There's a First Time for Everything

← Previous • Next →

"Johnny Cage WINS!" boomed the deep, resonant voice of victory.

Hudson half-jumped out of his seat on the couch. "YES!! Hngh!" Frankey covered her mouth and started laughing raucously, falling over sideways on the couch. Not only had just he won against her in Arcade Mode for the first time—after she'd bought him his new tournament-calibre controller for his birthday—but he'd pulled off a near-perfect impression of Commander Data as his victory dance, and she couldn't stop laughing. He plopped back down onto the couch, face still flushed by the rush, looking like he almost didn't believe it. This time—this time— it was real. He'd actually beaten her!

Having slid almost all the way down onto the couch, she gave him a loving wink and a playful nudge on the upper arm with her knee. "Good game, Detective."

"Whoo! Yes! Yes, it was!" he declared, leaning over her, one arm planted heavily on either side of her, eyeing her over, what he was feeling a need for as plain on his face as his exercise of self-restraint. Her Cap'n Crunch t-shirt sat hiked up off her stomach, belly button showing, the shorts she was wearing were… short. Little better than underwear. Which… she wasn't wearing underneath. Unless she was mistaken, Hudson had just caught on to that fact. The look in his eyes and colour on his cheeks getting even hotter. He ducked down, dropping a long, heavy kiss onto her stomach where her skin was still covered. Seemed he'd decided to file that knowledge away for later.

While he entertained himself, nuzzling into her stomach, giving her kiss after, slow, meticulous kiss, she combed gentle, smoothing strokes through his hair. It was so much nicer when he didn't wear products in it the way he did for work.

The side of his neck and t-shirt collar came into view when his kiss started up the underside of her unconfined breasts. Her eyes came to rest on the gold clasp and chain peeking over the collar of his t-shirt. She saw him in casual clothing so rarely, she hadn't even clocked he wore anything under his dress shirts, always buttoned all the way up. She frowned, reaching for his neck. Puzzled at first, he quickly realized what she was going for and figured he could let himself enjoy whatever little bit of tickling touch her curiosity gave him. She brought it all the way up out from under his shirt her fingers sliding down the delicate gold chain, letting the tastefully simple gold cross hang before the centre of his chest. Swallowing nervously, she didn't know how to feel about it.

"You believe in God?" she asked. To his surprise there wasn't a trace of derision or even judgement in her tone. She'd known him long enough to know that if he held something in his heart, there was usually a damned good reason. Hudson's expression turned reflective. She sat herself back up, coming to rest beside him.

"I don't know if I'd call it believing… I did when I was young, like any good son, but…" Hudson turned his gaze away, a melancholy on his face that found its way into her heart just looking at it, while he looked for the words to go forward. "I think I've come to terms with the fact that it's a comfort blanket against the heinous shit people can do to each other, and the things we suffer through life. You're never gonna find me in a church confessional—if you need fear of losing your place in some unproven paradise to enforce your ability to do the right thing and admit you were wrong—you're not a good person and no amount of confessing changes that." Hudson scoffed. "I'm unconvinced it's not a literal power-play by clergy, collecting people's worst guilts as leverage. A form of state surveillance from the fuckin' Dark Ages." Hudson shook his head, thoroughly squicked right the fuck out by the thought. "It makes the things I see sometimes a little more bearable hoping that there might be something… nicer waiting for innocent souls who deserved precisely none of their fate." He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth, forcing water to stop coming up into his eyes. "I'm not remotely ashamed of needing that." He took a deep, unsteady breath, looking to Neagley. She had this tiny, sweet, accepting smile on. He hadn't expected that. She smiled a little bigger when she caught on to his surprise.

"I'm not against religion. Well, that's not entirely true." She shimmied closer on the couch, keeping her hand on his chest. It started moving in this subtle, soothing way. "I'll never be agnostic about someone who lives out their faith by trying to force it on others. Or institutions that shield sexual predators. You're right. It is a tool to control a population, even though the exact psychological tools used vary congregation to congregation and faith to faith. Faith practiced like you do, though…? If someone's going to make it a part of their lives, that feels like one of the thoroughly right ways to do it, and for some very right reasons." She put a comforting kiss on his shoulder. Whatever had come to mind when he started getting a little emotional hadn't gone away quite yet.

It felt a little strange to be saying it but… "Thank you, for letting me have that."

Frankey shook her head. "Oh no. Don't have to thank me. I'd be in the wrong trying to walk you away from it. Period."

Hudson nodded slowly, happy this wasn't a point of friction, unsure why he'd thought she'd be anything other than empathetic and logical about it. He slumped down into the couch, holding her hand onto his chest rearranging himself slightly so he could lay his head down on her shoulder and have some closeness with her.

"There's this movie—a line from it—the short of it is, God's Kingdom is in your head, heart, and the world around you. Not in man-made structures built by cutting down, quarrying, and destroying His actual church to create gaudy, opulent buildings with blood money and slave labour to worship Him in. Maybe not slave labour these days, but whenever I look at a massive church, all I see is vanity and greed taking money from people in visceral need of hope and community. Last I checked, that's a fuckin' sin. Churches like those are nothing more than an appetizing, unblemished façade over a colony of maggots."

An apple being eaten away at and rotted through from the inside out. An apt metaphor. Neagley smirked, snuggling in closer. "The Kingdom of God is inside you and all around you." Hudson turned his head up, face awash with amazement, watching her recite it flawlessly, cadence and all, from her shoulder. "Not in mansions of wood and stone. Split a piece of wood and I am there. Lift a stone and you will find me…" She smiled softly. "If I did keep a faith, that's a pretty good description of how I'd want to go about it."

"Wanna watch it?" he asked, one side of his lips going up in this slightly astonished smile, glad of an excuse to fill time he wanted to spend beside her anyway with some quiet entertainment.

Frankey nodded. "Yeah. It's already on the server. You gonna let me up?" she asked, giving the back of her head a scratch. She needed to sit forward to reach the remotes.

His groan as he moved his body away from her was a half-serious protest. Sure she needed to get things set up, but at the price losing the feeling of her body heat? He didn't like it. "Want something to drink?" He got to his feet, needing something for himself at least.

"Glass of water. Tall. Popcorn... please." She sent him off with a wink.

"As you wish."

Frankey started giggling, shaking her head as she dropped it backward onto the couch cushion, looking up at him from there. "You did fucking not..."

"I did fuckin' so," he lobbed back, grinning and laughing. He mentally filed The Princess Bride away on their "For Later" watchlist, too.

She liked watching him go. Finding a man like this among over four billion at nearly forty years old and on the first try? Odds like that looked something like hard proof there was more than physics and randomly decreasing entropy to life, the universe, and everything.

