I
The headache returned with blinding fury. Like many times before it came with her voice. Her voice full of unconditional love for him cracked with grief and acceptance of her fate; a fate he had sentenced her to.
"Promise me..." she whispered as she fought for composure. Her breathing came in short swallow spurts as she struggled for air, desperate to say the last few words she would ever say to her husband.
"Promise me... you'd shower him with love. All the love I wouldn't be there to give." Her voice faltered as each sob more heart-renching and painful than the last broke free.
"Promise me Michael... Promise me..."
Michael rubbed the juncture between his brows trying desperately to relieve the tension that grinded into a searing headache wiping out his ability to concentrate. He opened his desk drawer; his dexterous fingers searched the dark wooden confinements until through familiarity they rested on a small plastic bottle.
He had removed the cap and was contemplating how many of the sugar-coated capsules it would take to silence her voice when a knock on his office door made him pause. In one swift movement he shelved out two capsules, swallowed them quickly, then placed the bottle back in the drawer. The last thing he wanted or needed right now was for his team to think he needed prescription medications in order to function.
"Come in." Clearing his throat in a bid for composure Michael Wolfe reacquainted himself with one of the many case files littering his desk, as he tried to not think of her.
"Promise me..."
"Still here I see." Kepler acknowledged, entering the room he closed the door softly behind him.
"Mmm- hmm." Michael nodded. He scribbled notes and flicked through crime scene photos each one more grisly and disturbing than the last. Meanwhile, Kepler inspected the numerous certificates on Michael's office wall. He looked over the different qualifications with such interest that anyone would have assumed he had never seen them before. Very peculiar behaviour considering over the span of their five year working relationship they have had countless conversations in the room.
Silence lingered between them except for the scribbling sounds of Michael's pen and the occasional sound of reflective approval Kepler injected. But Michael knew Kepler well and his demeanour, though quiet and pensive, only served as an indicator that something was on his mind. Kepler was merely choosing his words before voicing them. Kepler rarely chose his words unless the situation called for a high level of sensitivity. Micheal deducted that whatever was on Kepler's mind must be serious. More intrigued than anxious Michael stopped writing; his pen hovered over an unfinished sentence as he intentionally stared at Kepler.
"Are you okay?"
"Hmm? Oh yes. I'm...good." Kepler turned and rocked on his heels. A warm, heartfelt smile graced his lips.
"And you?" Kepler inquired.
"Tired, but good. I need to get through these case files by Friday sooo..." he purposely trailed off hoping Kepler would get the hint and either say what was on his mind or at least allow him to work in peace.
"Sooo you've decided to write them all tonight?" Though his comment seemed playful enough Michael couldn't help but note a hint of sarcasm.
"No- But I wanted to get a handle on them as soon as possible. Perkins is waiting on my report on the Washington murders, the sooner I can finish the Dobson case the better."
"Surely it can all wait until tomorrow?" Kepler suggested. Taken aback Michael's brow furrowed, he did not know where their conversation was heading but Kepler's authoritative tone was an indicator that he was not going to like it.
"I'm sorry- is there something going on I should be aware of? Something I can... help you with?"
"No... But maybe I can help you." As though he had all the time in the world, Kepler made his way to the desk; his hand entered the pocket of his jacket only to pull out a small card. Slowly Kepler handed it to him, leisurely taking a seat in one of the sleek chairs opposite.
Puzzled, Michael studied the blank business card then turned it over. His eyes skimmed over a phone number engraved in rich black ink. He could not hide the look of confusion that marred his features as his eyes searched Kepler's face for answers. Nonetheless, Kepler's deadpan expression gave nothing away.
"They're discreet." He said finally, his eyes moving on to the card and then on Michael. "Their service professional and reputable. They'll see to it that any needs you have are fully met"
"Needs?" Michael repeated. Placing his pen down he couldn't help but frown at the implications of such a word. His head reeled with suggestions and all of them where vulgar. Hoping his judgment was completely off he calmly pressed forward.
"Exactly what kind of service do you think I need?"
Kepler ran his hands over the arms of the chair, taking in the smooth leather as if noticing it for the first time and Michael knew he was choosing his words again as if he knew his words would cause more harm than good.
