Second Bloom

She was so ready to go home. Briar Rose Clowderbock was tired of her heels, tired of making awkward small talk with the few people here that she knew, and definitely tired of the whole evening. Right now the idea of soaking in a tub of hot water while partaking of something to stop the aching in her wrists was looking better and better.

After one last quick glance around the Four Seasons ballroom, she sighed. Last week the idea of attending the Philharmonic Charity gala and silent auction had seemed so glamorous on paper, but in truth, the crowd made her a little nervous. Too many people, too high up. Ever since that fateful day in September she'd been wary of situations with that combination. Still, she'd put in an appearance so Lainie couldn't nag her, and there was enough time to get home to Brooklyn before midnight, so Briar Rose picked up her coat and clutch, nodded a general sort of goodbye to the folks around her and moved across the room towards the bank of elevators.

There were people hobnobbing around the closest gold doors, so she made her way to the farthest car down the line where fewer folks were loitering. As she reached it, Briar Rose realized two things. One was that there was an additional elevator around the corner and out of general view—it looked like a last minute modification to the original design. The other was that a tall and imposing gentleman was standing near it.

He was giving off an aloof air that clearly was keeping anyone from coming close, looking around distantly as he waited for the car. She noted even as she approached that he also had one of the thickest mustaches she'd ever seen. It went well with his heavy brows, which framed an intense gaze that moved to her as she managed a brief smile.

"Headed down?" she asked hopefully.

He hesitated, and then gave a single nod of agreement and tacit permission to join him all in one. Briar Rose nodded back and stood near him, watching the doors. The man next to her didn't fidget, which was interesting; she watched him out of the corner of her eye.

Tall and broad, like a bear. Short dark hair in a cut that looked to be for efficiency rather than style. The only nod to vanity was that push-broom of a mustache and Briar Rose fought a giggle at the sudden wonder of what it would feel like. She wasn't the sort to speculate about strangers but honestly this was the first heavy duty facial hair she'd seen in a long time. Shifting a little, she lifted her chin for a better view.

He was in a tux and wore it like a uniform, Briar Rose thought—without much consideration for how it looked on him. That in itself was appealing and she checked his shoes, betting herself they were polished. Bet won, she risked a glance at his hands but he had a coat over his arm so she couldn't tell if he had any watch or rings.

When she glanced up, his gaze met hers. Briar Rose suddenly realized he knew she was watching him. Heat bloomed across her face and she blinked a little but the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth was a saving grace; he didn't seem annoyed by her scrutiny.

The soft chime of the elevator's arrival saved her, and Briar Rose pulled herself together as the doors opened. The man waved her inside and followed behind, the two of them finding comfortable space to stand on the Art Deco patterned carpet underfoot. Around them the polished metal walls let her check her reflection: still long and lanky, silver-tinged hair in a neat, heavy chignon at the nape of her neck. The man reached a big hand out for the buttons and shot her a questioning glance.

"Garage," she replied.

He gave a little grunt and pushed the button with the G on it. The doors rolled shut and the elevator began to descend. The trip was short, but in the last few seconds before it reached the bottom, Briar Rose heard a faint, panicked scream. Alarmed, she looked at the man, who went on high alert at the sound. When the car came to a stop, he held out an arm to hold her back; a move that somehow didn't surprise her.

"Stay put," the man rumbled in a low order. He had his cell phone out and had it up to his mustache. "Dunstan, ten-twenty, garage. Stand by."

Another cry, this one softer made them both look out into the cavernous grey cement parking structure. Briar Rose stepped out of her heels, kicking them aside. The man noted it, heavy eyebrows going up in surprise.

"I'm a doctor. I can move faster without them," she assured the man, who looked as if he was going to say something but yet another cry interrupted them and he turned his gaze towards the left.

This time he surprised her by fishing a gun out from his jacket pocket.

"Over there. I'm going to check it out," he muttered. "Stay put."

"No," Briar Rose countered, alarmed but determined. "If someone's been hurt I can help."

The man looked as if he was going to argue but another cry made him nod curtly and she followed him, trying to keep up with his strides. The cement was cold against her nearly bare feet but Briar Rose kept her gaze forward, spotting the crumpled figure leaning against one of the pillars of the parking garage, a streak of blood against it. She darted forward, clicking into professional triage mode in an instant, assessing what she was looking at.

An elderly man with a torn sweater and slashes on his coat. He was leaking blood and she slipped an arm around his shoulders, guiding him down to the cold ground while trying to reassure him.

"H-help me!" the man grunted in panic.

