Chapter Two

You or Your Memory

March, 2011

Vera sighed in disgust.  “So you got drunk and had sex,” he griped as he rummaged through his desk drawer, pulled out a stack of bills, and grudgingly held it out to Lilly, who snatched it out of his hand with a triumphant snap of her wrist.  “Big freakin’ deal. Oldest story in the book,” he continued, casting Scotty an annoyed glance, making it clear that he’d expected a far more interesting story. “Not to mention the least original.”

“Oh, you’re just jealous that the simplest, most logical, conclusion is usually the right one,” Lilly tossed in Vera’s direction, grinning mischievously as she pocketed the cash.

“Like, oh, I dunno, the fact that Saccardo’s addiction to appletinis and girly coffee meant way more than you thought?” Vera teased.

“You…really didn’t know his ‘undercover assignment’ was a gay cruise, Lil?” Jeffries asked gently, his eyes twinkling with amusement at the memory.

As her colleagues stifled their laughter, Lilly shot them a friendly glare.  “Hey, I figured it out eventually,” she protested mildly. “But I won this bet, so we’re even,” she concluded, illustrating the point by patting the pocket of her shirt, where her winnings lay snugly nestled.

“Drunk sex…” Jeffries mused, leaning back in his chair and lacing his arms behind his head. “You’d think that woulda been your guess, Nick,” he finished, as another teasing smile crept across his face.

Vera didn’t say anything, just glared briefly at Jeffries and returned his eyes to the paperwork.

“Sure have enough experience with it, Nicky,” Scotty added, grateful that, for the moment anyway, the squad’s attention was momentarily diverted from his sordid tale.

“Oh, bite me,” Vera retorted, turning his glare in Scotty’s direction. “Didn’t have to get Toni drunk.”

“No,” Scotty shot back with a darkly teasing grin, “you just had to buy her son a new basketball, then make puppy dog eyes at her and grovel your ass off.”Vera shrugged.

“Whatever, man, it worked. Five years and still goin’ strong.  Helluva lot better than anyone else around here’s doin’,” he pointed out, looking around at his colleagues with a proud smirk. Lilly and Scotty exchanged a glance, and Lilly conceded the argument with a flick of a brow and a casual shrug.

“So...” Jeffries continued, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he looked toward Scotty and returned the conversation to its original topic. “You and Miller got drunk and had sex. Anything else you feel like sharin’ with the rest of us?”

At that, Scotty felt a fiery irritation starting to rise within his chest. Personal matters were just that. Personal. And Will Jeffries, of all people, should know that. Yes, Scotty had screwed up, yes, he’d made yet another terrible mistake, yes, he’d, by default, put his personal life out on display by stupidly, and permanently, allowing it to mingle with his work life…but he’d be damned if he let his nosy, obnoxious co-workers turn it into sport any more than they apparently already had.

“Nah,” he replied as lightly as he could, though he hoped his colleagues would pick up on the undercurrent of annoyance in his voice.

Of course, they didn’t. Or, if they did, they chose to ignore it.

“Aw, c’mon,” Vera pressed eagerly. “Surely you can tell us somethin’.” He leaned forward, a conspiratorial glint in his eyes. “What’s she like when she’s drunk, huh? Obviously she’s a helluva lot more fun than she is when she’s sober…”

Scotty looked up, his jaw clenching and his eyes flashing fire, and, in a split second, Lilly read his expression, as he knew she would. Lil could practically read his mind, had been able to since day one, and although there were times when that ability of hers annoyed the crap out of him, there were other times, like now, when he found himself eternally grateful for it.

After a brief glance that was simultaneously searching and understanding, Lilly’s eyes quickly left his and focused instead on their irritating co-worker.“Leave it alone, Nick,” she instructed as she gathered up some files from her desk, her voice soft, but firm. “He told us how it happened. You got what you wanted to know.”

“Well, yeah,” Vera conceded petulantly, “but he left out all the good parts.” He smirked at Scotty, the expression obnoxious, almost leering, and Scotty was preparing a scathing, profanity-laced retort when Lilly beat him to the punch.

