I can think of several surprising things which are true at the moment; I’m not sure I want to begin fathoming out which of them Jinny is personally bemused by though.   I’m too befuddled by the things reeling through my own head without taking hers on.

Sylvie has no such compunctions. 

“What’s true?  That she arrested me?  That she has convinced me to enter Rehab?  That we’re sitting in a room having an actual conversation?”

Jinny quietly shuts the door behind her and crosses to the table to seat herself.  Her eyes never leave mine and I can see her studying the black eye and the bruised cheekbone and can tell Magda has filled her in on where I got it. 

“I’ll take all of the above for $500,” she says and then to me, “Are you okay?” 

“Just a black eye,” I say and she nods and looks across the table at Sylvie, hesitating for a moment and enduring some internal struggle. 

“What about you?” 

Sylvie glares at her petulantly and slides her legs under the table so her ass is barely perched on the edge of the ugly plastic chair.   Her bony chest has a sheen of sweat on it visible through the loose laces of the vest and a long pale lock of hair is stuck there in a dull exhausted looking curl. 

“How do I look?  Do I look like I’m okay?” 

“You look like shit,” Jinny says tranquilly and then adds, “Only slightly better than Coop.”

“Gee, thanks.” 

I’d glanced in the mirror half an hour ago and although I have definitely seen better days I don’t think I look like a speedball freak who’s been clawing at her face and swiping at her nose for two straight hours. 

“I know you don’t want to hear this,” Jinny says to me, voice low and controlled, “But the Captain said to remind you that you really need to make contact with your chain of command.” 

Oh God.  I lean forward and lay my head in my hands and feel my fingers performing the same punishing maneuvers to my eyes and forehead as Sylvie’s been conducting. 

Maybe we do look similarly shitty. 

“And,” Jinny adds, “So you’ll be prepared; someone leaked to a local San Fran station.” 

“Oh fuck,” Sylvie and I hiss in stereo. 

“Yeah.”  Jinny’s voice is morose.  “And since this is election year and since there was the hoowah over Mrs. Chandler a couple of years ago it won’t be long before CNN grabs it.” 

Sylvie groans and leans forward and lays her head on the table. 

Jinny watches her and there is pity and some strange mix of sympathy and revulsion in the expression. 

“You knew this would happen someday,” Jinny tells her, voice low.  “You knew if you kept it up sooner or later you’d run into someone that would call you on it. “

“Yeah, but she didn’t think it would be today,” I say and shove myself to my feet,  restlessly walking the perimeter of the room, resisting the urge to grab at my hair and pull it out. 

“Your Department going to back you or freak?” Jinny asks, leaning back and watching me. 

I shrug and glance at her before lifting and dropping my hands. 

“Both.  You know how it goes.  And it’s all politics.  It’ll depend on how it goes over and who whispers what, when and to whom.  I never thought I’d say this but it helps that Dubya the Homeboy is in office.  Since we’re talking DC level gossip.”

I of course know the shit is going to fly that high for sure once the contents of the tape are made a matter of public record, but I don’t particularly feel like sharing this with Sylvie.  She hasn’t asked about the tape and I haven’t volunteered anything. 

Empathy isn’t even a kissing cousin to trust. 

There’s silence for a minute or two broken only by Sylvie’s moaning as she grinds her forehead into the table’s top. 

Jinny and I exchange glances over the top of her sweaty, stringy head. 

“She through with booking?”

I nod. 

“She already make bail?”

I nod again.  “Of course.”  Couple of grand is pocket change for Sylvie.  “Considering she assaulted two peace officers they set it remarkably low, but then I wasn’t really surprised since this is her first arrest and her dad’s a Congressman and pitching a hissy.” 

“And what about the Rehab?”

Sylvie whines something pathetic and we both choose to ignore her. 

“Looks like some place called the Sierra Center has a room.  It’s ten grand up front but she’s got lots of credit cards.” 

