Misunderstanding...

Deb had been over a lot lately, and Sam suspected it was something Beth had cooked up. Every time he attempted to move, unless it was to take care of some really personal business, Deb would warn him back down and go do the job herself. Except for today...she had gone to do her own personal sort of business and then had been preoccupied for at least two hours. It was starting to worry him. Especially when he was able to get away with a trip to the kitchen for a sandwich and chips. She should have been all over him like a rash, but she never even looked.

Sam:  Deb?

She was lost in contemplation of something.  She never even heard him.

Sam:  DEB!

Deb:  What!?  Sam, where'd you get that food!  

Sam:  Hiked down to the 7-11 for it, what do you think I did?  I sat here
on my hungry ass for ten minutes heaving pillows at you but you were off in
your own little world.

She glanced quickly, looking for evidence of his claim.  There was none
to be seen.

Sam:  Okay...no pillows.  But you have been lost in space.  What's the
problem?

Deb:  That's just it.  I don't know.

Sam:  What's that supposed to mean?

Deb;  You need a definition?

Sam:  Smartass, what's wrong?  Beth set you here to make sure I didn't get
up and wander around.  Maybe I can help you.

Deb stood up, stretched briefly.  She walked to Sam's side, leaned over
and gently kissed his cheek.

Deb:  You're very sweet, Brother Sam.  Also very bored, if you're thinking
of getting mixed up in my dippy life.  Would you let Beth know that I had
to bail?  I need to talk to Billy.

Sam:  Something he's pulled?

Deb:  Now, Sam, cool it.  He's not that bad.  This isn't anything he did
alone - I was a very willing participant.

Sam looked away, understanding in his eyes.

Sam:  Oh.

Deb:  Yeah, right.  I need to go, Sam...I'll call later or something.  You
stay off that damn leg, you hear.

Deb's nervousness increased exponentially the closer she got to the
place she now considered to be home.  Billy was most likely in the basement,
which would mean he couldn't be disturbed but still...she had to be there,
had to be close, had to be able to feel that tremendous vitality someplace
close by her.  As it turned out, he was in the kitchen when she came in,
constructing his own sloppy sandwich.

Billy:  What'n hell you doin' home, Punk?  Dawg just too much fun for words?

Deb had no wisecracks left in her.  She crossed the room to him and stood
as close as she could get, touching his shouder.  His presence was incredibly
reassuring.

Billy:  No snappy comeback.  Something's up.

Deb:  I've missed two periods, Billy.

Nobody had ever accused her of being subtle, but she was looking down and
didn't see the expression on his face.  He put his sandwich down.  He could
smell trouble...and a small voice in the back of his head was telling him to
put on his boogie shoes and leave before he got too involved.  He had
listened to this voice many times in the past, and had always been glad he
had, but now he pushed the voice away with an inarticulate growl.  It was 
too late.  He was already too involved.  But the voice wouldn't go.

Billy:  Couldn't ya have done that more...gently, ya suppose, Punk?  Like
hire a skywriter?  Maybe have somebody announce it over the radio?

Deb:  I'm sorry, Billy.  There are only so many ways to say something like
that.

Billy:  You tryin' to tell me you're havin' a baby?

Deb:  No...but it is a possibility, unless there's something about you
you're not telling me.

Billy leaned against the counter.  He knew what she meant.

Billy:  Nope.  My circuits are open.

Deb wanted to be in his arms but, for some reason she though he was
holding back.  She stood as close as she could, let her head drop to his 
shoulder.  She sensed a sort of withdrawl in him - he might not even have
known it was happening, but her radar picked right up on it.  The dreaded
rejection again.  It frightened her even more now that she had experienced
its opposite.

Deb:  Then it is a possiblilty, but not the only one.

Billy:  What the hell else could it be, f'Chrissakes?

Deb:  Billy, I'm not young anymore.  To be honest with you...I don't think 
there's a baby.  I'm pretty sure I know how that feels after taking a nose-
dive down that particular flight of stairs three times.  But I could be
wrong.  It's been nearly twelve years and my body could be reacting to it
differently.  What I wanted to tell you is that I'm not the sort to get
an abortion.  If Strannix Junior is on the way, then he'll come out in due
time and not until.  I have to emphasize...I don't think that's the case.
I have to see a doctor to be sure.
 
