Spoilers for 5x14; She's Not There
Taylor stared dubiously up at the building in front of her before giving Sean an equally sceptical look. "The answers to my problems are in there?" she asked him.
Sean shrugged. "Probably not all your problems, but one or two of them, yes."
"You're not going to make me go in there by myself, are you?" Taylor asked him.
Sean barked out a laugh, one very similar sounding to his brother's, and shook his head. "I told you, I want feeding. Come on."
He was out of the car and halfway up the steps to the front porch, before Taylor had even unbuckled her seatbelt. Taylor inhaled deeply and followed Sean to the front door. It was already being opened by the time she had joined the younger Flack, and she has greeted by someone who was quite obviously a member
of the Flack family. "Sean," the woman said warmly, stepping out on the porch to wrap her arms around him. She stepped back and drank in his appearance. "You're too thin," she complained.
"And I'm more than happy to let you fatten me up," he returned with a grin. "How are you, Grandma?"
"Same as ever," she responded, before finally turning her attention to Taylor. "You didn't tell me you had such a pretty girlfriend," she said, smiling at Taylor.
"Oh, I'm not his girlfriend," Taylor quickly corrected him.
"That's what they all say," she said, winking at Taylor.
"Actually, she's right, Grams," Sean hurriedly. "She's Donnie's better half, Taylor. Taylor, this is Irene."
Irene cocked her head slightly. The smile disappeared from her face, but her expression was thoughtful. "From my Donald and Valarie's description, I'd built up an image of you that had you more like Elphaba, green skin and all."
"Wicked," Taylor muttered uncomfortably at the confused face Sean was pulling.
The smile returned to Irene's face. "My son always did have a tendency to exaggerate." She stepped back and opened the door wider for them. "Well, let's get out of this rain. If you wouldn't mind setting the table, I have meatballs and spaghetti nearly ready for dishing up."
Sean's eyes lit up as he led Taylor through into the kitchen. "Homemade?"
His question earned him a light smack upside the head. "I am insulted that you would imply otherwise. You know where the cutlery lives." Irene turned her attention to Taylor. "So you're Don's girlfriend. I've heard lot's about you, although I'm sure none of it's true."
"I hope not, ma'am," Taylor muttered, wringing her hands nervously.
Irene pulled a face. "Taylor, you can call me Gram's. More importantly, relax. If I think you're wrong for my grandson, trust me, I will let you know, but I will come to that conclusion by myself, rather than through the stories my son has told me. And you can also tell my grandson, that I'm not happy that he hasn't brought you here sooner. Now, sit yourself down at the table, and tell me all about yourself."
Sean shrugged. "Probably not all your problems, but one or two of them, yes."
"You're not going to make me go in there by myself, are you?" Taylor asked him.
Sean barked out a laugh, one very similar sounding to his brother's, and shook his head. "I told you, I want feeding. Come on."
He was out of the car and halfway up the steps to the front porch, before Taylor had even unbuckled her seatbelt. Taylor inhaled deeply and followed Sean to the front door. It was already being opened by the time she had joined the younger Flack, and she has greeted by someone who was quite obviously a member
of the Flack family. "Sean," the woman said warmly, stepping out on the porch to wrap her arms around him. She stepped back and drank in his appearance. "You're too thin," she complained.
"And I'm more than happy to let you fatten me up," he returned with a grin. "How are you, Grandma?"
"Same as ever," she responded, before finally turning her attention to Taylor. "You didn't tell me you had such a pretty girlfriend," she said, smiling at Taylor.
"Oh, I'm not his girlfriend," Taylor quickly corrected him.
"That's what they all say," she said, winking at Taylor.
"Actually, she's right, Grams," Sean hurriedly. "She's Donnie's better half, Taylor. Taylor, this is Irene."
Irene cocked her head slightly. The smile disappeared from her face, but her expression was thoughtful. "From my Donald and Valarie's description, I'd built up an image of you that had you more like Elphaba, green skin and all."
"Wicked," Taylor muttered uncomfortably at the confused face Sean was pulling.
The smile returned to Irene's face. "My son always did have a tendency to exaggerate." She stepped back and opened the door wider for them. "Well, let's get out of this rain. If you wouldn't mind setting the table, I have meatballs and spaghetti nearly ready for dishing up."
Sean's eyes lit up as he led Taylor through into the kitchen. "Homemade?"
His question earned him a light smack upside the head. "I am insulted that you would imply otherwise. You know where the cutlery lives." Irene turned her attention to Taylor. "So you're Don's girlfriend. I've heard lot's about you, although I'm sure none of it's true."
"I hope not, ma'am," Taylor muttered, wringing her hands nervously.
Irene pulled a face. "Taylor, you can call me Gram's. More importantly, relax. If I think you're wrong for my grandson, trust me, I will let you know, but I will come to that conclusion by myself, rather than through the stories my son has told me. And you can also tell my grandson, that I'm not happy that he hasn't brought you here sooner. Now, sit yourself down at the table, and tell me all about yourself."
