Bleeding Out

'It's okay, sport. You're okay,' Frank soothed. 'Everything's okay. You're alright.'

'What was that noise?' Kennedy blinked.

'Just me. I dropped the clipboard. It's okay.'

As Kennedy regained her bearings, Frank whispered, 'What are you doing all curled up on the floor?'

Kennedy thought about it for a moment, then mumbled, 'I had a dream. I woke up and saw the light on so I came in here. But you were asleep. I didn't wanna wake you up. But I didn't wanna go back to bed either. I just sat down next to you for a sec.'

Kennedy's hair was hanging in her face, and again Frank had the urge to smooth it out of the way. She patted the couch and shifted her feet into the corner.

'Come here.'

Kennedy cuddled up at the other end, and Frank offered part of the afghan she was under. She frowned as she asked, 'Did you put this on me?'

'Yeah. You looked like you were cold. You didn't even move when I covered you.'

Frank felt foolish that Kennedy had crept in and covered her with a blanket like she was a baby.

'Tell me about your dream.'

Kennedy shook her head adamantly. 'Uh-uh.'

'Why not?'

'Too scary.'

'Tunnel?'

'I don't know. I don't remember. I don't want to remember.'

Frank gently tried to persuade her it would help to talk about it, but Kennedy scoffed, 'How would you of all people know that?'

Frank seriously considered the question. 'I used to have someone to talk to,' she said finally. 'It helped.'

'Your lover?'

'Yeah.'

'What was her name?' Kennedy asked sincerely. When Frank hesitated, Kennedy bargained. 'I'll tell you about my dream if you tell me her name.'

Frank bit her inner lip as Gilberto sang about quiet nights and quiet dreams. 'Maggie.'

'It's a pretty name.' Then, 'How long were you two together?'

'Eight years,' Frank said tightly.

'How'd she die?'

Kennedy asked the question gently, but Frank still felt it was none of her business.

'Look,' she snapped coldly, 'that's enough with the twenty questions. Just tell me about your goddamn dream. That was the deal, right?'

Kennedy flinched almost imperceptibly, and a guarded hurt dimmed the light in her eyes. Frank immediately regretted her outburst. She tossed off the afghan and started toward the CD player, then turned back. Kennedy was staring at her like Frank was a dog that might bite. She hated the wariness in Kennedy's eyes, hated even more that she'd put it there.

'Christ,' she sighed. 'You come at me out of left field and get pissed when my first reaction's to protect myself.'

Kennedy's armor didn't budge as Frank sat earnestly on the edge of the couch.

'Look. I don't know how to do this. You want me to talk to you, but Jesus, it took me years to learn how to talk to Mag, and even then it was half-assed. It's nothing personal, I just can't do this as easily as you do. I wish I could. I envy you. It's like you've got an emotional flak jacket you put on when you go to work, then just take it off and leave it by the door at night. My jacket doesn't come off like that.'

'I'm sorry,' Kennedy offered. 'I should've stuck to the bargain.'

'You always have to go for that extra inch,' Frank complained.

'I have to,' Kennedy defended. 'You'd never give it, and it's the only way I can get anything out of you.' She paused, then added, 'You want me to tell you all my stuff but then you don't tell me diddly. Is that fair?'

Frank didn't answer, and Kennedy continued, 'It's like I'm supposed to trust you, but you can't trust me. How do you think that makes me feel?'

Frank gnashed at her lip, then shook her head at the floor. 'You're asking a lot, sport. I don't trust easily. That's no reflection on you, or how trustworthy you are. It's just my own twisted make-up.'

Lifting her head and facing Kennedy, Frank said, 'And I do trust you. To a point. And when I get to that point it's hard to cross over. I feel like my back's to the wall. Hell, you know more about me than almost anyone else. I'd say you're doing pretty good, but I just can't move as fast as you. I watch you go from happy to sad, then mad to laughing, and you're so easy with yourself. I just can't do that.'

'Won't,' Kennedy insisted. 'I've seen you fight with every honest feeling you've ever had.'

'Alright then, won't. Whatever. You just need to back off a little. Don't be so damn invasive.'

'I don't think I'm being invasive enough!” Kennedy challenged. 'Somebody's gotta drag you kickin' and screamin' outta that shell you're in.'

'And I suppose you've appointed yourself to the task?'

'I seem pretty damn good at it.'

Frank stared at the combative young woman. They stalemated until Frank cocked an eyebrow and asked, 'Are all the women in Texas as ornery as you?'

'Worse.'

Kennedy's lofty smile said she'd concede the battle but not the war. 'You wanna hear about my dream or not?'

Frank settled back. 'Yeah, I do.'

It was a vague, sketchy dream about Tunnel, and when Kennedy finished she asked, 'Have you dreamt about him?'

Frank played with a loose yarn in the afghan, admitting, 'A lot,' then she stretched and rose stiffly. 'Come on, sport. It's late. Let's see if we can get some real sleep.'

Frank switched off the lamp and they made their way through the dim house. Kennedy paused at Frank's door, her hand on Frank's arm. Half-teasing, half-serious, she said, 'I'm sorry to be such a pain in the ass.'

Frank faced her. The streetlight's beam spilled in through the living room window, picking up the shine in Kennedy's eyes. Frank was very aware of the hand still on her arm. She tried to answer, but the thick scent of Kennedy's hair and skin tripped Frank's breath in her throat. After what seemed like decades, she whispered, 'You're not.'

Kennedy stood on tiptoe and her lips brushed Frank's cheek. 'Goodnight,' she whispered back.

Long after Kennedy had gone into her room, Frank remained standing in the streetlight's complicit fraternity.

'Let's get going, sport. We've got a shitload of work to do.'

Frank put a milky cup of coffee on Kennedy's bedside table and left Kennedy groaning behind her.

They returned to Parker Center and finished running all the names through the computer. Over donuts and more coffee they reprioritized the suspects. It was exasperating work because Frank was sure Delamore was her man. Nevertheless, she was determined to exhaust all her leads before running with Clancey. Even though she had a lot on him, she couldn't afford to overlook anyone. By noon they had a list of nine men ranked number ten. Kennedy was hungry again.

'Oughta get that tapeworm removed,' Frank advised, pulling into a Taco Bell. She watched Kennedy devour a burrito, three tacos, and a large Coke like she hadn't eaten in a week. When Frank parked at their first interview, she surveyed Kennedy's face. Skewing the rearview mirror toward her she noted dryly, 'They might take us more seriously if you wipe that salsa off.'

Kennedy grinned, dabbing at herself with a Coke-moistened napkin. Frank shook her head dubiously.

After questioning their best suspect, Frank and Kennedy decided his work schedule was too tight to make him a viable perp. They'd double-check his story, but if it squared, they'd have to eliminate him. The same thing happened with their next guy; another had just come back to L.A. after a year-long absence. They had to cross off