Morning is a Long Time Coming (6/8) by Bean Rated PG Keywords: Bayliss. New character. Summary: Bayliss and Rowan hangin' out, basically. Disclaimer in part 1. ------------------ Morning is a Long Time Coming (6/8) "This is not a real cartoon, Bayliss," Rowan tells him later that evening as they sit on his couch, white cartons containing all manner of Chinese food scattered across the table. "What are you talking about?" he demands. "'Underdog' is a perfectly wonderful cartoon!" he tells her with such earnestness she's forced to laugh. "No, Tim, 'Underdog' is just plain silly. I'll show you a real cartoon." She snatches the remote out of his hand and flips until she finds a rerun of 'The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show.' "Now this," she says with a satisfied smile, "is a real cartoon." "'This looks like real trouble, Bullwinkle!'" Bayliss cries in a dead-on Rocky impression. "'Good, I hate that make believe kind,'" Rowan quotes as Bullwinkle, which sends Bayliss into spasms of laughter. "That was terrible!" She grins. "Yeah, I know. I'm terrible at impressions of cartoon moose. Personality flaw, I guess." "So... 'Underdog' is silly, but 'Rocky and Bullwinkle' is brain food?" he asks, barely able to keep a straight face, amazed as he is at how quickly things have gone from rehashing childhood horrors to discussing cartoons. "Of course! I mean, what about the Way-Back Machine? If that doesn't teach you about history, then I don't know what does. And look, it teaches racial harmony... a moose and a squirrel, working together with no problems arising from the fact that they're two completely different species. "And then there's how much you learn about how *not* to spy... and how to do a really bad Russian accent... and how to do dramatic narration," she explains carefully, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "'Batman' did dramatic narration better." "No, Tim, 'Batman' did not, because 'Batman' was serious about it. 'Rocky and Bullwinkle' makes dramatic narration into one big joke." "Oh, please, you cannot tell me anyone did it better than 'Batman'. People still say, 'Same bat time, same bat channel.'." Rowan rolls her eyes. "People still say, 'No soup for you!'. Just because a show influences pop culture doesn't mean it's good." He looks stunned. "You don't like 'Seinfeld'?" he asks, amazed. She shrugs. "I've never really thought about it. Sometimes I like it, and sometimes everyone just gets on my nerves. They're all so selfish and superficial." "That's part of what makes it funny, Rowan," he says wryly. "You aren't one of those big 'Seinfeld' nuts are you?" He shrugs. "I'm not nuts about much of anything... except food," he says, taking a huge bite of lo mein. She laughs at this and turns her attention back to the TV, but not before muttering, "Why am I not surprised?" "Oh, come on, Ro!" he says suddenly. "You can't really believe people are actually as stupid as Boris and Natasha, can you?" "You can't really believe mice actually wear capes and fly around saving the day, can you?" she asks. His eyes widen in mock-amazement. "No! Stop it, stop it, you're going to ruin my rose-colored view of the world!" He frowns. "How did you know I love 'Mighty Mouse'?" he asks suspiciously. "You *are* Mighty Mouse, Timmy," she says simply, her eyes not leaving Rocky and Bullwinkle, who are currently trapped in an elevator that's speeding out of control... or so says the narrator. Bayliss doesn't know what to say to this, so they sit in comfortable silence for a while, waiting breathlessly to see what will happen to the incredibly lucky - or incredibly unlucky, depending on your point of view - moose and squirrel as they get in and out of scrape after scrape. "That was a pretty intense song tonight," he says hesitantly. She cuts her eyes over at him, wondering what's on his mind, but says nothing. "I liked the one last night better... what was it called?" Rowan turns to look at him carefully before saying, "'3am.' You know that as well as I do." He smiles sheepishly. "Yeah, guess I do. I guess it just hit really close to home." Her body relaxes visibly and she sits back against the futon. "I... um... I usually don't do it in shows for that reason, but I've found it to be a pretty good closing song... nice and mellow. It's very personal, though, and I don't like revealing that much to an audience of strangers." Bayliss nods in understanding. "I can see why you wouldn't... but how come you did it for us?" A blush tinges her cheeks and she won't meet his eyes. "Well... it just seemed... um... appropriate... and I..." The blush deepens. "I thought you might like it, ok?" she says in a rush. "Oh," he responds, unsure what to say beyond that. "Well, I did." She chuckles. "Well, I'm glad." There is another silence, this one awkward, as the narrator says, "Join us next time for 'Standing Room Only' orrrrr... 