Another "mirror episode" --- this time, "You Must Remember This" told from Special Agent Suzanne Chapin's point of view. So yeah, it's a Ray story. : And it's semi-long; tell me if it chokes your mailers, I'll try to fix it.
It isn't entirely necessary, but the story reads better if you listen to Sarah MacLachlan's VOX (both versions) while you stroll through it. There's no connection; the moods are just similar.
I'm awaiting comments with bated breath (wonder what *that* feels like) at VQRW76A@prodigy.com. A big thank-you to my insane and sleep-deprived beta-readers, Dianne and Cath and Lizbet; this is what happens when you watch TV over the phone across timezones!
The characters of Due South are the creations and property of Paul Haggis, Alliance, CBC-TV, CBS-TV, and so on and so on and so on. I'm making no money, I'm putting them back as they were found, and I'm sure you all know the rest of this speech by now....
by Christina Kamnikar copyright 1997
She stared out the hotel room window for the seventh night that week, her eyes fixed on the lights of Chicago, pointedly ignoring the silent phone. And for the seventh night, she rehearsed how the conversation would go, should she pick up the receiver and dial his number:
Hello? Hi, Ray? It's Suzanne Chapin. Suzanne who? *
She'd started burning out about two jobs after the Chicago assignment. It wasn't a matter of too much work, really. She hadn't needed a vacation. She was just sick of it. Sick of all of it. The near-fiasco in Memphis, the realization to how close she'd come to getting killed (and for what? she'd asked herself. A penny-ante dealer, first link on a chain.... not worth dying for) had convinced her that she needed a break. She'd sat there in Rivers' office, stoically withstanding his blistering disapproval at her request for a leave of absence, unable to worry about what conclusions he might be drawing about her state of mind. "You're one of our best, Chapin. This isn't like you, quitting when we've still got so much work ahead of us---" "I'm not quitting. I'm handing the assignment over to someone else. I think a fresh viewpoint is needed." She'd studied her hands, the perfect gloss and finish on her nails, afraid of what her face might give away; too tired to fake enthusiasm for her superior's benefit. "I just need a break, sir." "Hmmph. Maybe you do, at that." The cutting sarcasm would have been infuriating six months earlier. Now it only tired her. No defense sprang to mind, nor did any urge to prove herself. "Maybe you're losing your edge. Used to be, we could *count* on you to sink your teeth into something and not let go. Now..." Rivers let the implied criticism trail off, and Suzanne had raised her eyes to his dissatisfied scowl, keeping her own face an expressionless mask. "Well, fine. Take a break. Get your head together, or whatever it is you think you need. But I want you back here next month, ready to play ball again." "Yes, sir." And she'd left without a backwards glance, without regretting the unfinished assignment, the investigation now stalled... she just hadn't cared. Less than a month later the ATF had been shaken up by the arrest of one of their top district officials in a gunrunning scheme. The arrest happened in Chicago. Suzanne had heard the names of the arresting officers with a calm sense of inevitability. Of course, it would be them. Him. Who else? She'd applied for the lateral transfer to the F.B.I. the next week.
* Hello? Hi, Ray. I don't know if
you remember me... It's Suzanne Chapin. <
It hadn't been the last straw. More like a sign. Not that she believed in signs; but how much more obvious did it have to get? The end-justifies-the-means mentality of her agency had been grating on her for a long time. Since Chicago, actually. Things were cleaner, or at least more straightforward, in the Federal Bureau. The crimes investigated there didn't often involve border disputes or international politics, and it was harder to work your way up and create an impressive job record. She wasn't doing undercover work anymore. She still wanted to be head of the Justice Department someday. But now she knew that she wasn't willing to pay the price for moving to the top as fast as possible. Maybe that meant she'd never get there. So be it.
Some of the things she'd done in Chicago... weighed on her. The choices she'd made had been excusable, understandable, and justifiable--- there had been no censure for how close she'd come to losing the collar,
because no one had known. She'd gotten the job done, that was what counted. No one had given her a reprimand for being responsible for a hit-and-run, or not informing the local cops of the investigation, or in almost getting herself and two other police officers killed. There had been no consequences at all, except for her peace of mind.
Three months of living with Frank Bodine had made her arrogant. It would make anyone arrogant; he was so dumb. Pathetic, anxious, suggestible, easily manipulated... the perfect fall guy, the easily hooked fish that would lead the A.T.F to bigger prey. Getting his confidence had been a cinch. All she'd had to do was pretend to admire every stupid idea he came up with, and act as if Frank actually was as bright as he thought. Frank's ego took care of the rest. The worst part of staying with him had been how boring he was.
