In Search of a Hero

Washington, DC: Part Five

AN: I don't think I have ever fretted over a chapter as much as I have this one. I have written and re-written and re-re-written paragraphs and agonized for days over sentences and single words. At some point, it be what it be so this is what it is. If anyone needs me, I'll be in the corner, peeking through my hands and hoping this works.

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Have you ever watched two people fall in love?

A handsome man and a beautiful woman, standing on the precipice of . . . something. Of what, they know not. But they sense it all the same. Just over the horizon. Just out of sight. Endless possibility. Boundless potential.

Anticipation is a constant companion throughout the day. Every decision requires extra thought: Which would he prefer? Will she like this? The not-knowing, and the eagerness to know everything, adds yet another frisson of excitement.

Minutes crawl as hours speed by until suddenly, the time arrives.

A taxi pulls to a stop and our handsome man alights, bidding the driver to wait. On the sidewalk, he pauses. A quick tug to the bottom of his uniform coat smooths out non-existent creases. A touch on the brim of his already-straight hat ensures it remains so. Jaw firm, heart pounding, he heads for a tidy, three-story townhome. A gleaming brass number plate set in the red brick assures him that he is in the right place. He raises his hand and raps smartly.

Before his arm falls back to his side, the door opens. A pair of bright, curious eyes smiles at him from a face crowned by a pony tail that is almost shaking with excitement. He is allowed into a foyer filled with the scent of fresh lemon polish.

From deep in the house comes a woman who is surely the guardian angel for the ladies who live there. Sturdy and imposing, her expression says clearly that she is someone not to be trifled with. He scrambles to remove his hat and gives her a smile meant to charm and beguile. One imperious eyebrow arches high as she scans him from head to toe. He hears an unimpressed "Hmmpf" before she directs him to a small room on his right. The door closes on a huddle of other, much more appreciative eyes watching him from across the hall.

Booth is left alone to stare out the window at the taxi that still waits by the curb. Nervous anticipation builds again. When the door opens, he spins on one foot, his heart thudding hard against his chest.

It is Angela, greeting him with a friendly hello. As she looks him over, he understands that this is less a welcome than a judgment. He's not worried. His uniform is freshly laundered and freshly pressed. His shoes gleam. He is clean-shaven, his hair brushed carefully back and held in place with a light touch of pomade. Still . . . Under her critical eye, he stands taller, chest out, shoulders straight, chin up. When she gives him a nod of approval, he exhales with relief.

When she leaves, he is alone once more. He sits on the sofa and assumes a casual pose, arm stretched along the back, one foot resting on the opposite knee. It strikes him as . . . wrong. False. His feelings are not casual.

He jumps up, slapping his hat against his hip as he crosses to the window yet again. Cigarette smoke curls out of the taxi window.

A chorus of voices drifts through the door as heels click down the stairs. He is already turning when the door opens and . . .

The moment freezes into memory. He loses the ability to think. To breath. To be.

She wears red, a siren's color, with a daringly deep sweetheart neckline that leaves an expanse of creamy shoulder bare, outlined by a shimmering ribbon of black silk. The same ribbon circles her waist, and edges the narrow ruffle flirting with her knees. Her legs . . . those long, long legs . . . bear the lustre of silk. Black pumps with a flocked velvet bow on the toes encase her feet.