'Rocky 'n' Roll'!" Rowan suddenly grabs the remote to turn the TV off. "Look, Tim, about earlier..." He looks over at her warily. "Which earlier?" "On the street... you know what I'm talking about... I just wanted to say that I'm sorry." "No, Rowan, it was my fault. I shouldn't have-" "No, Tim," she interrupts him, "I'm sorry I ran away." Her voice is soft and his eyes widen in surprise. Before he can say or do anything, she jumps up and begins collecting Chinese food cartons and delivering them to the kitchen. On her second trip, he follows her. "Sorry you didn't let me kiss you, you mean?" he demands abruptly. Her brow creases in a frown as she opens the refrigerator. "What is it with guys and having stuff left over from the Civil War in their kitchens?" she asks rhetorically, carefully depositing the latest round of leftovers among the junk clogging up his fridge. He waits patiently for her to answer, arms crossed over his chest as he leans casually against the counter. "Yeah, Bayliss, that's what I mean," she tells him, still not looking away from the feat of engineering she's performing by getting everything to balance among the pizza boxes, ancient milk cartons and beer. "So how should I take that?" he asks, his tone slightly teasing, though he's very serious. She straightens, rubbing her forehead with the back of her hand, and glares at him. "I honestly don't give a damn, Detective Bayliss. I just thought it was something you should know, ok?" She digs a dish towel out from a drawer, dampens it and begins wiping down the counter. Bayliss watches her tidy up his kitchen, his mind reeling with the bit of information she's just given him. So how *should* he take it? As an invitation? As an idle comment that doesn't mean anything? "I didn't mean to scare you," he says softly. She stops wiping for a moment, but only a moment, and says, "You didn't scare me," her voice haughty. He shifts his weight from one foot to another. "That's bullshit." An angry frown darkens her pretty face and she turns to look at him. "How do you know what's bullshit and what isn't? Are you inside my head? I just didn't think kissing you would be a wise move, ok?" "Relax, Rowan, I'm on your side, remember?" "'Mayhap you is and mayhap you ain't,'" she quotes softly, but he notices the smile hovering at the corners of her mouth. He frowns, sensing that this is some sort of test, and tries to remember where he's heard that quote... an old black woman... a house... a bunch of people standing around her... "'The Stand'!" he cries, triumphant, and is rewarded with the full force of her dazzling, amused smile. "Ding, ding," she says quietly, tucking a lock of soft brown hair behind her ear. "So what do I win?" he asks, laughing. Rowan wanders across the kitchen toward him, twisting the dishrag in her hands casually. "Oh... I don't know... what do you want to win?" she asks, realizing she could possibly be getting in way over her head, but also realizing that she doesn't really care. He studies her eyes, trying to read them, but failing miserably. Bayliss doesn't want to scare her again, but he decides to take a risk anyway. "Well..." he says slowly, "how about that kiss you regret running away from?" Her eyes glint with mischief as she says, "Alright." Hands demurely behind her back, she approaches him, goes up on tiptoe and presses her lips to the corner of his mouth gently. "There. Congratulations and thank you for playing." He laughs. "Somehow I don't think it would've been quite so innocent." Her eyebrows go up. "Oh really? What, you think I would've just melted in your arms like some sort of way-too-generously endowed chick from a romance novel?" she asks sarcastically, but without malice. "Yeah, well, I'm no Fabio." She wrinkles her nose in distaste. "Good. Fabio's kinda nasty." "I'd have to agree with you there." There's a pause and he decides to change the subject. "So... what did you and Ballard talk about?" he asks casually, though he's actually dying to know. She flashes him a half smile. "Oh... nothing in particular... just basic squad room gossip. Though she did mention you two went out." He grimaces. "With horrible results, I might add." "Oh yeah? So, what, you didn't get laid so you're pissed at Laura?" Bayliss frowns at this. "Come on, Rowan, I know we haven't known each other very long, but I'd like to believe you think better of me than that." Her expression softens. "I do. Conditioned response... I'm sorry. How come things didn't work out with you two?" He shrugs. "I was going through a lot of stuff... see, I had just met someone and I was trying to work out how I felt, and then I went out with her and it was just really bad timing." "Does this mysterious someone have a name?" "Chris... but, um, he and I aren't seeing each other anymore or anything," he says slowly, waiting for her to turn tail and run. Rowan slowly arches an eyebrow. "He?" With a wry chuckle and a shake of her head she says, "Well that just