Topic: A Favor

Desmond Granger

Date: 2013-03-09 00:14 EST
Rhy'Din General Hospital A few weeks ago... "Desmond!" Miranda squealed in a very girlish tone of voice as she flung her arms around her nephew's neck. He wasn't really her nephew, more like a cousin a gazillion times removed, but she'd always thought of him as a nephew, or even as an adopted son, despite the fact that he had never even once referred to her by anything but her first name. "You're alive!" she continued, with a joyful grin on her face.

"Miran, you're smothering me," Desmond complained, as he tried to untangle himself from the woman's embrace, despite the chuckle. A couple of months ago, few would have cared if he'd lived or died, but in good part because of Miranda, all that had suddenly and unexpectedly changed. "Of course, I'm alive, you silly woman. Do you think I'm a ghost?"

"No! I was just worried. We all were," she admitted with a small frown, pulling away from him just far enough to look him over. She wasn't the only one who'd been afraid they'd nearly lost him.

Des arched a brow, not bothering to ask who the word "we" encompassed exactly. It went without saying that Piper and Lyneth had been worried. If it hadn't been for them, he might not have made it. Miranda was obviously another. But who else? His brother Jon maybe. Kaylee" Correy' Humphrey and Caroline, more than likely. Other than that, he wasn't so sure. He hadn't gotten particularly close to anyone yet, and the family was a large one.

To think that a few months ago, there had been no one, and now his family numbered in the dozens was a little overwhelming at times, but it was good to know he was part of a family, even if he hadn't met half of them yet.

"Oh! How adorable!" Miranda exclaimed suddenly with that squeal of girlish delight that marked her as a female.

Desmond visibly winced as she picked up the "Vallumteen" that Lyneth had made him, speckles of glitter littering the crisp, white hospital sheets. He made a grab for the handmade card, but Miranda snatched it out of his reach, and he was still too weak to make much of an effort.

She smiled and sighed as she read the quaint, little poem Piper had helped Lyneth write:

If roses are red and violets are blue (which they're really not, they're purple) And you love my mummy, do you love me, too"

"Well?" she asked when she'd finished reading, a soft smile on her face. "Do you?"

"Do I what?" Des asked, either playing coy or completely misunderstanding the question.

"Do you love her?" Miranda asked, her eyes twinkling merrily. Her first experiment as Granger matchmaker was turning out perfectly, so far.

"That," Des said, snatching the card from her grasp finally and returning it to its place of honor on the bedside table, "is none of your business."

"A-ha!" she exclaimed, with a triumphant grin that dimpled her cheeks like a proper Granger.

"A-ha what?"

"A-ha, you love her. Desmond and Piper sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G," she continued in a sing-songy voice.

Desmond rolled his eyes dramatically. "How old are you? Six?"

"I am fwee years old," she replied with a silly grin, holding up four fingers, instead of three.

"Miran, would you get serious"!" he snapped suddenly, losing his patience. "I have a favor to ask you."

"A favor?" she repeated, eyeing him curiously. "What kind of favor" Do you want me to get you some real food?" she guessed, having heard how hospital food sucked, though she'd never had the displeasure herself.

"No." From the look on his face, she knew he'd turned serious. He was wearing his lawyer face, and when he looked like that, she knew he meant business. "I want you to fake my death."

If she'd looked surprised before, that was nothing compared to the current expression on her face. She lifted her carefully-shaped brows, her mouth dropping open just a little, and then she chuckled, waggling a perfectly-manicured finger at him. "You know, for a minute there, I thought you were asking me to fake your death."

"I was," he said with a straight face that told her he was entirely serious.

"Um, okay, but why..." She broke off before she could finish, quickly putting two and two together and following his train of thought with a soft gasp of breath. "Oh, no, Des!" She frowned, turning a little pale. "That's not a good idea."

"On the contrary, Miranda," he continued. "I'm already missing. It won't be hard to convince them I'm dead. All I'm asking you to do is play along."

"But Des....You're here. You're alive. There's no body. How am I supposed to pull that off?"

Desmond smiled smugly. "Don't worry. I have a plan."

"That's exactly what worries me," said Miranda with a frown.