"Before you start badgering me about giving you a number to a brothel or a gentleman's club I assure you it is none of those things." He steeped his fingers, his gaze now imperative and unfaltering was fixed on Michael. "But they do provide a variety of services that are all... very agreeable."
"I take it sex is the service they provide?" Michael asked, knowing the answer before it came.
"Yes, sex is one of their services," Kepler countered nonchalant.
Huffing in disbelief and uneasiness Michael roughly passed a hand through his hair. Their conversation had taken a very unconventional and very unpleasant turn and he was finding it difficult to hide his discomfort.
"They also provide a variety of services that should not be overlooked Michael. Compassion, comfort, the opportunity to openly talk to someone without fear of being judged-"
"Then you suggest a psychiatrist!" Michael injected plainly, lowering his head he tried to keep his voice in check. "Suggest religion if you have to. Not a- a bunch of prostitutes."
"Religion is not my style and you don't need psychoanalysis Michael. Nor do you need to be lectured by some psychiatrist with questionable qualifications and no experience with dealing with such a severity of a situation-"
"Severity of a situation?" Michael laughed in disbelief. He had never heard Kepler speak so candidly and yet so unsympathetic, as if his life was just another case to be scrutinized and picked apart for analysis. "What are you- What are you trying to imply exactly?"
Placing his hands in his pocket as though experiencing a slight chill, Kepler took a deep breath, "The body is a remarkable thing Michael. It can withstand the most traumatic of events. Suspended within that moment we can only grieve. We swear to God that we will never let someone in that close again so we don't have to relive that pain. But it is instilled in us to love. It is instilled in us to desire human contact, both mentally and physically. And no matter how hard you try Michael, you're not immune to that. You need that connection even if it's for a little while. Even if it's just to serve as a reminder to yourself that you are still human."
"Well in case you have forgotten I have a son that I'm concentrating fully on. My son is that connection to the world you so think I'm trying to be immune from. He is all the reminder I need. Not this." Placing the card on the desk he pushed it towards Kepler. Picking up his pen he tried to concentrate on the file in front of him but it merely became a concoction of blurred words and hazy pictures.
"This has nothing to do with your role as a father Michael. This is about you being emotionally scarred, your life completely suspended and you doing absolutely nothing to change that. Every day I see you killing yourself. You're killing yourself at this job-"
"Oh come on Patrick!" Staggered Michael tossed his pen on the desk; his arms folded defensively at the chest- "Are we seriously having this conversation?"
"Yes- Michael. Yes we are."
"Well it's damn hypocritical of you to say I'm killing myself when you know fully well we all make sacrifices for this job. Nina came back to work after what? Two days after her son's operation? And Daniels didn't even take time off when his father died. He did his job like everybody else and if I recall correctly you didn't give him a lecture."
"You're absolutely right Michael. Yes we have all made sacrifices for this job. Sometimes it's not spending enough time with our loved ones but Nina decided she didn't want to make that sacrifice anymore, her purpose now is towards her family. And you're right Daniels didn't take time off work, but he had someone who he could share his pain with. Who do you have Michael?"
Taking a deep breath Kepler sighed.
"You're using this job as means of escapism. You bury yourself in work so you wouldn't have to relive the event, I understand that. But does it work? Or do you still hear her voice?"
"Don't-"
"You push yourself. You push yourself till emotionally and physically you're numb and when you're done and you've completely exhausted every part of yourself you go home, you put Max to bed and then you practically drink yourself to sleep-"
"Now you're analyzing me?"
"I don't have to analyze you to see what you're been doing-"
"I don't have time for this-". Dismissively Michael shuffled through the papers on his desk.
"What I do or don't do in my spare time is my business. I do this job to the best of my ability and to a proficient standard at that. Until I begin doing otherwise, this conversation is irrelevant. We do not need to discuss this matter any further. Now would you please, excuse yourself from my office."
"As a friend I am telling you Michael, you're only human-"
"I can't believe you seriously want me to even consider this?" Michael fumed, his face now red with frustration. "Do you even hear yourself? Do you know what you're suggesting? For god sake my wife died! Not some- some drinking buddy or some college friend. She was my best friend. The love of my life. And you expect me to just what? To sleep with someone else? To sully her memory with something like that? Forget it! If this is what my life is meant to be like without her. Then so be it." He could not bring himself to say anymore as tears fresh and raw came to the surface. Swiping at them, more out of annoyance that he allowed himself to be so vulnerable in front of Kepler, Michael looked away. His gaze fixed on the paperwork in front of him.
