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I'm making good time on Part IV of Et Tu. Flack is in a very bad place right now. Eventually, his natural inclination to compartmentalize between job and home will kick in and allow him to be the no-nonsense cop we know and love, but the ground is unsteady beneath his feet. Simply put, he's grieving.
No, she's not dead, and at this point in the story, there is no reason for him to think that the separation will be permanent. However, he's filled with a sense of loss and emotional displacement. She was there, and now she's not. He's grown accustomed to the quiet complicity of his marriage, to the touch of her hand and the simple surety of having her shoulder to lean on when times are rough. Now when he reaches or stumbles, there isn't an immediate counterbalance to set him right. He's lost.
And guilty, of course. Guilty most of all. As a cop, it's his job, a job undertaken by a solemn oath, no less, to protect. And because he's Flack, there's an unspoken addendum that says the weak must be protected most fiercely of all.
Now, he knows that Rebecca is a brilliant woman with incalculable mental toughness and guts to spare, but he's also aware, with the painful, tender clarity of love, how physically vulnerable she is. She's tiny and uncoordinated and at the mercy of a largely indifferent world rife with hazards. Not just the muggers and rapists and nutjobs that menace everyone, though God, is he having fun with those scenarios, let me tell you, but the broken elevators and speeding cab drivers. What if she has a seizure while she's in exile? Who's going to talk her through it and clean her up, keep her safe while she brings her nervous system under control? Who's going to treat her with dignity instead of like a case number?
Those are his duties as a husband, ones he accepted at the altar of St. Patrick's. And he's failed to fulfill them because he's chasing jewel thieves. His oath to the department stands in direct conflict with his marriage vows, and he feels like the worst husband in the world. In fact, he feels like deep-fried shit. His suspicions of husbandly inadequacy are exacerbated by how well she's fulfilled her obligations as a wife over the past two years. Sure, she's bottled up her fear and hurt and wigged out in spectacular fashion, but she's never blamed him for the difficulties foisted upon them. She's never asked him to give up a vital part of his life, of who he is, for her possible success.
She's never done what he's doing, in other words. He knows it isn't fair, that the burdens she's been asked to bear are grossly unequal to the ones she's asked of him, but he doesn't see any other choice. He could refuse to do his duty and choose her, which is the choice of his heart, but he's afraid that if he dishonors his obligation to the police force, it will be that much easier for him to dishonor his vows to her. In essence, he subscribes to the idea of the slippery slope.
It should be noted that his duty to the department has limits. If he gets a call that she's been beaten and raped, the rich cunts and their jewels can just go fuck themselves with a splintery stick. Or if she'd been pregnant at the time of the assignment. He's not oblivious.
At its most basic level, his conflict-the conflict that drives his side of the story-arises from this fundamental contradiction: the badge he carries demands that he protect and seek justice for the weak, but it is also the single greatest infliction of unjust pain to the woman he loves. She whom he desires to protect the most is protected the least.
It's a problem he'll wrangle with throughout the story, and I'm interested to see how it plays out on the page.
No, she's not dead, and at this point in the story, there is no reason for him to think that the separation will be permanent. However, he's filled with a sense of loss and emotional displacement. She was there, and now she's not. He's grown accustomed to the quiet complicity of his marriage, to the touch of her hand and the simple surety of having her shoulder to lean on when times are rough. Now when he reaches or stumbles, there isn't an immediate counterbalance to set him right. He's lost.
And guilty, of course. Guilty most of all. As a cop, it's his job, a job undertaken by a solemn oath, no less, to protect. And because he's Flack, there's an unspoken addendum that says the weak must be protected most fiercely of all.
Now, he knows that Rebecca is a brilliant woman with incalculable mental toughness and guts to spare, but he's also aware, with the painful, tender clarity of love, how physically vulnerable she is. She's tiny and uncoordinated and at the mercy of a largely indifferent world rife with hazards. Not just the muggers and rapists and nutjobs that menace everyone, though God, is he having fun with those scenarios, let me tell you, but the broken elevators and speeding cab drivers. What if she has a seizure while she's in exile? Who's going to talk her through it and clean her up, keep her safe while she brings her nervous system under control? Who's going to treat her with dignity instead of like a case number?
Those are his duties as a husband, ones he accepted at the altar of St. Patrick's. And he's failed to fulfill them because he's chasing jewel thieves. His oath to the department stands in direct conflict with his marriage vows, and he feels like the worst husband in the world. In fact, he feels like deep-fried shit. His suspicions of husbandly inadequacy are exacerbated by how well she's fulfilled her obligations as a wife over the past two years. Sure, she's bottled up her fear and hurt and wigged out in spectacular fashion, but she's never blamed him for the difficulties foisted upon them. She's never asked him to give up a vital part of his life, of who he is, for her possible success.
She's never done what he's doing, in other words. He knows it isn't fair, that the burdens she's been asked to bear are grossly unequal to the ones she's asked of him, but he doesn't see any other choice. He could refuse to do his duty and choose her, which is the choice of his heart, but he's afraid that if he dishonors his obligation to the police force, it will be that much easier for him to dishonor his vows to her. In essence, he subscribes to the idea of the slippery slope.
It should be noted that his duty to the department has limits. If he gets a call that she's been beaten and raped, the rich cunts and their jewels can just go fuck themselves with a splintery stick. Or if she'd been pregnant at the time of the assignment. He's not oblivious.
At its most basic level, his conflict-the conflict that drives his side of the story-arises from this fundamental contradiction: the badge he carries demands that he protect and seek justice for the weak, but it is also the single greatest infliction of unjust pain to the woman he loves. She whom he desires to protect the most is protected the least.
It's a problem he'll wrangle with throughout the story, and I'm interested to see how it plays out on the page.