you've learned how to hold your own
how to stack your stones / but the history's thick
children aren't as simple as we'd like to think

Dani really hadn't expected to be back at work before Crews.

He's not worried about Charlie. Well, he is. He always worries, but he tells himself that Charlie is the guardian. Charlie's partner is safe again, Charlie's okay too. Ted is just one more person Charlie has saved.

"Are you attached to this suit?" she asks, loosening his tie even further.

Ted wasn’t sure what it was about Charlie that convinced him he was innocent, but he thought it was the way Charlie looked haunted. Ted had been in prison and in business long enough to know that no one capable of causing the bloodbath that the Seyboldt murder had been was capable of looking haunted by what he’d done.

They always have their most important conversations in the car.

(Okay, that's a total lie. They just have 90% of all their conversations in the car because it's L.A., and everyone is in the car all the time.)

This was not one of them. An important conversation, that is.

"But it turns out I've got this partner," Dani says. "And this partner's got all this shit going down that he needs me to take care of. And it turns out I'd rather die one breath at a time than let him down."

Charlie feels like he can't breathe.

He wants to make her feel good, like she could take off running and fly. But more than that, he wants her to feel safe with him. Tidwell knows his reputation with women sucks, and maybe he's not the best person for the job, but he's the one Dani's letting in and, fuck it, he's stepping up to the plate. She's worth it, even if she doesn't think so.

“You know what the difference between a child and an adult is, Reese?”

“The amount of time they do and if it goes on their permanent record.”

“No. Well, yes, okay, but the real difference is when a child sees something it’s new and full of wonder, even if they’ve seen it before, and an adult just keeps going like it’s not even there.”

“Trust me, I know the snow is there.”

“But instead of building snowmen and making snow angels, you’re complaining. See? Adult.”

“I’ll throw a snowball at you. Does that make me a child?”

“No, that means you have anger issues.”

So. He's got this problem, see, and it basically comes down to the fact that he has difficulty catching words that fall from his mouth. Sometimes Dani gets this look on her face like she's going to do him harm and it sets him ticking, but that gets him into the kind of trouble that makes her turn tail and walk the other way.

Goddamn, but she's hot. The word he wants is 'firecracker' but he doesn't say it out loud. She'd probably shoot him if he did.

"You're totally the woman."

Ted looks up at her. He can tell from her expression that she's trying to provoke him, but Ted is going to be mature. Ted is going to be the adult. She's off-base anyway; okay, so he may sit at home some of the time while Charlie fights bad guys, and yeah, right now he's wearing an apron and unloading the dishwasher, but that's only because these are new pants and oh, for fuck's sakes.

Rachel is smirking at him sideways from under her eyelashes.

"Shit," Ted says.

"I advise against extreme sports," the shrink told him, closing his file at the end of the session. "Maybe don't try skydiving."

That ended up being their last session, because Ted decided he didn't really need therapy anyway, and definitely not from somebody who gave such stupid advice. You had to risk big to win big. Everybody knew that, especially everybody in the business of making money.

He had plenty of time to revise his opinions on the subject in prison, where he learned that sometimes a big risk led to a big fall on your ass. Or multiple, repeated big falls on your ass, supervised by large, angry guys who didn't give a shit about your delayed therapeutic revelations.

Every shrink in the world would tell her it's a terrible idea. The man who killed her family would tell her it's a sin. She's not exactly trusting his authority these days.

He prefaces his question--the first words spoken since they traded spare greetings and introductions when she arrived--with the slight curve of a smile. "Is that your detective stare?"

It earns him a slow blink and a thoroughly disinterested tone. "What?"

"The way you're looking at me. Staring, as if you're prepared to wait all day. Is that the way you look when you interrogate suspects?"

"I wasn't aware I was staring. Sorry if it bothers you." And, yes, she's a professional at this, polite and chilly and just this side of obvious about being on the offensive.

“Charlie?”

He cracks open one eye. It’s Ted come up behind him, hand outstretched but not quite touching.

“Charlie? Are you alright? I made smoothies.”

Charlie closes his eye again and rocks a little more, then presses the soles of his feet down flat and soaks up the chill, feels it up to his knees, little goose bumps all over his skin.

“Not just now, Ted,” he says. “I’m having a moment.”

“Oh,” Ted says, and clears his throat a little. “A moment.”

“Yes, Ted,” Charlie says. “A single moment, here, where I can absorb and acknowledge the tranquility of my environment.”

“Okay,” Ted says. “Well, ah, in case after your moment you’re hungry, I’ll put yours in the fridge.”

“Thank you, Ted.”

“You’re still nervous, Ted.”

“Uh, yeah,” he scoffs, shakes his head, and tucks the card underneath the paper. “It’s not everyday a former cop looks at me like he’s not a former cop and I have to consider adult diapers for a possible, second encounter – is there going to be a second encounter, Charlie?

But Charlie remains amused. “No second encounter, Ted.”

[Coda to 2x03]

You've never bought a house before, but you know this is the one you want, this one with the view. Ted's behind you, talking about the foundations, or carpenter ant inspections, or something else that sounds very boring, but you're not listening. From the kitchen window you think you can see for miles, the broad expanse of the valley, the sky scraped out pale above it. "This is the one, Ted," you say.