* * *
When Flack returned home it was late, and he was surprised to find the light shining out from under the bedroom door. He quietly opened the door, expecting to find Taylor had fallen asleep to the television, but instead found her in the centre of the bed, surrounded by big, fat books. "Tay?" he questioned, softly.
Taylor jumped, the pen she had been chewing falling from her mouth. "Don!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing back so early?"
"I think the question is, what are you doing up so late?" he asked, picking up one of the books so he could sit down. He frowned as he glanced down at the title. "A cookbook?"
Taylor pulled it back from him and began stacking the books up. "Your family is coming for dinner tomorrow night," she told him, leaning over to drop the pile onto the floor beside the bed. When she righted herself, she found Flack staring at her in bewilderment. "Don't start," she warned him.
Flack quickly shook his head. "I wasn't going to," he quickly told her. "But by dinner, you mean?" he asked,
carefully.
"I mean I'm going to cook a meatloaf," Taylor responded.
"And by family...?"
"You, me, Riley, Chase, your parents, and Grams."
Flack stared at her, then slowly shook his head. "I hear the words, I understand the words, but collectively, that makes no sense whatsoever."
Taylor rolled her eyes. "Your brother is a genius."
This time Flack snorted. "My brother is a lot of things, but genius is not on that list."
"He introduced me to Grams, who, for the record, makes the most delicious meatballs I've ever tasted. She agreed that we all needed to sit down around the same table and talk."
"Really?" Flack asked in surprise.
Taylor's mouth fell open. "You didn't think Grams would approve of me," she realised. "That's why you never introduced us."
"Okay, you stop that train of thought right now," he told her firmly. "I am not ashamed of you in any way, and frankly, I don't care if my family approves of you or not. Because I do." He toed his shoes off and finally sat
down on the bed, stretching his long legs out in front of him. "Yes, I should have been polite and introduced you to each other, but I was obviously right when I knew it wasn't important. She likes you."
Taylor frowned. "How can you tell?"
"Tay, you're calling her Grams. That's her way of welcoming you to the family. If she didn't approve, you would never have made it past the front porch, much less had her meatballs. Sean must have let her known you were coming because she will have cooked them especially."
"Really?" Taylor asked, surprised.
Flack nodded. "Yes. And while I won't accept this 'genius' title you want to grant Sean, he did have the right idea getting Grams involved. I'm guessing she told my parents that they are coming tomorrow night, and that they had no choice in the matter?"
Taylor bit her lip. "I don't know exactly, as she said she would call them after I had left, but she did confirm they would all be here for seven tomorrow night. I hope they do come."
"They'll be there," Flack assured her.
Taylor jumped, the pen she had been chewing falling from her mouth. "Don!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing back so early?"
"I think the question is, what are you doing up so late?" he asked, picking up one of the books so he could sit down. He frowned as he glanced down at the title. "A cookbook?"
Taylor pulled it back from him and began stacking the books up. "Your family is coming for dinner tomorrow night," she told him, leaning over to drop the pile onto the floor beside the bed. When she righted herself, she found Flack staring at her in bewilderment. "Don't start," she warned him.
Flack quickly shook his head. "I wasn't going to," he quickly told her. "But by dinner, you mean?" he asked,
carefully.
"I mean I'm going to cook a meatloaf," Taylor responded.
"And by family...?"
"You, me, Riley, Chase, your parents, and Grams."
Flack stared at her, then slowly shook his head. "I hear the words, I understand the words, but collectively, that makes no sense whatsoever."
Taylor rolled her eyes. "Your brother is a genius."
This time Flack snorted. "My brother is a lot of things, but genius is not on that list."
"He introduced me to Grams, who, for the record, makes the most delicious meatballs I've ever tasted. She agreed that we all needed to sit down around the same table and talk."
"Really?" Flack asked in surprise.
Taylor's mouth fell open. "You didn't think Grams would approve of me," she realised. "That's why you never introduced us."
"Okay, you stop that train of thought right now," he told her firmly. "I am not ashamed of you in any way, and frankly, I don't care if my family approves of you or not. Because I do." He toed his shoes off and finally sat
down on the bed, stretching his long legs out in front of him. "Yes, I should have been polite and introduced you to each other, but I was obviously right when I knew it wasn't important. She likes you."
Taylor frowned. "How can you tell?"
"Tay, you're calling her Grams. That's her way of welcoming you to the family. If she didn't approve, you would never have made it past the front porch, much less had her meatballs. Sean must have let her known you were coming because she will have cooked them especially."
"Really?" Taylor asked, surprised.
Flack nodded. "Yes. And while I won't accept this 'genius' title you want to grant Sean, he did have the right idea getting Grams involved. I'm guessing she told my parents that they are coming tomorrow night, and that they had no choice in the matter?"
Taylor bit her lip. "I don't know exactly, as she said she would call them after I had left, but she did confirm they would all be here for seven tomorrow night. I hope they do come."