She hadn't had to sleep with him at the beginning. Playing the part of a naive but greedy ex-Guardswoman, ready to do anything to turn a buck, had been enough to get her on the inside of the operation, and earn the approval of her district supervisor. They'd been eager to nail Bodine's contacts, willing to let her go it alone as long as she got results, not caring what she did to get them, constantly emphasizing the importance of this investigation.
The last few weeks, though, when the tension was starting to get to Frank, and she was afraid he'd blow the deal from sheer nerves, she'd gone to bed with him a couple times to calm him down. She hadn't wanted to call in for back up; she hadn't wanted to lose the arrest. It had worked beautifully, of course. She'd turned off most of her emotions, feeling a vague distaste for Frank, mixed with pity for how easily he was led. Maybe that was why she had been ripe for her own kind of fall.
Following Frank back from one of his late-night pick-ups, almost dozing at the wheel, she'd plowed into an unsuspecting pedestrian who'd walked in front of her car. There hadn't been any risk of her cover being blown. Suzanne knew she should have called for an ambulance, gotten him help, stayed at the scene, reported her activities---but she hadn't. The agency never liked it when they had to interface with the locals. Arrests got confused. Credit for busts was spread too thin. She'd made sure the man she'd hit was okay, gave him mouth-to-mouth when it looked like he'd quit breathing, then dragged him out of the way. Staying never occurred to her.
Except when her victim had asked her to.
"You'll be okay. I gotta go." "Who are you?" Clouded green eyes, staring up at her with bedazzlement. Funny, under the circumstances, that he was looking at her like that. Sweet. Obviously the poor guy had no idea that she'd been the one who hit him. Frank never looked at anyone like that, he saved his infatuation for his reflection. "Long story." "Stay." Such gorgeous eyes... "I'd like to." Surprisingly true. But she could hear the sirens already; and she couldn't afford to get caught, not now, not less than a week from closing down one of the biggest mid-level gun-smuggling links in Chicago. So Suzanne had patted him on the head and walked off into the night, not looking back when she heard him mumble, "God, you're beautiful." Even though his words made her smile as she drove away.
* Hello? Hello, may I please speak to Ray Vecchio? Ray's not here right now. Can I take a message? Uh... sure. When do you expect him back? Sometime around two. He's on a stakeout. Oh. Well, this is Suzanne Chapin, with the F.B.I., formerly with the A.T.F., and I was hoping your brother could give me a call---- He's not my brother, he's my fiancee. Does he have your phone number?... Hello? Hello? Anyone there? *
Frank had told her that Ray was a cop when they got back to the farmhouse in Carpentersville; he hadn't even known she'd been gone. He'd returned very, very late, due to losing his car and the weapons in the trunk, and the entire incident had shaken him so badly that she'd had to spend hours calming him. He'd been too keyed up to notice her preoccupation, caused by her niggling sense of guilt at what she'd done. Hitting a disinterested bystander was bad enough. Hitting a fellow cop was worse; whatever she might think of city cops, they were all on the same side. You weren't supposed to hurt your own. Suzanne had buried her guilt feelings, telling herself to focus on the job, get through the next few days, and then maybe go back, find the guy, apologize. Or something. But to do it later. Not then, with so much riding on keeping an eye on Frank.
She'd begun to admire her would-be adversaries when they picked up on her decoy trick after she left the apartment. Suzanne had almost
imagined she could hear them cursing as the Buick screeched into an illegal U-turn and headed back for Bodine. The same guys, of course; the car was unmistakable. //At least,// she'd told herself, //he must be okay if he's staking out Frank's. I don't have to worry about him.// She'd visualized the disgust on his face; the fury at realizing the woman who'd saved him was involved with a gunrunner. Shrugging away the chill of self-disgust at her involvement with Frank, Suzanne counted the hours until the buy when the masquerade would be over.