◇

Frankey came in the door quietly. The apartment was dim, no more than twilight outside to brighten it. Hudson sat on the couch with a novel in hand, waiting. The blu-ray disk was already in, looping the main menu, a holy choir sound clip over the images flashing across the screen. She didn't have to say a word. He stirred, smiling before he'd even laid eyes on her. "Hey. You made it."

She nodded coming over to the couch on sock feet, giving him a greeting kiss before heading back to the kitchen for water, filling a snack plate that was nutritious enough for a meal yet edible uncooked. "How's your drink?" she called over to him.

"Nearly full."

"Cold?" She held onto the freezer door with one hand, waiting. Hudson started chuckling quietly.

"I could use a cold pint glass." Smiling, she grabbed one from the freezer, happy with her craft bottled soda as was. She made her way to the couch both hands full.

"You ate?"

Hudson nodded in quiet answer, running a hand up and down the side of her leg in thanks for her consideration, putting the book aside. Neagley sat down, cozying up close with him. She'd felt like a movie night, but couldn't choose. He said he had one she owned he hadn't seen for a while and wanted to see again. It was in her top five of all time, making the choice easy. Once they settled in, Hudson set the movie rolling.

Gregorian voices raised in holy song set the aural atmosphere over a backdrop of dilapidated factories and project housing somewhere in South Boston. It was, according to the timestamp, Saint Patrick's Day. Smiling, Frankie started shuffling around, Hudson gladly accommodating, getting as much contact with him as she could without actually laying on him. As much as the exercise had him smiling, the moment he looked back at the screen, his air turned downright sombre. Frankey couldn't go more than thirty seconds without making sure there wasn't something wrong. "Why so seeerious?" she teased.

Hudson took a hard swallow of his beverage, like he was uneasy about answering. He did anyway. "For me, this is one hell of a lot more than a movie. It's the reason I'm laying here with you."

Frankey suddenly had a lightly teasing, incredulous look on her face. "Come on…! That's insanely cliché."

Hudson smiled, shrugging, giving her body a rub with one hand that gave them both a little bit of a blush. "Maybe… doesn't mean it's not true."

The humour drained out of her expression fast. Whatever was on his mind, it was genuinely heavy. "Can you… talk about it?"

Taking in a long breath, nodding, Hudson agreed. "Yeah, if you wanna pause the movie."

Neagley snatched up the remote instantly, freezing the frame in place.

Herding her into a more comfortable position, better suited to talking to each other, Hudson took a few relaxing breaths, like he was staring down a long road ahead. "I saw it with Mickey when I was thirteen. The same putz who tried to make it sound like he had an inroad with the police through me. That sermon… first time I saw it, it gave me this insane rush, like it filled me up with something amazing, but at the same time gave me these ice-cold chills. I took my allowance and bought a copy. Watched it until I couldn't anymore for all the scratches on the disk, then bought another. At first, it was just this fun vigilante story, but that feeling at the start only kept getting stronger. Eventually I figured out that the people The Saints were exterminating, were exactly like the family I loved. People I thought the world of.

"When my dad started grooming me into the fold, I was about fifteen. Bigger than most guys my age— not all, but most. Leaner and meaner. Quickly found out that my dad wasn't some businessman who travelled with this great-paying job he couldn't say much about. Saw him beat a couple of guys so badly… pretty sure their legs and arms never worked right again. Didn't see him or his buddies kill anyone, but I know they did. Pretty quickly I had a B n' E and some possession on my record. Figured out how not to get caught pretty quick after that. I wasn't just shaping up to be good at what we did, almost had to hide the fact I was better at it than my old man. His ego and temper couldn't have taken it and at that point, he could still thrash the shit outta me.

I was walking through a neighbourhood on the way home one night, saw this guy giving a girl some trouble. Trying to get some head or a hand job out of her from the sounds of things. I was no Saint, but… no way do you treat a woman like that in my presence and it stands. I started walking over fast to put a stop to it. When I got close enough to see who she was…"

"Tracy…" Neagley guessed quietly.

There were tears coming into Hudson's eyes. He nodded. "When I saw her, I lost it. I don't even remember being able to see him after a while. I started swinging and I couldn't stop. She started runnin' and screamin' herself hoarse for help, not for herself—or me—she needed someone's help to stop me before I killed the guy and wound up going down for murder. Couple of my cousins and a good friend weren't far behind me leaving the pool bar. It took all three of them. I don't think it's fair to say they got to me just in time. Some miraculously talented paramedics, ER doctors, and very probably the literal hand of God, saved his life."

Laying a hand over his mouth subconsciously, like that had any chance of hiding his words away, he confessed. "Frankey, I killed a man that night." Hudson dug a pair of fingers into his chest, double-tapping his heart, so hard it probably hurt him. The man in her arms might never attend a church service in his adult life, but he held himself most seriously responsible for the worst of mortal sins, even though the man lived. He didn't have to say a word of the rest and Frankey understood. In my heart, I killed a man that night—I know I did. God just kept him here to serve the rest of his sentence in the care of merciful jailors.

"He walked again, but his vision never recovered—lost one eye eventually, the other's fucked, too—hands and arms were messed up for good. His brain suffered damage and it showed from the start, never really getting better. He's in a wheelchair permanently now. Doesn't hear so well. I serve him lunch almost every time I volunteer for a couple church lunch kitchens in the area. Gave me a heart attack the first time he came through but he can't recognize me. They charge a pittance for the amount of food they give each person, and he never has to pay. I usually find a way to sneak some extra in there, too. They agreed to let me serve him whenever we see him."

Hudson swallowed. "Trace was strongly haphephobic before that, but after that night, she got worse, a whole lot worse. He hadn't outright raped her—thank God—but being accosted and forced to touch him through his clothes was bad enough. She might've been somewhat normal—lived a normal-adjacent life, found a man good enough to be with—if not for that night. It was never going to be me. After she'd witnessed me beat him down, just seeing me terrified her for years after. She's still not comfortable around me alone. That's why I asked you to see her. He was never the same, but… neither was she. She hasn't gotten much better. I call that natural justice."

The softness of Frankey's features felt like absolution. Hudson winced, looking away. He's wasn't sure he deserved or wanted any. The man's penance for sexually attacking his friend was unequivocally just. What weighed most heavily on his conscience, what was most frightening, was looking in the mirror and knowing, every time, his own personal Mr. Hyde was in there lurking under the impeccably tidy grooming, handsome, kind face, trustworthy eyes, gentle hands, and professed deputy-to-the-law ethics. He still didn't know, one way or the other, if he was just someone who refused to tolerate the abuse of others, feeling righteous rage witnessing it, or if he was his father's savage son, and what had showed through was his true self—one not worthy of the position of trust he held and the woman he so dearly cherished.