Billy:  I'm gettin' a crash course in female troubles I never asked for.

Deb:  Sorry.

Billy gently poked her.

Billy:  Guess maybe I need it.  If it ain'a a baby, what else is there?

Deb:  Well...I'm thirty-eight.  I guess maybe it could be early menopause.

Billy:  Oh, hell, no way!  You'll grow a beard and have skin like a damn
ol' crocodile.

Deb managed a grin.

Deb:  This kid's gettin' a truckload of estrogen before that's gonna
happen, son.  I enjoy being a girl and all that.  My mom and grandma didn't
go through it until they were older than 50.  Thing is I tend to be more
like my dad's people physically and I have no idea how old his mom was when
she did it and I can't ask her because she's gone.  In any case...I know
everything shuts down the way it starts up and this is one of the things that
happens.  But I really think I'm way too young.

Billy:  You're just loaded with good news, baby.  What else is there?

Deb:  Simple stress.  It's never bothered me before now...but like I keep
saying, I'm older.  And I've never been kidnapped, lost my job, fallen in 
love, had a broken bone, travelled thousands of miles, broken federal laws
and statutes left and right, wondered if the man I loved cared anything for
me...slept around...all at the same time.  Little bit of overload there.
If that's what it is, once I settle down everything should be fine.

Billy:  And if it ain't?

Deb:  Then I don't know.  I suppose I could really be sick, cancer or some
stinking thing...

She had said the word.  The magic word, black magic.  Cancer.  Billy's
face went still and white, but she had burrowed into his shoulder and didn't
see.  His arms raised, wound 'round her, but the motion was automatic.  He
was preoccupied and frozen.  He recognized the feeling immediately, though
it was something he hadn't had to battle in years.  He was absolutely
terrified, the only difference was, he wasn't scared for himself.

Billy:  You gonna make that appointment, baby?

Deb:  I don't even know who to call.

Billy:  Try the bone doc...he should be able to give ya a referral.  If not,
then give the pipsqueak's doctor a holler.

Deb pulled away from the haven of Billy's shoulder to look up into his
face.  What she saw stunned her.

Deb:  Billy?  Baby?  Are you okay?

Billy pulled himself together as best he could with that word rattling 
and roaring around inside his head.  He had to get away, get clear of her,
settle someplace where he could think what to do next.

Billy:  Fine, baby.

He leaned down to kiss her.  She was struck by his gentle restraint.
Usually he didn't bother to pull anything with her and so left her laughing
and breathless.  She was reassured, but wouldn't have been if she'd known
that he was thinking about running away.

Deb:  I'll get that taken care of, then I think I'll go crash for a while.
I know you're busy.  I'll stay out of your hair.

Billy managed an approximation of his usual grin and slapped her firmly
on the bottom.

Billy:  Sounds like a damn plan.  When you wake up, we'll go out.  How's 
that turn your crank?

Deb:  I like it a lot.  When was the last time I missed a chance to show 
the world what a beautiful boy I have?

Billy:  About the time you decided bullshittin' the world was your life's
callin', there, Punk.  Go on, get on the damn phone.  I got an empire to 
build.

Deb:  Oh, har-har.

Billy gave her an hour or so, then came quietly up the stairs.  Just as
she had said she would be, she was asleep.  She had settled in on his side 
of the wide bed, her head in his pillow and the coarse blanket from his
army cot covering her.  He stared down at her as she slept and imagined the
ripe body there riddled with disease, skeletally thin, black bruises on the
arms and legs, bedsores forming.  She sighed softly, Bill heard painful
groans.  Her face was relaxed and young in sleep, she smiled.  He saw lines
of pain deeply etched there.  He saw his mother, sliding off the skin of the
world with only her fingernails for purchase.

He turned away from her, before he could change his mind, started pulling 
clean socks and underwear, t-shirts and jeans from the dresser drawers.  He
stuffed them any which way into an old fieldpack he kept for such occasions,
trying to ignore the fact that each piece had been washed and neatly folded
away by the woman sleeping behind him.  When the pack was stuffed he turned
back to the bed, moved toward it, then stopped.  If he kissed her his 
resolve would break.  She would awaken, reach for him with love in her eyes,
and everything would fall apart in the face of his desire.  He would do his
best to drown his fear in the very body he was afraid he was about to lose.
And there was the heart of the matter.  Before she was taken from him, he
would have to send her away, except that he couldn't.  He already thought
it might be too late for that.

