Though I Walk Through the Valley (30/38)
Though I Walk through the Valley
Title:Though I Walk through the Valley (30/38)Series: Still Waters (Run Deep) (Part II of IV)
Author: melody_in_time
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Through S1 only
Disclaimer: I wish, I wish upon a star... but until that works, not mine and sadly no money made.
Author's Notes: So so so sorry. It was a public holiday on Monday and I completely spaced on the fact that yesterday was a Wednesday...
Warnings: None in Particular
If you've wondered here by mistake, you may wish to start at Part I of the series, Rarest of the Rare: Chapter 1.
Prologue - Chapter 10 - Chapter 20 - Chapter 30 - Chapter 31 - Chapter 32 - Chapter 33 - Chapter 34 - Chapter 35 - Chapter 36 - Chapter 37 - Chapter 38
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Sent: Sun 8/5/11 8:32 pm
To: Mycroft Holmes
Subject: Hi
Mycroft,
Well this arrived at home today, presumably from Anthea. I’ve never had to sign the Official Secrets Act to receive a parcel before, but I’ve never had a package delivered by the secret service before either. Christ, that agent’s neck was as thick as my forearms together and then some!
Anyway, just checking this is the right email etc. It was the only one in the contacts so I assume it’s you. If not and I’m emailing some big spook or politician or someone, sorry, please ignore this email.
Greg
Monday morning, Monday day, was more of the relentless slog through paperwork. He officially closed down the investigation into the missing Dom now they’d found enough evidence to substantiate her Sub’s claim of self-defence. If they ever managed to find her body things could be taken further, but until then she was missing presumed dead.
The murder investigation into the ‘extra’ body he turned over to Sally, giving her full control. She was good enough to make DI, even DCI one day, and he intended to give her every opportunity to prove it.
Ignoring his other open case files, Greg spent the afternoon cleaning his desk and doing paperwork, as the reminder he had worked out how to set up while on desk duty demanded. It was tedious, but the last thing Greg needed was to give Packenham and Mulgrave any excuse to look sideways at him with their current attitudes. If that meant keeping a stack of form PCF42 in his desk drawer to make sure they got done, then that’s what had to happen.
Most of his case work was desk work anyway at the moment. Other than the investigation he’d handed over to Sally, they were all a matter of collecting and consolidating evidence for court or the administrative protocols to shuffle it off to storage. The hospital had confirmed that Peter was continuing to recover and Greg was tentatively scheduled to see him Friday morning.
The only other case was the still unidentified body in the warehouse. Greg was mostly keeping that one out of pride. He was back 10 years in the records and there still wasn’t a good match for their corpse, but after having kicked Sherlock off the case he had a fierce need to solve it. Ridiculous as it was, he felt he owed it to the victim, having deprived him of his best chance of justice.
Sally waved good bye through the glass and gave him a scolding look. In his defence Greg held up the timesheets he was sorting through for approvals and the lecture stopped before it began.
Unfortunately as much as he hated book keeping it had to be done and Greg had long ago made it harder for himself by keeping two sets of records: one of the hours officers officially claimed and one for the hours they actually worked. That way when costs were getting tight he could approve overtime, he hoped, more judiciously. He’d prefer to approve all of it on the philosophy that if his officers were working they should be paid, but upstairs never agreed and it wasn’t something he could change, especially not at the minute.
Of course the budget was getting tight again, leaving him growling over the figures ominously. If he’d been more inclined to expressive throes of anger, he would have shredded them.
A light knock on the door startled him out of his funk.
“Sir?” Weatherly stood uncertainly in his doorway.
“Yes, uh…” He honestly couldn’t think why she’d be there.
“You left this in the printer tray, sir.”
She walked in and handed him a loose collection of papers. Her hand was trembling slightly, just noticeable because it shook the pages in her grip. Looking up at her face, Greg could see the dark circles under her eyes where her concealer had worn off over the day. Her eyes looked slightly swollen and red, possibly from tiredness, more probably from crying. She still sported a red nose and a slightly glassy gaze that suggested unshed tears.
“Thanks.” He took the papers, trying to decide between tactful blindness and chivalrous concern.
Free of the papers her hands returned carefully to her side, her posture so deliberate it was brittle.
“How have you been?” Greg asked, working on the theory Weatherly could say something if she wanted to or not.
“Fine, fine, sir, just-” A choked off sob strangled the words in her throat, her hand flying to cover the bridge of her nose.
“Hey, hey, sit down.” Greg stood and guided her towards the chair.
“No, no, I’m fine. Really, I’m f-fine.” She didn’t resist physically, folding in on herself in the chair.
Greg handed her a tissue and tried hard not to hover.
“Are some of the officers giving you a hard time?” He asked gently, remembering how Sally had stuck near him at the meeting. It would be easy to believe Weatherly was getting hazed.
“N-n-o-o.” She stammered, tears now rolling down her face. “W-well yes, b-but nothing I can’t h-h-handle. It’s not-t…”
Her voice broke completely at the last word leaving her shaking with tears flooding the tissue. Greg held out another one, and when she failed to take it carefully, but firmly opened her fingers to slip it into her hand.
“Sh, it’ll be okay, uh…” Greg altered, realising he didn’t actually know the constable’s Christian name.
“L-Lisa.” She managed, throat working furiously around the syllables.
“Lisa.” Greg repeated calmly. “It’ll be fine, Lisa.”
He was glad she’d waited until everyone had left for the night to break down. From the look of her she’d been struggling for some time on the verge, probably locking herself in the bathroom several times to cope. He tried to tamp down the panicked him who had no idea what to do with a crying female Sub and the angry him who was pissed off she was crying in his office. As if he needed more attention from management right now. Why couldn’t she have gone to one of her friends, or Whiting if she absolutely had to break down at work?
Pushing it aside, he gamely patted her back and made soothing noises.
“I can lean on the officers a bit, if they’re getting to you.” He told her gently. “Get some boring tasks for them out of the office. They don’t need to know.”
“It’s not, it’s not,” her throat and mouth stood out in the shape of a silent scream until the pressure in her chest forced a reflexive breath. “I’m p-pregnant.”
Greg was very proud in retrospect that his hand didn’t falter in its soothing circles.
“Congratulations?” He offered feebly.
Her sobs became wrenching gasps as each breath stuck in her throat. Greg supported her as her trembling threatened to vibrate her off the chair. His own heart was thudding painfully in his chest, so he couldn’t imagine how she felt.