"They'll be there," Flack assured her.
* * *
By the time the following evening rolled around, Flack was shattered. They had managed to ID the body as Adrik Fedoruk, and also established that he was in the US trying to track down his missing daughter, Rani. She'd written a plea to help for her father and the only remaining clue was the stationary the letter had been written on, and the DNA under the stamp. The letter had been sat in a puddle of water and despite Hawke's best efforts, they had gained all the information they could from it. As for the DNA, he'd left Greg running it
through the database.
Realising they weren't going to get any further in the investigation, and Louie could only say "Be patient", Flack had decided to call it a night and see if Taylor needed rescuing in the kitchen. Despite her constant assurances that she was alright, he was rather worried about what they would be eating. He stepped into the house and started making his way through to the kitchen, but found his attention caught by the contents of the dining
room.
Flack paused in the doorway, surveying the dining table in front of him. Although they had a separate
dining room, they had taken to eating at the smaller, less formal, table in the kitchen. It was a rare occasion that he, Taylor and Riley ever sat down and ate more than breakfast together. So to see the round table pulled out,
eight chairs around it, and a brand new set of dinner settings was a little strange. "Tay, is there something you want to tell me?" he called down the hallway, before continuing on his journey to investigate the source of the
delicious smells his nose had picked up on. The kitchen was another sight completely.
The dining room looked positively elegant by comparison. The kitchen table was covered in cookery books that Taylor had been examining the previous evening, and a collection of serving dishes sat ready to have something dished up in them. The pans on top of the hob looked like their contents were under control.
Suspiciously, Flack headed to the cooker and pulled the door open. Inside, just beginning to brown nicely, was what he suspected to be a meatloaf. Judging from the fact the kitchen counters looked like a bomb went off on them, he also suspected it had been made from scratch.
Even more confused, Flack closed the cooker door and left the kitchen, making his way upstairs. He paused as he passed Riley's bedroom door, the teenager sat on the bed, with Chase... studying. Both were dressed smartly – he wasn't even aware that Chase owned a shirt. "Have I entered the Twilight Zone?" he muttered to himself, continuing on to his bedroom. He pushed the door open to find Taylor wrapped in a towel, her hair pulled back into a neat chignon and her makeup immaculate, trying to decide between two dresses. Both looked like something his mother would wear, not Taylor. He frowned. "Who are you, and what have you done
with Taylor?" he asked his fiancé.
Taylor glanced up, her thoughts obviously elsewhere, and indicated to the dresses. "Which one?"
Flack pulled a face. "If you're going to church, that one, and if you're going to a wake, that one."
"That's what I thought," Taylor sighed. She pulled one of the choices to her, holding it up against her as she examined her reflection in the mirror.
"Tay, what's going on?" Flack asked her softly.
Taylor shrugged. "Your parents have agreed to come to dinner, and I'm going to make them fall in love with me like you did."
Flack pulled the dress away. "Taylor, if you want them to love you like I do, it's not going to be with an overly conservative dress, because that isn't why I love you."
"You want me to wear that nurses outfit?" Taylor asked suspiciously. "Because I really don't want your parents loving me that way."
Flack snorted. "I most certainly don't. And for the record, I had fallen in love with you long before that."
Taylor, who had had half of her attention on the outfits, turned fully to Flack, cocking her head. "When did you fall in love with me?" she asked him.
"The first morning you woke up in my bed," he responded.
"The same morning you were hung over to hell, found me highly infuriating, and could wait to get me out of your bed. If I recall, you didn't even save me any hot water either," Taylor pointed out.
Flack shrugged. Alright, the night before, in the bar. Anyone who can get a bar to part with a full bottle of tequila has my love. And in my defence, I was hung over: I was trying to wash my hangover away."
"Convincing a barman to give me a bottle of tequila?" Taylor repeated, dubiously. "Seriously, when did you
fall in love with me?" she pressed.
Flack sighed and shrugged. "Fine, that was when I admitted to myself that I'd fallen for you. The moment I knew I was in love with you..?"
"Yes," Taylor said, staring up at him, her eyes wide.
"The first time I had you in one of my shirts. It was the night before you decided a night time run by yourself in Central Park was a good idea."
"Don," Taylor started slowly.
"Is this where you call me a doofas?" Flack asked her.
Taylor gave him a smile, taking a step to wrap her arms around his neck. "I love you," she told him.
Flack's hands slowly settled on Taylor's hips, his thumbs tugging at the elastic of Taylor's panties. "Love you," he murmured.
Whatever plans he had for her underwear were abruptly disturbed by the ringing of the doorbell. Taylor's eyes widened. "Oh my god!" she shrieked, leaping backwards and lunging for one of the dresses.
Flack winced. "I'll go."
"No, you need to shower," Taylor instructed him, wriggling into the dress. "And be quick about it, because I really don't want to be left alone with your parents for long." The doorbell rang again, and Taylor darted to the door, but found herself being pulled back to Flack as he grabbed her hand. "Don!"