"I was arrested, charged, arraigned. Never denied what I'd done, but wouldn't plead guilty either. In the process of that, an interviewing officer I gave a statement to, said something or asked me something—I don't remember what it was—but things I'd been keeping buried somewhere under the rock bottom of my heart started coming out. Once I learned where my family's money came from—money that paid for all the boisterous, happy, bountiful family gatherings, more food and booze than a poorer family can afford and eat in a month all in one night, piles of gifts at Christmas and birthdays—instead of looking forward to times like those, I dreaded them. It felt like sitting at a gathering surrounded by a macabre jackals masquerade, each posing as loving people. One wrong word and the mask comes off, and they rip your face off. It was all fake. This grotesque veneer of piousness and generosity plastered over the sickening violence that paid for it. It felt like I was being chained down and forced, every day of my life, to eat this beautiful, pristine apple that should have tasted deliciously sweet, but even one bite and you've bitten deep enough to realize there's this colony of writhing maggots inside, and some of them in part and whole are already in your mouth, but you can't spit it out, you've gotta chew, savour, swallow, and smile like everyone else. Worse, you have to eat the whole fucking thing. Then, do the same thing all over again when you wake up the next day. And the day after that. Not only that, you realize you are one of those maggots, eating away the healthy tissue of the world around you. You're just another mindless maggot and all you know how to do is feed, fuck, shit, and sleep."

Neagley had gone conspicuously quiet. He didn't meet her gaze as he kept on. "I confessed to that officer like I was talking to a priest, almost word for word as I've told you. When I was done he was sitting stone silent and still across the table from me, nothing I could make out as one thing or another on his face. Probably working out whether he should believe me or not. He left. I was sent back to my cell. I didn't ask him outright for anything. It was like he knew I couldn't see that far ahead. Next day, I was brought back to the interview room. Must've talked to the prosecutor. He spelled it out for me: I'd indisputably come to the defense of someone I clearly loved, I hadn't intended to kill him, but that didn't change the fact that I had beaten a man to the precipice of death. That had to be answered for and that kind of violence sworn off. I plead guilty to a lesser charge, time served counted and I served six months more. If I'd had to serve a full sentence for anything more severe, it would have to appear on my adult record. That I serve the time well was his condition for helping me. I showed him how serious I was about wanting out by going through the sentence a model prisoner. When I got out, after I turned eighteen, he'd give me a letter of reference for job applications and co-sign an apartment so I could get clear of my family if I wanted to—so I know exactly how critical it is that Keno have somewhere to fall back on where he's safe from whoever might try to get their hooks into him. I never re-offended—or came even close. I got out. And here we lay, because of this movie, and that selfless man."

Neagley looked on him, affection in her eyes if nowhere else in her expression. Hudson had served his six month term, but he'd given himself a life sentence—and that was just for evening out the score between a friend he profoundly cared for and her attacker. Her eyes started watering to the point of crying. "I'm sorry I called you cliché." Sniffling, a tear fell from each of her eyes and her head and neck squirmed, trying to keep from crying any worse.

"Hey, hey! There's no need for that!" Hudson, cleared the water out from under her eyes with his feather-light touch, lightly giving the underside of her chin a lifting tap. Chin up. "I call this one helluva a happy ending."

Frankey smiled, nodding, coming in for a long, savouring kiss. "Me too."

By unspoken agreement they settled down to watch the movie and hit play. The Father's sermon was just beginning after the guest priest—Father Macklepenny—opened the service with a grace prayer. They listened in heavy silence as though attending the church themselves.

"I am reminded, on this holy day, of the sad story of Kitty Genovese. As you all may remember, a long time ago, almost thirty years ago, this poor soul cried out for help, time and time again. But no person answered her calls. Though many saw, no one, so much as called the police. They all just watched as Kitty was being stabbed to death in broad daylight. They watched, as her assailants walked away." That in-universe fact, and the Father's devil-may-care tone in telling it gave her an evil chill, every time. "Now…"

Hudson's voice rumbled in his chest under her ear in unison with hers, as they recited the holy Father's admonishment of his congregation: "We must all fear evil men, but there is another kind of evil which we must fear most! And that is; the indifference of good men."

◇

"I can't believe you suggested watching this. It's so gooey and cheesy you could pour it over nachos. The acting—!" Frankey sat down in front of Hudson, already reclined back into the corner of the couch so that she could lay back on him, handing him his craft bottled cream soda, leaving the popcorn within reach on the coffee table.

"Let me have my pulp fiction detective flicks, all right?" he insisted, taking his first sip of the fizzy pop. "'Sides, I chose it from your collection!" Frankey smiled, laughing under her breath as the truth shone light on her hypocrisy. She liked it just as well as if not better than he did. Gave him a heated wink before getting her self up close to his groin and leaning back slowly enough he could protest if something started to hurt. Not a hint of discomfort. In fact, clearly enjoying himself, he put a hand over her stomach and womb, getting her as close against him as possible and keeping her there. She gave her hips a little shimmy against him. He sighed out his pleasure, stamping a kiss on the back of her shoulder.

