’t his mother.

How can this night get any worse?

If things aren't bad enough I actually ask myself that while I try to wiggle free from Allison's increasingly tighter hold.

[Lucas Ballard]

I remember back in October of 1992 the world saw the fall of a hero. It wasn't real. The hero was nothing more than pencil sketching, ink and paper. He had been an icon for me growing up and my dad and I used to watch the movies together whenever they would come on TV. Christopher Reeves wasn't the biggest guy to play the role, but when I think Superman it's still his face I see. The comic book where he died, killed by a villain named Doomsday, was one of those things that you remember. It was emotionally charged and as a standalone it was great. Of course DC used it to springboard into several "new" Superman-themed heroes and that pissed off a lot of fans but financially the whole thing was huge in the world of comics.

Right now I'm looking at that comic book being played out in front of me. Only Superman just had a heart attack, he's already down a leg and there aren't a bunch of people waiting to jump in and take my dad's place until he eventually makes a "surprise" return.

Lois Lane in this case is my mother. She seems every bit as frail in comparison to Superman as she does in comparison to her usual energetic and lively self. I'm holding her, she is spilling Kryptonite down my shirt from her eyes. My dad, he always melted when she cried. He was the toughest son-of-a-***** I'd ever met but if tears welled up in my mother's eyes and threatened to overflow, you could bet your life you could look over and see his eyes glistening. I used to think of them as sympathy tears. Now, being older and some would say wiser, I realize their bond is just that intense. Love. The real thing. I only recognize it now because of Roxie. My mother is my dad's greatest inspiration and his only weakness.

And he is her world.

I don't have words I can use to comfort her right now. All I can do is awkwardly hold her and try and guide her out of the room so the bustling doctors and nurses can actually do their job. That falls on me since they had tried to have her wait outside the OR and failed miserably. She had balled her fists up ready to throw down on the white-gowned agents of the medical profession until finally the emergency nature of the situation had them doing their best to work around her. No one wanted to manhandle an elderly woman whose husband was on the operating table. They would have likely ended up there alongside him if they had. Or she would have.

I'm again cast into the role of "the strong one". All I want to do is break the **** down myself and yet here I am consoling my mother while my father is fighting for his life with tubes sticking in and out from everywhere and doctors, already bloodied from whatever they are doing to him do what the do.

Finally I manage to walk my mom out into the hall. I don't think we've yet to say a word. I get her to a seat and she collapses against my shoulder, silently weeping, her hands, hands that have been a source of comfort and love my entire life are wrapped in my jacket, holding onto it with a death grip.

I'm here, but I have no idea what the **** to do now.

[Roxanne Ballard (DELETED 7623)]

“You told him what?” Allison wondered if Roxanne would ever get it through her head that Lucas was infamous for hitting it outside the marital ring at least once a year just like she was. Most figured they had an understanding and were one of ‘those’ couples. “Roxie, it has been how long? You think he wants to know every time? Do you always want to know?”

Allison handed over the paper cup from the emergency room coffee station. I wrap my fingers around it and feel the warmth sinking into my palm. I bring the rim to my lips and the steam flows up into my nose and face. While the ribbons of moist heat rise I ponder using the gift certificates I was given to a local spa. I could use session in a sauna and perhaps a deep tissue massage. I feel like a ball of knots that make up one walking wall of out of sorts flesh. With everything going on I am not feeling centered. I am easily distracted and more importantly feeling disconnected. For me that is rare and it is no good.

“Maybe…” I pause mid answer while I glance at Allison over the rim of the cup still close to my lips while I let the bitter brew within to cool a bit more. I look to the doors that haven’t opened in the last thirty minutes. “Hell, Allison, I don’t know.” A small sip confirms it tastes just as bitter and strong when the temperature reduces as it had piping hot. “He is my husband. We have always told each other the truth even if it was ugly. What pisses me off is I don’t really remember **** this time. Well, outside the fact it happened, I think. Couldn’t have been that great. I don’t remember but was able to work the cramp out of my neck from being on the sofa.” I look at the inside of the cup and find the film from what was likely a coffee maker in need of a good cleaning visibly clinging to form a ring. It is disposed of without being finished. I look over to her and finally drop the unsavory bombshell.“It is the last time I show up for cards at your place. I don’t want to see your sofa or whoever that guy was you left me talking to. And those drinks should be banned that you made.” I sigh. “It’s not your fault.”

I sink into the less than comfortable waiting room chair hoping if there is any word of Bernard’s condition I will hear about it like a family member expects to. Allison looks at me while I palm my face and try to rub out the tension I can feel under the skin that could use some lotion. I need to drink more water, obviously less alcohol and get a lot more sleep than I have been.

“Roxie…” The four person cushion beneath me sinks in as Allison takes a seat next to me. “I think you had more to drink than you realize.” Her hand nudges the outdated magazine in my hand down. “You didn’t sleep with that guy. I am pretty sure of it.”
“What?” The word came out of my mouth flat and hard like would be expected from someone who thought they did something and just found out they didn’t.
“I was there on the sofa with you guys. You passed out and he and I watched the rest of the movie and well…” The sound of the soft drink machine shooting out a can echoed. We both look at the skater kid as he limped off with a bag of ice wrapped around his left knee while he snapped the ring to open it. “Babe, I slept with him. He was with me all night...trust me. We got no sleep. We heard you snoring. You ever think about getting that checked out?”
“Wait…” I am dumbfounded by what I am hearing.

