ooOoo

10

ooOoo

It took nearly ten hours to get it all sorted out. The whole lot of us got taken Downtown and if you think that that was the first association that Della Ramir had ever had with an establishment like that then you would be wrong: as she cheerfully told Zack, the desk sergeant, the Commissioner and the D.A. – both of whom had been hauled in to join in the fun – a company owned by Ramir Industries had poured the foundations for the building back in the day. They took it better than you would have thought.

Bester's lifting of Della was explained by the fact that he'd got wind of a personal relationship between her and John and he'd wanted John under his thumb. It was sort of true. As there was nothing left to tie Della or Maya or anybody else of theirs to any of it, there was nothing left for the boys in blue but to swallow it.

It was daylight by the time we finally stumbled down the steps and onto the sidewalk and the not-too-clear air of Downtown had never smelt so good. To my astonishment, Zack had offered to take Lydia home, personally in person; to my even greater astonishment she had accepted, with a smile and lowered lashes. No-one offered any of us a lift but when we hit the street we found that we had our own welcome committee: in the red corner, Maya and Nero and in the blue corner, Susan Ivanova. She and O'Neill were wearing matching scowls.

Susan shook her head and inspected us. 'Just look at the state of you, the pair of you.'

John automatically straightened his tie and smoothed down his hair. I would have told him that the effort would make no difference except that on him on did.

Maya started fussing over her sister and Della looked a little amused at what was obviously a reversal in roles for those two. I had me a good stretch and yawned widely; Susan looked at me and wrinkled her nose.

'We came to take you home,' O'Neill announced, looking pointedly at his future sister-in-law.

John had given her his jacket to keep her warm and it swamped her; she looked like a little girl playing dress-up but still held herself like a queen. She looked up at John and he looked down at her.

'Thanks,' he said, 'but I think we'll take a walk.'

'It's such a beautiful day,' Della added. 'Nero – would you mind taking Miss Ivanova and Mr Garibaldi to wherever they want to go?'

He sucked in a breath, looked sideways at us both like he was trying to find a way out and gave in. 'Of course not.'

And off they went, strolling up the avenue like a couple of swells.

That was Sunday morning. By Wednesday night we had decided to get the boys and girls together to celebrate. I rang Lydia but she had a dinner-date – but she told me she'd stop by later if I let her know where we'd be at; oddly, when I rang Zack he was also all tied up Wednesday but, just like Lydia, would try to make it later on. Which just goes to show that you really never can tell.

We went back to our favourite haunt, the Babylon, and it was swinging, even if it was only Wednesday. Some joints are like that and the Babylon Bar and Grill was one of them: sooner or later, everyone went there. Adira was having the night off, so we were shown to our table by a tall, striking girl with slanted eyes called Natalie Tothman who was Gerry's...

Actually, we were never sure exactly what she was; let's just say that she was Gerry's and leave it at that.

We were seen to personally by Vinnie Cotto, some relative of Lon's from back home. Vinnie was a sweet kid but he had a repertoire of twitches and gasps that always reminded me of a fish that had just been landed. He stood over us, stammered and turned beet red when Della smiled at him.

It was a merry group through dinner and a nicely mellow one by the time Maya and Nero were wrestling each other around the dance-floor; I guess that they'd had another argument earlier that day and were in the process of making it up. It wasn't my idea of heaven, but I guess it's a case of whatever floats your boat.

Steve was beating out the time to the number the band were laying out on the side of his glass and saying, 'Don't get me wrong – it's doing the world a favour getting rid of Al Bester; but, well, since the club closed most of us are out of work. It's back to hauling the carcass around town and seeing if any of the gin-joints are hiring.' He quirked an eyebrow at us. 'Know anyone who's looking for a horn-man?

'The White Star is looking for a new bandleader,' Della said.

He put his eyebrows up then breathed down his nose. 'That would be great – but getting in to see the manager of that place? That's a whole other story.'

'Oh,' – Della waved a hand, dismissive – 'he's easily dealt with.'

John watched her, his eyes narrowing. 'Ramir Industries doesn't happen to own the White Star, does it?'

She looked at him over the rim of her glass, all innocence. 'Doesn't it?'

John choked out a laugh.

Della put down her Martini. 'Are you ever going to ask me to dance?'

He made a show of grimacing for a bit and then hauled himself up. 'Come on, plaything; don't say I never do anything for you.'

She slid along the booth. 'You know, I don't mind your calling me plaything, but I'd just like to know if you're playing for keeps.'

'When I'm not I'll let you know.'

She gave him a smile that would arouse in most men the feelings necessary for the reproduction of the species. 'Well, all right then.'

They wandered off and Steve looked at me. 'Plaything?'

I held up my hands. 'Don't ask – I have no idea.'

He sniggered, one corner of his mouth turning up.

'Think she was serious?'

'Oh, I think so – she seems pretty gone on him, for some reason.'

Steve rolled his eyes. 'I didn't mean that, you big mook. The job, the bandleader, do you think she meant it?'

I swallowed some of my highball. 'I guess so – she's pretty on the level for a moneyed type. "Doc" Franklin and his Orchestra – I like it. It's catchy; I might even buy the records.'

