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“Morgan.”
She pauses a few steps short of the bullpen’s exit and turns back, her attention sliding toward where Karadec is standing at his desk. Exactly where she left him approximately 17 seconds ago. The rest of the team have all gone home, leaving just the two of them and a few unis milling about. Par for the course these days.
With a flick of her wrist, she finishes untucking her hair from the back of her jacket. “Did someone forget another half-eaten bag of chips on your desk?” she asks, tilting her head and teasingly scanning the surface she knows is free of any of her trash. “Because you can’t be sure it’s me, you know.”
She did accidentally leave some crumbs on his paperwork the other day, but that’s neither here nor there. That tiny vein in his neck protruding as he pretended it didn’t bother him was pretty satisfying.
“I’m sorry.”
The smile slips off her face. “What?”
“If I overstepped,” he says, but the follow-up doesn’t make any more sense than the I’m sorry.
Her look of confusion doesn’t dissipate; if anything, it grows.
“Huh?”
Karadec purses his lips and shifts his weight in that way he does when he’s unsettled or otherwise uncomfortable. It’s almost endearing, the way this man who carries himself with such confidence in their day to day is the complete opposite when it comes to the more human side of things.
She meant it when she told him he wasn’t a heartless police robot. She knows he has a heart, a pretty big one, too, it’s just… feelings, emotions… those are trickier for him, she’s noticed.
“With Ava,” he clarifies, his eyes lifting to hers and oh, Karadec. She’s already shaking her head before he can continue his, “I’m sorry if I overstepped earlier, giving you advice.”
“You didn’t.”
“You sure about that? When I bailed you both out of jail—”
“I don’t think there was any exchange of money between you and those guards, and we were hardly in jail. We were being detained at best.”
Karadec gives her a look. “When I bailed you both out of jail,” he repeats, more pointedly, “I believe your exact words were: treat her like a grownup, he said.”
“Well, yeah.” Morgan stares at him, expecting something more than that. When nothing else comes, she lets out an airy laugh. “Why are you acting like you’ve never been on the receiving end of my sarcasm before? It’s kind of our thing now, no? The banter? A partnerly ribbing?”
“Much to my daily dismay, yes,” he says, that slight lift at the corner of his mouth belying his words. She knows he enjoys their back and forth. “But this wasn’t… this is different.”
Retracing her steps until she’s only a few feet away, she asks, “How so?”
Karadec searches her face for a moment, but then his gaze falls away. His chest rises and falls with a deep breath, and she watches him stuff his hands in his pockets. It’s another one of his tells, an anxious twitch that keeps him from balling his hands into fists at his side.
When his eyes meet hers again, there’s something lingering there that she can’t place.
“It’s Ava, Morgan,” he says softly. “Of course it’s different.”
“You can’t possibly be blaming yourself for Ava getting arrested,” she huffs, incredulous. Closing the final bit of distance between them, Morgan slips her purse from her shoulder and drops it haphazardly onto the corner of his desk. “Karadec…”
“No,” he insists, but the tension in his shoulders and the sage expression on his face tells her that there’s at least some degree of self-blame going on here. “But I am acknowledging that I gave you a piece of advice, you took that advice, and then as a direct result of taking that advice Ava skipped school and did something that got her arrested.”
“Right,” she agrees slowly. “Ava skipped school and did something that got her arrested.” Morgan pauses and then, with exaggerated wide eyes and a hand to her chest, she whispers, “Is your real name Ava?”
“Morgan.”
“Nope, that’s my name, big guy.”
“Morgan,” he repeats, exasperated now. That’s more like it. The sullen, apologetic Karadec was starting to freak her out. “I’m serious.”
“So am I,” she promises with a smile. “Look, for better or worse, that girl is my kid. Doing something dumb and then having to face the consequences of that dumb thing? Practically took that one line by line out of my playbook.”