((The plot thickens! Credit for the Valentine's poem goes to Lyneth's writer. Many thanks!))

Miranda Bennett

Date: 2013-03-27 16:24 EST
Manhattan, Precinct One A few days later...

"Detective?"

Detective Jason Daly looked up from his computer to find a drop dead gorgeous woman smiling at him from the other side of his desk, a familiar face but one he was all too obviously surprised to see.

"You better close your mouth, Detective, before you let the flies in," the woman teased, reaching over the desk to shut it for him, her fingers lingering for just a moment too long against his clean-shaven cheek.

As it so happened, he'd been looking for her for days, weeks even, and yet, still she'd managed to take him by surprise. "It's been a long time." Too long, he thought. Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world....Stop it, Jase. It was one night. We were drunk. We had fun together and that was all.

"Too long," said Miranda, voicing his thoughts as if she'd read his mind. It had been a night she'd never forget, drunk or otherwise, but that wasn't why she was there. She glanced around the police precinct nervously, wondering why detectives didn't get offices, instead of just desks where anyone and everyone could eavesdrop on their conversations. "Is there someplace we can talk privately?" she asked, turning back to him with a perfectly painted pout of pink lips. "It's about Desmond," she offered quietly.

Desmond. The name gave him pause. He only knew one Desmond.

Detective Jason Daly investigated crimes and arrested bad guys, but it was Assistant District Attorney Desmond Granger who put them behind bars. They had known each other for years, been friends for years. It galled Jason to no end that the case had been given to someone else. It didn't take Sherlock Holmes to figure out what had happened. Everyone knew Des had been working on the Nicoletti case. All they needed was some evidence that linked Des' disappearance to the case, but without a body, they couldn't prove he was dead, and all he'd left behind was a pool of blood, a smashed cell phone, and a wallet with all his money, credit cards, and I.D. intact. It was a missing person's case, not a murder. Not yet anyway.

"Uh, yeah, sure....Of course," he stammered, following her gaze. They were starting to attract a few curious glances amidst the hustle and bustle of the precinct. "Joe!" he called over to a man with dark hair and eyes who was dressed in an equally dark suit. Another detective, more than likely; one she didn't know. "Going out for coffee," he informed the man.

"You just got a cup!" the detective whose name was apparently Joe obligingly pointed out, glancing at the woman in the designer outfit and biting back a whistle. Is that what they call it these days" he thought to himself.

"It's cold," Jason lied. The takeout cup of coffee on his desk had been barely touched. He often wondered if he'd ever have the time to enjoy one cup of coffee from start to finish without interruption, just once. "There's a little coffee shop down the street," he suggested, turning back. There were the interrogation rooms, but those weren't as private as they seemed. "That okay?" he asked, noticing the nervous tension on the woman's face. Well, what did he expect' She and Desmond had been close, and now he was missing, maybe dead. She was understandably worried and upset. In all honesty, so was he.

Miranda nodded her head in agreement, lips forming a tight line. The frown on her face didn't look right there. She should be smiling, not frowning. He wondered if she ever smiled anymore, but it was really none of his business. Not anymore.

He moved to his feet and pulled a jacket on over his shoulders, hiding the holstered handgun he always kept nearby, no matter where he was or what he was doing, even when he was sleeping. One could never be too careful, not in his line of work. He led her to the door amidst a few stares, which they both were aware of but chose to ignore.

It was a short walk to the coffee shop. The Second Cup, it was called. First cup, second cup, third cup. It didn't matter. Jason sometimes wondered if he didn't run on coffee the way cars ran on gasoline, so long as he didn't run out of fuel. They passed the few minutes it took to get there mostly in silence. They quickly found a table in a quiet corner where the two of them could talk, and he ordered two coffees - one black for himself and a double double for her.

Miranda wrapped two hands around the mug of coffee, not really interested in drinking it. It had just been an excuse to get away from the prying eyes of the precinct. She wasn't sure who to trust anymore, but she knew she could trust him. It wasn't just the fact that they had history together; Desmond trusted him, and that was good enough for her.

