SEE YOU IN YOUR DREAMS

by Flash

This is my first fanfic. So let me know what you think.

     Some people believe that love never dies; that it goes on for eternity and our loved ones watch over us as we go about the daily battle of living. For Rita Lorenzo, despite the bullets that tore him away from her arms, her Chris has always been in her heart. She just hasn't realized that, through her trials over the past months, he has also been beside her, walking with her and giving her strength and peace.

     He shimmered at the edge of her dreams. A gentle, warm glow hovering just out of reach as she slept, easing her restless movements until she was at peace.

     She'd been having trouble sleeping. Early widowhood had taken its toll, etching fine lines around the eyes fringed with a deep sweep of lash, slimming an already slender figure and threading strands of silver through lush, dark hair.

     SHE'S STILL THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMAN I'VE EVER SEEN, he thought, watching her as she slept before moving on to the adjoining room, not a shadow or sound marking his path.

     This room was a soothing combination of pastels, blues and greens fading into pinks and yellows, with a bright, white crib tucked along one wall. He leaned in and, as if on a wish, a blanked moved up and over the dark haired toddler who slept with a thumb firmly tucked in his mouth.

     GOOD NIGHT MICHAEL CHRISTOPHER. For a moment a quicksilver smile flashed across an ethereal face. YOU'RE CERTAINLY GROWING QUICKLY.

     He slipped back across the room to stop by her bedside once more, taking a moment to brush a whisper of kiss over her brow before settling back into the shadows.

     He wasn't sure what had brought him back this time. The first time, he had been weak, new at this guardian angel business, and stricken with the longing to reach out and touch her as she grieved and sobbed over his gravesite.

     "You said forever, Chris." She had cried, wiping back tears. "Remember? You promised to be here for me and our baby. How am I supposed to do this alone? I can feel you alive inside of me, in our child. I can't wait to see your smile, hear your laughter, again.""

     He had tried to soothe, without touching, touch without feeling, lend her the strength of spirit to see her through.

     And she had come through and he was proud of her. His Rita was strong as well as beautiful.

     The last time he had come back it was the painful contractions of childbirth coupled with a soul-deep sorrow that had drawn him back to her side. He'd watched his son being born and, as Rita held the infant with a mixture of joy and grief, he'd filled her with peace.

     This time, he didn't know what it was, but the pull to guard her, to be with her, had been magnetic and she...she was his wife, into eternity.

     I'll ALWAYS LOVE YOU, RITA. FOREVER.

     "Sam..." she murmured, rolling over, deep in dreams.

**********************************************************

     "Michael Christopher this is not the time to play," Rita Lance Lorenzo scolded her son, then smiled. Despite the oatmeal finger-painting he'd done on the kitchen cabinet, it was hard for her to be angry. Not when he cocked his head and his dark eyes sparkled with his father's mischief.

     Picking up her son, Rita removed him from trouble, placing him in the playpen set up in the living room. "No more trouble from you young man. Your grandfather will be here soon to take your for a few days and I have to pack you up."

     Rita hurriedly wiped up the mess, grabbed clothes, diapers and toys into one large bag and dressed herself. Even a short time away from her son was painful, but Benny deserved time alone with his grandson--the boy who was such a carbon copy of his father that Rita often thought she had cloned Chris instead of giving birth to his son.

     "Oh, Sam..you're missing so much. And so is he," she thought, stepping back into the living room.

     Michael Christopher had pulled himself upright and was babbling away as he stared at...what? She could almost swear he was having a very intense conversation with someone.

     She didn't see the specter of a dark-haired man crouched beside her son, hanging on every word. It amazed Chris that his son could see him. Maybe it was true about children having the gift of seeing beyond the obvious.

     "That's it, sport. Come on, I just want to hear "Dada" once."

     Instead, the bell rang....

     Benny Lorenzo swooped in, wrapping an arm tightly around Rita as he advanced on his grandson.