It occurred to him that Mycroft could.
It also occurred to him he really didn’t want the answer to his next question.
“Lisa, Lisa, look at me. That’s it.” He used another tissue to gently wipe her face. “Lisa, the Sire-”
She burst out in a fresh wave of tears.
“Is it who I think it is?” Greg continued with enforced calm.
She nodded, head buried in her hands.
Sally’s face, make up just a little more strikingly applied, text messages responded to, the gentle half-smile when she drifted off in thought, swum before Greg’s eyes. Anderson keeping his respectful distance, keeping the conversation at an appropriate level, not wearing his wedding ring or bracelet.
Shit.
“Have you told him?”
If Anderson knew and was still… consequences or not they were going to have words.
Weatherly shook her head. If she pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes any harder she was in danger of squashing her eyes.
“I don’t know what to s-say.” She managed. “I don’t know what to do!”
Her voice spiralled up to a note of despair that had Greg wincing internally.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s not the end of the world.” He soothed.
“How is it not?” She wailed.
“Everything can always be dealt with.” Greg lied reassuring, well aware that objectively the truth was probably closer to her version of things than his.
At 24 with less than six months in her current position, she was pregnant with a married Alpha’s child after a one night stand having already been publically reprimanded for accidently getting involved in the less than professional feud between him and his acknowledged lover. End of the world might be an exaggeration, but things were not going to be easy for her.
“Have you thought about what you’re going to do?”
“I don’t know, I just don’t…” The tears welled up again.
“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” Greg awkwardly patted her hair as she collapsed into him, tears hot against his neck.
“What do I do?” She asked some time later, tears finally dried up for now.
“You need to think about what you want, and then you need to talk to Anderson.”
The tissue box was empty, so Greg rooted around in his pocket until he found a handkerchief.
“Do I have to tell him?” She whispered, voice raspy and clogged from crying. “Can’t I just-”
“No!”
Greg realised he may have been a little forceful when she shrank away from him, handkerchief clutched in one hand.
“Sorry.” He dropped to one knee, realising he’d somehow ended up upright without knowing. “If that’s what you decide, that’s fine, but you have to tell him. You can’t make this choice alone. It’s not fair on either of you.”
“But-”
“No.” He repeated. “It’s unfair for you to have to bear the responsibility for this decision alone, and unfair for him not to have a say.”
Okay, he was projecting his own issues a little, but the black grief when he thought the chance had been taken from him, that he had no say in what happened and the idea he might have never met his son because no one was there to talk Mycroft into even considering the alternative was indelibly etched onto his soul.
Something must have shown on his face because Weatherly reached out a trembling hand to touch his fingers clasped on the back of the chair.
“Is… did…. Did someone?” She asked, her voice small.
“No. No, nothing like that.” Greg pushed to a standing and walked back behind his desk.
There might be some older coppers like Gregson who’d remember if pressed what had happened with his first child, but even they didn’t know any details, just that the baby had never arrived and Greg never mentioned it. He wasn’t about to share that with Lisa Weatherly and no one knew about Mycroft.
“Take tomorrow off, Weatherly. Work out what you want going forward. You can work out the mechanics of how to make it work later, but you need to know what you want.”
She nodded and hesitantly stood. “Yes, sir.”
Greg waved off the hanky and she left, ducking shyly between the rows of desk as though afraid there was anyone to see.
He let out a long slow breath.
Shit.
Mon 19/5/11 9:37pm
To: Mycroft Holmes
Subject:
Hi,
Christ, I’m tired. I’m assuming you’re busy cause you haven’t replied. Things are shit, in case you’re wondering. Well, they aren’t yet, but they’re about to be.
Remember I told you about that constable Anderson slept with to get back at Sally? Well, I had the pleasure of finding out tonight that she’s pregnant when she broke down in my office. Poor kid, she’s only young. No clue what she was getting into. Absolutely distraught.
I dunno, My. I should feel sorry for her, and I do, really, but I just felt so angry. Why me? She’s caused so much trouble lately, the whole department is on notice, and she comes and breaks down in my office? I’m the one who’s going to get my arse handed to me by Packenham and Mulgrave when this gets out. Thank God she waited until everyone had left or I’d probably be suspended already.
I know it’s unfair of me. The whole mess isn’t even her fault, it’s bloody Anderson and Sally, and she’s now stuck between a rock and a hard place like the rest of us, but why’d she have to come to me? Whiting’s not officially her DI, but she works with him the most, why couldn’t she go to him, or better yet, a friend? Surely she has legions of female friends to get weepy with.
Can’t wait for Sally to find out. That’s going to be such fun!
Sorry, I’m whining. It’s just so frustrating. I spent the whole day doing fucking paperwork trying to keep my head above water so they don’t have any extra reason to look my way, and now this. If you come home and find I’m unemployed, this is why.
Forcing myself away from the depressingness to try and end on a higher note, there’s a lull in criminal activity, good for me and London, bad for your brother. Looks like Dimmock has a new Dom, oh and I ran into Molly who has apparently got a new kitten.
Greg
Sleep that night didn’t come easily. Initial burst of anger, frustration and fear out of the way, Greg was instead inundated with guilt, worry and loneliness. No matter how many times he flipped his pillow and forced himself to start over counting sheep, his mind inevitably wondered back to Sally and how she was going to handle this latest twist in her ever turbulent relationship just when it seemed it was getting back on track. He thought about Lisa Weatherly and how terrified she must be, about Carrie Anderson, who had been losing her husband and Dom for years.
He didn’t even know if she knew.
He brooded about his loneliness, the difference in the house when Mycroft wasn’t home and wouldn’t be coming home, and how much it frustrated him to have his emotions yanked all over the place by the mere presence or not of the Omega Dom. He was a Sub, but he wasn’t weak, no matter how he seemed to act lately, and his own behaviour riled him.
Somewhere among all the thinking, worrying and brooding, Greg did eventually fall asleep, something he only became aware of when his alarm woke him the next morning.
Weatherly didn’t come in, taking the day as Greg had advised. He was glad, not having expected the strength of the guilt that had reared its head every time he saw Sally or Anderson and didn’t say anything. It was even worse mid-afternoon when he accidently walked in on them in the break room holding mugs of tea and talking in soft voices, fingers linked on their spare hand.