“Nick,” she continued, with a sharpness they didn’t usually hear from her outside the interview room, and one that commanded Vera’s instant attention. “She’s your friend. Your co-worker. You’ve known her for five years, and you didn’t get detail one out of her. That should say something to you. Yeah, we’re detectives, but there are some things even we don’t need to know.”

Vera rolled his eyes and sighed in defeat, and Scotty shot Lilly a brief glance of thanks, which she returned with a smile, then tossed a folder on Vera’s desk.

“Got a lead on the King job,” she told him. “Looks like one of those cyber-stalker types…Lucy somethin’ or other. You in?” she asked.

Vera perused the documents, then closed the folder abruptly with a shake of his head. “No way,” he declared, glancing up at Lilly and handing the file back to her. “Chick sounds batshit crazy. I got enough problems.”

“C’mon, Nick,” she pressed lightly, flashing him a winning smile. “I’ll buy you a donut.”

“Already had one,” he groused with a smirk.

“We’ll swing by Krispy Kreme,” Lilly continued, leaning over his desk and practically purring the name of the donut shop into his ear.

Vera paused, struggling mightily with the decision, and finally sighed and pushed his chair back from the desk. “Fine,” he acquiesced reluctantly, and the two departed shortly thereafter.

With a soft chuckle, Jeffries rose from his desk and headed toward the interview room. “Got another crazed Battlestar Galactica fan in there,” he informed his colleague, then paused, tapping his notes on Scotty’s desk, and Scotty glanced up suspiciously, suddenly dreading whatever trenchant observation his colleague was about to make.

Finally, Jeffries spoke.  “I got no idea what it is about that show that turns people into such fanatics,” he declared.

Scotty suppressed a sigh of relief.  He knew from experience that, in Jeffries’ mind, the matter with Kat was closed. 

“Yeah, me either,” he replied with a wry smile. “Hell, if it ain’t on Nickelodeon, I don’t know crap about it anymore.”

Jeffries smiled knowingly.  “You want in?” he asked, indicating the interview room with a nod.

“Nah,” Scotty answered. “Got some phone calls to make. Thanks, though.”

With Jeffries’ footsteps retreating into the background, Scotty tried to return his attention to the case, but realized, to his chagrin, that, thanks to the gentle interrogation by his colleagues, his thoughts were still in the past. Firmly, inescapably, in the past.  He made several more attempts to drag them into the present, but each time he tried, those thoughts dug their heels in more and more.

Finally, with a heavy sigh, he gave up trying to concentrate on work, at least for the moment. He’d been avoiding these thoughts, these memories, for three years. Of all the colossally stupid mistakes he’d made in his life, he ranked this one with Miller as perhaps his worst, and, ever since, even thinking about that night had made him wince with the memory of just how stupid he’d been. It was part of the reason he never talked about it; that and the fact that, really, it was nobody else’s business.

Now, though, now that his meddlesome co-workers had finally pressed the issue, he found the memories swirling around his mind almost uncontrollably; astonishingly vivid, detailed images of that fateful night. He knew from experience with his other screw-ups that the only way to get them to leave him alone would be to entertain them for a few minutes, to swallow his pride and let the flood of shame wash over him, to wallow in it for a bit, and then hope to God it would leave him alone.

But as he began to surrender to his memories, to his great surprise, revisiting that night didn’t bring the overwhelming sense of shame and regret he thought it might. Scotty didn’t have much time to contemplate the reasons why, though. The tidal wave of the past was crashing over his head, and all he could do was let it.

October, 2008

Later that night…

“You did not,” Kat slurred loudly, her smile wide and disbelieving as she set the bottle of bourbon on her coffee table with a heavy thunk.

“I did,” Scotty admitted, equally loudly, suddenly wondering how the hell there got to be two Kat Millers. One was frightening enough, thank you.

“You slept with Lil’s sister?” Without waiting for a reply, Kat swatted his arm again, although, thankfully, it was his left arm this time, and she was too drunk to land a solid hit.

“Hey, I was a jackass, okay?” he insisted defensively, his hand shaking slightly as he picked up the bottle and poured himself another shot. He met Kat’s eyes to gauge her reaction, and even through his drunken haze, he could see her arch an amused brow.