He rolls his shoulders. “Okay. But if I overstepped even a little bit, or if I do, I want you to—”
“You didn’t, and you won’t.” Morgan’s firm when she says it. She wants to knock it into his thick skull. “We’re friends, right?” He blinks at her and she rolls her eyes. “Don’t go rushing to answer now.”
“Yes, Morgan, we’re friends.”
“See, was that so difficult to admit?” she asks, delighting in the deadpan look on his face. “I’m going to be honest with you, okay? I don’t have many friends, and I have even fewer friends that are willing to tell me things I need to hear. I have a few blind spots and one of the biggest ones is my kids and sometimes I forget the fact that they’re growing up and… I appreciate hearing what you have to say.”
He looks surprised by this. Jeez. Maybe she should tell him more often how grateful she is for this partnership. This friendship.
“You do?”
“Yes,” she implores. “And I don’t want you to get all in your head over this and stop giving me your thoughts, where my kids are concerned or otherwise.”
Karadec raises a brow. “You sure you’re not going to regret that?”
“No, I probably will,” she muses. “But I trust you, so I’m willing to risk temporary regret for overall betterment.”
“Wow, high praise from Morgan Gillory.”
She tilts her head, regarding him. “It really does take a village, you know. That’s not just some cliche. And for as much as you tried to resist this partnership—foolishly, might I add—Karadec… you are a part of my village.”
The oh that slips free seems to surprise even Karadec, whose eyes grow wider. “That’s…” He pauses, at a loss for words. His tongue darts out to lick his lips before he settles on a quiet, but sincere, “I’m glad.”
She reaches over and squeezes his forearm for a brief moment, a soft smile on her face as she holds his gaze.
“Is that a blush I see on those cheeks, detective?” she smirks.
Adorably, the flush deepens. It suits him.
“No,” he grumbles, that stoic facade back in place.
Morgan grins. “There’s my grumpy guy,” she says, patting him on the bicep. “You were right, by the way. Just in case that wasn’t clear in this little heart-to-heart we’re having.”
“About what?”
“Treating Ava like a grownup. It was the right thing to do, just… the wrong time, and that one was on me. There’s a time and a place to drop potentially life-changing information on someone, and that time is not right before she goes to school.”
Karadec nods a little. “Probably not,” he concedes. “But your heart was in the right place. You were just doing right by Ava.”
There’s a long pause, his words burrowing into her chest and splintering somewhere beneath her breastbone. She doesn’t even know she’s going to ask the question until it’s already slipping past her lips, a quiet, “Am I?”
“What, doing right by Ava?”
Morgan nods, and then she shakes her head. “Sorry,” she says, her throat suddenly tight. She manages a quick glance up at Karadec before she looks away. “Sorry, I don’t know why I…”
“Hey.” He cuts her off, gently resting his palm over her wrist when she tries to grab her purse from the desk. He waits until she looks at him again to tell her, “You are. Morgan, you’re a wonderful mom.”
Frustratingly, she can feel the press of tears against her waterline.
“Ava’s going to come out on the other side of this and she’s going to be okay because of how you’ve raised her.”
Guess that’s how my mom raised me.
Her lungs constrict, a rush of air pushed free.
Karadec’s eyes on her are soft and knowing. “I heard you ask Gould’s daughter.”
Biting down on her bottom lip, Morgan can only hum in acknowledgement.
She did ask Jessica Gould.
Her father had been gone her whole life, a life longer than Ava’s. And she still let him back in, was still willing to reconnect and get to know him as an adult.
How could she be on this case, meet this daughter who’s forgiven her long-absent father, and not think about the very same situation happening in her own home?
She can’t help but wonder if Ava would let Roman back in.
There’s curiosity about who her father really is, of course, because Morgan can tell her about the man until she runs out of every bit of information she has but it’ll never compare to knowing him first-hand. There’s a want for answers to the questions that have been looming over her like a black cloud for her entire life—what happened, why did he leave, if he didn’t abandon them then why hasn’t he reached out if he’s been living so close by?