Once he’d unintentionally barged in the only thing that would have made the situation more awkward than continuing to make his cup of tea would have been running out, so Greg forced himself to smile pleasantly and fetch down a tea bag as they all tried to ignore that he’d interrupted a moment and make small talk about the shipping forecast.
After that the guilt was crippling, and he buried himself in chasing down the receipts needed to link various purchases together as proof for one of his cases. He almost ran out the door at five so as not to have to spend a moment longer avoiding looking guiltily at Sally.
He didn’t let himself email Mycroft. If Mycroft hadn’t emailed back yet, then Greg would not email him. He was not desperate. He was not clingy.
He spent the evening watching TV, composing emails to Mycroft in his head and wondering how to bring up the Conversation, capital and all, that still hung between them.
Weatherly was back in the office the next day. To Greg’s relief she avoided him, which made it much less obvious that he was avoiding her.
Greg set a familial DNA search in motion on the victim from the warehouse and continued to comb through missing persons, spending the day down in the records. Needless to say, no one came looking for him there and he was able to escape on time.Wed 1/5/11 4:30 am
To: Gregory Lestrade
Subject: Re
Gregory,
I have received your emails and am disheartened to hear how events have progressed. The young constable seems unfairly treated by fate for what was undoubtedly naivety, but at least she has a comforting presence at the Yard. Despite your anger, I have no doubt that you treated her situation with the utmost delicacy and tact. You have always had a weakness for downtrodden strays, though I sincerely doubt she will prove either a more profitable or more irritating investment than your efforts with Sherlock.
My condolences to Sergeant Donovan for the hurt she will undoubtedly suffer as a result of these actions, though I cannot help but feel it is for the best long term. She most certainly deserves better than Anderson, and this may be the final impetus required to move on.
Mycroft
Wed 14/5/11 6:00 pm
To: Mycroft Holmes
Subject: So you are alive!
My,
No explosions yet, though I’m not entirely sure what will happen tomorrow. Weatherly was back at work today, but don’t know what she has or hasn’t said yet. Hopefully she does something soon, cause I can’t not tell Sally and Anderson much longer.
They were kissing today. Nothing serious, just on the cheek, but it’s not the kinda thing that makes me feel less bad right now.
Spent most of the day in the archives, so I missed it myself, but apparently Dimmock really does have a Dom and it’s the current big scandal. The rumour mill insists that in a fifteen minute period he went from not having any marks on his neck to sporting a giant red hickey, so his Dom’s another Yarder. At least he’s a DI, so management can’t get shirty at me for his in-house relations and any fallout.
I know you can’t say anything about the conference, but hope all is going well.
Greg
Sally was already at her desk when Greg arrived Thursday morning. She didn’t respond to his greeting, but from the way she was studying the screen Greg wrote it off as not having heard him. She hadn’t come to him for help yet, so he presumed the investigation was going well.
Midmorning Greg was interrupted in his slog through court preparation by a stack of folders landing on the edge of his desk. Pretending his heart wasn’t racing at 100 miles an hour he looked up at Sally’s solemn face.
“Write ups for our floater, statements for Carson’s trial.”
“Right.” Greg pulled the files closer, shuffling her report for Carson off to the other side. He had needed her official statement for his court write up, but hadn’t been going to bother asking for it until after he’d spoken to Peter on Friday given her on going cases. “Thanks.”
Sally nodded and left, walking quickly and deliberately in a way that made Greg feel like a shabby out of shape moggy next to an irate panther.
He turned back to his work, but kept half an eye on the bullpen, watching Sally power through folders with a single minded determination. Several times she came back in leaving completed forms on his desk or handing back hard copies of reports she’d borrowed. Each time she was concise, brusque and to the point.
A group of sergeants were heading out for lunch, but Sally waved away their invitations claiming work and they left in a noisy group without her. Ten minutes later Sally also packed up her things and left her desk, Greg frowning after her.
With a sigh he let it go, slogging through the process of collecting, rationalising and consolidating the evidence to support the instinctual links they’d made before a jury. At least this wasn’t a case Sherlock had helped with so he didn’t have to try and justify any of those great jumps in logic to anyone. He’d made enough progress to hand everything over to the prosecutors tomorrow when his stomach started to complain loudly enough to break through his concentration. Fumbling in his drawer failed to produce any snacks, let alone lunch, and Greg packed up, resigned to going out and getting something.
The clouds that had threatened rain only that morning had unbelievably cleared and shown that the weather forecasters could occasionally be correct. With the clouds gone the sun seemed determined to reclaim spring as its own and Greg actually took off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves, treating himself to a walk as he headed to some of the eateries further away on the other side of St James’s Park.
There were a few others taking advantage of the sunshine during lunch and a few children, infants really, too young for school, ran around giggling and shrieking in loud, jubilant voices. One of them chased after a big purple ball on wobbly legs, bemused parents watching the attempt at speed.
Greg was halfway across the park before he noticed Sally Donovan sitting on one of the more hidden benches, body uncomfortably stiff even from a distance. It didn’t take much to alter his path to end up next to her, or near enough to, and he sat down with a thud, slinging his jacket over the arm of the bench.
They sat in silence, Greg watching the trees rustling in the breeze; Sally staring off into space at who knows what.
“Thought you weren’t going out to lunch.” Greg remarked eventually, watching the purple ball tumble across the grass and the laughing child fall after it.
“Changed my mind.” Sally replied shortly.
Greg nodded and let the silence drag out another few beats before speaking again.
“Reason you changed your mind have anything to do with why you’re sitting here so stiffly or why you’ve been powering through work like you’re trying to ignore the world?”
Sally didn’t reply, still staring out into the middle distance.
“Are you okay?” Greg asked quietly.
“I’m fine, Sir.”
“Sally, I’m not asking as your boss.”
Her posture slumped slightly, neck bowing so her far off focal point was somewhat closer to the ground.
“You’d think I’d be used to it by now, that it wouldn’t hurt.” She said quietly. “But it still does.”
Greg nodded understandingly. He didn’t say he was sorry to hear that or offer her any sympathy that would be misconstrued as pity.
“Normally we both know we’ll come back. We say it’s the last time, last chance, but inside we know it’s not. It hurts, but we, I, it’s never over. It’s worse this time.” She whispered, and lapsed into silence.
The wind rustled the leaves overhead and blew the noise of people, cars and city life their way.