Scotty sighed.  “Look,” he protested. “It was a long time ago, and I was screwed up…”

“And I thought I had bad taste,” Kat chortled as she took the bottle from him and filled her own glass. “You screwin’ Lil’d be weird enough, but her sister? God, Valens, you’re such an idiot,” she declared as she replaced the bottle, perching it somewhat precariously on the edge of the coffee table.

Scotty couldn’t argue with that.  Instead, he smiled, a broad, loopy, intoxicated smile. “Well, if I’da had you around back then, I wouldn’ta slept with Chris,” he declared with a wiggle of his eyebrows, lifting his glass to Kat.

Her eyes widened, though, he noticed with a strange, curious feeling, not with the horrified alarm that he would have expected. He paused for a moment, still grinning roguishly at her, letting his words sink in, before finishing his thought.

“You’da cut ‘em off and thrown ‘em out the window before I had the chance,” he concluded, tossing the shot down his throat.

Whatever he’d seen flickering in her eyes the moment before disappeared in a fit of inebriated laughter.“Damn straight,” she agreed, emptying her own glass, then shook her head in disgust. “Lil’s sister,” she repeated.

Scotty grinned at her, suddenly spying an opportunity to turn the tables. “Well, Miller…sounds like you ain’t exactly got the best track record, either,” he observed.

Kat’s head snapped up, almost audibly, and she leveled him with a fiery glare.  The silence was deafening, and Scotty began to squirm uncomfortably as a thick, noxious cloud of tension suddenly filled the room.  No matter what he did, her eyes never wavered, and he wondered idly if he might actually into flames.  He was about to surrender, to apologize, to start groveling, anything to get that pair of murderous eyes to look somewhere, anywhere, but at him, when she abruptly and inexplicably relaxed her gaze, took a deep breath, and suddenly started chugging the bourbon straight from the bottle.

The tension dissipated as quickly as it had come, and Scotty couldn’t help the relieved chuckle that escaped his lips as he gently wrested the bottle from her hand and poured himself another shot. “That bad, huh?” he asked.

Kat wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and glared at him again, though her glare wasn’t as fiery and terrifying as it had been a moment before.

“I guess, since we’re drunk…” she began slowly, and Scotty quirked a curious brow at her. He hadn’t expected her to share anything; years of working together and still he could count on one hand the number of times she’d talked about anything personal with him. Suddenly, he found he was eager to hear whatever horror story she had to tell him. If she can top schizophrenic suicidal fiancée, my partner’s skanky sister, cheap Christmas trash in Nashville, and a pain-in-the-ass, ball-bustin’, what-the-hell-was-I-thinkin’ ADA, I’ll be impressed.

Kat sighed, a heavy sigh laced with years of regret. “Jarrod Jones,” she stated flatly, and, despite the intoxication, despite their lowered inhibitions, Scotty could tell how much it was costing her to even utter the name. He reached out a compassionate hand and rested it on her shoulder, and she flinched slightly, but, after a moment, relaxed into his touch, and he could tell that just that slight gesture meant more to her than he knew.

“Look, Kat, you don’t hafta---“he began, but she cut him off with a look.

“I’m drunk, Valens,” she informed him. “And this is parta why I didn’t wanna get drunk alone.”

Scotty knew better than to press her, so he remained silent and let her continue.

“I was undercover…he was a banger thug…and I knew better. I knew better,” she slurred bitterly, her eyes on the floor. “Workin’ undercover…you don’t take your eye off the ball. You don’t let ‘em into your head. And you sure as hell don’t sleep with ‘em.”

Scotty nodded, realizing that, essentially, he'd done the exact same thing. Granted, he’d never slept with the sweetly charming breath of fresh air that was Ana Castilla, but he’d gotten in over his head in other ways, focusing all his efforts not on his assignment, but on trying to rescue Ana from the underworld. At least Jarrod Jones didn’t wind up dead ‘cause of Kat, he mused, then, before he could start beating himself up about his undercover job for the umpteenth time, he decided it was time for another shot. As he tossed it down his throat and relished the burn, his thoughts surfaced with sudden clarity. He and Kat had both gotten too involved and in over their heads undercover…but she’d responded over the years by walling herself off, almost impenetrably, from everyone, while he kept doggedly making the same damn mistake, over and over again. Getting too involved, letting his heart rule over his head time after time. It was peculiar how similar their beginnings were, yet how different the roads their lives had taken.