"Yes," Briar Rose assured him. "Just relax. I'm calling for help now and let's get some pressure on these slashes. What's your name? Can you tell me your name?" She focused on tugging up his sweater, noting that while the slashes were long they weren't particularly deep. Wadding part of his coat she cushioned his head, still speaking in reassuring tones, pressing a hand against the biggest gash along his right ribs.

"D-david Luna," he replied flinching. "Am I gonna die? I don't want to die!"

"I don't want you to die either and I don't think you will, sir." Briar Rose looked around for the man but he was gone. Annoyed, she fished her cell phone out and hit 911 as she continued to apply pressure.

Fortunately even here in the bowels of the Four Seasons parking the phone reception was fairly reasonable and before she'd even given the address she could hear a siren in the distance. Briar finished the vital info and set the phone down, checking her patient over again, keeping him conscious, reassuring him and listening to his disoriented statement about a mugger with a switchblade wanting his wallet.

Suddenly the man was back, looking bigger and more menacing somehow as he loomed over her. "Ambulance is nearly here," he announced, as if Briar Rose hadn't heard it herself.

"Good," she muttered. "We need to call the police."

"They're aware of the situation," the man replied dryly.

Briar Rose wanted to say something cutting but at that point the ambulance roared in and pulled to a stop, taking her attention back to the situation at hand. She handed off David Luna to the paramedics, giving them the few vitals she'd noted, and stood back as they loaded him up. The driver looked at her and then at the man, straightening up as he did so.

Then a police officer came hurrying towards them, snapping off a salute, and Briar Rose watched as he looked at the man with respect.

"We're securing the scene sir. Witnesses?"

"Check the cameras both here in the garage and in all the elevators," the man rumbled. "Also any of the traffic ones focused along Barclay and Church."

"And . . . ?" the officer looked at her. Briar Rose looked down at her bloody hands, aware that her cocktail dress was splattered as well, and that huge runs were up both her stockings.

The man looked her up and down. "I'll take her statement, Dunstan."

"Sir," the officer looked slightly relieved and saluted again, heading off.

Briar Rose sighed. "Can I get my shoes?"

-oo00oo-

To his credit, he drove her home himself, which was more than Briar Rose was up to doing at two in the morning. Most of the neighborhoods were still dark at this hour, and she hoped Raymond and George were going to forgive her for the delay. Since it was the weekend at least she'd be able to sleep in, which might help a little.

"Thank you," he murmured in the darkness as the car glided out of the Carey Tunnel on the Brooklyn side. "I appreciate your . . . good deed, Doctor."

She shot him a sidelong look. "You're welcome, Commissioner. Although I was a little worried when you took off like that. Especially with a gun."

He gave a tiny shrug of his big shoulders. Briar Rose closed her eyes, feeling the fatigue wash through her in the aftermath of the adrenaline.

Police Commissioner Frank Reagan, she mused, was every bit the professional she'd heard he was. His questioning about her evening from the moment she'd joined him in the elevator to the departure of the ambulance had been patient and thorough. When Briar Rose asked about her car, he assured her it would be returned to her once the garage was no longer a crime scene, and then had arranged to take her home.

She wasn't sure how she rated this personal escort back to Dyker Heights but at this point in the night Briar Rose didn't muse on it too long, and yawned before muttering an apology. "Sorry. Not used to hours quite this late."

The commissioner gave a little affirmative sound and in the dim light of the car his mustache twitched; Briar Rose realized that meant he'd smiled, if briefly. She gave a soft chuckle. "Will I be able to check on David Luna? See his medical records?"

He shot her a quick glance before turning his gaze back to the road. "Why? Not that I doubt your professionalism, Doctor Clowderbock, but he's no longer your patient, and certainly not within your specialty."

"I know, but there was something odd about his attack," she murmured almost as much to herself as to the man in the car with her. "Something I can't put my finger on right now because I'm so damned tired but . . ." she shook her head and repeated, "Something."

For a moment neither of them said anything. Finally the commissioner gave a gusty sigh. "I'll do what I can."

When they finally reached 85th street, Briar Rose stirred herself, gathering her clutch and coat, fumbling for her keys. The Commissioner pulled up to the curb. Before she quite realized it, he'd climbed out, crossed around the front of the car and opened her door for her. Briar Rose blinked up at him, a little stunned at this old-fashioned courtesy. "Thank you."

He gave another little affirmative sound; Briar Rose considered it his default response to things that didn't need full words. She took his proffered hand, feeling the warmth of it in the chill of the night, her own fingers griping his as she stiffly climbed out.

He handed her a business card. "The NYPD will cover the dry-cleaning or replacement of your dress, Doctor. And if you remember what it was that bothered you about Mr. Luna's stabbing—call me."

Briar Rose wrapped her fingers around the card. "It may be nothing helpful," she warned, turning towards the porch.

"All information helps," he countered. "Thank you again for your assistance."