"But that's just it Michael-" Kepler sighed his voice now soothing like that of a father comforting a son who had tumbled and scrapped a knee. He was torn between the need to reach out and comfort his friend but knew that Michael would not allow it.
"You're not living. I know you loved her. Nothing in this world could ever replace that. God knows I am not asking you to do that. In time, I'm sure you'll love again because you know in your heart that Molly would want that. She'd want you to be happy. All I'm suggesting is that you allow yourself to release just an ounce of that pain and grief you've been carrying."
Leaning forward and not breaking eye contact Kepler continued "-Allow yourself to feel Michael. Allow yourself to feel euphoric. Revel in the joys of another woman's company that's not your sister or a co-worker or someone dishing out prescription medications. A completely independent person whose purpose is to cater to your needs. Because as admiral as it is for you to fight the bad guys, to write the wrongs of injustice, to be the bearer of everyone's pain as well as your own, you're only human. It's only a matter of time before you break."
Leaving the card on the desk Kepler stood, he pulled the lapels of his jacket close, preparing to brace the bitter cold outside.
"You're a crazy son of a bitch. You know that right?" Michael grumbled.
"So I've heard. But it's always to my back and never to my face." He made his way to the door then turned; that same heartfelt smile returned.
"It's completely your call Michael. But may I make a suggestion? For once, do what your body needs not what's demanded of you. You have a good night." and with that, Kepler was gone.
II
Savannah stepped into her floor length evening gown. A maroon, sleek, backless number, held together with a gilt button at the back of her neck. Gently she smoothed down the wrinkled fabric caught by her hips, as she admired her reflection in the vanity mirror. Her once carefully styled hair was a mess, her lipstick smeared, but she had never felt more alive as her body sore and spent hummed in post-coital bliss. With weak hands, she cleaned her stained lips with tissue, then taking her lipstick from the confines of her gold clutch; she began to repaint her lips with precision.
"God, that was... incredible." The naked male who observed her movements from the warmth of cotton sheets smiled with lazy satisfaction.
"Brutal. But incredible." He could barely move. Such was the fatigue threatening to overpower him with sleep. He wanted to let it wash over his aching limbs and pull him under, only to awaken tomorrow satisfied and well rested. But he knew Savannah would be leaving soon. And the thought that he'd be left with silence and a cold empty bed prevented him from giving in. Dreamily, he followed the arch of her back and neck, to her nimble fingers as they removed the hairpins from her side swept updo.
"Never thought I'd say this. But I thoroughly enjoyed... Don Giovanni-" Savannah replied and their eyes met for a brief moment in the mirror.
"Not nearly as good as Faust," she shrugged "But surprisingly, I had a good time."
"Right" Her lover said and let out a short laugh.
Any other man would have been annoyed that she had changed topic- mentioning the theatre production they had attended earlier that evening. Any other man would have cringed at her dismissive attitude and concluded the sex was so bad it was not worth of an after thought. But he knew better. She could feign disinterest as much as she'd like. It could not mask the hoarse raspy tone of her voice; the result of their very vocal and intense lovemaking.
"Come here." He demanded, when he grew tired of watching and the desire to touch her overwhelmed all rational thought. With hips seductively swaying and a graceful step, Savannah walked towards the bed. Once in arms reach, her lover forcefully pulled her down onto it. He rolled with her in arms, till his naked form covered the length of her.
"I wasn't talking about the Opera." He whispered. Arresting dark eyes glared down at her, while he nudged her legs apart with his own.
"Then what were you referring to?" Savannah challenged.
"I was talking about us, our bodies connecting to make the sweetest of melodies." Burying his hands and face in her hair he breathed in her intoxicating scent.
"But that's not the answer you wanted. Was it-" he raised his head, just enough to look down at the goddess beneath him.
"I know you Savannah. Romantic words won't get you wet." He whispered. "So allow me try again and this time, I'll be crude, just the way you like it." His eyes roamed to her perfectly painted lips and he licked his own in anticipation.
"I loved fucking you." He said, each word spoken slowly for emphasis. "And judging by the way you clenched around my cock as you came, I know you loved it too." He grinned when he saw colour flush her cheeks, her tongue pressed against her upper teeth to suppress a smile.