“For one night…one stupid, reckless night…” she spat, “I forgot who I was. I forgot I was a cop. I forgot he was a banger.” She heaved a shuddering sigh and continued. “He promised me the world,” she lamented, her eyes faraway, her voice weighty with self-loathing. “And I believed him. I believed him. A banger thug. And me an undercover Narc.” She sighed and glanced at Scotty, then continued, shaking her head again almost violently. “And I wasn’t gonna do that. I wasn’t gonna be that…that sad, pathetic black girl from the hood who believed the bastard when he said he’d be around after you told him he knocked you up. I wasn’t gonna be the single mom strugglin’ to make ends meet. I was gonna rise above…be different…make somethin’ of myself,” she insisted, and Scotty could tell she was descending into an abyss that, although she probably didn’t succumb to it often, it was always there, always constant, always threatening to swallow her whole…

…and he’d be damned if he let it.

“Miller,” he said, the vast quantities of booze he’d consumed making his voice far louder than he intended. “You did rise above.”

“Yeah?” she asked, almost plaintively, and he could tell, from that and the lost, fragile, infinitely trusting look in her soulful eyes, that…good Lord, she was actually listening to him.

“You’re Kat Miller, badass of Homicide,” he replied with an intoxicated grin. “Don’t you know we’re all afraid of you?”

“I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” she burst out, and Scotty was taken aback by her sudden vehemence, and even more so by what he saw in her eyes.  For the second time that night, he saw her not as his colleague, not as the tough-as-nails cop who could kick his ass into next week if she put her mind to it, not even as his friend…but as a woman. One with heartaches and vulnerabilities and all the things he’d seen in the eyes of Elisa, of Ana, hell, even Lil a time or two, and it never failed to tug at his heartstrings…just as it was doing now, he realized to his chagrin.

You are drunk off your mother-lovin’ ass, Valens, his brain informed him.

“But bein’ a badass is the only way I can get any respect…from doers, from you all, from anyone,” Kat continued, seemingly oblivious to what was going on inside Scotty’s booze-addled brain. “You think the job’s tough now, try doin’ it as a black single mom,” she challenged him, and Scotty knew there was no way in hell he could compete with that.

“Oh, you’re a total badass, don’t get me wrong,” he informed her slowly, still stunned by what he saw in her gaze. “But that ain’t why I respect you.” Her eyes opened even wider with surprise as she looked over at him, and, encouraged, he continued. “I respect you ‘cause you’re a damn good cop, ‘cause you’re a great mom…and ‘cause you juggle all that better than anyone I know.”

Kat smiled, and as her lips curved upward in a dazzling smile and her mocha skin flushed slightly under his compliment, Scotty found himself suddenly and desperately in need of a distraction. Something. Anything. He didn’t care. Just something that would get his thoughts going in a different direction from where they were currently heading.

“You hungry?” he asked, and he saw relief cross her features, relief that he was sure was reflected in his own.Kat considered him for a moment, then shrugged.

“I could eat. Pizza sound good?” she inquired.

“Anything sounds good,” he answered, and Kat struggled to her feet and lurched her way to the counter for the phone and the sheaf of takeout menus she kept stashed in a haphazard pile nearby.

Scotty didn’t know what happened, but all of a sudden, he saw her start to pitch forward. He had no idea how he managed, in his addled state, to leap from the couch and cross the room in time for her to land in his outstretched arms instead of on the hard wooden floor, where she was headed, but he did, managing to catch her just before she landed.

He responded to the look of surprised gratitude in her eyes with a roguish grin. “Told ya you were a pretty good catch,” he couldn’t resist slurring as he helped her to her feet.

To Scotty’s astonishment, however, she didn’t let go of his shoulders when he raised her to a standing position, and he felt the heat of her fingers branding his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. And then…then she met his gaze again, and it took his breath away. There was something in her eyes, something depthless and primal. Like…he’d somehow said something she needed to hear, on an elemental level, and he was suddenly alarmed, yet deeply thrilled, that he knew exactly how she was about to respond.

As her lips slowly, tentatively drew closer to his, and he didn’t fight it like he knew he should, he realized that maybe…just maybe…this might get them both back in the game.