"Taylor, relax," he told her, spinning her around so that her back was to him. Quickly he zipped up the dress. "Take a deep breath. I will be down in ten."
Taylor hurried down the stairs, calling for Riley and Chase as she passed Riley's bedroom, and pulled the
door open. "Grams," she said, breathing a sigh of relief, which she nearly choked on when she realised Flack Senior and his wife were waiting behind her, both with less than impressed expressions on their faces. "Please,
come in," she quickly added, stepping back.
through the database.
Realising they weren't going to get any further in the investigation, and Louie could only say "Be patient", Flack had decided to call it a night and see if Taylor needed rescuing in the kitchen. Despite her constant assurances that she was alright, he was rather worried about what they would be eating. He stepped into the house and started making his way through to the kitchen, but found his attention caught by the contents of the dining
room.
Flack paused in the doorway, surveying the dining table in front of him. Although they had a separate
dining room, they had taken to eating at the smaller, less formal, table in the kitchen. It was a rare occasion that he, Taylor and Riley ever sat down and ate more than breakfast together. So to see the round table pulled out,
eight chairs around it, and a brand new set of dinner settings was a little strange. "Tay, is there something you want to tell me?" he called down the hallway, before continuing on his journey to investigate the source of the
delicious smells his nose had picked up on. The kitchen was another sight completely.
The dining room looked positively elegant by comparison. The kitchen table was covered in cookery books that Taylor had been examining the previous evening, and a collection of serving dishes sat ready to have something dished up in them. The pans on top of the hob looked like their contents were under control.
Suspiciously, Flack headed to the cooker and pulled the door open. Inside, just beginning to brown nicely, was what he suspected to be a meatloaf. Judging from the fact the kitchen counters looked like a bomb went off on them, he also suspected it had been made from scratch.
Even more confused, Flack closed the cooker door and left the kitchen, making his way upstairs. He paused as he passed Riley's bedroom door, the teenager sat on the bed, with Chase... studying. Both were dressed smartly – he wasn't even aware that Chase owned a shirt. "Have I entered the Twilight Zone?" he muttered to himself, continuing on to his bedroom. He pushed the door open to find Taylor wrapped in a towel, her hair pulled back into a neat chignon and her makeup immaculate, trying to decide between two dresses. Both looked like something his mother would wear, not Taylor. He frowned. "Who are you, and what have you done
with Taylor?" he asked his fiancé.
Taylor glanced up, her thoughts obviously elsewhere, and indicated to the dresses. "Which one?"
Flack pulled a face. "If you're going to church, that one, and if you're going to a wake, that one."
"That's what I thought," Taylor sighed. She pulled one of the choices to her, holding it up against her as she examined her reflection in the mirror.
"Tay, what's going on?" Flack asked her softly.
Taylor shrugged. "Your parents have agreed to come to dinner, and I'm going to make them fall in love with me like you did."
Flack pulled the dress away. "Taylor, if you want them to love you like I do, it's not going to be with an overly conservative dress, because that isn't why I love you."
"You want me to wear that nurses outfit?" Taylor asked suspiciously. "Because I really don't want your parents loving me that way."
Flack snorted. "I most certainly don't. And for the record, I had fallen in love with you long before that."
Taylor, who had had half of her attention on the outfits, turned fully to Flack, cocking her head. "When did you fall in love with me?" she asked him.
"The first morning you woke up in my bed," he responded.
"The same morning you were hung over to hell, found me highly infuriating, and could wait to get me out of your bed. If I recall, you didn't even save me any hot water either," Taylor pointed out.
Flack shrugged. Alright, the night before, in the bar. Anyone who can get a bar to part with a full bottle of tequila has my love. And in my defence, I was hung over: I was trying to wash my hangover away."
"Convincing a barman to give me a bottle of tequila?" Taylor repeated, dubiously. "Seriously, when did you
fall in love with me?" she pressed.
Flack sighed and shrugged. "Fine, that was when I admitted to myself that I'd fallen for you. The moment I knew I was in love with you..?"
"Yes," Taylor said, staring up at him, her eyes wide.
"The first time I had you in one of my shirts. It was the night before you decided a night time run by yourself in Central Park was a good idea."
"Don," Taylor started slowly.
"Is this where you call me a doofas?" Flack asked her.
Taylor gave him a smile, taking a step to wrap her arms around his neck. "I love you," she told him.
Flack's hands slowly settled on Taylor's hips, his thumbs tugging at the elastic of Taylor's panties. "Love you," he murmured.
Whatever plans he had for her underwear were abruptly disturbed by the ringing of the doorbell. Taylor's eyes widened. "Oh my god!" she shrieked, leaping backwards and lunging for one of the dresses.
Flack winced. "I'll go."
"No, you need to shower," Taylor instructed him, wriggling into the dress. "And be quick about it, because I really don't want to be left alone with your parents for long." The doorbell rang again, and Taylor darted to the door, but found herself being pulled back to Flack as he grabbed her hand. "Don!"