     "Rita--God, every day I see more of my Chris in him. It's almost like having him back." He brought one calloused hand up to touch her face gently. "So, maybe I don't screw up this time, huh?"

     Chris shook his head a nearly put a hand on his father's shoulder. YOU DID YOUR BEST DAD. I JUST DIDN'T UNDERSTAND IT AT THE TIME.

     "You didn't screw up Benny. Chris an extraordinary man and," she pressed a kiss to his cheek, "I'll be forever grateful to you for him--and my son."

     She lifted Michael from the playpen. "Everything's ready. Thanks for taking him. This is going to be a marathon weekend of seminars. I won't be getting in until very late and my usual sitter is sick. I don't know what I would have done without you."

     YOU'D HAVE DONE FINE, THOUGHT CHRIS, AS ALWAYS.

     Benny took Michael just as the boy gurgled and pointed to something neither adult could see.

     "Don't you wish you knew what he was saying?" Benny asked.

     "Probably 'Let's go.' I swear those will be his first words. He's never happy sitting still-unless I'm rocking him." Like his father, she thought briefly.

     Chris had stepped back towards the mantle, free to roam about as they talked. He smiled when he spotted the large, framed picture positioned there. It was the only wedding photo they had- a poster-sized blow up of a Palm Beach scandal sheet's front page.

     When he and Rita had married on that beach in what they thought was a private ceremony, a sleazy photographer had snapped away and splattered their secret across the newspaper, nearly getting them both fired in the process.

     The captain had framed it and given it to them for a wedding present. Rita had placed it over the fireplace, and opposite her favorite chair, a rocker Chris had given her shortly after they were married to "rock the bambino in."

     Suddenly, Michael Christopher pointed in the direction of the mantle, right where Chris was standing, and said "Da."

     "Oh, God. Did you hear that - Benny - he said ---Oh, Chris, where are you for this?- he pointed to our picture and.." Rita's voice wavered and broke in her excitement.

     "Way to go, MC," Benny said, tossing the boy high in the air and catching him again.

     "I always talk to him about Chris. Point to the picture..I guess he picked up on it."

     Chris was thunderstruck--his son had called him. He really could see him. WHY CAN'T YOU SEE ME, RITA? WHY CAN'T YOU FEEL ME? I NEED YOU SO MUCH. I NEED TO SHARE THIS WITH YOU. For just a moment, his shadow deepened.

     Rita, who had been glancing over at the picture, caught sight of ..something.

     "What..did you see that? Over there.." Benny hadn't seen anything. "Never mind, it was probably the sun casting shadows." Rita shook her head slightly. "Still, for just a moment, I could have sworn there was someone there."

     Chris faded back. She had almost seen him. The jolt of emotion he had felt when his son had called for him, when he had seen the tears in his Sam's eyes, had almost brought him into view. WHOA, SAM. SHE DOESN'T NEED THIS JUST NOW.

     It was only after they had left that Rita walked over to the mantle and ran a hand over the the frame of their picture. "I miss you, Sam. Sometimes, I can almost feel you with me."

     I feel you , too, Sam." Once again he wavered, moving closer to her.

     "I can smell you..." she whispered, cocking her head. "Sam..." and the moment was lost as she shook herself out of her reverie, grabbed a leather bag and left for the academy.

     That had been her life, since Michael Christopher was six weeks old. After Chris had died she had tried to stay on with the department but every file, every corner, every face reminded her of her husband and the pain became unbearable. Even when she had turned in her resignation, Captain Lipshitz had told her it was hers again anytime she wanted to come back. But she had known that the stress of the job, the danger of the job, could put her baby's life in jeopardy and it was the only part of Chris she had left. She couldn't' risk it.