But it might not be enough to forget, even if Ava is willing to forgive.
And that would be fine, it is fine, if that’s what Ava chooses. This quest to find out what happened has nothing to do with her; she’s long gotten over any feelings she had for Roman beyond gratitude for giving her Ava. No, this is all to gain some sort of closure for her girl, and however Ava reacts to the information they come by in the end, Morgan will be there for her.
She just wants to make sure that she isn’t somehow influencing Ava’s feelings. They need to be hers and hers alone.
She’s never spoken badly about Roman. Although she’d never speak ill of her father to her even if the circumstances were different, she never had a reason to—she never believed that he willingly abandoned them, especially not Ava, and he was a good man as long as she knew him.
But maybe that’s not enough. Maybe she hasn’t been putting in enough effort to show support for a reconciliation between the two of them, or maybe…
“I can see the cogs turning in that brain of yours,” she hears, Karadec’s voice pulling her from her thoughts.
Eyes shiny, Morgan huffs. “When aren’t they?”
“Stop doubting yourself. You’re not doing anything to hinder a relationship between Ava and her father, if that’s what she wants.”
Exhaling, Morgan murmurs, “But what if that’s not true?”
“Remember about ten minutes ago when we were standing in this exact spot and you were telling me all about how you love hearing everything I have to say because I’m always right?”
“I’m not sure those are the words I used.”
But it gets her to smile, and she knows that’s what he was shooting for.
More seriously, Karadec says, “Ava might have inherited a bit of your recklessness, but she also got your strength and your independence. You’re raising a young girl who thinks for herself, and she feels confident enough to do so because she knows she has your support, no matter what.”
Goddammit, Karadec.
Despite her best efforts her eyes fill with a fresh wave of tears and she has to look away from him. Her head tilts back, her chin high as she blinks at the ceiling.
“You got all that from watching her get arrested?” she deflects, her voice thin.
She sniffs, nose wrinkling against the emotion.
“No. I got all that from hearing you talk about her and watching the two of you together. And watching her get arrested,” he tacks on, earning himself a brittle laugh. “Morgan, you threw paint on an officer to stand up for your daughter. It’s clear to anyone with eyes that you’d go to hell and back for your kids, no questions asked.”
“I was only aiming for the brick, you know.”
His mouth twitches with a half-smile. “I know.”
“You were willing to help,” she says. Her cheeks are wet and she pretends she can’t see the way his eyes continue to catch on the damp tracks, like he’s mere seconds away from wiping them away. She wonders if he would, if his hands weren’t tucked safely back into his pockets. “To talk to the owner and smooth things over on Ava’s behalf.”
“Of course.”
Morgan observes him for a moment, his jaw working as if he might say something else. But he doesn’t, and so she does.
“With all the chaos that followed, I never thanked you for that.”
He shakes his head. Despite his own sarcastic you’re welcome after he got them out of that cell, he says, “Not necessary. Ava’s a good kid.”
“Yeah,” she whispers, thoughts spinning again.
“And just so we don’t lose focus on the crux of this conversation, you’re a good mom.”
Karadec punctuates the statement by freeing one hand and raising it to squeeze her shoulder. Her breath catches at the contact, eyes sliding to where he’s holding her. After a moment, his thumb begins to rub small, comforting lines high near her collarbone. She isn’t sure he realizes he’s doing it.
He drags her attention back to his face when he continues: “Ask any of your kids, they’ll agree with me.”
“Chloe won’t.”
“We’ll circle back to Chloe’s verbal response in a few years, but for now we’ll take the way she lights up the second her eyes land on you as agreement.”
A tiny portion of her brain short-circuits at the easy way he implies that he’ll still be in their lives in a few years. Not just hers, but theirs. Her kids’. Of course she’s been plotting her keep-Karadec-around-for-the-long-haul scheme—a plan that really just boils down to refusing to let their relationship fizzle into nothing despite whatever might happen with this job down the line—but knowing he also includes her rowdy bunch in his visions of the next few years is… heartwarming.