"What's this about, Miranda?" Jason asked finally, drawing her out of her thoughts, wondering what all this was about.

Miranda said nothing, but reached into her Gucci handbag and pulled out a sealed envelope, hesitating a moment as if debating whether to give it to him or not, before finally handing it over.

He gave her a questioning look as if to ask if it was about Desmond, and she silently nodded her pretty head. Taking the envelope in hand, he glanced around to make sure no one was watching, carefully tore it open, and pulled out a single sheet of paper upon which words were written in an unmistakably familiar hand.

Jason, I'm alive and I need your help...

Miranda Bennett

Date: 2013-03-28 19:44 EST
At the coffee shop...

"Fairies, Miranda" Is this some kind of elaborate April Fool's joke" Because if it is, Des..." Jason glanced around to make sure no one else was listening before leaning closer and lowering his voice. "He won't have to worry about playing dead anymore because I'll kill him myself."

"What"!" Miranda exclaimed, snatching the letter from Jason's hands, quickly scanning the words Desmond had written regarding his proposed plan. All of this was news to her. He'd alluded to a plan, but hadn't said what he had in mind, other than the part about faking his own death. "Oh," she muttered, as it all became clear. "That's just crazy enough that it might work."

"Do you even hear what you're saying?" he asked, eyeing her dubiously from across the table. "Fairies" Seriously' What am I missing here" Has he lost his mind or is it some kind of code?"

She sighed and carefully re-folded the letter. She'd had this same conversation with Desmond in the not too distant past, just after his mother had died and he'd reluctantly accompanied her to Rhy'Din. "Look, I know it's a lot to take in. I know it's hard to believe, but you have to trust me on this because it's true."

"I'm a detective, Miranda. I stopped believing in fairy tales a long time ago. I need hard evidence. Proof. Something substantial."

"It's not a fairy tale, Jason," she insisted, slightly perplexed. "Can't you just make a leap of faith on this" Can't you just trust me?"

He folded his arms against the table, his expression darkening, along with his mood. "Why didn't you return my phone calls?"

Miranda frowned. She'd wondered when he was going to bring that up. "Because we both know you and I are a bad idea. It was one night. It was fun. A night I'll never forget, but it would never work. You and I....We're both married to our work. Relationships take time and effort. Neither of us has that kind of time."

"You make the time, Miranda," he stubbornly pointed out, but he wasn't going to force the issue. He'd already known the answer to his question before he'd even asked. What was done was done. He didn't hold it against her or care about her any less. He was merely disappointed. In a way, she was right. He was a cop, first and foremost, and nothing was going to change that. They'd both made their choices. They'd always have that one night anyway.

"We're not having this conversation right now, Jason. This isn't about us. It's about..." She broke off before she could mention Desmond's name and tapped a perfectly-manicured finger against the letter. "It's about this."

Jason sighed and reached for the letter, unfolding it and reading it for the second time. "It's a good plan," he admitted after a moment. "Hell, it's a great plan, if it wasn't for the part about fairies."

"It's the only way it will work," she insisted. "You're just going to have to trust us."

"I want to get to the bottom of this just as much as you do," he replied, a little defensively. "Hell, maybe more. That bastard Nicoletti needs to pay for what he's done and..." He broke off, frowning as he looked to the letter again. A letter from a ghost. A letter from someone he thought he'd never see again. Desmond, his oldest and closest friend in all the world. If he couldn't trust Desmond, who could he trust' He wanted to kill Nicoletti for what he'd done to Des, but there were worse things than death. A life sentence in a maximum security facility was one of them. "All right. We'll do it his way. It goes against my better judgment, but what the hell."

Miranda smiled and let out a sigh of relief. "Good. Burn the letter. I'll pass word along that it's a go."

"You tell him he owes me big time. Hell, he owes me plenty," Jason remarked with a smirk. He wasn't so sure about this fairy thing, but he was at least glad to know Desmond was still alive. Alive and kicking in some place called Rhy'Din, wherever the hell that was. It didn't even matter. So long as Desmond was alive, they were still a team, and together, they were going to put away Manhattan's biggest crime boss once and for all, if it was the last thing they did. With any luck, it wouldn't be.