Her shock at the warehouse had been equal parts anger that they'd almost been caught, and pure surprise to see that particular cop again. Staring her square in the face, no possible way he couldn't identify her---and she'd had to shoot at him, to preserve her cover. //This guy is not having the best week,// had flitted through her mind, //and it's mostly because of me.// The shot had gone as wide as she'd intended---the rather melodramatic tackle performed by his Mountie friend was completely unnecessary---but she'd known that the Hit-and-Run Cop, as she thought of him, would now think she was out to get him. Too bad. He'd seemed like a good guy, and dedicated, if his actions so far were any indication. But this last encounter would be the end of it; no one would find them again until the rendezvous, when she called in for her backup.
Still... Suzanne had looked at Frank, sitting next to her in the truck. It was hard to feel guilty about deceiving him. He was one of those people who'd deceive himself any chance he got. What she was doing wasn't, strictly speaking, very fair to him. But she felt more guilty about shooting at the Chicago cop than she did in setting up Frank. Maybe because the cop never asked for her to screw up his life. But that was too bad. Too sad. She couldn't let lingering guilt effect her judgement. She was not going to give anyone at the agency reason to doubt her competency. No. She'd make it up to what's-his-name later, that was all. She was accumulating a pretty big tab on his account....
* Hello? Hello, may I speak to Ray Vecchio, please? Hang on.
Who should I tell my brother this is ? Suzanne Chapin, A.T.F. Well, F.B.I.
Uh--- Whatever. Gimme a sec--- ....
Having Hit-and-Run Cop and his Mountie buddy show up at the farmhouse had been nerve-wracking. Okay, she could have explained the situation... in fact, she'd been considering how to tell him, quickly, to convince him that she was undercover A.T.F. without making Frank suspicious, and then decided it was too risky. Too likely to ruin her bust. She still didn't know the location or who the buyers were; they had to make the delivery so she could get the information to pass on to her superiors. If that meant letting the dealers have the guns for twenty-four hours, that was what it would take.
The second the green Riviera parked outside their hideout, Suzanne had started to maneuver her way toward the barn, trying to find a path outside so she could avoid the cop and the Mountie at the same time. She really didn't need the aggravation, was what she was thinking. Here was this cop, very likely believing she was a dangerous felon, on the verge of messing up a delicately arranged buy and she didn't have time to clue him in to the facts. He'd probably shoot her, God knew he had enough reason....
She'd really thought he would do it. The door had opened, she'd taken a defensive position, and there it was, Mexican standoff. If he'd been as high-strung as Frank, she'd be dead. He couldn't know she wouldn't shoot. He had no reason to believe she was unwilling to use the gun pointed at his head---she'd waited, waited for him to say something so she could tell him the truth, try to explain, hope he'd believe it---
He'd lowered his gun. The coldness in his eyes had faded, the grim expression relaxing, and she'd watched in numb shock as another emotion had taken the place of the hard anger. Stunned, her arms had relaxed, her own gun pointing toward the floor as she took a few tentative steps forward. //Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid...// Suzanne hadn't been sure if she was thinking of him or herself. It was like watching a train wreck, no, it was like being *in* a train wreck, as she felt her arms go around him, both of them still holding their guns. She was sure that it would all be over, any second now, he'd do something, he'd hit her or react like any normal officer of the law. But then, she'd thought she could stop at any second too, and she wasn't, she was breathing in the scent of his aftershave, pressing herself close against his body, relaxing far too much for no sane reason. Except that he hadn't fired, hadn't even asked her to lower her weapon....
The kiss took fully half a minute. One hell of a kiss. Deep, tender, concentrated and not at all hesitant, no, and definitely not fumbling like Frank. Whoever the hell this guy was, he'd been around the block a couple times; he *knew* how to kiss. A guy who could kiss like this had no business being so stupid. Brief fury engulfed her; what was wrong with him? Did he think she wouldn't shoot him just because she was a woman? Or was he so cocky, so damn self-assured, that he'd known she'd respond to that look, that hypnotic, hypnotized gaze?
With anger, her memory returned, and she'd known what she had to do. But when Suzanne had pulled away, the wrath dissolved, leaving only renewed guilt. She shouldn't be messing with his mind this way. Not at all. "I'm sorry," she'd whispered, then clocked him on the side of the head, running out the door to join Frank. //_Now_ he's going to hate my guts. I am such a bitch...//
* Hello? Ray? Suzanne... Hi. It's been a long time. Two years. I'm surprised you remember. Like I could forget. Oh. Well... I just... wanted to talk to you. That's all? Yes. What else could there be? You're still a coward, Chapin. Call me when you're ready to tell the truth. *
By this time Frank was nearly hysterical. Thank God he wasn't the one driving, or someone might have gotten more seriously hurt. A sense of fatalism was overtaking her. //This operation,// she'd thought clearly, //is doomed. There's no way we can make the meet with these guys after us. There has to be some other way to get to our buyers...// Half her mind had been on her next round of options while she tried to keep the Hit-and-Run Cop from passing them. Unfortunately, she was handicapped by the wish not to hurt their pursuers, while the guy after her was thirsting for her blood. Still, she'd never have guessed that he'd pull the stunt that followed the Riviera's triumphant maneuver around them.