“It’s so stupid, but I really thought this time…” She looked up at the trees eyes shining with what Greg suspected were unshed tears. “He wasn’t wearing his ring anymore - his choice, not my demand. He came to me and offered that. Took it off, took off his bracelet. He brought s-severance papers with him. Said he’d finally realised how important we were, that he was ready to finally commit, get his head out of his arse, everything. Instead it’s over, actually over.”
“You don’t know that.” Greg said quietly.
“Yes, I do.” Her fingers twisted together in her lap. “I love him, but he has other responsibilities now and he can’t have both. He slept with her, he’s got to step up to the hard part as well and take care of her and the b-bab - I can’t be with him, through - I can’t live like that.”
Greg looked away so she could pretend he hadn’t seen the tear that threatened to break free before she wiped it away.
“You’re not surprised.” Sally finally turned to look at him, voice brisk and efficient despite sounding slightly clogged.
“Weatherly broke down in my office Monday night.” He confessed. “Should have been more sympathetic, but to be honest I spent the whole time thinking why me, why’d you have to tell me.”
Sally nodded and looked away. “I thought you were strangely uncomfortable whenever you saw me… thought it was just the new decree from higher up.”
They sat there quietly, letting the breeze running through the trees throw shadows over their faces.
“What did she.” Sally bit her lip and stopped. “Phillip said he didn’t-”
“I don’t know when she told Anderson,” Greg said gently, “but she hadn’t told him on Monday.”
“That’s…good, that’s good.”
Her hands twisted again and Greg noticed the heavy ring, sun catching the edge between her fingers and reflecting back into his eyes.
“He left it with me.” Seeing where Greg was looking Sally held it flat on her palm, letting the sun pick out all the scratches and imperfections where the metal wasn’t as lustrous. “Said he wanted me to keep it, proof he had been finally going to do right by us. How pathetic is that: leaves his wife for another woman and I get to keep his wedding ring.”
“From the sound of it, it could be you, if you wanted it.” Greg remarked casually.
Sally shook her head and let her fingers curl closed.
“No, no it couldn’t. My mam always told me the hardest lesson to learn as a parent is that your children have to come first, no matter what you want. She used to repeat that every time I had a new partner, even though they weren’t Alphas, her way of saying have fun, but don’t get too deep before you’re done being selfish.”
She turned to look at him. “What am I supposed to do, move in with him and her? She needs him until the baby’s born. She can’t afford a baby on her own. Or do I stay at mine, knowing my partner is living with the Sub he knocked up? And even if she moves out after, Phillip’s going to have to look after his kid, have responsibilities, be around it and her. Who am I, its father’s long term mistress? Maybe some other woman could be that strong, but I’m not. I can’t be around that… thing and her.
“No,” She swallowed and looked back down at her hands, hiding the ring between them, “whether it’s what we wanted or not there’s no space for me in his life anymore. It’s all filled with diapers and childcare schedules.”
“He might not be that involved.” Greg tried philosophically, though in reality he agreed with her. He didn’t think he was strong enough to raise his partner’s love child either, if it were him.
“I know a lot of people think badly of him, of us, but if he abandons his child like that, he’s not the Alpha I love anyway. Either way there’s nothing left for us.” Sally whispered, voice barely audible above the ambient noises. “And I can’t, I can’t watch, see that kid, knowing… even if we stayed together it’s a constant reminder stopping us moving on from one fucking screw up.”
“Are you going to be okay?”
“Have to be else we’re all in the shit aren’t we?” Sally offered him a watery smile. “I think Mulgrave would fall to his knees and praise God if I broke down and he could kick our arses.”
“Probably,” Greg agreed, “but you can take some time or-”
“No, that’s worse. At work at least I don’t have to think. I’ll be fine, I just had to get out, get some space. I suppose I’ll have a lot of that now…” She trailed off.
“If you need, no, listen to me Sally, if you need anything, just let me know, okay?” Greg placed a hand on her shoulder.
“I’ll be fine, Greg, really. It’s for the best, right?” She squeezed his hand and let go.
“I’m sorry to say, but it is.” Greg agreed, dropping his hand to the bend and using it to lever his weight to his feet. “Now, come on Sergeant. If you’re out here you can get coffees while I get sandwiches. Probably best we’re back inside before our esteemed superiors do some investigative work of their own and use their ruddy eyes to look out the window.”
Sally laughed, bitterly, but laughed and took Greg’s offered hand to pull herself up. Fingering the ring one more time she tucked it into her pocket and rolled her shoulder’s back.
Greg wasn’t blind to the fact Sally Donovan was rash and let anger and frustration rule her head on occasion, but you couldn’t deny that she kept other emotions firmly in check, especially when she thought they were a weakness.
“Usual?” She asked.
“Sounds good Ham?”
“Chicken. See you in ten.”Thurs 12/5/11 6:32 pm
To: Mycroft Holmes
Subject:
My,
Well, it’s out now. Anderson told Sally yesterday and it’s over for good. Git gave her his wedding ring, can you believe that? Not what I’d call the ideal break up gift, innit?
News hasn’t broken at the Yard yet, but I imagine when it does there’ll be hell to pay. Hopefully there’s some time before it comes out so they can all adjust, Poor Sally. Apparently Anderson’d been about to make right, the pillock.
Poor ex-Mrs Anderson! No idea whether the severance papers are still going to be submitted, but if he doesn’t file I’m pretty sure Carrie will. She’s put up with a lot from him, even if she didn’t know about Sally and I doubt she’ll stand by him with this.
It was hard, listening to Sally, mainly cause a few things she said hit home. God knows I think she’s better off without him, but you can’t just say that to someone. She as good as said it was because she couldn’t live with the baby and Weatherly in their lives, and wouldn’t let him choose otherwise. Mostly, it was the way she said it, “who am I, its father’s mistress?” Something like that.
Who am I to our kid, My? We’ve been avoiding this conversation for too long. I know what you said previously, but really? When you’re not pushing me away? We know I’m his Sire. What about him?
I want him to know. Not straight away, but I don’t want to hide it from him. I don’t want to be just ‘that strange broke guy who lives with us’. He’s my son. I want will be involved in his life. From the start.
I’m vetoing Abernathy, My. Hell, I’d rather call him Mycroft. I’d happily name him that, but we choose, My.
Sorry it’s so preachy. Spent a lot of the day with what exactly were parental responsibilities running around in my head thanks to this mess and I’m sorry, but I just can’t let it go anymore.