She looked back at him standing there and gave him a brief smile. "My duty; I was glad to help." Turning, Briar Rose made her way to her door and started to unlock it, fully aware that the man at the curb hadn't moved. Once she'd slipped inside, she risked a peek over her shoulder to see the Commissioner watching her.

Briar Rose nodded and only then did he head back to his car. She watched him drive off from through the beveled glass panels. "Good Lord they really don't make 'em like that anymore," she sighed.

-oo00oo-

A week later, halfway through Mrs. Costigan's biopsy, Briar Rose realized what had bothered her about the attack. She finished up, washed up, and once back in her office, dug the business card out from her purse, studying it for a moment.

Professional, with the NYPD logo in the upper right corner; simple Times New Roman font: Francis X. Reagan, NYPD Commissioner and under that, a few phone numbers that Briar Rose assumed were in switchboard priority order. Bemused, she dialed the first one, ready to be put on hold or transferred once the line connected.

Unexpectedly his deep voice came over the line. "Reagan."

She panicked a little. "Uh, yes. Commissioner. It's me, Doctor Clowderbock."

"Philharmonic Gala," he replied, "the Luna stabbing."

"Uh, yeah. I just remembered and you can check on it, but he, uh, didn't have any defensive wounds. I was more concerned about his chest at the time, but from what I remember his hands and forearms were undamaged."

He didn't say anything and Briar Rose waited, feeling herself blush. She'd wasted his time, clearly, and was about to hang up when he spoke again. "No defensive wounds."

"From what I remember but you can check. And if he was fighting off an attack, there should be some. Does it mean anything?"

Again that little grunt, but he added, "I need to check the admitting report. Thank you, Doctor Clowderbock."

She felt better. Yes it was probably nothing, and maybe it was already noted somewhere but there was something reassuring in the Commissioner's tone and Briar Rose appreciated it. "All right, thank you for letting me mention it. I hope it helps."

"It may," came his reply. "Thank you for telling me."

"All right then. Thank you, bye."

There was an awkward little pause and then Briar Rose hung up, feeling relieved and a tiny bit disappointed. She wasn't sure why; Frank Reagan was probably one of the busiest men in the five boroughs and he'd just personally taken her call. But at the same time, Briar Rose guiltily wondered again about his mustache, and how it would feel against the side of her neck.

Ridiculous, she mentally chided herself. Just because he's attractive doesn't mean a damned thing. With a sigh Briar Rose resigned herself to never seeing him again and reached for her laptop to start on Ms Costigan's chart.

-oo00oo-

Two months later she saw him sitting across from a sleek blonde at O'Rourke's Bar and Grill in Brooklyn.

She and Lucas were celebrating his birthday by taking a long lunch in the city, both of them in a great mood even though the overcast weather wasn't. Briar Rose had just ordered the house burger when her gaze spotted Frank Reagan at the table off to Lucas's left side. He was in profile to her, in earnest conversation with the woman, who was eating and listening. Briar Rose felt a tiny prickle of something and shifted her gaze away, trying to pretend it wasn't disappointment.

"And Colin's . . . B-Rose are you even listening?" Lucas wanted to know, stopping mid-story to chide her.

"I'm listening. Colin's thrilled, right? I know how much he likes Mallorca," she countered.

Lucas smiled. "He loves Mallorca and given this weather I'm seriously considering his offer. You should take a trip there yourself; it's not that expensive these days."

"My Spanish is fatally tainted by my West Virginia twang, Lucas," she pointed out, trying to keep her gaze averted but it was proving difficult. The blonde woman was nodding as she ate, her attention fixed on what Frank was saying to her, although it was impossible to hear over the sounds of the lunch crowd around them.

"They'd love it," Lucas predicted, waving his fork at her. "You'd be considered . . . exotic."

"More like undecipherable," Briar Rose countered, grinning briefly at her best friend. Lucas was lean and handsome—too handsome for an orthopedic surgeon- with his salt and pepper hair and high cheekbones and whenever Langone Hospital did promotional photos he was one of the first picks.

They'd been friends for a decade, sharing a passion for their lines of work, and sports, bonding over a mutual distaste for the Chief of Surgery, Elliot Petrov. Lucas was funny, supportive and brilliant. His love-life was generally a disaster though, and she'd had been there through his two messy divorces.

Briar Rose flicked her gaze back to the table and a caught the woman's sudden flinch as she dropped her fork which clattered to the floor. Nobody else seemed to notice it but Frank, who looked startled, reaching across the table to his companion.

Without even realizing it, Briar Rose shot to her feet and darted over, pushing past Lucas to reach the blonde who was hunching over her plate now, tensing, face going ruddy in her attempts to breathe.