When they'd rounded the curve to see the cop, the Mountie, and the Riviera blockading the road, Suzanne had blanked. Completely frozen. She couldn't drive into them; not when she could see the resolve on the cop's face from fifty feet away. He wasn't going to give in. Not while he believed he and his friend were stopping a major crime, not when they had no backup. Especially not after all she'd done to him, with what he knew she was capable of. She could admire that, appreciate that he was finally taking her seriously, at least, under any other circumstances, but now--- "Ram 'em!" Bodine had been unhinged with frustration; and there was no way the Buick could withstand the force of the truck hitting it. They still could have made the buy. Some things you just can't do. "No!" She and Frank fought over the control of the vehicle, and then suddenly a dog bounded out of the back of the truck, barking and growling at Bodine, and she was able to wrench the wheel sharply to the right at the last second.
* You've reached the Vecchio residence. We're all out
right now. Leave a message at the beep... oh, and if this is Suzanne?
Don't bother, babe. Too little, too late. Hasta. *BEEP* <.......><
Oh, boy, had she been disoriented when she woke up on the embankment. She'd taken one almighty thwack on the head, couldn't remember for a couple minutes where she was, why she was there.... "What happened?" she'd rasped, aching, confused, and yes, scared. "Long story." The cop was holding her, cradling her close to his chest, reassuring and safe. Looking at her with so much concern, enough to unsettle her all over again, give up on trying to remember what was going on for the moment, since none of it made sense. Here was this total stranger staring at her like she was his wife, or his lover, or someone he knew very, very well, and she was absolutely sure they hadn't said more than fifty words to each other yet. Strangely, in a bizarre way, she accepted it. This was fine. It felt right. She trusted him. He'd said something about an ambulance, started to move away, and she'd gotten frightened again.
"Stay, stay," she'd pleaded.
Suzanne Chapin didn't beg for anything. Ever. But she didn't want him to leave, whoever he was, because he might not come back....
"Love to," he'd answered, a world of tenderness in his voice.
Things were starting to become clearer, and but not less weird. This was the cop who had been blocking the road; he thought she was a criminal. Yet he was treating her like a friend, better than that, better than cops treat suspects they know are guilty. What was *with* him?
"Are you okay to walk?"
"I think so." She was still struggling to keep up, sore but more confused than anything else.
"Good. Good. C'mon, you've got to get out of here." The grimness was back on his face, but not directed at her. Suzanne felt her jaw drop as she blinked at him, her head pounding. "You can cut through the woods, make it to the highway... but you've got to get out of here."
"You're letting me go? I tried to kill you three times!"
Wasn't he paying attention? She squinted her eyes, tried to figure out what was going on; maybe he had a thing for suspects. Maybe it was a ploy. Maybe he intended to blackmail her later, ask for some favor... but no. Nothing like that showed on his face, or in his eyes, the brilliant, laser-light eyes that were focused on her alone, making her stomach clench with involuntary reaction to that gaze.
"What are you, deaf? Please just get the hell *out* of here!" He was trying to protect her. Incredible. He was going to let her escape.... A spurt of rage cleared her head. This colossal idiot was willing to let some woman he didn't know escape from custody, all on the strength of one kiss. God, he was susceptible. All men were susceptible. She'd had more respect for him when he'd been pointing a gun at her.
"Special Agent Suzanne Chapin; Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms. Congratulations, Detective. You just screwed up five months of work."
* Hello? <.......>Hell-o?
Anyone there? <.......><
She couldn't manage to slam him in her report. In fact, adding it all up, realizing that he hadn't reported her as a hit-and-run driver after he knew her name, and that he had serious grounds for a complaint if he'd wanted to file one, Suzanne had decided that discretion and diplomacy were called for. She did owe him, after all; and despite his actions in offering her an escape, otherwise he and his friend had done their best to stop what had appeared to be a major smuggling operation. It wasn't their fault that the A.T.F. (in the form of her superiors) hadn't informed the Chicago P.D. of what ws going on; and it was only her fault, and hers alone, that she hadn't enlisted their help when things began to get confused.