She nods and her voice is casual and off hand when she tells me that she’s put a call in to Legaspi, since she is, after all, Sylvie’s therapist and might be needed for background information or merely to reiterate that this is a person in need of help.  Although I personally feel the ten grand up front rather makes that question obsolete to any Rehabilitation or private clinic I’ve ever encountered. 

I nod.  Wave a vague hand in her direction.  Force a hand down from where it is tugging at the hair on the back of my neck.  Legaspi.  Okay.  I can handle a possible encounter with Knuckles even without Weaver there to back me up. 

At the mention of Legaspi Sylvie stiffens and jerks upright, really wailing now. 

“Oh no,” she says, face screwed up in horror.  “No.  Jinny, I don’t see her anymore.  I haven’t seen her in six months or more!”

Jinny eyes her coolly, face stony. 

“Yeah?  Well, guess I lost track of your private mental health practitioner.” 

I eye her from across the room and pause in my pacing, hearing McCafferty’s warning to me earlier at the penthouse. 

“Maybe the question here is are you alright?”

She looks up at me, face white and sighs. 

“Yeah.  I’m just not ready for this.”

Sylvie’s voice is lushly sweet when she tosses Jinny’s own words back to her.  “You knew this would happen someday~~” but she cringes in her chair as Jinny’s head swings towards he swiftly, eyes narrowed in anger. 

“Hey, let’s deal with one crisis at a time,” I interject swiftly, not liking at all the way the two of them are glaring at one another.  All we need is for Jin to lose it and beat the crap out of Senator Chandler’s daughter inside the division itself.  There would go any credibility she has to hang on to, anything even resembling a career, and it would turn my little plan with S’Phear into a petty revenge tactic. 

Jinny stares at Sylvie with her chin tucked and her hands deceptively loose and easy on the table top.  When she speaks her voice is rough and harsh. 

“Did you do it?  Did you send the photos out?” 

Sylvie’s tone is cantankerous and her damp white face moody when she answers. 

“I mailed them to McCafferty, didn’t I?  I said I was going to, didn’t I?”

Jinny shakes her head and slides her eyes to meet mine for a half second before responding. 

“You said you were, yeah, but we both know that you don’t do half of what you say you will. Like this Rehab bullshit, for example… How many times have you yanked my chain and sworn you were going to get clean?  Now here you are doing it to Cooper.”

“It’s a little different this time,” Sylvie says crossly, one finger tracing the jagged line of a deep scratch in the top of the wooded table. 

“How so?” Jinny demands and Sylvie hesitates and then answers without looking up. 

“This time I am under arrest.  And I am being court ordered to a Rehab and my only other choice is county jail.” 

“Oh,” Jinny says, nodding, head canted to one side in thought.  “I see.  You only feel compelled to get better if the alternative is lengthy imprisonment.  You couldn’t be bothered to do it just because someone who cared about you wanted and needed you to get well.” 

Sylvie’s head droops slightly and I feel a bizarre surge of empathy for her and annoyance with Jinny.  What obviously disturbed, chemically addicted, spoilt rotten, manipulative person would have the internal stamina to put themselves in Rehab without some dire consequence hovering over their bewildered little head?  Junkies are too sick in every way to make such a wise, sane, rational decision without that little extra police action nagging them along and well adjusted, wise and happy people don’t end up this bad off.  But me telling Jinny Exstead this is definitely preaching to the choir and whatever mood this is she doesn’t want to hear it. 

However, I don’t particularly want to stand here and listen to how much Jinny had cared for Sylvie and begged her to get well so they could be happy together and how badly that hurt.  I feel rather nauseous just thinking about it. 

“I think,” I say carefully, “we should stick to the real issue here.  She’s going into Rehab now.” 

I see the look of triumph Sylvie flashes Jinny but it’s brief because my next comment is to her. 

“And Sylvie, did  you mail the other copies out yet?” 

Raccoon eyes glare at me dully before she slinks further in the chair and wraps her skinny arms around herself and shakes her head, teeth chattering. 

“No.  Just to McCafferty.” 

“Uh huh,” Jinny says darkly.  “And we can believe you why?”

“Because this time she doesn’t have the bargaining power.  I do.” 