     She had traveled around. Gone to Philadelphia to see Chris' father, then off to Europe to visit his mother. She and Chris hadn't even had enough time together to tell them about the marriage, about their impending grandchild. Both had been wonderful. Then, she had steeled herself to come back to Palm Beach, back to her friends and back to the loft she had shared with Chris. While she waited for the baby, she'd redecorated, packing most of Chris' things away with a heavy heart. She'd kept a few reminders. Photos of them together; a grungy gym bag; one of Chris' favorite sweatshirts. That old sweatshirt had been her nightshirt for a long time because she could still smell him on there.

     Chris' son had been born less than four months after his father's death, in the middle of the night. Harry and Franny had been there, Franny holding her hand through the long hours of labor as she had cried out Chris' name. And, when she had finally held her son, she had felt a modicum of peace because he was the image of his father. The baby was only two months old when Captain Lipshitz had called her and offered her the post at the academy.

     "Rita, you were a good copy. The best. You and Chris were the best homicide team I had. It would be a sin to waste that kind of gift, that kind of knowledge. Who knows? The academy may be brewing another Lorenzo and Lance team and it could be your job to give them the knowledge you have."

     Though she wasn't sure about it, Rita knew she had to do something. Chris' cop pension paid for a lot, and the fact that he had enough money of his own to insure his wife and child wanted for nothing, Rita knew she couldn't just spend her days taking care of Michael Christopher. She needed more, so she had gone back to work, knowing she had made the right decision. And she had tried to be happy; tried to get on with her life but something was holding her back. She couldn't let go of Chris; couldn't let go of her dreams and move forward.

     It was late on Friday and Rita was packing up her briefcase as the last of her students straggled out the door.

     "The class was great, lieutenant. You really pointed out lots of stuff I think we would have missed otherwise."

     Rita flashed a smile to the group of young cadets, sending a few young male hearts pattering in a double beat.

     "Club rule- things are rarely what they seem."

     "Club rules?"

     "My partner and I called them club rules," she said, a shadow darkening her green eyes.

     "You talked about him a lot. He sounds great. What are the odds of him stopping in?"

     You'd be surprised, Chris thought, from his position by the door.

     "None. He..died awhile back. In the line of duty."

     "He was a good cop," a familiar voice echoed through the room.

     Rita's head snapped up to see Eric Russell standing in the doorway.

     "Eric, what are you doing here?" Rita was stunned to see the man she ejected from her life nearly three years before standing in front of her.

     "Same as you, Rita. Giving lectures--the serial killer, the criminal mind- how not to become a drunk. You know, standard academy stuff," he mocked himself.

     Just the sight of Eric Russell was enough to enrage Chris. Though he looked sincere, Chris knew the man had nearly broken Rita's heart. He wouldn't have her hurt by him again.

     Students filed past them as Eric approached her, hands extended. She stepped back warily and he dropped them.

     "It's good to see you again Rita. I heard about Chris. I'm sorry. I though about calling, but, well, it never seemed right. We didn't part on the best of terms and I didn't know how you'd feel about a call from the past."

     "That's okay. It was a long time ago, Eric. No grudge held. How are you?"

     "Let me buy you a cup of coffee and I'll tell you." At her suspicious look, he laughed, throwing his hands up. "I swear, only coffee."

     Rita thought it over for a moment before agreeing. She had not seen Eric in a long time. Not since before she and Chris were married, before the shooting, before the baby. They had once been very close until his drinking became an issue. Not that she could blame the end of their relationship entirely on that. She had always loved Chris and no man had ever been able to take his place in her heart. Perhaps no man ever would.

     In a quiet cafe near the academy, Eric told Rita about the past few years, his battle to stop drinking and complete his next book. Rita began to see traces of the man she had once known before too many things had taken him away.

     "I can't say I've rid myself of all my demons, but..I'm making progress," he told her. "But what about you? I didn't expect Rita Lance to be teaching this stuff to cadets."

     "I like what I'm doing Eric. Maybe some of the stuff I'm teaching them will keep them alive; make them better cops." Maybe, she thought, there's another Chris Lorenzo out there waiting to take the city by storm. "Besides, it's easier to have this job and raise a child. The hours are better."