Greg
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Previous - Next
Title:Though I Walk through the Valley (30/38)Series: Still Waters (Run Deep) (Part II of IV)
Author: melody_in_time
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Through S1 only
Disclaimer: I wish, I wish upon a star... but until that works, not mine and sadly no money made.
Author's Notes: So so so sorry. It was a public holiday on Monday and I completely spaced on the fact that yesterday was a Wednesday...
Warnings: None in Particular
If you've wondered here by mistake, you may wish to start at Part I of the series, Rarest of the Rare: Chapter 1.
Prologue - Chapter 10 - Chapter 20 - Chapter 30 - Chapter 31 - Chapter 32 - Chapter 33 - Chapter 34 - Chapter 35 - Chapter 36 - Chapter 37 - Chapter 38
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Sent: Sun 8/5/11 8:32 pm
To: Mycroft Holmes
Subject: Hi
Mycroft,
Well this arrived at home today, presumably from Anthea. I’ve never had to sign the Official Secrets Act to receive a parcel before, but I’ve never had a package delivered by the secret service before either. Christ, that agent’s neck was as thick as my forearms together and then some!
Anyway, just checking this is the right email etc. It was the only one in the contacts so I assume it’s you. If not and I’m emailing some big spook or politician or someone, sorry, please ignore this email.
Greg
Monday morning, Monday day, was more of the relentless slog through paperwork. He officially closed down the investigation into the missing Dom now they’d found enough evidence to substantiate her Sub’s claim of self-defence. If they ever managed to find her body things could be taken further, but until then she was missing presumed dead.
The murder investigation into the ‘extra’ body he turned over to Sally, giving her full control. She was good enough to make DI, even DCI one day, and he intended to give her every opportunity to prove it.
Ignoring his other open case files, Greg spent the afternoon cleaning his desk and doing paperwork, as the reminder he had worked out how to set up while on desk duty demanded. It was tedious, but the last thing Greg needed was to give Packenham and Mulgrave any excuse to look sideways at him with their current attitudes. If that meant keeping a stack of form PCF42 in his desk drawer to make sure they got done, then that’s what had to happen.
Most of his case work was desk work anyway at the moment. Other than the investigation he’d handed over to Sally, they were all a matter of collecting and consolidating evidence for court or the administrative protocols to shuffle it off to storage. The hospital had confirmed that Peter was continuing to recover and Greg was tentatively scheduled to see him Friday morning.
The only other case was the still unidentified body in the warehouse. Greg was mostly keeping that one out of pride. He was back 10 years in the records and there still wasn’t a good match for their corpse, but after having kicked Sherlock off the case he had a fierce need to solve it. Ridiculous as it was, he felt he owed it to the victim, having deprived him of his best chance of justice.
Sally waved good bye through the glass and gave him a scolding look. In his defence Greg held up the timesheets he was sorting through for approvals and the lecture stopped before it began.
Unfortunately as much as he hated book keeping it had to be done and Greg had long ago made it harder for himself by keeping two sets of records: one of the hours officers officially claimed and one for the hours they actually worked. That way when costs were getting tight he could approve overtime, he hoped, more judiciously. He’d prefer to approve all of it on the philosophy that if his officers were working they should be paid, but upstairs never agreed and it wasn’t something he could change, especially not at the minute.
Of course the budget was getting tight again, leaving him growling over the figures ominously. If he’d been more inclined to expressive throes of anger, he would have shredded them.
A light knock on the door startled him out of his funk.
“Sir?” Weatherly stood uncertainly in his doorway.
“Yes, uh…” He honestly couldn’t think why she’d be there.
“You left this in the printer tray, sir.”
She walked in and handed him a loose collection of papers. Her hand was trembling slightly, just noticeable because it shook the pages in her grip. Looking up at her face, Greg could see the dark circles under her eyes where her concealer had worn off over the day. Her eyes looked slightly swollen and red, possibly from tiredness, more probably from crying. She still sported a red nose and a slightly glassy gaze that suggested unshed tears.
“Thanks.” He took the papers, trying to decide between tactful blindness and chivalrous concern.
Free of the papers her hands returned carefully to her side, her posture so deliberate it was brittle.
“How have you been?” Greg asked, working on the theory Weatherly could say something if she wanted to or not.
“Fine, fine, sir, just-” A choked off sob strangled the words in her throat, her hand flying to cover the bridge of her nose.
“Hey, hey, sit down.” Greg stood and guided her towards the chair.
“No, no, I’m fine. Really, I’m f-fine.” She didn’t resist physically, folding in on herself in the chair.
Greg handed her a tissue and tried hard not to hover.
“Are some of the officers giving you a hard time?” He asked gently, remembering how Sally had stuck near him at the meeting. It would be easy to believe Weatherly was getting hazed.
“N-n-o-o.” She stammered, tears now rolling down her face. “W-well yes, b-but nothing I can’t h-h-handle. It’s not-t…”
Her voice broke completely at the last word leaving her shaking with tears flooding the tissue. Greg held out another one, and when she failed to take it carefully, but firmly opened her fingers to slip it into her hand.
“Sh, it’ll be okay, uh…” Greg altered, realising he didn’t actually know the constable’s Christian name.
“L-Lisa.” She managed, throat working furiously around the syllables.
“Lisa.” Greg repeated calmly. “It’ll be fine, Lisa.”
He was glad she’d waited until everyone had left for the night to break down. From the look of her she’d been struggling for some time on the verge, probably locking herself in the bathroom several times to cope. He tried to tamp down the panicked him who had no idea what to do with a crying female Sub and the angry him who was pissed off she was crying in his office. As if he needed more attention from management right now. Why couldn’t she have gone to one of her friends, or Whiting if she absolutely had to break down at work?
Pushing it aside, he gamely patted her back and made soothing noises.
“I can lean on the officers a bit, if they’re getting to you.” He told her gently. “Get some boring tasks for them out of the office. They don’t need to know.”
“It’s not, it’s not,” her throat and mouth stood out in the shape of a silent scream until the pressure in her chest forced a reflexive breath. “I’m p-pregnant.”
Greg was very proud in retrospect that his hand didn’t falter in its soothing circles.
“Congratulations?” He offered feebly.
Her sobs became wrenching gasps as each breath stuck in her throat. Greg supported her as her trembling threatened to vibrate her off the chair. His own heart was thudding painfully in his chest, so he couldn’t imagine how she felt.