 I feel very odd in the role of mediator between them; it doesn’t suit me and I’m not sure how to handle it.  If I had some subliminal reassurance from Jinny that we’re playing good cop/bad cop I could probably hang in there but I’m not sure we are.  We may be playing good cop/nothing to lose cop and none of us can afford that right now. 

I  add, “Can I speak to you for just a minute, privately?” 

Jinny’s expression is unreadable as she stands and strolls to the door and holds it open.  I duck out and wait until it is shut before I turn to her, trying to sort through the chaos of thoughts and emotions to pull out the ones I need for her right now.

“Look, I know she’s hurt you and it’s perfectly understandable that you’re doubting she’s really going to do this but you’re not helping right now. “

The look I get should freeze anything circulating, it’s that cold. 

“No, really?” 

I blink and can feel anger flooding heat into my face so fast my head swims momentarily. 

She’s hurt, I tell myself trying to grab the tail end of my temper before it turns around and slashes at us both.  She’s angry and she’s hurt and you have no idea what all she’s been put through with this person.  All you know of love is Jase. 

“I think,” I say carefully, “Maybe you should back off a little and just let me handle this.  I think maybe it’s too personal for you.” 

She widens her eyes sarcastically and puts her head to one side peering at me. 

“You think having your lover black mail you and threaten you for months is something I might feel very strongly about?”  She laughs, an ugly, bitter noise and shakes her head, grinning at me, her mouth very cruel.  “You think I might take that personally?”

I reach somewhere and find a level of calm and strength and patience I didn’t know I possessed and attempt to start anew. 

“We need to focus on what’s important here and we need to cover our asses.  I’ve arrested the daughter of a Senator who is obviously in need of life counseling.  This isn’t the time you launch into zero tolerance.  We’ve got a job to do so let’s do it.”  I hesitate for a moment, searching her face, trying to see the person I know behind the cold eyes and white faced façade and add, “Besides…  She’s just pathetic.  She needs help.”

The look I’m getting is fierce and closed; it reminds me of the Jinny Exstead I met the first couple of times in the penthouse.  Her arms are crossed tightly over her mid section and she’s leaning back against the celery green wall with her shoulder hunched and her brows knitted together in a menacing storm line, the eyes under them narrowed and forbidding.  There’s a very cruel twist to her lips and she bumps her shoulders against the wall two or three times as she scowls at me. 

She heaves out a sudden rush of air and shakes her head, obviously searching for words as carefully as I just had been.

“I guess I just have so much anger towards her still, so much resentment that I’m finding it hard to leave that out of it and work from just here.” 

I nod.  “That’s come through really clear.  No footnotes needed.” 

I catch the fleeting grin as it passes over her features briefly. 

“You know, for all your bullshit, you’re just a big softie.” 

“Yeah?  Well, don’t spread that around.”  I take a deep breath and add, “I think I saw the Sylvie you knew, the one you fell in love with.  Just briefly mind you, but I saw somebody for a second or two and she was witty and funny and maybe she deserves another chance.” 

Jinny groans and falls back against the wall. 

 "I'm glad to hear that person might still be in there somewhere; I was beginning to think she was an alcoholic delusion on my part. But it doesn't change that I'm just all out of second chances for her."

“That’s okay,” I tell her.  “Just let this Rehab attempt thing happen and we’ll go from there and if it’s too hard on you to be around her you can leave and just let me handle it.” 

She eyes me and lifts one eyebrow in contemplation. 

“You’re going to see that Sylvie Chandler is put into Rehab somewhere?” 

I shrug and decide I won’t ask her to clarify the emphasis she just placed on the word “you’re” in that particular sentence.  Whatever this mood is I don’t know her well enough to traipse through it yet. 

“I’m hoping Legaspi will handle most of the details since you’ve called her in.  I need to get back to the penthouse and get in touch with S’Phear, see where he’s at on things from that angle.” 

She chews her lower lip thoughtfully and nods after a few moments of silent contemplation. 

