by MyrnaLynne
4/18/00

Disclaimer: No infringement intended on copyrights held by 20th Century, Regency TV, Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, or anybody else!

Category: Valenti story

Setting: Tess, Lies and Videotape

Rating: PG13/?R

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Jim Valenti studied the amber whiskey in his glass. He swirled it around and noticed that his hand was trembling. He took a long swallow of it--smoky, burning, liquid solace.

Kathleen Topolsky... so young, so pretty..dead in such a horrible "accident." He knew it wasn't an accident.

She was so terrified last time he'd seen her. And now, too late, he realized her terror was completely justified, not delusional. He wondered how he could have handled things differently, what he should have said that would have kept her with him a little longer, that might have kept her safe.

And now she was dead and he had the taste of her fear in his gut. The whiskey helped to numb it, warmed the icy fear a little, but he could still feel it in there.

Valenti was a strong and stoic man as a rule - he didn't get angry and he didn't get scared. But now he was feeling a mix of both, plus an overwhelming sadness...

He thought about that night in the bar. The surprising way Kathleen handled her liquor. Everything about her was a surprise.

He thought about their flirtation, about their agreement to 'join forces.' An agreement sealed later on that night in the big bed of her motel room, both of them a little drunk, but not too drunk to know what they were doing - or to thoroughly enjoy it.

He remembered her beautiful blonde hair falling around her shoulders, her young smooth skin, the way she climbed on him like a tigress - like a fine healthy animal, surprisingly fit and strong. She was a force of nature, that woman. She was on top and he lay there studying how magnificent she was, wondering how he'd gotten so damn lucky.

Her eyes shut, her little sharp nose, her mouth open and head throw back in passion. The taut stomach and her beautiful breasts...

It wasn't love for either of them - he didn't kid himself. He was just a means to an end for her - not the first, and probably not the last. But it was wonderful while it lasted. They had used and enjoyed each other and it was just fine with both of them. He remembered his regret at having to leave her there and go home to his own bed, but he had Kyle at home and he had to be there. Had to set a good example.

And now she was gone, and he wished he'd stayed with her a little longer. Wished she'd stayed in Roswell a little longer. She was gone, all that youth and beauty and guile - now just soot and ashes.

He'd seen bodies after a fire, and wished he hadn't. The gaping lipless mouths, the charred and hollow faces...

He took a long drink from the glass and willed away the gristly image, forcing himself to replace it with one of Kathleen alive and smiling. Those pretty shrewd eyes full of secrets and sparkling at him, at hint of mischief in her gaze.

Enough lives had been wasted, enough people had died. Now he was in danger. The kids in his town - whatever those kids might be, they were his responsibility. He thought about those kids - the same age as Kyle. Quiet and moody, guarded, but nice kids, good kids. Good families - well, except for Hank and at least he'd had the decency to clear out of town and give that kid a break. Hot headed kid, but so far he seemed like he was going to do all right on his own... at least till all this happened.

He had to find out the truth, he needed to find out what was going on. He had to keep them alive. And keep his own hide intact in the process. Kyle was nearly a man, but he needed a father; he was all Kyle had. He thought about his own father, thought about how glad he was that his father was alive, had lived long enough to see his 'Jimmy' understand things a little better.

He thought about the pain in the voice of Agent Stevens' widow. He'd given Kyle enough pain. He didn't want him to grow into a man without a father to guide him. Bad enough his mother left.

Valenti felt the throb of that old familiar pain, like a bad tooth you just keep meaning to get looked at, but never do. A little more whiskey might help that ache- whiskey was good for a toothache, good for a heartache - but just a little more.

He drained the glass and put the cap back on the bottle. He'd wallowed in fear and sadness long enough. Maybe he could get a little sleep. The whiskey had dulled the edge. It had done its work. He put the bottle back up on the shelf.

Tomorrow, he'd go find out what the hell was going on around here. And try to set it right.

He'd get the bastards who killed Kathleen, who terrified her and burnt her beautiful body like old newspapers. And if he did it right, maybe he wouldn't get anybody else killed in the process. Especially himself.

It wasn't glamorous, it might not always be exciting, but he liked living just fine. He enjoyed his life. He liked his town, he liked his work, he loved his son - even though he didn't always show it. That Amy DeLuca was a fine woman, and something might just happen there. You never know.

Maybe when all this was over, his life would return to normal... but somehow, he doubted it.


- end -