There's never been so much at stake
I serve my head up on a plate
It's only comfort, calling late
'Cos there's nothing else to do
Every me and every you
Placebo - Every Me Every You
It'd been three months since she died; three months since he'd shot a man in cold blood.
The summer had almost ended and days were beginning to cool once more. Her desk had been cleared and new face sat in her chair. Her scent had long since faded.
Her jacket still hung in his closet; the shampoo she'd used still sat on the shelf in his shower. The elastic bands and pins she'd used in her hair still showed up in the oddest places around his apartment and car, although he just smiled and kept them where they lay. He still heard her laugh and saw her smile; everywhere.
:-:-:
He twisted open a beer as he rummaged in the fridge, debating whether to actually try to cook or settle back into the bad habit of ordering take-out. The fridge was reasonably well stocked and his culinary skills now extended a little beyond breakfast.
His musings were interrupted by a knock on the door and frowning, as he didn't expect a visitor, padded across the room.
Cliff Angell stood in the doorway; greyer and older than he'd looked on their first meeting at the Angell family pot luck lunch but better than the day he'd returned her badge. Standing aside, he ushered him into the apartment, watching as he set a cardboard box on the table.
After exchanging awkward pleasantries and having the offer of a drink declined, he perched on the edge of his easy chair; expecting the Detective Sergeant to do likewise. Instead the man paced for a few moments before settling at the window, staring vacantly to the street beyond.
"I remember the day Jessica was born like it was yesterday, the first moment I held her in my arms. I love my boys, but a girl is different..." He paused, a smile curling the corner of his lips. "She was always headstrong, '...when I grow up, I'm going to be a cop; just like you Daddy' she used to tell me. After her Mother died I bullied her into a fancy school, then college; I wanted something more for her, something better for her. But my Jess," he laughed ruefully, "she stuck to her guns."
He felt the lump in throat and the familiar sting in his eye, the choice of phrase unfortunate given the outcome.
The older officer frowned, "I didn't like that she grew up. That she no longer needed me to tie her sneakers or tuck her in at night. That she went off into to the world. I didn't like my little Jessie became woman; that I wasn't the only man in her life anymore."
He smiled, remembering the time he'd tested the name 'Jessie'. She'd scowled, shaking her head firmly, "No way buddy; it's Jess or Jessica or Angell, at a push I can probably even run with J or Sici, but it's never ever Jessie." Her expression had then softened into a fond little smile, "Only my Dad gets Jessie."
"You were good for her Don."
He felt his cheeks flush at the candid words but her Father just nodded, smiling.
"I saw the way her face lit up when she mentioned you, the changes in her. My little girl didn't suffer fools gladly; four brothers taught her that, but it was clear where you came in her life. I'm glad she had you and I'll always be grateful that you were there with her..." he trailed off but the intent was clear. "Thank you."
He shrugged a little, unsure what words would be right.
"We finally cleared her apartment...the box; I think she'd have liked you to have the things." With a wistful smile, then nod he began to move towards the door before pausing and retracing his steps. Embracing the younger man, he instructed, "Come and see me some time Don."
"I'd like that."
:-:-:
He allowed the box to sit, unopened, on the table for few days, tormenting him and causing his heart to ache before moving it to the bedroom. Carefully stowing it under what had become her nightstand and setting the low weaved basket he'd bought for her things on top.
:-:-:
She'd been a runner, regular four miles routes every couple of days. Although he wasn't fond of running, he was more than fond of her, and joining her meant he got to see even more of her. With her gone, it was routine that he found solace in; his feet almost finding their way along the streets by themselves.
After kicking his running shoes into the closet, he collapsed onto the bed on his stomach, peering underneath and raising a shocked eyebrow at the dust that had accumulated. Then the box caught his eye.
Stretching under the nightstand he drew out the stack; the cardboard storage box and basket on top. He'd bought the baskets after the umpteenth argument that he'd 'moved' her watch; smugly demonstrating, after finding her watch under the bed, that it could contain all her accoutrements and reduce the likelihood of them being 'misplaced'. Fondly he poked through the contents; flicking through the half-read paperback, fingered the long drop silver earrings and rubbing a dab of the hand cream into the back of his hand, inhaling the scent.
Letting out a long sigh, he lifted the lift of the box her Father had brought:
The French Monopoly set; the one that'd she'd beaten him with so many times.
The faded Rangers cap; the one she'd taken from his closet and claimed as her own.
The framed photograph; the one that'd stood on her dresser of them grinning crazily, Manhattan skyline in the background and their cheeks flushed from the cold.
The well worn copy of Le Comte de Monte-Cristo; the one she'd been reading to him in the evenings as they lay in bed.
The iPod she wore when she ran; the one he'd bought for her, just because he knew she wanted it.
He delicately ran his fingers across each item, tracing the same paths as her fingers had once made. Feeling the lump in his throat and the tears prick in eyes, he rolled onto his back; breathing deeply, determined not to crumble (again).
Turning the iPod over in his hand a few times, he sighed. Letting his head drop back over the edge of the bed, he fumbled with the ear buds before closing his eyes and thumbing the play button.
All alone in space and time
There's nothing here but what here's mine
Something borrowed, something blue
Every me and every you
The song that'd played in the car the night they'd fought after the Cabbie Killer. The song that she'd hummed so many times. The song she'd programmed against her entry in his cell. The song she'd listened to last. Every Me Every You.