     "A child?" he quizzed, surprised. "You have a child?"

     "Chris' and mine," she said proudly. "Michael Christopher. He was born after Chris died. That was why I had to leave for awhile. I was on maternity leave," she added simply. "I love him more than anything else on earth."

     "I'd like to see him, sometime. But, Rita, what about you? I know the job is important. I know your son is important, but..there's so much more. More worlds to conquer, more fights to fight, more lunatics to get off the street."

     "That's not my world anymore, Eric. Let somebody else wade into the fray. It's already cost me my partner, in all ways. The price is just too damned high."

     "Where's that old Lance fire?" he asked, reaching across the small table and placing one hand on hers.

     "First of all," she said, sliding her hand from under his, "it's Lorenzo. I am Chris Lorenzo's wife," she returned heatedly.

     "Widow," he corrected.

     "Irrelevant. I will always be his wife."

     "Rita, the vows were until death do you part. There was nothing saying you had to crawl into the grave with him."

     Chris saw Rita's face drain of color. Direct hit, he thought, feeling guilty. In some ways, Eric was right. He didn't want his Sam to grieve forever. She had too much love to share; deserved to be loved too much.

     "First blood, Eric, " she said calmly, reaching for her purse and scrambling to her feet. "See you around."

     Because she was turned, she didn't' see Eric's cup inexplicably tumble into his lap.

     Since there was no one home waiting, Rita drove around for a long time, finally winding up at the beach. Kicking off her shoes, she padded across to the spot where she and Chris had said their vows, slipping down onto the still warm sand.

     Chris watched her carefully, knowing Eric's words had found a painful home in her heard and wondered if it was time to go for broke. Wondered what he needed to do to help his Sam and if this was what had drawn him back to her again- the need to release her from the past and let her go on with her life.

     "Is that what I'm doing, Sam? Am I crawling into the grave with you? I know there are times I want to. Then, I think of Michael Christopher and know I have to keep going. I just--hope I'm strong enough to pull my life back together."

     "Come on, Sam. You're tougher than that," he said out loud, his voice floating towards her on the ocean breeze.

     "What?" her head snapped up, moonlight reflecting off the moisture in her eyes, tracking the path of tears down her cheek. "Who..who was that?"

     Looking down the beach, she could just make out the shadow of a solitary figure- a man was coming towards her- a man with a familiar loping gait. It couldn't be. Barefoot, pants legs rolled past his ankles and shirt sleeves pushed up and out of the way it looked like...Chris. And that grin. Only Chris Lorenzo had that grin.

     "Hey, Sam. Looking good," he approved of her tidy suit of bright blue. The short skirt revealed her more than exceptional legs and molded itself to her lithe figure. She looked better than ever. "Motherhood agrees with you. Parfait."

     Parfait---only Chris had ever...

     "It can't be you..It's...you're not real," she whispered frantically.

     "As real as you want me to be Sam," he said, dropping onto the beach next to her. Rita blanched. Though he looked warm, solid and real, there was no depression in the sand.

     "I've finally lost it."

     "No you haven't, Sam. I'm here. I'm not sure why, but I'm here. Don't," he said suddenly as she reached out to touch him. "I haven't quite figured all the rules out yet, but I'm reasonably sure touching is a bad idea. I'm pretty sure I shouldn't be doing this, either, but I couldn't come back to you again and not..," he shrugged, "..well."

     "Again?"

     "It's not the first time, Sammy. Remember the funeral. You were so beautiful Sam and when you put that single rose down and bent to kiss my coffin, I cried with you. I tried to make you stronger; tried to give you back all you had given me. Joy, strength, hope...everything."

     Tears filled Rita's eyes as she remembered the sudden warmth that had filled her, soothed her.

     "I could almost feel you and, for a moment, it was almost like you were right there by my side again," she said, remembering how the baby had chosen that moment to make its first tenuous movements.