figures." "No, no, I'm not gay. I'm just... uh... curious, I guess," Bayliss tells her carefully. "Oh. Well. To tell you the truth, I think a lot of guys are... but they're too spazzy and homophobic to admit it. It's good to meet someone secure enough with himself to take risks." He smiles in surprise and feels himself relax. "I was afraid you would be scared away for good this time." She frowns, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture. "Why would I be? You're bi', not a cannibal." His laughter fills the small kitchen. "A lot of people think that one sin is just as bad as another." She nods slowly, considering. "My father was a very religious man. I myself don't much care for church, but that's just me... I have nothing against God or that sort of thing, I just don't like being told, 'If you don't do *this*, or if you dare to do *this*, then you're going to Hell.'" Rowan pauses, watching him closely for a reaction. "However," she continues after a moment, "I was often dragged to church... my father liked to present a good face to the voters, ya know. But anyway, I would sit there and listen to these sermons about sin and damnation and Hell and God and Jesus and the devil, and I realized that there are quite a few inconsistencies in religion. "After a few years, I learned to draw my own conclusions and to make my own way. I won't bore you with all that I believe, or almost believe, or want to believe... but, at the risk of sounding like I'm trying to force my beliefs on you - which I'm really not - I will tell you one thing I have tried to embrace above all: God loves all people. Jesus loves all people. "If your worry, Bayliss, is with God, then you should know it's unnecessary. You're an adult, and you're a homicide detective who sees the absolute worst mankind and God can produce. If your faith wavers, and if you go against all those damn 'rules,' then you just do. Who follows them all anyway? If, in order to reach Heaven, one has to be without sin, then Heaven must be not only a pretty empty place, but a damn boring one." She stops, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Tim, I'm sure the last thing you wanted to hear was a sermon from me." He has been watching her with wide, fascinated eyes, and at this last he shakes his head. "It wasn't a sermon, Rowan. I enjoy hearing what you think and what you believe... and you've obviously thought a lot about this." She shrugs and goes back to wiping the counter; Bayliss is sure she's going to rub a hole in it. "Honor thy Father and thy Mother," she says softly, a hint of a laugh carried on the current of her voice. "That was one that always stuck with me... one that always had me worried. Honor thy Father. I never thought my father was worth honoring, and that scared me. I worried that, because dad went to church and prayed and I didn't, that I would go to Hell, and he would go to Heaven... despite how he hurt me." "Do you think God loves your father, Rowan?" Her head snaps up, eyes bright with unshed tears. "I would be a hypocrite if I said I didn't." She pauses to think, chewing her lower lip as she considers her answer. "Yes, Tim, I do, and not just because I don't want to be a hypocrite. God loves my father, but I think He is very disappointed in him. Love can't be conditional. My father was not a good man, not deep down inside, but not everyone is. You have to take the good with the bad... like with children. Jeffrey Dahmer's dad still loves him... or so I've heard him say." "You're comparing your father to Jeffrey Dahmer?" She frowns. "Not their actions, no... but just that despite how bad someone may be, you can't stop loving them." "You told me you hate your father," he points out mildly. "I never claimed to be God, Bayliss... or to even be a good person who does the right thing. I hate my father, you hate your uncle... we have our reasons, and I believe they're justified... but let's say I had been the one to kill my father. It would still be murder, would it not? It wouldn't matter how he's hurt me or Jeremy or Momma. All that would matter is that he would be dead, and I would be the one holding the smoking gun." She shakes her head. "Life is full of gray areas, and I'm sure you know that better than anyone." His eyes crinkle as he smiles. "You know too much about the world, Rowan. How old are you again?" Her answering smile doesn't reach her eyes, doesn't brighten them with humor in the way Bayliss has begun to find addictive. "Too young. Too old. Just right. Who's to say? It's just so easy to die, ya know? Why should being young or being old matter when anyone, at any age, can be killed or can choke to death or can be in a car accident? I don't like thinking about it, because I'm afraid I might start thinking of my youth as equal to immortality and I know there's no such thing. No one is immortal or immune or safe." "Hey, wait a minute," he says, reaching out to grab hold of her shoulders. "You