"Guilty as charged, Detective," she confessed. She'd lost count of how many times she'd seen it in her lifetime. The bad guy was so cliché and simplistic the second hand embarrassment was hard to stand. Took talent to act that out and still give it visceral menace. Which the actor had. Even though the action could have used some polish, until you realize that harkening back to shows like the original Batman with the cheesy choreography might have been intentional. That was what made it rewatchable. Those moments where you realize there are some decently talented people creating a very specifically envisioned tableau that, at least at some point, had to have fully intended to make fun of itself. Despite its flaws, it managed to be good fun.

~~~

"This guy is ridiculously good-looking. I wish we'd seen more of him like this on screen." Hudson said, quietly, squirming around underneath her.

Neagley choked on her sip of soda pop. "Come again?" Her expression turned quizzical. That wasn't getting comfortable. It felt… sexual.

Hudson shrugged, laughing. "What? He is. These work, you know…" he said, pointing at his eyeballs.

Her heart started beating a little faster, and just a little unevenly. A frown and a slight wince played out on her face. Dots were connecting and she didn't seem to like where they led. "Is… this… why you needed almost no help from Viagra when you had the dildo made?" They'd been laying down on the couch, back to chest. She sat up and turned around. The way Hudson looked at her… and then wouldn't anymore. "I… sorry. Nevermind," she mumbled. The answer was obvious but he didn't want to say anything. Now, she wasn't sure she should even lay back down with him. What had been a wonderfully cozy evening over a cheesy comic book hero slash detective flick felt like it had gone up in smoke like a lighting matchhead that instantly died. She found herself potently wishing she'd exercised better discretion over what came out of her mouth.

Then, a little smile quirked up one side of Hudson's lips for a split second. When he spoke he did so slowly, like he was talking to a creature easily spooked. "It… is." He was breathing shallower, colour coming into his cheeks that wasn't there before. "He was attractive. Good with his hands, and looked like he took good care of 'em, too."

Something in Neagley sank a bit. If she had to hazard a guess, this was what jealousy and possessiveness felt like. The emotions were brand new and un-fucking-pleasant. She grimaced, but the question had come to mind and something in her needed an answer. To get rid of an unknown. "Did… he… help you out?"

Hudson fixed her with a cool, assessing stare, suddenly looking as though he was standing on ground he was prepared to defend, even if it meant doing so against her. "If he did, is that a problem?"

Frankey grimaced and winced in earnest now, eyes watering. She was looking down eyes racing around at a fraction the speed of her mind, but she wasn't looking at his body. Her field of vision didn't even make it that far. It wasn't that the "technician" might have given him a hand that was the worst part of what she was feeling. Something ugly in her was railing against it, and… had they made it this far only to find out she wasn't a very good partner? Or maybe even a good person about something this intrinsic to who he is? Hudson shimmied back away from her on the couch. Not all the way. Slightly, but still, he did.

Realizing the unfairness of the hypothetical, Hudson course-corrected. "Did I fantasize about him instead of you? No. Did he use his hand to keep me hard at any point? No. Whenever it was needed, I did it, thinking about you. But, he definitely had to have his hands on me to work, and whenever he did, he made sure it felt pretty good, and that helped."

It felt like there was an angry little prey animal scratching around in her chest. She… started thinking back. The way Hudson had stayed with her, taking every moment of her touch with him he could into the room with him before they let the doors close between them. How, when he'd knocked and she'd opened the door, holding him and thanking him, there had been something about it she couldn't stick a pin in. Almost like… he'd come home from somewhere he never should have been. When he came back home to her… he'd embraced her so tightly, as though holding on to something—someone—he couldn't stand losing. Like he'd returned home from a battle hard-fought and won, and the woman he'd fought for was still at home waiting for him, even though he'd been gone for too long. She remembered the way he'd held her hand, and asked her to keep hugging him until he could get himself together and walk through the storefront without giving too much away to someone who had no business knowing anything that closely guarded.

He watched, as a warm, fond smile found its way onto her lips. Her eyes watering when she met his gaze again, all traces of what might have been jealousy gone, washed away by loving gratitude. He breathed again, shivering. The danger had passed. She moved closer on the couch, right up against the underside of his groin, sliding her hand under his waist, staying there giving the side of his back a soothing touch. She swallowed nervously, meeting his eyes. "It's not a problem. At all. Even if he had actively helped you. The way you held on to me afterward, I thought you'd been through something more unpleasant than you anticipated. But… it was more enjoyable than expected, and looking back on it in this light… seems like you were returning home to someone… you needed to hold onto."

Hudson's tension left him entirely. Yeah. That was it exactly it. The perfect metaphor for it, too. Still, he couldn't find any words to say. He took in a shaking breath.

This time, it was Frankey talking like she had a creature in need of soft tones and a gentle touch on her hands. "How strong is it?"

He frowned slightly. "What d'you mean?"

A smile formed and disappeared on her mouth on and off like she was finding things going through her head funny, but this was not a time to laugh about any of it. "On a scale of 'I might watch gay porn once in a while and get off to it'… to 'I'm going to need to go to a bar at least twice a year and pick a guy up for a night to get it out of my system'… to 'we'll have to talk, eventually, about regularly inviting someone we choose to have his penis up my ass while I make absolutely mad love to you'… how strongly do you like other men?" Her fingers and thumb were moving under his flesh, with this subdued scratching motion. Felt good and he sank onto her hand a little more.

Hudson bowed his head and started laughing. Her ability to construct scenarios on the fly like that was something fuckin' else. "More like… if I'd never met you and the opportunity presented itself, there isn't much I wouldn't do to or take from Jensen Ackles. Even then, I won't be needing a Get Out of Jail Free card for him anytime soon. Or ever." He took hold of her forearm, running his thumb back and forth over it, but still wasn't looking her in the eyes.

Frankey ducked her head down fishing for his gaze and he gave it to her. "Me neither."

He took in a relaxing breath, kissing her forehead.

"Would you… ever need to have another man in bed with us?" She was fairly certain she knew the answer, but getting it out of the way and understanding his thoughts, seemed like a solidly good idea.

"Forcing you to have to adapt to a whole second person? I never have and never will need it that badly. It just… tickles my eyes and dick every once in a blue moon," he explained, relaxing all the way down into the couch, and into her. Nothing an orgasm with her couldn't completely satisfy.

Looking him over like she was trying to figure something out, she had this slightly impish, subtle smile on. She leaned in closer, bringing their bodies half way back together. "I have slimmer toys I'd be willing to consign… you have a prostate. Maybe the two should meet?"

He couldn't meet her eyes while he waited for everything he was feeling about it, to take on a form he could express. He was never going to ask her to strap on a dildo even if it was only four or five inches long and an inch or less in diametre and peg him, but he had a feeling that if something vibrating gave that pleasure trove even a feather light graze, he'd get off almost instantaneously and it would burn him down like a firecracker. That sounded like something worth feeling at least once in his life.

He closed his eyes, dropping head back onto the couch arm, nodding, adrenaline crashing. They were small, but true. He didn't know when, but he knew wanted to try. He felt her moving but didn't open his eyes. When she settled, her lips were hovering over his. "Are you okay?" Not, are we okay—no concern for herself whatsoever—it was, are you?

"Yeah." He smiled blissfully. "I'm good. I'm all good."

She kissed him deeply even though her lips stayed closed. He wrapped himself around her every way he could while it lasted. When it broke at last, she held their mouths together a few seconds longer. Eyes closed, they could feel each other smiling. She slid down his body like a seal back into the water, snuggling tightly into his chest. She reached out from under the blanket for the remote, rewinding back to start of the scene with Billy Zane, shirtless in the Skull Cave, so they could fully appreciate every moment of the sight of his beautifully built torso, unreasonably appealing arms, clean shaven face, charming smile, gorgeous dark hair that harkened back to handsome men of a bygone era on the silver screen, and that adorable Clark Kent curlicue hanging over his forehead, together.

◇

"You're not even doing this for me! You're doing it so a woman you wanna get your dick into will think you're some kind of fuckin' sai—" Keno stopped mid-word when Riley charged back at him only to stop short inches from his face like a thousand pound bull before a chute gate.

Riley locked his gaze onto him in a way that told Keno if he so much as looked away, he stood a very high chance of leaving the room in a body bag. "Never say something like that to me again. I don't like you, kid, and I don't dislike you, either. I like people I can trust, and the jury's still out on what kind of man you have it in you to be. I know exactly what it's like, to be on the outside looking in, with no way out of the rats nest you were born into." Hudson jabbed a pair of fingers into his own chest. "I wouldn't be where I am today—who I am today—if some damned fine men and women hadn't taken some fuckin' long shots on me when they did. I'm not doing this for me. I'm not even doing it for Neagley—even though it's true she thinks one helluva a lot of me for it—I'm doing it for you."

The pair of fingers at his chest turned on Keno. "I'm doing it to honour the people who helped me get free of where I started out in this world. I figure maybe—just fuckin' maybe—you're my shot at paying just a fraction of what's been done for me forward to help someone I see way too damned much of my younger self in." He stopped himself giving what he was saying a chance to be absorbed and digested. He sighed deeply, expression hardening. "Do not fuck this up, 'cause if you do, there will be no second chance." He kept his eyes fixed to Keno's as he took a step back, letting the kid go from the state of fear he looked to be in. Giving his head a few disappointed shakes he turned his back on the boy, heading to Neagley's office to fill her in and try to figure out what to do for him. He had a few ideas, and a favor or two in his back pocket that could come in handy, but…

"Hudson?" Riley stopped in his tracks. The next words outta the kids mouth would be telling. He owed it to himself as much as the punk behind him to at least hear him out. "I'm sorry. That was right the fuck outta line for me to say. You're right to be pissed off. I don't know if you can forgive me… but… fuck!" When Hudson didn't move, turn around or give even the slightest sign he'd think about accepting the apology, something in Keno broke. It washed over him in one terrifying second that it really was possible to lose everything he had here, and there were lines that could never again be crossed, and never should have been in the first place. His understanding of all that, came out in that single, panicked curse.

Riley laughed, shoulders sagging, taking a deep breath as he turned around. There was hope for the boy after all. "Kid, I'm not pissed. I'm irritated, and more than a little scared for you. If I'm ever pissed off with you, I'll break your pretty face in six different places before you figure out what's happenin'."

Keno started laughing. "Bud, you have some serious anger issues."

"I'm aware of that," Hudson assured him, giving his head a little tilt to one side. Hudson sat the edge of Renee's nearby desk, sorting out in his mind how to explain himself to the kid. "Look, lemme explain this to you; I'm in your corner, Keno. All right? So is Neagley. But I've stuck my neck out for you with a woman whose respect and trust I value more than I'm ever going to value you. You burn me in her eyes, my patience for you will run out. Don't think I got where I am today without my fair share of fuck-ups and backslides. She appreciates that, same as I do. Being able to genuinely apologize and learn fast, exactly like you just did, has saved me more times than I count. Making the right choice, more often than you'd think, feels like shit. It might be the hardest thing you ever do. Let that be your guiding light." Hudson sighed, collecting his patience back together. "If you can believe there's something waiting for you on the other side of getting out that's more worthwhile than you can possibly grasp right now, you'll save yourself a lot of grief. So you know; that is the voice of experience talking. No, I will not elaborate." Hudson gave him a gentle waving off. "Go make yourself scarce for a day. I've gotta call in a favor."

Keno came at him, hugging him. Sighing, Riley solidly hugged him back then cinched it up just a little tighter. The care in it was real.

"Kid, you're street smart as hell, and you've got a solid gold heart, but your luck is so fuckin' bad its should be statistically impossible. Now, get off me. You smell like a fuckin' fish market dumpster. I don't even wanna know why." Keno let him go right quick. Giving his suit jacket lapel an exploratory lift, holding it closer to his nose, he gave it a sniff. "Gonna have to change and shower before goin' home tonight. Just had this fuckin' dry-cleaned…" Hudson groused, rolling his eyes. He could only hope it didn't rub off in his car, too. Keno took that as his cue to skeedaddle.

"Hey, kid…"

Keno turned around. "Yeah?"

There was a kindly smile on Hudson's face. "Look, relax. It's a solvable problem. Go shower, throw those clothes and shoes out and tie the bag so they don't stink up the place or the washer, and get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow morning will be a perfectly clean slate. I promise."

Keno grinned. He'd probably never get to know what it was like to have a father—it was way too late in life for that—but he was beyond any doubt this was what having an older—way older—brother who genuinely loved him would've felt like.

Riley sat down at Neagley's desk, collecting himself, taking out his phone. He sent Neagley three flashing red klaxons. Translation: three alarm fire.

She was back to him in seconds. Keno?

Who else? He signed it off with an "eyeroll" face. Neagley reacted with an "ROFL" face.

All in rapid-fire succession…

Yes, ma'am. Riley tacked a red heart on the end. She instantly reacted the same.