     "Yeah, well..I was there. And the night Michael Christopher was born--" Chris shook his head and Rita once gain got a glimpse of that infamous Lorenzo smile; the smile that had won her heart the first time she had seen it, though she hadn't realized it for a long time. "Oh, Sam. You were wonderful. I'm so glad that Frannie was there for you but it was you who pushed our beautiful baby into the world. I couldn't have stayed away."

     Again, Rita nodded. When they had placed her son in her arms, she could have sworn she could almost see the glitter of mischief that had always twinkled in Chris' blue eyes sparkling in those of his son. They were both wise and wondering and now she knew why.

     She had another thought..

     "This morning, it was you. I thought it was a shadow. Oh, God, Sam..he saw you. Michael Christopher saw you."

     "Yeah, I know," he grinned. "I was pretty surprised myself, but they say kids see stuff the rest of us don't."

     "Oh, Christopher, my love," Rita cried, tears rolling freely down her face. "I miss you so much. I miss not seeing your smile or feeling your touch or hearing that wonderful laugh. I even miss the mess you left behind in the bathroom and the way you made fun of my cooking. I miss being your partner. But mostly," she said, dropping her head as she sifted grains of sand through her fingers, "mostly I miss the feeling of you lying next to me in the middle of the night."

     "See, Sam, I'm here. I'll always be here, somewhere, for you. I said I'd love you forever and I will. I said I'd always be there for you and the bambino and I will, but, Rita my darling, you can't keep living in the past." He reached out a hand and, though he never touched her, Rita felt a gentle caress stroke her cheek and down along her jaw. "You have our son and your job, true, but..you need to be happy, too."

     "I know. I'm just not ready to pack up my old life yet, not ready to let you go."

     "Sam' you're not letting me go. You're doing what's natural. You're alive and you need to keep living."

     He could see the mutinous set of her head, the fire sparkling in her eyes. She was the most stubborn woman. It was one of the many things he loved about her; it was also one of her more exasperating traits. It looked like it was time to get tough.

     "Look, Sam, I didn't step in front of those bullets so you could bury yourself with me."

     He was almost sorry he had spoken when he saw the stricken look on her face. He knew it, she was feeling guilty for being alive. "I'll admit, I didn't expect to die, but, Sam, you and the baby were the most important things to me. Still are. I did what I wanted to do. Protecting you, dying for you, gave my life meaning." He stood and moved in front of her. "Now, I need you to give my death meaning. I need you to let go of the past and live for the future. You have so much love to give and a heart so warm and wonderful that it would be impossible for someone not to love you."

     "But, Chris, what about you? What about us?"

     "Sweetheart, we've had all the us there is ever going to be in this lifetime. Except," he smiled quickly, "except for our son. I predict he's going to be a handful..if that oatmeal artwork was any example."

     "Oh, he's something alright. Ever since he got his legs under him...Sam, you really were there. And Benny..."

     "Yeah, I know. I heard him.."

     "Oh, Sam. If it wasn't for him and Anna when she can and Harry and Fran, I wouldn't have been able to handle all this."

     "Yea, Rita. You would. You can. Now," he leaned over and Rita felt the warmth of a kiss in her hair though he never touched her. "I gotta go." He started to wander off down the beach.

     "Wait, Sam. Will I ever see you again. I can't say goodbye."

     Chris turned, smiled and waved, then slowly faded away, his voice seeming to come from a long distance away.

     "We'll never say goodbye, Sam. I'll always be around. I'll be there in your dreams."

Please note all the usual disclaimer stuff. I don't own the characters used here. This fanfic was just for fun.

Let me know what you think since this is my first fanfic. I just believe that love crosses time and space and to really love someone, to have found your true soulmate is a gift that last s through eternity . Chris would not have wanted Rita to grieve forever and he would always keep his promise of being there for her no matter what. You can reach me at pcooper1@bellsouth.net.