I am pretty sure this is a moment where I am hearing something different than what she is saying. Before I can ask her to repeat it the room is filled by three bodies who enter with the scent of a recent smoke session trailing them. I try to smile at the leader of the pack that looks like it was migrating from a night at the local bingo hall. The blinking red and green visor with BINGO boldly plastered on the front was all the clues one would need.

“Go check on Momma, Jen. Make sure they know she hasn’t went to the toilet for the last five days.” The kids left behind whine in unison for money to hit the candy machine.
“P-L-E-A-S-E…” Each set of youthful cheeks wearing raspberry and grape stains pleaded their collective case looking like a choir of animated cabbage patch kids.
“Mind you manners. Your grandma can’t **** and you want candy?” Bingo leader was not having it. “How about I call your Dad to come deal with you?”

I scratch my head while I watch the kids climb in to sit next to me and Allison. Each face is instantly grinning like we were ready to take up their cause. I know how this works. There was only one way to deal with it. I open up my purse and find the plastic sealed tin of Altoids that I have been saving for anything but the moment at hand. Allison spots the tin in my hand and her face sours up.

“What? They are curiously strong. It says so right on the paper inside.” I tap my finger on the plastic covered tin and nod to the kids sharing the seat with us. “So are these kids.”

Bingo leader gives an approving nod over the Newsweek in her hands and I toss it to the smallest kid in the bunch. I waste no time standing up and pulling Allison with me to surrender the room to the Brady Bunch gone wild. I needed to hear what Allison said again and then I needed to find out how Bernard was doing.

“Oh, there you are. Carlos…” The nurse looks at me then realizes perhaps he shouldn’t say anymore since I was not there initially when they had arrived. The tall but portly forty something R.N. steps back and Allison follows. Unfortunately, it was hardly far enough that I couldn’t hear. “They were able to treat the reaction he had to the ginger. He will be fine. If you want to go back he would like to see you. The swelling in his eyes has reduced considerably and his tongue has sutures but that will heal quickly.”
“I feel so bad. I had no idea he was allergic to ginger.” Allison looks relieved as her hands brush over her forehead and come to rest on the top of her head. “I would never have used it if I did. It was all in fun.”
“Of course not. You have no idea how many times we have these sorts of cases. You two aren’t the first and certainly won’t be the last.” After clearing his throat he hands her a manila envelope. “I would suggest next time before you engage in anything similar you inform whoever of what you have planned. Some surprises become far more than the other is able to handle. Have a good night. I will tell them to let you back to the room where he is recovering.”

I stand and blink while Allison peeks into the envelope then rolls her eyes while she seals it back up. My right hand rubs the back of my neck. I don’t want to know. I really don’t. I easily could have gone without hearing what I already have. I make the move to bypass what she was just told and get to what I need to give me the courage to see my way through the double doors where Lucas, Bernard and my mother in law are.

“Anyways, you were saying?” I step closer to the wall and give the wheelchair carrying a teenager vomiting into a basin extra room.
“Yeah, that.” Allison tucked the large envelope under her arm and nodded to the nurse waiting at the door for her to join him. “Just what I said, Roxie. Didn’t happen. You didn’t miss much, trust me. Now as for Carlos…” She winced then bit her thumb with a slow grin building.
“That is all I want to know.” I put my hand up as I turn on my heels and make my way to the very doors that will have me meeting up with the reason I am in the hospital to begin with.

Come hell or high water I am back and I am going in. Lucas isn’t going to be left to hold the world that is breaking apart on his shoulders without any support. Everything else is insignificant at the moment.

[Lucas Ballard]

My head is swimming. Everything is a blur. I guess looking back on it I was in a state of shock. My phone started ringing and I didn't even hear it. I just sat there holding my mom while the doctors did whatever they did in the room next to us. I do notice the second the doors nearby open and my wife's presence fills the air. It's weird. I could always just walk into the apartment or a mutual friends house, or even a crime scene and just know that she was or wasn't there. That kind of thing makes it hard to dispute the existence of a sixth sense. There was sight, hearing, touch, taste, smell and Roxie. At least for me. Even through the numbness I was feeling my eyes found her instantly and even as pissed as I am with her, my arm, the one not around my mom reaches out for her. I need her there.

I might have to be the strong one but by God I don't have to be the strong one alone. Not tonight. She owes me that much. Hell, I'm ready to forgive any transgression as long as she can give me any type of comfort at this moment. My teeth are gritted, I know if I say anything it'll sound like the croaking of a dying frog and the last thing my mom needs is me joining her in becoming and emotional wreck.

Behind me, through the doors I can hear the softly spoken words of the doctors and nurses as they do what they do to save the fallen Man of Steel. The whole scene is surreal. It's one of those "this can't be happening" moments yet there it is, happening.

My transfer is going to have to wait. I'm sure that'll make the brass happy. **** them though, you only get one dad. I've given up everything for my work. My daughter, a happy marriage, a social life. I'm not going to give up being there for my family again. Not this time.

In the back of my mind I hear the familiar siren's call though. The one belonging to that *****. Not my wife. Roxie can be a total ***** when she wants to, true, but that's not the ***** I feel crawling through my head right then. It's the same one that's been there breaking my life apart bit by bit ever since I joined the force. The ***** named Duty.

I could swear to them that I'd be there through everything. I could tell them not to worry, I'll stay, I'll be the pillar they need. That family comes first and none of them would believe a word of it. They are right to disbelieve me too. Even now with this situation happening, which everything happening Roxie knows and I know, and as soon as we tell them about the transfer both of my parents will know... I'm leaving. Crisis or no crisis.

I'm being called by my real mistress.