Out by the phone was a pad of paper.  Bill never wrote phone messages
himself, years of CIA training had taught him to memorize anything he needed
to know, and to leave as little written evidence as possible.  But Deb
sometimes had to write down the cryptic messages left for him by Gustav
or Jean-Michel, and it did come in handy if he felt compelled to leave her a
note, as he did now.  He considered the truth, but rejected it as being
unnecessarily brutal.  'I love you, but I can't watch this'?  That would
seem cowardly, and though his running was an extreme form of cowardice, he
didn't want it seen as such.  Instead he settled for the sort of little
missive he had left her many times:  'Got called away on business, baby.'
He propped it against the base of the phone and quietly let himself out.
He would find Elmore, and they would go south, look for rednecks to beat 
hell out of.  Sometimes Billy thought best by not thinking at all.

The house was silent when she woke up, far too quiet for any building
containing the ongoing disaster that was Strannix.  She rolled out of bed
tolook for him, calling out, getting nothing.  She had an awful feeling in
the pit of her stomach and there was no basis for it.  He was probably just
out ratracing the GTO and giving the Police fits.  He would be back soon,
would fill the house with his amazing energy, would make this awful feeling
go away.  Relief washed through her when she saw the note against the base 
of the phone.

Deb:  Called away...my ass.  You damned liar, you ran...where are you...I 
need you.  Damn you, Bill...

Deb had no idea how long she sat there, staring at the little note before
the phone rang.  She snatched it up, convinced it was Billy calling to tell
her it was all a mistake and he was on his way back.

Deb:  Billy?  Where are you?

Sam:  First you flake off on me, then you insult me?  I like that.

Deb:  Oh.  It's you.

Sam:  Such enthusiasm.  Damn, I know I'm loved.

Deb:  Billy's gone.

Sam instantly switched gears, went into full protective mode.

Sam:  Beth, hon, get on the office extension, please.  Talk to us, l'il 
sis.

Deb:  Sam...Sam...

Gerard heard her getting ready to break down and he felt the familiar
slow boil begin.  The cop was on duty, only this was the family cop.

Sam:  Calm down now, he won't be gone long, not if he knows what's good for 
him.  

Beth:  Deb...what's up?  Where's Bill?  What's goin' on?

Deb:  I came home, told him about...what I had to tell him about.  Then I 
took a nap, and when I got up he was gone.  Stupid note, says he was called away on business.

Beth:  He could be gone for a month.  You two fight?

Deb:  No!  There was nothing to fight about.  I told him I needed to see a
doctor, I...oh, crap, Sam, I guess you can hear this...I've missed my period
for two months, I don't think it's as simple as a baby but I don't know what
it is and I can't just sit on my hands.  It might be nothing at all and it
might be serious.  I told him that. 

Sam:  Are you going to be seeing a doctor?

Deb:  Found a guy who can get me in in about four days, which is fine.  If
I bleed I can always cancel and if not, I have the appointment I need.

Beth's next question stunned Deb, but it made sense.  She hadn't known
Billy for as long as she had for no reason.

Beth:  Deb...you didn't happen to mention...cancer...did you?

Deb sagged against the back of the couch.

Deb:  Ohmigosh, I did.  Oh, Billy...I'm so sorry...I never meant to scare 
you.  I didn't even think.

Sam:  What the hell are you talking about?

Deb:  Long story, Sam, never mind.

Sam:  You mad at him?

Deb:  No...why would I be mad?  I'm worried...he's out there...upset...

Sam:  She's gone over the edge, Beth, I'm goin' over there.

Beth:  Then I'm comin' along.

Sam:  Why don't you see if you can get her in to your doctor tomorrow.
I'll make a couple of calls...and we'll be on our way.  Deb...give us an
hour or so.  Will you be okay until we get there?

Deb:  I'll be fine...it's Billy I'm worried about.

TO BE CONINUED...