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"We—Mom and Dad and the rest of us—hoped you'd make it home for Christmas."
"I couldn't." She stepped back as he turned. "Things got complicated." And she wouldn't speak of that, wouldn't tell him what had been happening, what had been done. "But I'll make time soon. I promise."
"You look different, Dee." He touched his big hand to her cheek. "Official. Settled in. Happy."
"I am happy. I love my work." She lifted her hand to his, pressed down on it. "I don't know how to explain it to you, to make you understand."
"You don't have to. I can see it." He pulled out a six-pack of juice tubes and opened the tiny friggie. Understanding wasn't always the answer. He knew that. Accepting was. "I feel bad about pulling you away from your job."
"Don't. I haven't had any personal time in…" She shook her head as she stuffed boxes and bags onto shelves. "Hell, who remembers? Dallas wouldn't have green-lighted it if we'd been jammed."
"I liked her. She's strong, with dark places. But she's not hard."
"You're right." Head angled, Peabody turned back to him. "And what did Mom tell you about peeking at auras without consent?"
He flushed a little, grinned around it. "She's responsible for you. I didn't look that close, and I like to know who's looking out for my big sister."
"Your big sister's doing a pretty good job of looking out for herself. Why don't you unpack?"
"That'll take me about two minutes."
"Which is about twice the time it'll take me to give you the grand tour." She took his arm and led him across the living space into the bedroom.
"This is about it." A bed, a table, and lamp, a single window. The bed was made—that was habit and training. There was a book on the nightstand. She'd never understood why anyone could choose to curl up with a palm unit and disc. But the fact that it was a grisly murder mystery made her wince when Zeke flipped it over.
"Busman's holiday?"
"I guess."
"You always did like this kind of stuff." He set the book back down. "It comes down to good and evil, doesn't it, Dee? And good's supposed to win when it's over."
"That's the way it works for me."
"Yeah, but what's evil there for in the first place?"
She might have sighed, thinking of all she'd seen, what she'd done, but she kept her gaze level on his. "Nobody's got the answer to that, but you've got to know it's there and deal with it. That's what I do, Zeke."
He nodded, studied her face. He knew it was different from the routine she'd had when she'd moved to New York and put on a uniform. Then it had been traffic incidents, squabbles to break up, and paperwork. Now she was attached to homicide. She dealt with death every day and rubbed shoulders with those who caused it.
Yes, she looked different, Zeke acknowledged. The things she'd seen and done and felt were there behind those dark, serious eyes.
"Are you good at it?"
"Pretty good." Now she smiled a little. "I'm going to be better."
"You're learning from her. From Dallas."
"Yeah." Peabody sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at him. "Before she took me on as her aide, I studied her. I read her files, I crammed on her technique. I never expected to be able to work with her. Maybe that was luck, maybe it was fate. We were taught to respect both."
"Yeah." He sat next to her.
"She's giving me a chance to find out what I can do. What I can be." Peabody drew in a long breath, let it out slowly. "Zeke, we were raised to take our own path, to pursue it, and to do the best we were capable of. That's what I'm doing."
"You think I don't approve, don't understand."
"I worry about it." She slid her hand down to the regulation stunner strapped to her belt. "About what you—especially you—feel."
"You shouldn't. I don't have to understand what you do to know it's what you need to do."