"Taylor, relax," he told her, spinning her around so that her back was to him. Quickly he zipped up the dress. "Take a deep breath. I will be down in ten."
Taylor hurried down the stairs, calling for Riley and Chase as she passed Riley's bedroom, and pulled the
door open. "Grams," she said, breathing a sigh of relief, which she nearly choked on when she realised Flack Senior and his wife were waiting behind her, both with less than impressed expressions on their faces. "Please,
come in," she quickly added, stepping back.
* * *
When Flack came down a short while later, things had moved from the hallway to the living room, but the atmosphere was much the same. His parents had seated themselves on the couch – perched on the edge like they were going to catch something from the fabric. Grams was standing in front of the fireplace, looking up at the collection of photographs that had been growing across the wall. Even Chase and Riley were stood next to
the window, trying not to fidget beneath the stares his mom and dad kept sending their way. Taylor was nowhere in sight. "Hi mom, dad," Flack said, clearing his throat as he stepped into the room. "I'm glad you could come. Can I get you a drink?"
"Your girlfriend disappeared to do that some time ago," his mother sniffed, disapprovingly.
"Fiancée," Flack corrected her, politely. "Riley, do you want to go give her a hand?"
"Oh, god, yes," Riley muttered, all but running out of the room.
There was another moment of awkward silence, before Irene turned around and gave an appreciative sniff. "Whatever Taylor's been cooking, it sure smells good. I hope it tastes as good as it smells," she added, before winking at Chase.
"Hi Grams," Flack grinned, enveloping her in a hug.
Taylor and Riley reappeared, just as everyone had finished greeting one another, carrying a tray of drinks each. "Dinner is all but ready, if you want to make your way next door?" Taylor offered, when the uncomfortable silence settled back over the room.
The atmosphere was still as strained at the table as Riley helped Taylor to hand out their starters – something that looked like vegetable soup, and, as Flack sniffed it, smelled like it too. He glanced over at Chase who was giving it a suspicious stir with his spoon. While his parents and Taylor were distracted by the soup being served, Flack took a quick taste, praying that it tasted as good as it smelled. It did.
He quickly set the spoon back down, gave Chase a reassuring smile, and couldn't help but give his fiancé a look of appreciation. Even if she had poured a few tins into a bowl and passed it off as her own, she had managed to do it without burning the soup – and that in itself was an accomplishment.
For a while, there was the polite chinking sounds of silver hitting china, and then Grams set her spoon down. "Perhaps we should clear the air before we get to the main course," she announced, winking at Flack. "I think it's safe to say that this wasn't cooked over a cauldron, and Taylor isn't a witch."
Riley and Chase's mouths fell open in surprise, as they then quickly turned to watch Taylor's reaction. "No,"
Taylor agreed. "I save the cauldron for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Sometimes Easter too."
Flack's attention was diverted to his mother, who made a choking noise and set her spoon down, pushing the bowl away from her a fraction. "Oh, for goodness sake, Valarie," Irene scolded. "It's delicious, Taylor," she added, clearly seeing that Taylor was becoming more uncomfortable.
Flack sent his Grams a grateful smile. "It is good, Tay," he agreed.
His grandmother looked around the table and sighed. "Maybe that didn't clear the air. Taylor, what are your
intentions with my grandson?"
Taylor blinked. "To marry him, grow old with him," she shrugged. "For as long as he'll let me."
"And does that include marrying him for his money?" Grams pressed.
"I've never been after him for his money," Taylor assured her. "And what's more, I think it that was the
case, Don would have given me the boot a long time ago."
Grams ignored the grumbling noises her son was making and pressed on. "And you're not sleeping with him to
further your career?"
This time, Flack and Chase consecutively spluttered on their soup, while Valarie knocked her glass of wine over the table. Taylor leapt to her feet, passing her napkin over to Flack's mother before the wine could make its way off the table and into her lap. "I can assure you that I am not sleeping with Flack for the benefit of my career," she told them. Although her face was burning, she kept her voice steady. She quickly darted into the kitchen and returned moments later with a tea towel to mop up the rest of the wine. "It never crossed my mind
when I worked at the paper, and even now, when I'm not there, I have no intentions of using anything to get me a front page spread. As it happens, I am currently between jobs anyway."
"So you are after my son for his money," Donald announced.
"Dad!" Flack snapped.
Taylor glanced over at Flack and shook her head. "It's alright," she assured him, before turning to his father. "Sir, let me make this perfectly clear. I love your son, and I love him because of who he is, not because of how big his bank account is, or the potential for me to land the biggest story of the decade. I have no idea why you think that is so impossible a concept, but why you should maybe consider is that maybe you should trust your son's decisions, instead of undermining them, because at the end of the day, you two are the ones that brought him up."
"And have you considered that maybe the reason we're voicing our disapproval at you two is because we brought him up differently?" Valarie snapped back.