can't think like that, Rowan. Yeah, people die, but that's just a part of life. Everyone is born and everyone dies, but you can't just sit back and let death come to you." "What, 'Do not go gentle into that good night... Rage, rage against the dying of the light'?" she asks, her voice sarcastic and sad. "Dylan Thomas... how appropriate... Yes, Rowan, that's exactly what I'm saying! You can't let something like this absorb you and snuff out that light I see in your eyes, that spirit and life! *That* is why I tried to kiss you, Rowan, because of that strength I see inside of you. I wish I had even a tiny portion of it." "You're some sort of leech monster who can absorb my strength through a kiss?" she asks, a trace of humor lighting her eyes for a moment. But then her head drops, and she's suddenly feeling very tired, almost as though the strength *has* been sucked out of her. "I just... this is so hard, Bayliss. I wish I could sit and think for five minutes without this image of... of blood... I feel like I've just been watching 'Texas Chainsaw Massacre' or something." "That movie scared the hell out of me," he admits with a soft smile. Rowan looks up, her gaze catching his. "Me too," she whispers. As they stand there, his hands clasping her shoulders, their eyes locked together and saying things for which there are no words, he leans close, his green eyes dark and intense, and she feels her pulse pounding in her temples. "Tim, I-" "Shhh, Rowan, don't say a thing," he whispers, his lips meeting hers softly, gently, sweetly, but with an undercurrent of electricity that makes them both feel as though their hearts have stopped beating for a moment. He runs a hand through her hair and her arms go around his neck as the kiss deepens, but then suddenly she pulls her mouth from his, breaking the connection. "I'm sorry," she says quietly, her breath whispering across his cheek, "but we both know this isn't a good idea." "Did you think it was a good idea to stay here in the first place?" he asks. She frowns, her arms dropping to her sides. "No, I didn't... but I... figured what the hell. I don't have anything left to lose." "So then why don't you figure what the hell about this?" "Because you *do* have something to lose, Bayliss, and I realize now that I do to. I don't want to... to do something I might regret." "Have you ever thought you might regret *not* doing something? You did before." "Well I'm not going to *sleep* with you, if that's what you're saying!" she says, using her anger to separate herself from the rest of her emotions. He frowns. "No, of course that's not what I'm saying." He takes a step away, hoping that will put her more at ease. "I'm sorry, Rowan, I don't want to make you do anything you don't want to. I just... I like you and I'm attracted to you. I have been since I first saw you in the bar, all pissed off because Munch is such a jerk. I don't want to hurt you, and I don't want to scare you... I just want you to know how I feel." She studies her shoes a long time before mumbling, "Yeah, well, me too." "I knew you liked me," he teases, and the glare she gives him has no malice in it. The phone rings suddenly, startling them both, and Bayliss hurries to answer it. "Bayliss," he says hopefully, thinking maybe it's about the case. After a moment he hands the phone to Rowan. "It's Kevin," he tells her, a strange tone to his voice. "Kev?" she says upon taking the phone. "Hey, Ro, I was just calling to check up on you. I know you said you were fine when you called earlier, but I thought you might want to talk or something." She chuckles. "I don't need to be checked up on, hon. I'm fine, the place is fine, Bayliss is fine. How are you?" "Worried. Your family's dead, Rowan. You seem to be taking this a little too well," he says gently. "'Seem' is the operative word, Kev." "Yeah, well-" Her friend is interrupted by abrupt silence. "Kev?" she says. Silence. "Kevin? Where'd ya go?" Her brow creases in concern. "Hey, Kevin, this isn't funny. Where are you?" After a moment the silence changes to the obnoxious bleat of a busy signal and she hangs up, shaken. "He got cut off or something," she tells Bayliss. "I'll try him again." She dials the number quickly, it being nearly as familiar to her as her own and waits as it rings... and rings... and rings... again and again. She hangs up and hits redial. There's still no answer and she looks at Tim with a frown. "I think there's something wrong. No," she says softly, confidently, "I *know* something's wrong. We have to get over there." "Rowan, he might just've run off to the bathroom or something. You can't jump to conclusions." "Bayliss, after the day I've had, I think I have the right to jump to conclusions when I'm cut off mid-conversation from my best friend! Now look, you can either come with me or I'll go alone. It doesn't matter to me either way." But it did. Of course it did. "Fine. Let's go." End part 6/8