I grinned at him and raised my glass.

'I second that,' Susan added and clinked her glass against my mine.

Steve blew out a breath, ran a hand over his head. 'Man. I don't believe it.' He glanced back at the couples on the floor, his eyes following Della and her partner for a moment. They looked like they didn't know there was anyone else there with them. He turned around again and said to Susan, 'How about it? Once around the floor?'

He led her off. Susan couldn't dance to save her life but Steve could hoof it with the best of them so between the two of them they managed to look pretty good in with the rest of the couples.

I sank the rest of my drink, sat back against the booth and closed my eyes. I felt that everything was right with the world and let myself drift on this nice little cloud I had found; everything else seemed to fall away – the music, the scents, everything.

'Michael. Michael?'

I opened my eyes; the light was bright and I squinted against it; John's face was close to mine and I grinned at him like a dope.

'Hey, Johnny-boy. Where's Della?'

He frowned. 'What did you just call me?'

ooOoo

'And who's Della?'

Michael Garibaldi blinked against the white light, focused on the two faces hovering over him. Sheridan glanced at the doctor, worried, then back down at the man stretched out on the bed.

'Is he okay?'

'Just give him a minute,' Franklin said indistinctly, watching the readings on his scanner.

Garibaldi moved his head and tried to find a way of holding it that didn't hurt. And tried to reconcile two different realities that both seemed equally viable, equally vibrant in his mind. Only for a moment. He sighed.

'Well, Toto, it looks like we're back in Kansas.'

ooOoo

John Sheridan shook his head, placed his cup back on the table. 'I always knew you had an over-active imagination; but this...'

Garibaldi waved a hand at him. 'Nah. You're just jealous because you never had a dream so good.'

He had signed himself out of MedLab against Franklin's wishes – although, everyone else suspected that the doctor's admonishments were merely a formality and he was only too glad to see the back of his obstreperous patient. But Franklin had insisted that Garibaldi not be allowed back on duty until he had at least twenty-four hours rest and Sheridan had taken time out after his shift had ended to make sure that his security chief was following those orders at least.

He had listened to the full extent of Garibaldi's dreamscape with a mix of amusement and incredulity. He smiled a little.

'You might be right at that.' His own dreams had been none too pleasant of late.

'Hm.' Garibaldi drained his cup. 'With all the stuff we're facing at the moment there's a part of me that wishes I could curl up and go back to that safer, simpler time.'

'Simpler? With all the- What was it? Thugs pounding on you and gangsters trying to shoot holes in you? That's different from here, how?'

Garibaldi snickered. 'You're getting cynical in your old age, you know that?'

'Maybe. Still – you had us worried for a time. It's good to have you back.'

Michael looked at him, his eyebrows raised comically. 'Why Captain, I almost think you care.'

'I don't – I've just grown used to having you about the place. Besides, it would be a giant headache trying to find anyone dumb enough to take your job.' He stood up, paused then smiled benevolently at the man on the sofa. 'Goodnight, Michael.'

'Night.'

Sheridan left, the door swinging closed behind him with a rush of air. Garibaldi stretched his arms along the back of the sofa, glanced around his quarters and his gaze ended on the book he had been reading. Raymond Chandler had a lot to answer for, he decided; it was too soon – maybe in a few days. He turned on his BabCom unit, scrolled through some vids and found one that was already playing. Humphrey Bogart was looking on in exotic surrounds just as Lauren Bacall, in a dress that left little to the imagination, was about to launch into song. Garibaldi turned it off. Maybe he should just get one good night's sleep and forget about all of it. He turned down the lights.

ooOoo

Epilogue

ooOoo

I'd never really thought about getting married again. After Anna died, I mean.

I had thought that that was it and that was about as far as I had thought. The possibility of feeling much of anything for anyone else had never occurred to me, let alone the idea of ... this. This thing that had happened to me the moment I saw her.

And I had never believed in love at first sight. Actually, I'm still not sure that I believe in it even now, but it really was love – head-over-heels, can't-live-without-you, crazy in love. There has to be some sort of explanation. Something in the air, or the water. Or something. I mean, I knew Anna for almost two years before we got married; I'd known Della for less than two weeks but it felt like I'd known her all of my life.

And I had intended to ask her to marry me – I just hadn't intended to hear myself saying, 'Let's hop on a train to Vegas and get married.'

And she said yes. It took me a good few minutes to realise that she wasn't just saying yes to marriage, she was saying yes to the train and Las Vegas.

Actually, I had suggested Atlantic City but Della had been set on something more traditional. And in the end we had hopped on a plane for the journey down because amongst other things, Ramir Industries owned a large part of a small commercial airline.

So, less than twenty-four hours later, there we were in a little chapel near Fremont Street exchanging vows and I was putting on her finger the ring that I'd emptied my bank account to buy and if I'd had a hundred times that amount to spend on her it still wouldn't have been enough to pay for anything worthy of her.

That's me talking, by the way, not her – Della isn't like that.