"Up," Briar Rose ordered, and pulled the other woman to her feet, bumping the chair away. Arms around the slim waist, one hand locked on the other wrist, thumb finding the right spot under the ribs . . . Briar Rose yanked the woman to her, thrusting her fist hard up against the solar plexus. The first one took; a wad of semi-chewed beef popped out of the woman's mouth, tumbling down the front of her dress to land on the table. Around them other diners were staring, but Briar Rose ignored them, loosening her grip as she felt the woman draw in a deep grateful breath and then begin to cough.

Briar Rose shifted, coming around to look the woman in the face. "Easy now. Cough up anything else you need to and we'll get you some water. Just breathe slow if you can."

The woman nodded, doing just that as Rose stroked her back soothingly. Moving in, Lucas spoke up as he looked around. "Just a little food down the wrong pipe, folks; she's fine, just fine."

Placated, the other diners slowly turned back to their own meals while a waiter scurried over. Briar Rose took a water glass from the table to hand it to the woman. "Slowly," she ordered. "Throat's going to be sore."

The woman nodded, sipping it. Briar Rose shot Lucas a look and he nodded, moving to reassure the waiter. She risked at glance at Frank.

"Abigail, are you all right?" he rumbled, his attention focused on the woman who gave a shaky nod.

"F-fine now sir," she amended, managing a wan smile.

"Doctor Clowderbock," Briar Rose heard him murmur. "I thought I recognized you."

"Commissioner," she replied, meeting his gaze. He looked . . . imposing. As usual. She wished she could think of something witty to say but the weight of his stare pinned her.

"I'm sorry, do you two know each other?" Lucas asked, fishing the fork off the floor. He was eyeing the woman, Abigail and giving her one of his famous smiles. Briar Rose fought an eye roll.

"Yes," Frank acknowledged and said nothing more.

Abigail returned Lucas' smile with one of her own. "As I recall a Doctor Clowderbock was instrumental in assisting us with a case of major insurance fraud. I take it you're the same one since Clowderbock isn't a common name."

Us. So this woman worked for Frank.

Briar Rose blinked; Frank nodded. "Her observation at the crime scene helped build the case. Did you ever send us the bill for you gown?" he frowned at her.

Put on the spot, Briar Rose shook her head, blushing a little. "No, no. Didn't want to bother the department. It wasn't a big deal."

It had been though; she'd loved that particular Maxine Lee dress and when every cleaner had failed her, Briar Rose had laid it to rest in the garbage with a sigh.

Abigail and Frank a look that Briar Rose took to mean Matters were going to be Handled, and tried not to smile in reply.

Lucas shook his head as he checked his watch. "Very cool. Sorry to break it to you, B-Rose but we need to get back. You folks are going to be all right?" he looked again at Abigail and Briar Rose wanted to swat him; once a flirt, always a flirt.

She watched as Frank put a protective hand on Abigail's elbow. "Yes." He turned to look at her and added. "Thank you, Doctor. Again."

"Yes," Abigail chimed in with a smile of her own. "Thanks."

Out on the sidewalk, Lucas had hailed a cab and held the door open for her even though his gaze was still towards the pub and most likely on the blonde inside it. "Wish I'd been the one to save her," he sighed.

"I bet you do," Briar Rose snorted, climbing into the cab. When Lucas settled in beside her, he gave her a knowing look.

"So. Now that you know the police commissioner . . ." he began in a hopeful tone.

"No," Briar Rose shook her head. "If you want to find out Abigail's last name you're going to have to do it on your own."

"Some friend you are," Lucas pouted, but he grinned as the taxi pulled away from the curb.

-oo00oo-

That weekend, the front doorbell rang, and when Briar Rose made her way to answer it, George was waiting for his chance to dart out. She grabbed his collar and opened the door. "Yes?"

A young man with a huge bouquet of flowers eyed George warily as he held out the blooms. "Doc-tor Clooderbook?" he mangled.

Used to it, Briar Rose sighed. "Clowderbock, yes. Uh, I wasn't expecting . . . flowers."

The young man grinned. "Sometime surprises are good, Señora. Sign here please."

Briar Rose stepped out after shoving George back into the house behind her and took the clipboard, wondering if one of her patients had delivered early. Her glance spotted the card on the little stick and she plucked it up as she thanked the delivery man and carried the arrangement of roses, carnations and snapdragons into the house.

Doctor Clowderbock, the note began. Thank you for your timely intervention at lunch this week. Both the Commissioner and I appreciate it very much. Please accept the flowers as a token of my gratitude. In regards to the matter of your gala dress, the commissioner wishes to know when and where he can take you to find a suitable replacement. Please call to confirm.

With gratitude,

Det. Abigail Baker