~~~

Hudson knelt beside the couch on his haunches. "Frankey… Frankey. C'mon, wake up." The one thing he couldn't do to wake her was touch her. The first and only time he'd ever done it she nearly punched his nose clean off his face. He still remembered what the wind wake from the punch felt like and how narrowly he'd dodged. One more try and he'd have to let her…

"Mn… hey," she whispered, her voice strained from disuse. The more awake she got, the wider her smile became. "You're home."

"Thank you. I was wondering where I was," he quipped lightheartedly, leaning into the kiss she was coming at him with. His expression quickly turned serious.

"Is… Keno…?" she asked, rubbing sleep out of her eyes.

Hudson quickly put her worry about the kid to rest. "No. He's fine. He's gonna have to stay scarce for a day—or two—but it's all right." He gave Frankey a reassuring wink.

"Good. I'm not sure I want to hear about it tonight."

Hudson laughed. Understandable. Completely understandable. He needed to start getting how disappointed he'd been out of his system. Until…

"Was it… illegal?"

"There room for me?" He put a hand on her forearm, stroking his thumb over her skin.

Frankey frowned, sitting up and back. "Yeah. C'mere."

Hudson stood, his jacket, shoes and belt coming off quick, he slotted himself down onto the couch beside her as quickly as he could. She was laid against his chest, looking up, as he settled in, a dark shadow over his face, as he sorted out his thoughts. Clearing his throat, he started laying out his thoughts. "It was. Misdemeanour. I would've arrested anyone else."

"Then why didn't you?"

"He's not juvenile. If I arrested him, he'd be charged and it'd stay on his record. He couldn't go into law enforcement, law, or any other career along those lines."

Frankey genuinely frowned. "Then maybe he shouldn't."

Hudson sighed. "When it comes to helping him, we're late to the game, Frankey. His situation is a lot more delicate than mine was."

He had her undivided attention know. "What happened?"