He adored her laugh, but what he loved more than anything was to see her like this; blushing profusely for him. Nothing else created a sense of power like momentarily cracking her armour. The armour used to stay in control of all situations. That impenetrable armour, used to keep the men she naturally charmed at arms length.
With an animalistic lick of his tongue against the curve of her jaw, he laced his fingers in her hair and tugged her face towards his. Greedily he kissed her lips until their lungs burned for air and with insistent, confident eyes, he opened his mouth to speak.
"James, please don't. We've had a great evening-"
"You don't know what I was about to say." He said, leaning in he nuzzled her neck.
"Not say, ask. And yes, I know exactly what you're going to ask because you're giving me that look."
"What look?" James replied softly. He propped himself on his elbow and stared at her. "You mean the look of love from a man who worships you? Or perhaps, you're referring to the look of a man who desperately wants nothing more than for you to be his wife?"
But with those sweet heartfelt words, the sexual tension between them evaporated. James witnessing her discomfort did not protest when she removed herself from his embrace and sat up. He watched in silence as she slipped on her stilettos. He gently stroked her back as a loving gesture, hoping it would recapture her attention and from the embers rekindle their fire. When James realised she was not responding to his touch, he removed himself from the bed altogether.
He picked up his boxers and pulled them on. He needed something to take the edge off the silence. He needed something to lighten the sting of being snubbed by the woman he treasured. He poured himself a glass of bourbon and downed it in three mouthfuls, grateful that it took only a few seconds for it to flood his veins and ebb his emotions.
When he felt nothing except a dull pull. He poured himself another then turned to address the woman packing her belongings.
"Are we going to talk about this?"
Savannah shrugged dismissively "I don't think we need to."
"Right. You don't think we need to, so I guess that's the end of the conversation."
Savannah turned and faced him. "I don't think we need to because you already know how I feel. Discussing it isn't going to miraculously change my mind." She said calmly. James was not at all surprised by her coldness. He had expected resistance from her but still, it hurt. It hurt to know the woman he had prized more than anything was so flippant about his heart's desires. Resting his bourbon on a nearby side table, he walked towards her.
"Can I ask you something? Do I make you happy?" he only asked, when he was close enough to see the slight changes in her expression and mannerisms.
"I'm talking genuine happiness?"
"Of course you do. I wouldn't be here if that wasn't the case." Yet her words sounded hallow to James, and he frowned in disappointment.
"Technically, you are leaving." he sniped.
"True. But like I said, you have work tomorrow and your proposal won't write itself." she replied, her voice soft and pacifying. Her lips hovered near his, tempting him to taste and perhaps dispel the unpleasant tension building between them. Her hypnotic gaze captured James and he nodded in agreement despite himself.
"Of course..." He said. "Of course." a possesive hand snaked around her waist as he leant in and kissed her collarbone; the skin bruised from their earlier escapade.
"You're right. I have to prepare for work and you'll be too much of a distraction." He touched a particularly sore spot on her clavicle with his tongue and Savanna hissed.
"And I do agree. It's pointless going back and forth when we both know how this will end."
"James, I'm not-"
"You're not what?" he said curtly, his eyes on hers "Going to marry me?" his eyes narrowed.
"Or were you going to say you're not the marrying type? Because you're right. You're not marriage material," his tone eerily calm and calculated.
"You are a beautiful woman Savannah. But there are many women, just like you and they don't sell themselves for money" his eyes roaming over her features paused on her lips "I should discard you. Yet here I am offering you the world. You crave financial stability? I can provide a life of opulence. You'd be stupid to throw that away and you're not stupid, are you Savannah?" he leaned in to kiss her and she moved her face away. Too angry to speak Savannah did not reply, her chest rising and falling with each weighted breath. With a possessive hand behind her head, James forcefully kissed her, his tongue demanding entrance into her mouth.
In the morning James would blame his aggressive behaviour on the bourbon. He would lie to himself that the liquor skewed his judgement and forced him to act out of character. He would apologize by sending her flowers. He always sent her roses when his conscious nagged him. Releasing her from his hold, James stepped away and licked his lips.
"No was never an option." He said. He picked up his glass of bourbon and stared at her as he drank it.