Her associates had even managed to pull off the buy, thanks to Bodine making a deal. Frank hadn't had enough of his brain in gear to be angry at her, not really; he'd been too stunned by her transformation into an A.T.F. agent to curse her out like he probably did later. The expression of stupid bewilderment on his face didn't give her any sense of victory when he entered a plea, though. Somehow, the whole investigation felt tainted by the corners she'd cut on her way to the bust.
Thinking about what Ray Vecchio was most likely feeling about her didn't help either. Well, what did it matter? She was never going to see him again.
So Suzanne had been thoroughly rattled to see his car drive up just as she was leaving Regent's Park. He must have seen her report by now; he was probably there to give her grief over her actions, maybe throw her mistakes in her face.... "You want something, detective?" "That kiss meant something." Coolness came to her rescue; cool amusement born of stupefication. "Yeah, it meant, 'step closer so I can hit you.'" //How could he be thinking about *that*? _Why_ on earth was he...// "You must be really good at your job." He was just as calm, even more self-possessed. She stared, trying to pin down why he got under her skin so easily. Attractive, yes; smart, okay; but those weren't why. "Apparently."
"What do you take me for, some kind of jerk?" The corrosive anger in his voice made her flinch. "What do you think, you can just walk away and not spend the rest of your life wishing you had the guts to say it?"
That was it. That was the trait that made Suzanne wary as well as attracted her; that directness, without flattery or deception. She shook with anger that he'd dare judge her, but rage didn't kill the unwilling respect. Too many guys would look at her face, the delicate bones, and start figuring out ways to con her, underestimating the mind evaluating them right back. Vecchio hadn't made that mistake; wasn't letting her off the hook for what she wasn't going to say. "It was a job." The truth. It was over. You did what you had to do. If she didn't understand why she'd let herself kiss him, she sure wasn't going to tell *him* that.
"Then why didn't you report me?"
Suzanne couldn't believe he was asking. Or what he was implying, actually, watching her with so much certainty. Her voice trembled as she tried to laugh.
"C'mon.... Who needs the paperwork?" //Lame. You can do better. The truth would have been better...// His face closed up in contempt.
"Go home." Vecchio turned away, and for one second she'd wanted to call him back, tell a better lie, tell the truth, that she owed him--- then Suzanne slung her bags furiously into the cab, more than ready to be gone, outta here, forget it, forget this. A hand on her shoulder; she'd smelled his aftershave, known he was behind her, let him whirl her around, and then they were locked into another one of those mind-altering kisses. Slow, deliberate, no-mercy-shown; sending her pulse racing and her blood simmering, fingers quivering, lips tingling, time stopping.... He'd gently pulled away, looked a question at her face. She hadn't had an answer, still bemused and dizzy, knowing she was about to miss her plane if she stayed longer. Not sure that was a good idea. No. She'd gotten in the cab, still warm from his embrace, and just breathed for a few seconds; and then she had to know. She had to know if that was something he did every damn day of his life, if he just had to have the last word, or maybe it was payback for the havoc she'd caused; so as the taxi drove away, she'd looked out the window. And he'd been staring back, eyes trained on her, fixed, constant, unwavering... and she'd known. But there was nothing she could do about it, him, them, whatever you wanted to call it, not right then. Not when she still had her job, her career to think about; Chicago was not in her plans. Ray Vecchio was not in her plans. Sometime, someday, she might come back here... but it wasn't something to be counted on. No matter how strong the feelings between them, you couldn't base your life on that kind of thing. Not when you had other ambitions. Last week, she'd come to Chicago for a seminar; and every night, she'd thought of calling him. Every night of the last week, she'd wanted to tell him she was sorry for what she'd done, that she'd changed, she wanted to see him... but why the hell should he want to hear from her? Two years down the road, yeah, right, sure he'd remember her. And she wasn't the person he'd known, she wasn't that driven, and he hadn't known her at all, not really, it had just been infatuation.... And what did she want from him, anyway? Maybe just to find out why he'd been willing to let her escape after only fifty words; or why he'd let her leave him, after that. *
"Hello?"
"Ray? Hi.... It's Suzanne Chapin."
*
Christina vqrw76a@prodigy.com Comments, pleassssse? :