"He asked me to meet him at the office. When I got there…"

~~~

"The way he sounded when he said it, I think it hit him—really hit him—that this kind of thing is a No Fly Zone. He violates it again, I'm gonna have to put things right and arrest him." Hudson was biting the inside of his lip. This was weighing on him more than Keno had any right to forgiveness for, yet here he was, choosing to carry it for the kid's sake.

Ducking her head down, Frankey planted a kiss on his chest over his heart. Smiling, she looked him in the eye. "When you said you didn't like him, that wasn't true."

Hudson shook his head, putting his hand over hers, moving it back and forth. "I figured out a long time ago; you're not always lucky enough to like your family, but no matter what, you love them and you don't want to see anything bad happen to them." Neagley threw her lithe leg over his lap, leaned in, resting her ear next to his heart. "What… are you doin'?"

"Listening to what a heart that big sounds like."

"At least let me—" Get comfortable.

"Shh!"

Scoffing, Hudson obeyed, sinking into the cushions and laying his head to the side as he figured out where to rest his arm and hand, settling on the bottom of her ribcage and on her ankle.

"Frankey, I really am sorry I'm late. Look, if you ever feel like it's sticking in your craw, at all, please, at least tell me so I can try to make it right?"

Taking in a breath to wake herself all the way up, she looked at him quizzically.

He sighed out a deep breath. "I've had a couple relationships fall apart because of it, and I don't want you to think I don't respect you or value your time…"

Frankey started laughing quietly. "You're talking to someone used to disappearing to another city for nine or ten days at a time to go make sure a giant hobo with a knack for finding trouble—or being found by it—gets through whatever he's gotten into. Someone who keeps no regular hours and has to work to all hours of the night if something comes up. I haven't stopped being that person, and you're still here. We don't have fixed working hours. You're not late. You're done when you're done."

Hudson leaned in, giving her a heated kiss. Just one more reason he loved her. "Thank you."

Unsure he fully understood her, inhaling, Frankey fixed him with as serious a look as he'd ever seen from her. "Hudson, it's not as though you're subjecting me to some kind of one-sided temporal mistreatment. When I choose to wait for you, I'm reciprocating. You wait for me, in other parts of our lives, every single day, for months, with no end in sight, and no sign of impatience or resentment. This is my way of saying thank you. I will always wait for you."

"Yeah?" Neagley nodded emphatically, smiling. Hudson closed his eyes taking in an uneven breath, the look in his eyes when he opened them again watery, like a weight had been lifted he was very happy to no longer be afraid of. He leaned over, giving her a kiss he probably shouldn't have but couldn't help. Frankey came back at him even hotter, and if tonight was heading for a rub down from her that was the best news he'd had today.

His stomach gurgled long and loud, the two of them freezing at the sound.

Frankey smiled, giggling. "I'll reheat dinner. Want a beer?"

"Please."

◇

"How tired are you?" Frankey crooned from close by his ear.

One hand in his pocket, her hands and arm wrapped around his arm, he smiled, laughing quietly, giving her hand a few sensuous strokes. "I'm feelin' frosty enough. What d'you have in mind?" Leaning in close enough to be kissed, he waited. A loud scraping and clattering sound from the sidewalk ahead fractured the rapture between them, had both their undivided attentions. There was a woman on the street ahead. Nicely dressed—if your destination is a rave nightclub. The scraping and clattering sounds… she'd dragged her feet hard and dropped her phone, and she was bending down for it. His eyes really didn't need to know she wasn't wearing underwear, but they did now. He averted his eyes slightly. Whatever she was under the influence of she was in for the mother of all hangovers. He positioned himself well between the girl and Frankey as they walked nearer.

He whispered next to Frankey's ear, "There's a kit in my trunk. Let's get the car and come back for her." Neagley nodded. Girl couldn't get very far.

Late at night, after businesses closed, this turned into a rougher neighbourhood. It wasn't unusual to have to walk past one or more vagrants bent over double, hands dragging on the ground, leaning against a wall in the throes of a drug high. A fraction of a second after she fell behind his peripheral vision…

"Sir-r…? Can you help me?" She'd grabbed the arm of his jacket, holding on to keep herself standing. The look in her eyes was that of an animal who'd been kicked and downtrodden too many times for too damned long.

They stopped in their tracks, and Frankey let him go. "Y-yeah, sure. Can we call you a cab? Whoa!" Almost the moment he finished the question, she started taking a nose dive for the pavement and he wound up holding her up by an accidental handful of her chest. He balled up both hands trying to hold her up with his forearms instead. She perked up violently, a look of revulsion on her face.

She shoved him away with surprising force. Frankey braced him against stumbling further backward. "Get your hands off!!" she shouted viciously, stumbling backward, smacking against the glass behind her hard enough it was amazing it hadn't cracked or shattered. She sank, sitting precariously on the brick window sill, holding the back of her head.

Hudson put both hands up, taking slow, small steps closer. "Okay, okay. I'm really sorry. I didn't want you to fall and hit your head. You know what… stay right there. Let us call you an ambulance. I'll pay for it. Just…"

She spat on him. Landed on a pant leg. "Piss off, asshole."

He sighed. Fact of the matter was, he couldn't call an ambulance for someone who could tell him not to. "All right. I will. We'll go. I'm sorry."

Backing away, stuffing his hands into his pockets, he came back close by Frankey's side. "She doesn't look good," Neagley said unsurely, quickly taking him by the arm.

"No, she doesn't." He sighed heavily, looking back over his shoulder, assessing her condition. She might be closer to passing out than they were to their car. "Do me a favor—"

"Walk slowly?"

Hudson half-smiled, chuckling. He put a caressing hand over hers on his forearm. God in Heaven he loved this woman. They walked on in silence a good hundred metres or so, hearing a few staggering footsteps, a skittering beer bottle, a tumble of a piece of scrap wood, then… nothing. Hudson frowned, looking backward. "Where'd she go?"

Frankie, narrowed her eyes, scanning the street. The only other person on the road was two blocks and behind them. "Inside the bar? Calling a cab?"

No… he hadn't heard a door open. It was the instinct of any vulnerable animal to find a secluded place when they were too ill or injured to survive. Human beings were no exception. He turned around, moving at the fastest walk he could manage without running, coming to the mouth of a slim alley between buildings. There was only enough room for dumpsters and various refuse on one side of the passage. Neagley came up behind him. He dug his phone out of his pocket turning on the flashlight, the brightest area of the beam pointed down the open side of the alley. Nothing. No one. He panned down to the recycling bins, trash cans, discarded wooden palettes, the dumpster…

"Shit!" They said it as one. A pale-skinned foot, half-in, half-out of a pretty, heeled, glittering shoe was clearly visible sticking out from behind the dumpster. Hudson handed Frankey his phone and sprinted over to the girl. No matter how physically impressive Frankey was, she couldn't move as quickly in heels. He skidded to a stop standing over the young woman—she couldn't have been more than nineteen, seventeen even—getting down on one knee, pulling her up from where she lay limp, among reeking restaurant garbage bags and water-logged cardboard, into the light Frankey carried with her. Ducking out of the light, he held her face up. Hard to tell if she was turning blue or if she was just that pale because it was wet and chilly. Gently as he could he held her face turned toward the light and opened one of her eyes. The only person who could ever have fit anything through a pupil that small was the dude in the Bible who threaded a camel through the eye of a needle.

