From the Past
Fan fiction and fond (mostly) memories
of soap days gone by
Of Porcupines and Sprinklers
|Harmony Police Station
And then Luis pushed me out of the way and shot Roger and Pierre," Sheridan finished recounting the
story. Sam nodded, taking notes. Finally he stood up.
"Thank you Miss Crane. That'll be all."
She nodded and stood up, marching out of the small office. "Oh, Chief Bennett, can I use the phone? I need
to call Ethan and see if he'll pick me up."
Sam blinked, "Yeah, there's one right outside the door."
As she stepped out of the office, she crashed right into Luis, who was about to walk inside.
"Sorry," Sheridan muttered, stepping to the side.
"You just can't seem to avoid crashing into me, can you?" Luis was grinning at her.
"You just can't seem to stay out of my way," she retorted.
"So where are you going?"
She shrugged, "I'm going to use the phone and see if Ethan will come get me."
"It's no problem," Luis said nonchalantly, "I'll drive you home."
"I wouldn't want to have to make you spend more time with me than you have to. I'm sure you have other things
"I said it was no problem."
"Fine," she shrugged, "I just want to get home."
"Come on," he took her arm and led her towards the front door.
Outside in the warm night air, Sheridan took a deep breath.
"Thank god I don't have to worry any more."
"Like you ever worried to begin with," Luis scoffed, "I did all the worrying for you."
"My life was in danger! You have the nerve to suggest I wasn't concerned about it?"
"You wouldn't know it by the way you acted."
"Listen, just because you have this macho notion that you needed to rescue me from every situation I found
"If I didn't rescue you, who would?"
"I would have taken care of myself!"
Luis threw his arms in the air, "Sheridan, I think we've had this argument one too many times. Can I just
drive you home without bringing this up again?"
"You started it."
"And now I'm ending it. Come on."
Sighing, she climbed into the car next to him. He started it and drove off, shaking his head.
"I can't believe my house is an official crime scene." Sheridan stood, arms crossed, in front of her
cabin, which was still swarming with police activity.
"Why is it so unbelievable? Two people died here."
"Why couldn't you have shot them outside? My rug will be ruined!"
"It never ceases to amaze me how all of you Cranes focus only on money. You could have been the one wheeled
out of here in a body bag. But you're more worried about the rug!" Luis exclaimed, exasperated.
"Yeah, well, rug or no rug, they aren't going to let me in there."
"You're right, they're not."
"Why didn't you tell me that before we drove all the way over here?!"
Luis shot her a sly grin, and then walked over to the officer standing by the door. After a moment, the officer
approached her. "Miss Crane, you can go in and pick up a few things if you need to."
Surprised, she turned to look for Luis, but he was nowhere in sight. "Uh, thanks."
She followed the officer into the cottage.
Luis was standing in front of two chalk outlines on the bloodstained rug, right in front of the couch they had
sat and argued on so many times. Shooting him a grateful look, Sheridan made her way into the bedroom, gathering
an armload of clothes and stuffing them in a bag. As she started to head back into the hallway, she paused and
returned into the room, opening one of her drawers and removing a photograph. It was a picture of her and Luis,
taken so long ago when they had first met. They were dancing the tango at the Lopez-Fitzgerald house, at Pilar's
birthday party. Several weeks after that event, Pilar had slipped the photo into Sheridan's hand with a smirk.
"I have a feeling you'd be pleased with this," she'd said, and winked knowingly at Sheridan. Despite
the younger woman's protests, she had secretly adored the shot of her and Luis looking deep into each other's eyes,
keeping it on her dresser. Until, of course, Luis had inhabited her cottage, forcing her to hide the picture away
where he would never see it. Yet she couldn't bear to leave it behind.
Sheridan stuffed the picture into her bag with the rest of her things, exiting the room to find Luis packing up
his things in a bag as well.
"What are you doing?" she asked in a small voice.
"You don't need me staying here anymore," he explained, "So I'm packing up my stuff to take home."
"Oh," she laughed to cover up her disappointment, "Right. Of course you are."
He looked at her curiously, "Something wrong?"
"Why would anything be wrong?"
"I have no idea."
"Nothing's wrong," she said quickly, shouldering the bag, "Do you think you could drive me over
to the mansion? I'll just stay in one of the guest rooms."
Taking her bag off of her shoulder and slinging it over his own, Luis led her out of the cabin and back to the