It occurred to him that Mycroft could.
It also occurred to him he really didn’t want the answer to his next question.
“Lisa, Lisa, look at me. That’s it.” He used another tissue to gently wipe her face. “Lisa, the Sire-”
She burst out in a fresh wave of tears.
“Is it who I think it is?” Greg continued with enforced calm.
She nodded, head buried in her hands.
Sally’s face, make up just a little more strikingly applied, text messages responded to, the gentle half-smile when she drifted off in thought, swum before Greg’s eyes. Anderson keeping his respectful distance, keeping the conversation at an appropriate level, not wearing his wedding ring or bracelet.
Shit.
“Have you told him?”
If Anderson knew and was still… consequences or not they were going to have words.
Weatherly shook her head. If she pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes any harder she was in danger of squashing her eyes.
“I don’t know what to s-say.” She managed. “I don’t know what to do!”
Her voice spiralled up to a note of despair that had Greg wincing internally.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s not the end of the world.” He soothed.
“How is it not?” She wailed.
“Everything can always be dealt with.” Greg lied reassuring, well aware that objectively the truth was probably closer to her version of things than his.
At 24 with less than six months in her current position, she was pregnant with a married Alpha’s child after a one night stand having already been publically reprimanded for accidently getting involved in the less than professional feud between him and his acknowledged lover. End of the world might be an exaggeration, but things were not going to be easy for her.
“Have you thought about what you’re going to do?”
“I don’t know, I just don’t…” The tears welled up again.
“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” Greg awkwardly patted her hair as she collapsed into him, tears hot against his neck.
“What do I do?” She asked some time later, tears finally dried up for now.
“You need to think about what you want, and then you need to talk to Anderson.”
The tissue box was empty, so Greg rooted around in his pocket until he found a handkerchief.
“Do I have to tell him?” She whispered, voice raspy and clogged from crying. “Can’t I just-”
“No!”
Greg realised he may have been a little forceful when she shrank away from him, handkerchief clutched in one hand.
“Sorry.” He dropped to one knee, realising he’d somehow ended up upright without knowing. “If that’s what you decide, that’s fine, but you have to tell him. You can’t make this choice alone. It’s not fair on either of you.”
“But-”
“No.” He repeated. “It’s unfair for you to have to bear the responsibility for this decision alone, and unfair for him not to have a say.”
Okay, he was projecting his own issues a little, but the black grief when he thought the chance had been taken from him, that he had no say in what happened and the idea he might have never met his son because no one was there to talk Mycroft into even considering the alternative was indelibly etched onto his soul.
Something must have shown on his face because Weatherly reached out a trembling hand to touch his fingers clasped on the back of the chair.
“Is… did…. Did someone?” She asked, her voice small.
“No. No, nothing like that.” Greg pushed to a standing and walked back behind his desk.
There might be some older coppers like Gregson who’d remember if pressed what had happened with his first child, but even they didn’t know any details, just that the baby had never arrived and Greg never mentioned it. He wasn’t about to share that with Lisa Weatherly and no one knew about Mycroft.
“Take tomorrow off, Weatherly. Work out what you want going forward. You can work out the mechanics of how to make it work later, but you need to know what you want.”
She nodded and hesitantly stood. “Yes, sir.”
Greg waved off the hanky and she left, ducking shyly between the rows of desk as though afraid there was anyone to see.
He let out a long slow breath.
Shit.
Mon 19/5/11 9:37pm
To: Mycroft Holmes
Subject:
Hi,
Christ, I’m tired. I’m assuming you’re busy cause you haven’t replied. Things are shit, in case you’re wondering. Well, they aren’t yet, but they’re about to be.
Remember I told you about that constable Anderson slept with to get back at Sally? Well, I had the pleasure of finding out tonight that she’s pregnant when she broke down in my office. Poor kid, she’s only young. No clue what she was getting into. Absolutely distraught.
I dunno, My. I should feel sorry for her, and I do, really, but I just felt so angry. Why me? She’s caused so much trouble lately, the whole department is on notice, and she comes and breaks down in my office? I’m the one who’s going to get my arse handed to me by Packenham and Mulgrave when this gets out. Thank God she waited until everyone had left or I’d probably be suspended already.
I know it’s unfair of me. The whole mess isn’t even her fault, it’s bloody Anderson and Sally, and she’s now stuck between a rock and a hard place like the rest of us, but why’d she have to come to me? Whiting’s not officially her DI, but she works with him the most, why couldn’t she go to him, or better yet, a friend? Surely she has legions of female friends to get weepy with.
Can’t wait for Sally to find out. That’s going to be such fun!
Sorry, I’m whining. It’s just so frustrating. I spent the whole day doing fucking paperwork trying to keep my head above water so they don’t have any extra reason to look my way, and now this. If you come home and find I’m unemployed, this is why.
Forcing myself away from the depressingness to try and end on a higher note, there’s a lull in criminal activity, good for me and London, bad for your brother. Looks like Dimmock has a new Dom, oh and I ran into Molly who has apparently got a new kitten.
Greg
Sleep that night didn’t come easily. Initial burst of anger, frustration and fear out of the way, Greg was instead inundated with guilt, worry and loneliness. No matter how many times he flipped his pillow and forced himself to start over counting sheep, his mind inevitably wondered back to Sally and how she was going to handle this latest twist in her ever turbulent relationship just when it seemed it was getting back on track. He thought about Lisa Weatherly and how terrified she must be, about Carrie Anderson, who had been losing her husband and Dom for years.
He didn’t even know if she knew.
He brooded about his loneliness, the difference in the house when Mycroft wasn’t home and wouldn’t be coming home, and how much it frustrated him to have his emotions yanked all over the place by the mere presence or not of the Omega Dom. He was a Sub, but he wasn’t weak, no matter how he seemed to act lately, and his own behaviour riled him.
Somewhere among all the thinking, worrying and brooding, Greg did eventually fall asleep, something he only became aware of when his alarm woke him the next morning.
Weatherly didn’t come in, taking the day as Greg had advised. He was glad, not having expected the strength of the guilt that had reared its head every time he saw Sally or Anderson and didn’t say anything. It was even worse mid-afternoon when he accidently walked in on them in the break room holding mugs of tea and talking in soft voices, fingers linked on their spare hand.