“Okay.  I’ll just hang back and stay out of it and just maybe tell you if she starts to bullshit you.  That work?” 

I nod and she lifts a hand and runs a gentle finger along the puffy cheekbone, her mood changing as swift as heat lightening.  Her smile is very sweet now and lop sided and the hand that cups the back of my head is soothing.  She pulls me towards her slowly, glancing briefly up the hall and lays her forehead against mine. 

“Among many other things, I’m pissed off because she’s messed up tonight.”

My voice is something less than steady when I reply. 

“Has she?” 

She lifts and lets fall one shoulder in a lazy half shrug.  Her voice is low and throaty when she speaks.  “You tell me.” 

I’m on the verge of telling her there is nothing on Earth that would keep me from spending tonight with her when a distinctive thump within the room silences me in mid-oath.

We jerk apart and grab at the door, throwing it open. 

Sylvie’s on the floor; the chair’s fallen backwards, obviously kicked and the straight line of her legs and the drumming of her heels on the carpet tell me she’s in trouble. 

“Oh fuck,” I spit, sliding to a knee-burning stop beside her and grabbing her shoulders to keep her head from bouncing off the linoleum.  I haul her upper body into my lap and struggle to keep her from hurting herself on the table and chairs and floor.  I catch another elbow in the same eye and come close to tears with the pain. 

“Jesus,” Jinny whispers, standing over us in shock, face deadly white and eyes enormous.  “She’s seizing.” 

“No shit,” I hiss.  “She diabetic?  Epilepsy?” 

Her voice is slow and dragging with disbelief as she shakes her head and falls to her knees beside the two of us. 

“No.  Nothing.”  She reaches out towards Sylvie’s stiff form and I watch as her hands fall back helplessly, then lift to cover her mouth.  “Oh baby,” she whispers, agonized, tears making her voice catch and break. 

“Get someone,” I tell her and she finally seems to shake herself loose from her stupor and shoves herself up dizzily before staggering out the doorway, smacking her shoulder into it hard as she reels away. 

In my lap Sylvie’s staring upwards blindly, eyes rolling back and showing whites, mouth tight in a grimace and teeth bared in a snarl.  There are sounds in her throat, animal groans and grunts and whines and I can see every muscle and tendon in her small body standing out in cords as she twists and bucks.  It takes everything I’ve got to keep her reasonably secure in my grasp and it seems hours before anyone else appears in the doorway, although it can’t have been more than two minutes. 

I’m not exactly thrilled that it’s Legaspi, but at this point I’d offer a rousing cheer for Adolf Hitler if he knew anything about seizures. 

“Please tell me there’s real medical people on the way,” I say and she barely glances at me as she sinks to her knees and grabs at a flailing, writhing hand.  The spasms have lessened in severity but I don’t like the dull glassiness of her eyes or the fact that when I wave a hand or snap fingers in front of them there is no response. 

“Jinny’s called an ambulance.  She lose consciousness?  Ingest anything?” 

“Maybe half a gram of cocaine hours ago and she’s been like this, if you can call this conscious.  Maybe two minutes.  What’s the ETA on the ambulance?”

She ducks an elbow deftly and glances at me. 

“Five minutes tops.  We’re sending her to UCSF.” 

I know that should mean something to me and when I try to puzzle out what I have a vague sense of clouds of fluffy white fabric and green metal leaves. 

Ahh.  The hospital where Kerry Weaver works.  The one I would have been admitted to had it not been for Jinny and Dr. CIA each determined in their own way to pull me out of my nose dive without it being stuck in a file somewhere. 

“Weaver on?” I ask hopefully and see the twinkle of amusement in Legaspi’s eyes as she replies with a nod.  The corners of her mouth twitch with the smile she instantly suppresses and I can feel some ridiculous blush beating up into my face and am about to stammer out something when I feel Sylvie go suddenly limp in my lap. 

Legaspi’s voice is eerily calm and tranquil when she speaks. 

“You do know CPR, right?” 


END OF THIRTY FIVE
 

{~> Crossroads  Next Story, Please <~}