Della. My wife. My beautiful, wonderful wife. I twisted the ring that was around my finger and tried to get used to the weight of it. I hadn't worn one before – it wasn't really the done thing for a man the first time I'd got married but times had changed and I'd wanted to. It felt right somehow, showing the world that I belonged to her just like she belonged to me.

I'd sent a telegram to Mike and Susan to let them know the good news. I felt sort of a heel not having them there but, well, that's just the way things go sometimes, I guess. I promised myself that when we got back to New York we'd take them out for the best dinner either of them had ever seen.

The train swayed and I braced myself against the wall. The compartment could probably have fit my apartment in it with room to spare and I tried to come to terms with the fact that from then on I was going to be kept in the style to which I was not accustomed. But I'm used to working for a living and there was no chance I was about to abandon Mike – he may claim to be the original lone wolf but when he's left to his own devices it turns out he's actually not that great at it.

The door from our bathroom opened and Della appeared, looking like a gift from the gods. I looked her up and down and tried to remember words. Any words. She smiled and I guess that meant that the desired effect had been achieved.

'That's a nice bit of nothing you're almost wearing,' I told her eventually; I was trying to sound casual and I was failing and we both knew it.

She smiled again, moving towards me with that controlled fluid grace of hers. 'Thank-you. You bought it for me.'

'I'm spoiling you.'

We could have been in the swankiest hotel or the cheapest dive, I didn't care. Right then, that train compartment was heaven. I was just worried that Della might not think so. She was uptown, a lady; she was pure class. Her type of wedding should be the society shindig followed by a honeymoon in the more expensive hotels of Europe. Not a car on the Union-Pacific where if I'd stretched out my arms I could probably have touched both walls at the same time, even if it was a Pullman. The longer I looked at it, the smaller it got.

'Della.'

'Yes?' She looked up at me; I stared at her and forgot the basics of the English language again. There was definitely an upper-hand in this marriage, and I wasn't the one who had it.

'Della – are you sure about this? I can already see the headlines in the New York Times – "Society Heiress Marries Gumshoe." It isn't going to be pretty.'

Della laughed and I realised that it wasn't something that she did very often. I don't mean that she didn't have a sense of humour, just that she was normally a serious person. I decided that my mission in life was to make her laugh more. 'Darling, don't be silly. You're not important enough to rate the Times – you might make the Gazette, though.'

If I didn't strangle her first.

'I'm serious – your family will have a fit, all at the same time.'

'Oh, let them. Maya is the only one who counts and she's thrilled. As for the rest... I hardly ever see them and they already disapprove of me anyway. I haven't seen my mother since I was sixteen – the last thing I heard she was in Charleston living with a racing car driver. She has nothing to say that I want to hear. There's Aunt Lucy and Great-Aunt Dora and Uncle Willie...' She shuddered. 'And Great-Uncle Frederick and Cousin- oh, they'll just have to get used to it. Anyway, I don't care what they think or say – why should you?'

'I don't – I just care if you do.'

'Well, I don't.' She paused. 'But, uh, we will probably have to see them all when we get back...'

'Oh?' I watched her and even by then I knew that she was trying to handle me. What was worse was that it worked.

'Well, I had to tell Maya - and Aunt Lucy was there at the time so I had to tell her. And she asked us to dinner so I said yes. John, if we don't go it will be as though I lied to them and that would be terribly ... dishonourable.'

I almost couldn't believe my ears. Dishonourable? I'd just been co-opted into dinner with her extended family and they sounded like something Charles Addams had dreamt up.

'Okay, but just this once – I don't care if you turn out to have twice as much money as I think you do.' I tried to sound lighthearted but the truth was my heart was beating hard enough to burst out of my chest. It's hard to put into words what being with Della is like; the first time I met her it felt as though a piece of me that I'd never even known was missing had finally been put into place. I got that same feeling again, then, looking at her. I've had it every time since. More than anything, I wanted her to be happy and it was only then that I started to realise just how crazy this had been and just how many things she might end up regretting. 'It wasn't much of a service for you to look back on. Wouldn't you have preferred a big white wedding at St Patrick's, like Maya's having?'

She grimaced slightly. 'That's what Maya wants and I hope that she enjoys every second of it.'

'And what do you want?'

'I've already got what I want.' She tilted her head at me and smiled and somehow managed to make that bit of nothing slip down her shoulders.

Women don't fight fair, that's a fact; and Della was one of the dirtiest fighters I'd ever met.

The train swayed again, we both stumbled and I caught her, supported her. She was all clouds of perfume and soft hair and skin and she looked up at me.

I glanced at our berths. 'You know, we'll be taking our lives into our hands sleeping in those things.'

Della put her arms around my neck. 'Don't worry – if you fall I'll be here to catch you.'

A lock of her hair had curled itself around her throat and I moved it aside. 'Well, plaything, with an offer like that...'

ooOoo

John Sheridan woke, suddenly, gripping the edge of the bed until he realised that nothing was moving and he was, most definitely, entirely alone.

No train, no Nevada horizon speeding past and certainly no dark-haired, grey-eyed woman in his arms.

'I'm going to kill Michael Garibaldi,' he muttered, punched his pillows and tried to recapture sleep.

In the morning, he thought; I'll kill him in the morning.

The End