Once he’d unintentionally barged in the only thing that would have made the situation more awkward than continuing to make his cup of tea would have been running out, so Greg forced himself to smile pleasantly and fetch down a tea bag as they all tried to ignore that he’d interrupted a moment and make small talk about the shipping forecast.
After that the guilt was crippling, and he buried himself in chasing down the receipts needed to link various purchases together as proof for one of his cases. He almost ran out the door at five so as not to have to spend a moment longer avoiding looking guiltily at Sally.
He didn’t let himself email Mycroft. If Mycroft hadn’t emailed back yet, then Greg would not email him. He was not desperate. He was not clingy.
He spent the evening watching TV, composing emails to Mycroft in his head and wondering how to bring up the Conversation, capital and all, that still hung between them.
Weatherly was back in the office the next day. To Greg’s relief she avoided him, which made it much less obvious that he was avoiding her.
Greg set a familial DNA search in motion on the victim from the warehouse and continued to comb through missing persons, spending the day down in the records. Needless to say, no one came looking for him there and he was able to escape on time.Wed 1/5/11 4:30 am
To: Gregory Lestrade
Subject: Re
Gregory,
I have received your emails and am disheartened to hear how events have progressed. The young constable seems unfairly treated by fate for what was undoubtedly naivety, but at least she has a comforting presence at the Yard. Despite your anger, I have no doubt that you treated her situation with the utmost delicacy and tact. You have always had a weakness for downtrodden strays, though I sincerely doubt she will prove either a more profitable or more irritating investment than your efforts with Sherlock.
My condolences to Sergeant Donovan for the hurt she will undoubtedly suffer as a result of these actions, though I cannot help but feel it is for the best long term. She most certainly deserves better than Anderson, and this may be the final impetus required to move on.
Mycroft
Wed 14/5/11 6:00 pm
To: Mycroft Holmes
Subject: So you are alive!
My,
No explosions yet, though I’m not entirely sure what will happen tomorrow. Weatherly was back at work today, but don’t know what she has or hasn’t said yet. Hopefully she does something soon, cause I can’t not tell Sally and Anderson much longer.
They were kissing today. Nothing serious, just on the cheek, but it’s not the kinda thing that makes me feel less bad right now.
Spent most of the day in the archives, so I missed it myself, but apparently Dimmock really does have a Dom and it’s the current big scandal. The rumour mill insists that in a fifteen minute period he went from not having any marks on his neck to sporting a giant red hickey, so his Dom’s another Yarder. At least he’s a DI, so management can’t get shirty at me for his in-house relations and any fallout.
I know you can’t say anything about the conference, but hope all is going well.
Greg
Sally was already at her desk when Greg arrived Thursday morning. She didn’t respond to his greeting, but from the way she was studying the screen Greg wrote it off as not having heard him. She hadn’t come to him for help yet, so he presumed the investigation was going well.
Midmorning Greg was interrupted in his slog through court preparation by a stack of folders landing on the edge of his desk. Pretending his heart wasn’t racing at 100 miles an hour he looked up at Sally’s solemn face.
“Write ups for our floater, statements for Carson’s trial.”
“Right.” Greg pulled the files closer, shuffling her report for Carson off to the other side. He had needed her official statement for his court write up, but hadn’t been going to bother asking for it until after he’d spoken to Peter on Friday given her on going cases. “Thanks.”
Sally nodded and left, walking quickly and deliberately in a way that made Greg feel like a shabby out of shape moggy next to an irate panther.
He turned back to his work, but kept half an eye on the bullpen, watching Sally power through folders with a single minded determination. Several times she came back in leaving completed forms on his desk or handing back hard copies of reports she’d borrowed. Each time she was concise, brusque and to the point.
A group of sergeants were heading out for lunch, but Sally waved away their invitations claiming work and they left in a noisy group without her. Ten minutes later Sally also packed up her things and left her desk, Greg frowning after her.
With a sigh he let it go, slogging through the process of collecting, rationalising and consolidating the evidence to support the instinctual links they’d made before a jury. At least this wasn’t a case Sherlock had helped with so he didn’t have to try and justify any of those great jumps in logic to anyone. He’d made enough progress to hand everything over to the prosecutors tomorrow when his stomach started to complain loudly enough to break through his concentration. Fumbling in his drawer failed to produce any snacks, let alone lunch, and Greg packed up, resigned to going out and getting something.
The clouds that had threatened rain only that morning had unbelievably cleared and shown that the weather forecasters could occasionally be correct. With the clouds gone the sun seemed determined to reclaim spring as its own and Greg actually took off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves, treating himself to a walk as he headed to some of the eateries further away on the other side of St James’s Park.
There were a few others taking advantage of the sunshine during lunch and a few children, infants really, too young for school, ran around giggling and shrieking in loud, jubilant voices. One of them chased after a big purple ball on wobbly legs, bemused parents watching the attempt at speed.
Greg was halfway across the park before he noticed Sally Donovan sitting on one of the more hidden benches, body uncomfortably stiff even from a distance. It didn’t take much to alter his path to end up next to her, or near enough to, and he sat down with a thud, slinging his jacket over the arm of the bench.
They sat in silence, Greg watching the trees rustling in the breeze; Sally staring off into space at who knows what.
“Thought you weren’t going out to lunch.” Greg remarked eventually, watching the purple ball tumble across the grass and the laughing child fall after it.
“Changed my mind.” Sally replied shortly.
Greg nodded and let the silence drag out another few beats before speaking again.
“Reason you changed your mind have anything to do with why you’re sitting here so stiffly or why you’ve been powering through work like you’re trying to ignore the world?”
Sally didn’t reply, still staring out into the middle distance.
“Are you okay?” Greg asked quietly.
“I’m fine, Sir.”
“Sally, I’m not asking as your boss.”
Her posture slumped slightly, neck bowing so her far off focal point was somewhat closer to the ground.
“You’d think I’d be used to it by now, that it wouldn’t hurt.” She said quietly. “But it still does.”
Greg nodded understandingly. He didn’t say he was sorry to hear that or offer her any sympathy that would be misconstrued as pity.
“Normally we both know we’ll come back. We say it’s the last time, last chance, but inside we know it’s not. It hurts, but we, I, it’s never over. It’s worse this time.” She whispered, and lapsed into silence.
The wind rustled the leaves overhead and blew the noise of people, cars and city life their way.