Taylor barked out a laugh. "Differently? The man sat at this table, is good, honourable, trustworthy, patient and loving. I refuse to believe for one moment that you brought him up otherwise. Your problem isn't with him, it's with me, so at least acknowledge that fact."
"You're right," Donald agreed. "Our problem is with you. We don't think you are the right kind of woman for our son."
"Dad!" Flack snapped again.
"Why not?" Taylor asked. "I have been dating your son for months and not once have you made the effort to get to know me, so how on earth can you say I'm not the right kind of woman for him?" Taylor took a deep breath and sat down. "I just don't understand why-"
"In the last eighteen months, my son has been investigated by Internal Affairs, written up, or even suspended more times than he had in his working career until the point he met you," Flack Senior snapped. "The next thing I know, he's shacked up with you, someone I've arrested myself, no less, looking after two juvenile delinquents-"
"No!" Taylor cried, slamming her fist on the table. "You can attack me all you want, but under no circumstances will I allow you to bring Riley and Chase into this. If you think I will sit here and let you talk trash about them, well you can get out of my house right this minute."
There was a moment of shock, before Donald's chair screeched backwards across the hardwood floor. Donald, you sit your butt back in that chair right now!" Irene ordered. Her son glared at her then sat down. Irene took in a deep breath and reached for her purse, pulling out her wallet. Calmly she leant across the table and handed the money over to Riley who was still in shock to do little more than accept the small pile of bills. "We are not going anywhere until we have cleared the air. That being said, I don't think either of you kids need to hear this, and I know I passed a pizza place a block away from here. Why don't you two head there for an hour, have something to eat, and we'll be back to acting more like adults and less like children when you return."
Riley glanced over at Flack, who nodded. "I'll text you." The adults waited for the front door to close behind the teenagers before any of them spoke again. "Just to make it perfectly clear, I won't allow you to attack either of
those kids either," he informed his parents. "And if you can't talk to Taylor with some respect, then you can leave. I'm sorry: I want to clear the air; I want to be able to spend time together, as a family; and I want you both at my wedding, but dad, you wouldn't allow anyone to speak to mom like that, and I won't allow you to speak to Taylor like that."
"My son nearly died because of you," Valarie said to Taylor, coolly.
"I nearly died doing my job," Flack corrected her. "If Taylor hadn't have been there, I probably would have died. Did you know she had her hands inside my chest just to stop the bleeding?" he asked his parents.
"Well you wouldn't have been in the building if she wasn't in there," Valarie sniffed.
Flack glanced over at Taylor: her head was bowed and he could tell exactly what was going through her mind
from the defeated look on her face. "No," he told his parents. "I didn't even know she was in there. We just got a call to stabbing and in the process discovered the bomb. It was coincidence that we were both there."
"And what about her links to the Brooklyn Bullets and Tanglewood?" Donald asked his son.
"I don't have any links," Taylor told him.
"You were visiting Sassone in prison, and you had drugs in your apartment."
"We cleared this up, dad," Flack sighed. "The drugs had been planted there, and Taylor only went to visit Sassone because she is unfortunately more curious than a cat."
"Where there's smoke," Donald hinted.
"Except in a nightclub," Taylor muttered.
"I beg your pardon?" Valarie asked.
Taylor glanced up. "Where there's smoke, there's a fire. Except in a nightclub. Artificial smoke machines," she shrugged.
Flack decided that he wasn't going to hide his grin. "So maybe there isn't always a fire."
"Your housemate, Marty Pi-"
"Was her housemate," Flack cut his father off. "Just like everyone at the crime lab is someone at the crime lab, and not Taylor. You can't blame her for those instances. She was there because she is a good friend and nothing more."
"Now, is there anything else you wish to address, or can we please get to know your future daughter-in-law before we pass any further judgement?" Grams asked, looking at her son and his wife.
"You say you're currently between jobs?" Flack Senior grunted. "What does that mean? You're not at the Daily anymore?"
Taylor nodded. "I quit a few weeks ago."
"Why?"
"Because my boss changed my job title from crime columnist to crime reporter and insinuated that I should be using the fact that I'm engaged to Don as a way for me to get the exclusive stories. The final straw was when she told me I couldn't go to a friend's wedding. I quit."
There was a long silence around the table. "The soup was lovely," Valarie announced, suddenly. "Did you cook it from scratch?"
"Actually, Mrs Flack, I'm not much of a cook," Taylor admitted, trying hard not to look as shocked as she felt. "I must confess, this was bought from the store around the corner, but it is one of their fresh creations, rather than from a can. I did make the next course by myself thought."
Flack's mother gave her a quick nod. "Please, it's Valarie. And maybe we should try that meal before it
becomes overcooked," she added, kindly.
"Here, let me help you with these dirty dishes," Grams said, up on her feet before even Taylor.
the window, trying not to fidget beneath the stares his mom and dad kept sending their way. Taylor was nowhere in sight. "Hi mom, dad," Flack said, clearing his throat as he stepped into the room. "I'm glad you could come. Can I get you a drink?"