Makes her skin all tingly, but in a good way.
“Chloe knows mommy is the keeper of the food,” she jests.
His thumb halts its motions, and this time she can’t pretend to not notice the way her words seem to get a reaction. His jaw tenses and he swallows thickly.
Her eyes brighten, like the cat that caught the canary, but he’s already shaking his head.
“Please don’t.”
His hand drops away from her and she finds herself missing the warmth of his touch. The tips of his fingers brush against his stubble, fiddle with his pristinely-placed tie, and then his arm falls so it hangs rigidly at his side.
She relents, but not without a warning. “We will be circling back to this.”
“I sincerely hope not.”
Morgan sniffs a laugh, closing her eyes for a few seconds as she takes a deep, centering breath. “Well,” she starts, clearing her throat.
“Well.”
“I’m gonna go… fix my face,” she sighs, pointing a vague thumb in the direction of the hallway. Her face feels puffy, dried tear tracks making her cheeks stiff, and she can almost guarantee her eyeliner is running at least a little bit. She didn’t use waterproof today, and she absolutely cannot go home looking like… whatever she looks like right now.
“Your face doesn’t need fixing.”
Morgan’s eyes widen, as do Karadec’s, his lips parting as if his mouth ran away from his brain just now. She thinks it did, but she can’t process that at present, nor can she wade through the coiling of emotions weaving between her ribs at the look on his face.
So, while he opens and closes his mouth, searching for something to say, Morgan spares him.
“Thank you, Karadec,” she says softly, a small but sincere smile curling at her lips. “You know, you’re way better at these pep talks than I gave you credit for.”
His shoulders relax at the out. “Don’t tell the rest of the team.”
“Your secret’s safe with me, partner.”
She’s not sure how long they hold each other’s gaze, only that each passing second feels more loaded than the next. Morgan breaks first and tosses him one final crooked smile before she turns on her heel, disappearing toward the bathroom. As she goes, she lifts one manicured finger to swipe beneath her eyes.
When she breezes back into the bullpen, shaking her hands because the women’s room is out of paper towels again, her eyes are dry and there’s a little less weight barreling down on her shoulders. And Karadec is still hovering near his desk.
Surprised, she nods toward the messenger bag that’s now slung over his shoulders. “You didn’t have to wait.”
Karadec shrugs. “I forgot something.”
“What?”
“Come here,” he requests, arms outstretched while both hands motion for her to come closer.
She lights up, half-teasing when she asks, “Are we hugging now?”
She fully expects another absolutely not, or maybe just a no, but he surprises her. Gently, and far more earnestly than she might’ve expected, he says:
“Yeah, we’re hugging now.”
“Oh.”
His arms begin to lower, hesitating. “We don’t have to—”
Morgan’s surrounding him before he can finish walking back the offer, her arms winding around his neck and her chest pushed flush against his. It takes only a moment for him to relax into the hug, his arms raising to fold her nearer, his palms flat at her shoulder blades.
His arms feel good around her and while she won’t dwell on that, not right now, she exhales, allowing herself to accept what he’s offering at this moment. Comfort. Safety. A friend.
A damn good hug.
“You should hug people more often,” she comments, her voice muffled against the side of his head.
He huffs. “I’m probably going to regret asking, but why’s that?”
“You’re good at it.”
She can feel his heart beating.
He clears his throat, and they begin to release each other at the same time.
“You okay?” he asks.
She means it this time when she says, “Yeah. I’m good.”
Karadec nods.
“Walk you out?”
But he shakes his head. “I have to grab something from Selena’s office.”
“Okay.”
She moves to grab her purse, but he twists around and swipes it off of his desk first. Instead of handing it to her, he drapes it carefully over her shoulder for her. Her thanks is so quiet she’s not sure she’s actually said it aloud.
“Goodnight, Gillory.”
Morgan smiles, holding the strap of her purse. “See you tomorrow, Karadec.”