"She's overdosing, badly. Call nine-one-one." Patting his pockets, Hudson's stomach sank. Neagley didn't have her purse; he was carrying her phone 'cause dinner and the movie had been on him tonight. As he stood up, mind racing, Neagley got down beside the girl, emergency services call already dialling, evening dress ripping, tights ruined almost on contact with the pavement. He ran out onto the street going to the nearest bar. The sign had been on when they walked past, hadn't it? It wasn't now. He tried the door. Locked. Pounding on the door he waited. Tried again. One more time. "POLICE! OPEN UP! There's a girl out here overdosing!" Ten seconds. Twenty. Nothing. He checked his watch. Late enough it was early. Closing time. Everything else was restaurants and retail stores closed hours ago. He sprinted back to the mouth of the alley. There were sirens in the distance, but they were… distant. "Frankey?"

"Ambulance is on the way. ETA ten, maybe twelve minutes. I'm staying on the line." Neagley had the girl over on her side, covered in her ruined dress jacket. Neagley fixed him with a grim stare, giving her head a subtle shake. If this girl had that long she was one in a million.

Stripping his jacket off as he rushed back to them, digging for his car keys, he handed it to Frankey to cover her better, keep her warmer. He knelt, taking the ankle piece he carried out of it's holster, offering it to her. Neagley took it carefully.

"I'm going for it." He stood as Neagley nodded.

Hudson beat feet like the Hounds of Hell were on his heels. The lot was two blocks away. He had five doses of Narcan in the First Aid kit in his trunk. His lungs and throat burned within seconds of hitting a dead sprint. Vaulting the lot's fence, hardly slowing down, at the same time he tried to remember where they fuck they'd parked, he scanned the lot pressing his alarm button. On the second press his black Ford five cars away lit up and let loose a blaring cacophony. He course-corrected toward it, beelined to the trunk, he popped the hatch and snatched up the First Aid checking to know it was there before running back. If it wasn't he'd have to break into another car and the roll the kid's dice on finding some there. Seven doses. Plenty. Slamming the trunk closed he made it back over the fence a little slower. Hard to pick up speed running through cars with their rear view mirrors sticking out.

Snatching the First Aid kit up off the pavement where he'd dropped it to keep both hands free, he tear-assed it back to the alley. His mouth and throat tasted like blood, ears ringing.

The phone's light in the alley was out. "Frankey!?" He sprinted the last few steps to her side. Frankey was on her back beside the girl, thousand yard stare in her eyes, shivering weakly. "Oh God! The fuck did you do!?"

"Sh-sh-e…d-mn… um s-sorrry…"

Hudson ripped into the kit making sure he had track of all seven doses, donning a pair of durable nitrile gloves. For a split second he considered dosing the girl first. Lord forgive him, he didn't. "Do not die on me, soldier. Do not fucking die on me!!" he shouted, holding her head in hands pointing her eyes toward him. Hand under Neagley's head to hold her steady, he put the spout up her nose. "Breathe, Frankey. Heave." He pressed the dose the exact moment she hauled in every cubic centimetre of air she could. "Hold… Breath out." She did. "In." She did, he emptied the cartridge and went for a second one. "Last one." Up the other nostril, and they had it empty in another two breaths. He watched Frankey's eyes get just a little clearer under the full moon's light. That had to do. He'd give the girl four if she wasn't already dead, and save the last one for Frankey if the first two wore off.

He lay the First Aid kit beside the kid's head, holding her up. She looked bad, eyes vacant, skin blue. If she wasn't already dead, she had seconds. "Kid, if you can hear me, when you feel something go up your nose, breathe. As hard and deep as you can. Here it is." He sprayed the dose. No breath. Giving her chest three hard, deep pumps, he went back and emptied the first one. Then the second, the same cycle, up the other nostril. No breathing. There was a sickening grinding sound and feeling coming from her chest. Bones in her ribcage were already broken. Frankey had started giving her proper CPR and rescue breathing. God, if there is any mercy in you, give her the strength to breathe. "Come on, kiddo. There's a whole beautiful life out there worth living for. Come on! Breathe!" Third one. Full speed chest compressions, a chance to breathe. Nothing. He genuinely debated saving the last two for Frankey if this poor kid showed no signs of life. "Breathe! Fucking breathe!" he shouted at the girl, giving her head a solid shake, depressing the plunger. Unless he was wishfully hallucinating, her face twitched, and he'd felt her chest rise. Barely, but it had. "That's it, sweetheart. One more. Breathe deep. I know it hurts." He emptied it. She had to be in agony, breathing in with a crushed ribcage, but she was doing it—fighting for her life. He took a comforting hold of her hand. She didn't want to die. Her breathing was weak and shuddering, but it was there. He gave her the fourth one, each breath as feeble and stitled as the one before, but definitely happening.

It wasn't his imagination, the sirens were getting much louder.

"Mn… sorry." His own heart damned near stopped. Nearly properly formed words. Frankey was coming to. He cast his gaze skyward. Thank you.

"Hey, Frankey! It's okay. You're gonna be okay. Help is almost here." He fought the powerful urge to kiss her. Likely exactly how she'd been dosed. Residue of something on the kid's mouth. He held onto her hand, giving it a warming massage. The kid started making these god-awful sounds. Either she was beginning to cry in agony, every breath and now sob disturbing her fractured and broken ribs, or… something his grandfather on his mother's side, born and raised in the Netherlands before World War Two, once told him about men dying in battle came into mind. In the losing throes of a person's struggle for life—their "deatjocht" or death fight—they sometimes made these terrible, guttural moan-like wailing sounds, and he might now know for himself what that sounded like. He looked from the young girl's face, to Frankey, and back to the young woman grappling with death.

Giving Frankey's hand one last squeeze, he laid her hand on his thigh, pressing it down flat. "Hold on to me, Frankey. Never let go." Her fingers started to curl down, into his thigh, almost to the point of pain.

Between the young girl's haunting wails—where she had to be breathing in to make sound—he gave her their last Narcan dose. Flashes of light appeared on the far wall of the alley. Blue and red. Paramedics on the street nearby. Only just now did he begin to hear the screaming sirens again. Red and blue lights became white headlights seconds later.

"WE'RE OVER HERE! DOWN THE ALLEY! BESIDE THE DUMPSTER!"

Silhouettes of two men ran into the headlight's beams.

"Sir! Calm down and tell m—" A paramedics kit hit the pavement beside Frankey.

"My wife was overdosed with something giving this girl CPR. She's come around slightly after two doses and has got hold of my leg. This kid has five doses on board, breathing again, barely. Spent anywhere from five to six minutes with low or no breathing, unresponsive. Her ribs are fractured from CPR." He checked his watch. "We found her already ODing but still breathing shallow when we called nine-one-one eleven minutes ago. She lost consciousness approximately twelve to thirteen minutes ago. I ran for the naloxone in our car parked down the road. When I arrived back here, they were both down."

One of the paramedics was gently taking Frankey's hand off his leg, and needed him to let go of her wrist. "Sir, we need you to give us space."

"Yeah." He stood and backed away, facing the the ambulance headlights. Another one pulled up at the alleyhead. He hadn't even realized there were more sirens. "Careful. There's an ankle piece on the ground, and one of our phones here somewhere…" The headlights were blinding. He couldn't see a damn thing.

"I'll help you find them. Sir, what's your name?"

"Hudson Riley—"

"Detective Riley." One of them said his name like they knew and admired him, but he couldn't clearly see anyone's faces.

He nodded, still blinded even with a hand in front of his eyes. He fumbled for his badge. It was in his jacket with the dying girl. "Yeah. Chicago Police. My badge is the right breast jacket pocket." Wincing against the light, he heard some rustling.

"Sir, your wife is in rough shape, but she's going to be fine." He nodded. The two incoming paramedics went straight to the young woman without hesitation. "We've given her a third dose and she has an IV in. Heart rate coming down."

Hudson nodded. "The girl?" No one answered. The sounds of her wails had gone quieter. "Fuckin' tell me—" They had her wrapped in a blanket, oxygen mask on full tilt, IV line in, being lifted onto a collapsible gurney and loaded into the leading ambulance.

A hand took hold of his shoulder. "Detective, I don't make promises I don't know I can keep. Her vitals are weak and getting weaker. We're doing everything we can, and they'll run red lights all the way. If you believe in this sort of thing; she's in God's hands now."