"Your girlfriend disappeared to do that some time ago," his mother sniffed, disapprovingly.
"Fiancée," Flack corrected her, politely. "Riley, do you want to go give her a hand?"
"Oh, god, yes," Riley muttered, all but running out of the room.
There was another moment of awkward silence, before Irene turned around and gave an appreciative sniff. "Whatever Taylor's been cooking, it sure smells good. I hope it tastes as good as it smells," she added, before winking at Chase.
"Hi Grams," Flack grinned, enveloping her in a hug.
Taylor and Riley reappeared, just as everyone had finished greeting one another, carrying a tray of drinks each. "Dinner is all but ready, if you want to make your way next door?" Taylor offered, when the uncomfortable silence settled back over the room.
The atmosphere was still as strained at the table as Riley helped Taylor to hand out their starters – something that looked like vegetable soup, and, as Flack sniffed it, smelled like it too. He glanced over at Chase who was giving it a suspicious stir with his spoon. While his parents and Taylor were distracted by the soup being served, Flack took a quick taste, praying that it tasted as good as it smelled. It did.
He quickly set the spoon back down, gave Chase a reassuring smile, and couldn't help but give his fiancé a look of appreciation. Even if she had poured a few tins into a bowl and passed it off as her own, she had managed to do it without burning the soup – and that in itself was an accomplishment.
For a while, there was the polite chinking sounds of silver hitting china, and then Grams set her spoon down. "Perhaps we should clear the air before we get to the main course," she announced, winking at Flack. "I think it's safe to say that this wasn't cooked over a cauldron, and Taylor isn't a witch."
Riley and Chase's mouths fell open in surprise, as they then quickly turned to watch Taylor's reaction. "No,"
Taylor agreed. "I save the cauldron for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Sometimes Easter too."
Flack's attention was diverted to his mother, who made a choking noise and set her spoon down, pushing the bowl away from her a fraction. "Oh, for goodness sake, Valarie," Irene scolded. "It's delicious, Taylor," she added, clearly seeing that Taylor was becoming more uncomfortable.
Flack sent his Grams a grateful smile. "It is good, Tay," he agreed.
His grandmother looked around the table and sighed. "Maybe that didn't clear the air. Taylor, what are your
intentions with my grandson?"
Taylor blinked. "To marry him, grow old with him," she shrugged. "For as long as he'll let me."
"And does that include marrying him for his money?" Grams pressed.
"I've never been after him for his money," Taylor assured her. "And what's more, I think it that was the
case, Don would have given me the boot a long time ago."
Grams ignored the grumbling noises her son was making and pressed on. "And you're not sleeping with him to
further your career?"
This time, Flack and Chase consecutively spluttered on their soup, while Valarie knocked her glass of wine over the table. Taylor leapt to her feet, passing her napkin over to Flack's mother before the wine could make its way off the table and into her lap. "I can assure you that I am not sleeping with Flack for the benefit of my career," she told them. Although her face was burning, she kept her voice steady. She quickly darted into the kitchen and returned moments later with a tea towel to mop up the rest of the wine. "It never crossed my mind
when I worked at the paper, and even now, when I'm not there, I have no intentions of using anything to get me a front page spread. As it happens, I am currently between jobs anyway."
"So you are after my son for his money," Donald announced.
"Dad!" Flack snapped.
Taylor glanced over at Flack and shook her head. "It's alright," she assured him, before turning to his father. "Sir, let me make this perfectly clear. I love your son, and I love him because of who he is, not because of how big his bank account is, or the potential for me to land the biggest story of the decade. I have no idea why you think that is so impossible a concept, but why you should maybe consider is that maybe you should trust your son's decisions, instead of undermining them, because at the end of the day, you two are the ones that brought him up."
"And have you considered that maybe the reason we're voicing our disapproval at you two is because we brought him up differently?" Valarie snapped back.
Taylor barked out a laugh. "Differently? The man sat at this table, is good, honourable, trustworthy, patient and loving. I refuse to believe for one moment that you brought him up otherwise. Your problem isn't with him, it's with me, so at least acknowledge that fact."
"You're right," Donald agreed. "Our problem is with you. We don't think you are the right kind of woman for our son."
"Dad!" Flack snapped again.
"Why not?" Taylor asked. "I have been dating your son for months and not once have you made the effort to get to know me, so how on earth can you say I'm not the right kind of woman for him?" Taylor took a deep breath and sat down. "I just don't understand why-"
"In the last eighteen months, my son has been investigated by Internal Affairs, written up, or even suspended more times than he had in his working career until the point he met you," Flack Senior snapped. "The next thing I know, he's shacked up with you, someone I've arrested myself, no less, looking after two juvenile delinquents-"
"No!" Taylor cried, slamming her fist on the table. "You can attack me all you want, but under no circumstances will I allow you to bring Riley and Chase into this. If you think I will sit here and let you talk trash about them, well you can get out of my house right this minute."