“It’s so stupid, but I really thought this time…” She looked up at the trees eyes shining with what Greg suspected were unshed tears. “He wasn’t wearing his ring anymore - his choice, not my demand. He came to me and offered that. Took it off, took off his bracelet. He brought s-severance papers with him. Said he’d finally realised how important we were, that he was ready to finally commit, get his head out of his arse, everything. Instead it’s over, actually over.”
“You don’t know that.” Greg said quietly.
“Yes, I do.” Her fingers twisted together in her lap. “I love him, but he has other responsibilities now and he can’t have both. He slept with her, he’s got to step up to the hard part as well and take care of her and the b-bab - I can’t be with him, through - I can’t live like that.”
Greg looked away so she could pretend he hadn’t seen the tear that threatened to break free before she wiped it away.
“You’re not surprised.” Sally finally turned to look at him, voice brisk and efficient despite sounding slightly clogged.
“Weatherly broke down in my office Monday night.” He confessed. “Should have been more sympathetic, but to be honest I spent the whole time thinking why me, why’d you have to tell me.”
Sally nodded and looked away. “I thought you were strangely uncomfortable whenever you saw me… thought it was just the new decree from higher up.”
They sat there quietly, letting the breeze running through the trees throw shadows over their faces.
“What did she.” Sally bit her lip and stopped. “Phillip said he didn’t-”
“I don’t know when she told Anderson,” Greg said gently, “but she hadn’t told him on Monday.”
“That’s…good, that’s good.”
Her hands twisted again and Greg noticed the heavy ring, sun catching the edge between her fingers and reflecting back into his eyes.
“He left it with me.” Seeing where Greg was looking Sally held it flat on her palm, letting the sun pick out all the scratches and imperfections where the metal wasn’t as lustrous. “Said he wanted me to keep it, proof he had been finally going to do right by us. How pathetic is that: leaves his wife for another woman and I get to keep his wedding ring.”
“From the sound of it, it could be you, if you wanted it.” Greg remarked casually.
Sally shook her head and let her fingers curl closed.
“No, no it couldn’t. My mam always told me the hardest lesson to learn as a parent is that your children have to come first, no matter what you want. She used to repeat that every time I had a new partner, even though they weren’t Alphas, her way of saying have fun, but don’t get too deep before you’re done being selfish.”
She turned to look at him. “What am I supposed to do, move in with him and her? She needs him until the baby’s born. She can’t afford a baby on her own. Or do I stay at mine, knowing my partner is living with the Sub he knocked up? And even if she moves out after, Phillip’s going to have to look after his kid, have responsibilities, be around it and her. Who am I, its father’s long term mistress? Maybe some other woman could be that strong, but I’m not. I can’t be around that… thing and her.
“No,” She swallowed and looked back down at her hands, hiding the ring between them, “whether it’s what we wanted or not there’s no space for me in his life anymore. It’s all filled with diapers and childcare schedules.”
“He might not be that involved.” Greg tried philosophically, though in reality he agreed with her. He didn’t think he was strong enough to raise his partner’s love child either, if it were him.
“I know a lot of people think badly of him, of us, but if he abandons his child like that, he’s not the Alpha I love anyway. Either way there’s nothing left for us.” Sally whispered, voice barely audible above the ambient noises. “And I can’t, I can’t watch, see that kid, knowing… even if we stayed together it’s a constant reminder stopping us moving on from one fucking screw up.”
“Are you going to be okay?”
“Have to be else we’re all in the shit aren’t we?” Sally offered him a watery smile. “I think Mulgrave would fall to his knees and praise God if I broke down and he could kick our arses.”
“Probably,” Greg agreed, “but you can take some time or-”
“No, that’s worse. At work at least I don’t have to think. I’ll be fine, I just had to get out, get some space. I suppose I’ll have a lot of that now…” She trailed off.
“If you need, no, listen to me Sally, if you need anything, just let me know, okay?” Greg placed a hand on her shoulder.
“I’ll be fine, Greg, really. It’s for the best, right?” She squeezed his hand and let go.
“I’m sorry to say, but it is.” Greg agreed, dropping his hand to the bend and using it to lever his weight to his feet. “Now, come on Sergeant. If you’re out here you can get coffees while I get sandwiches. Probably best we’re back inside before our esteemed superiors do some investigative work of their own and use their ruddy eyes to look out the window.”
Sally laughed, bitterly, but laughed and took Greg’s offered hand to pull herself up. Fingering the ring one more time she tucked it into her pocket and rolled her shoulder’s back.
Greg wasn’t blind to the fact Sally Donovan was rash and let anger and frustration rule her head on occasion, but you couldn’t deny that she kept other emotions firmly in check, especially when she thought they were a weakness.
“Usual?” She asked.
“Sounds good Ham?”
“Chicken. See you in ten.”Thurs 12/5/11 6:32 pm
To: Mycroft Holmes
Subject:
My,
Well, it’s out now. Anderson told Sally yesterday and it’s over for good. Git gave her his wedding ring, can you believe that? Not what I’d call the ideal break up gift, innit?
News hasn’t broken at the Yard yet, but I imagine when it does there’ll be hell to pay. Hopefully there’s some time before it comes out so they can all adjust, Poor Sally. Apparently Anderson’d been about to make right, the pillock.
Poor ex-Mrs Anderson! No idea whether the severance papers are still going to be submitted, but if he doesn’t file I’m pretty sure Carrie will. She’s put up with a lot from him, even if she didn’t know about Sally and I doubt she’ll stand by him with this.
It was hard, listening to Sally, mainly cause a few things she said hit home. God knows I think she’s better off without him, but you can’t just say that to someone. She as good as said it was because she couldn’t live with the baby and Weatherly in their lives, and wouldn’t let him choose otherwise. Mostly, it was the way she said it, “who am I, its father’s mistress?” Something like that.
Who am I to our kid, My? We’ve been avoiding this conversation for too long. I know what you said previously, but really? When you’re not pushing me away? We know I’m his Sire. What about him?
I want him to know. Not straight away, but I don’t want to hide it from him. I don’t want to be just ‘that strange broke guy who lives with us’. He’s my son. I want will be involved in his life. From the start.
I’m vetoing Abernathy, My. Hell, I’d rather call him Mycroft. I’d happily name him that, but we choose, My.
Sorry it’s so preachy. Spent a lot of the day with what exactly were parental responsibilities running around in my head thanks to this mess and I’m sorry, but I just can’t let it go anymore.
Greg
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