~~~

Someone… was… messing with his hair…? Hudson jerked himself awake and his head up, something warm sliding off his shoulders. His jacket was laid out over Frankey's feet and lower legs. Someone had put a folded bedsheet over his shoulders while he was passed out. The hand lazily tousling his hair belonged to Frankey.

She smiled, groggy. "Morning, sunshine."

He put a hand to his face. Dried salt streaks from copious tears run dry. Running nose. He let out a sarcastic laugh. Lovely. Frankey had crashed again after arriving at the hospital. No one was quite sure why, but there might have been something she unconsciously licked off her lips that hit her again. Once they got her stabilized, they'd cleaned her up best as anyone could and she'd been monitored closely over the hours since. Giving her hand a loving squeeze, he stood up, stiffly going over to the sink to at least get the salt stinging his skin and snot hanging from his nose rinsed off. Couldn't give a fraction of a shit what he looked like right this minute. Hudson stood there, braced on the sink, letting the water drip off before splashing on more. "Frankey…" The bottom of her stomach fell out at the tone of his voice. He dried his face with brown paper towel. "Christ in Heaven…" he whispered under his breath, turning around to face her. "Why? You know touching her without gloves or a dam could kill you!"

Frankey had this oddly unconcerned look on her face. His expression turned to incredulity. Was she still high? Couldn't be, with every counteragent they'd dumped into her system. Then, she frowned, her expression quickly turning into a grimace and tears. "I'm sorry—"

He was back around the other side of the bed holding onto her hand hard before a sob cut her off. "No, no, no… you don't have to be sorry. It's all right. You're still here and that's the only thing that matters. I…" He kissed the back of her IV-free hand like a penitent kneeling before a saint. She was shaking. "I'm just trying to understand." He reached for a box of cheap-ass Kleenex on the bedside cabinet, bringing it to the bed for them both, plucking two and wiping away her tears.

She wouldn't look him in the eyes while she thought back to the alley. Then, she gave him this strange look, letting out a weak yet incredulous laugh. "I know exactly how stupid it was… but her breathing stopped, pulse gone, blue in the face, she went dead-limp… and I couldn't do it. I couldn't watch her die and not try." She put her hand curled into grasping claws over her heart, looking for the words to say something had a hold of her by it, but finding none.

A soul is what gives us feelings. It's like a conduit through which the Lord speaks to us. The words echoed around in his mind.

"The ambulance was at least halfway there… even with a forced heartbeat moving blood she needed air. I don't know if it was this insane attack of hubris or what it was, but you had to be nearly back. If she could still make it after being in her condition, I stood a damned good chance of being able to take it. It was this overwhleming instrusive thought, and a feeling in my heart so potent, I did it. State of mind I'm in now? I never would have…" Frankey shrugged. "She'd be dead." Suddenly the thought hit her, dread taking over her expression. "Did she…?"

Hudson smiled, water coming up into his eyes. He nodded. "She's still here. On life support, and unresponsive, but she made it. If she'd made it to the hospital a minute or two later, she'd have been beyond saving. Brain scans look normal. We'll have to wait until she wakes up to know if there's been any cognitive impairment those scans can't register. They're having a hard time finding her family."

Frankey smiled, amused, speaking slowly. "We're waiting on her, are we?"

Hudson immediately had this look on; fuckin' of course we are, after everything you just put me through!

Her smiled spread to her eyes, turning lovingly fond. Frankey's expression suddenly changed. She took especially caressing hold of his hand bringing him close as she could, holding his hand to her sternum. "My wife was overdosed…" she repeated with a kind of loving certainty that sent a thrill skittering up his back.

He laughed, hanging his head but nodding, giving the back of his neck a good scratch. "Frankey, I…" He shook his head. "In the moment, I needed them to understand perfectly how much you mean to me. Friend with serious benefits? Girlfriend? Lover? Partner? Life partner? Fiancée? Significant other took too fuckin' long to get out of my mouth more than once and felt ridiculously… clinical?" Hudson gave his shoulders a shrug. "No other word fit. Wife doesn't fit without your say-so, but I had a fuckin' split-second to choose, and that's what came out." He leaned his cheek on his palm, wearing this so-sue-me, love-doped look.

There was a sudden gravity to her loving expression. Putting up the finger with the heart monitor clipped on, she ordered him, closer… closer… and closer still, until…

She pulled him into a dizzying kiss. When their lips came apart… "It fits."

Hudson stood there, leaning above her, astonished. "It—"

"Fits," she purred against his lips, kissing him again, this time getting back even better than she gave.