There was a moment of shock, before Donald's chair screeched backwards across the hardwood floor. Donald, you sit your butt back in that chair right now!" Irene ordered. Her son glared at her then sat down. Irene took in a deep breath and reached for her purse, pulling out her wallet. Calmly she leant across the table and handed the money over to Riley who was still in shock to do little more than accept the small pile of bills. "We are not going anywhere until we have cleared the air. That being said, I don't think either of you kids need to hear this, and I know I passed a pizza place a block away from here. Why don't you two head there for an hour, have something to eat, and we'll be back to acting more like adults and less like children when you return."
Riley glanced over at Flack, who nodded. "I'll text you." The adults waited for the front door to close behind the teenagers before any of them spoke again. "Just to make it perfectly clear, I won't allow you to attack either of
those kids either," he informed his parents. "And if you can't talk to Taylor with some respect, then you can leave. I'm sorry: I want to clear the air; I want to be able to spend time together, as a family; and I want you both at my wedding, but dad, you wouldn't allow anyone to speak to mom like that, and I won't allow you to speak to Taylor like that."
"My son nearly died because of you," Valarie said to Taylor, coolly.
"I nearly died doing my job," Flack corrected her. "If Taylor hadn't have been there, I probably would have died. Did you know she had her hands inside my chest just to stop the bleeding?" he asked his parents.
"Well you wouldn't have been in the building if she wasn't in there," Valarie sniffed.
Flack glanced over at Taylor: her head was bowed and he could tell exactly what was going through her mind
from the defeated look on her face. "No," he told his parents. "I didn't even know she was in there. We just got a call to stabbing and in the process discovered the bomb. It was coincidence that we were both there."
"And what about her links to the Brooklyn Bullets and Tanglewood?" Donald asked his son.
"I don't have any links," Taylor told him.
"You were visiting Sassone in prison, and you had drugs in your apartment."
"We cleared this up, dad," Flack sighed. "The drugs had been planted there, and Taylor only went to visit Sassone because she is unfortunately more curious than a cat."
"Where there's smoke," Donald hinted.
"Except in a nightclub," Taylor muttered.
"I beg your pardon?" Valarie asked.
Taylor glanced up. "Where there's smoke, there's a fire. Except in a nightclub. Artificial smoke machines," she shrugged.
Flack decided that he wasn't going to hide his grin. "So maybe there isn't always a fire."
"Your housemate, Marty Pi-"
"Was her housemate," Flack cut his father off. "Just like everyone at the crime lab is someone at the crime lab, and not Taylor. You can't blame her for those instances. She was there because she is a good friend and nothing more."
"Now, is there anything else you wish to address, or can we please get to know your future daughter-in-law before we pass any further judgement?" Grams asked, looking at her son and his wife.
"You say you're currently between jobs?" Flack Senior grunted. "What does that mean? You're not at the Daily anymore?"
Taylor nodded. "I quit a few weeks ago."
"Why?"
"Because my boss changed my job title from crime columnist to crime reporter and insinuated that I should be using the fact that I'm engaged to Don as a way for me to get the exclusive stories. The final straw was when she told me I couldn't go to a friend's wedding. I quit."
There was a long silence around the table. "The soup was lovely," Valarie announced, suddenly. "Did you cook it from scratch?"
"Actually, Mrs Flack, I'm not much of a cook," Taylor admitted, trying hard not to look as shocked as she felt. "I must confess, this was bought from the store around the corner, but it is one of their fresh creations, rather than from a can. I did make the next course by myself thought."
Flack's mother gave her a quick nod. "Please, it's Valarie. And maybe we should try that meal before it
becomes overcooked," she added, kindly.
"Here, let me help you with these dirty dishes," Grams said, up on her feet before even Taylor.
* * *
Taylor stared in the mirror, the toothbrush in one hand, the toothpaste in the other, staring blankly at her reflection. "Tay?" Flack called softly from the doorway.
Taylor turned and gave him a puzzled look. "I see that many ghosts," she muttered softly, "That I can't work out if I'm dead or not."
"You survived, Taylor," Flack told her, walking over to her. "We survived. And what's more, they're going to put some money towards the wedding."
"I know," Taylor agreed. "Hence why I can't work out if I'm dead or not, because I thought hell would have to freeze over first, which would surely mean the end of the world, and if the end of the world has come, then we must be dead. Or a zombie."
Flack wrapped his arms around Taylor and chuckled. "You know you watch far too much television, right?"
Taylor turned and gave him a puzzled look. "I see that many ghosts," she muttered softly, "That I can't work out if I'm dead or not."
"You survived, Taylor," Flack told her, walking over to her. "We survived. And what's more, they're going to put some money towards the wedding."
"I know," Taylor agreed. "Hence why I can't work out if I'm dead or not, because I thought hell would have to freeze over first, which would surely mean the end of the world, and if the end of the world has come, then we must be dead. Or a zombie."
Flack wrapped his arms around Taylor and chuckled. "You know you watch far too much television, right?"
First posted 04/04/2013