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According to Ingrid Third and Cornelius Fillmore’s close circle of friends, two things were inevitable when it came to the crime fighting duo:
Ingrid and Fillmore would become a couple, and
They would join the FBI.
No one had predicted the farm.
But the farm came later; much, much later.
Fillmore, Ingrid, and their friends kept their orange sashes until they graduated high school. Leaving X Middle School behind and taking the bus (before Vallejo got his driver’s licence and became the group’s glorified chauffer) three blocks over to X High School changed a few things for the tight group of friends, but all of it good, in Ingrid’s opinion. And she certainly was nothing if not a little bias.
Karen Tehama and Joseph Anza were the first of the safety patrollers to pair up. It surprised absolutely no one, as Tehama had made it clear that the only one smart enough to keep up with her (besides Ingrid, who she wasn’t romantically attracted to) was Anza, and Tehama never settled for less than the best. It also helped that Anza had been head over heels for her since grade 8 when they had to go undercover and track a suspect during one of X Middle School’s frequent dances and Anza realized just how lovely Tehama looked in a dress instead of her usual kitten t-shirt and jeans. For the rest of high school – and beyond – the two were inseparable.
It took Ingrid and Fillmore another year before all those years of going undercover, stake outs, weekends catching up on reports and homework, school breaks spending time with each other’s families, and so many more countless hours spent together culminated to make them realize they had been more than friends for a long time. Ingrid stands by the belief that she realized this first, but was too hesitant to make the first move. She hadn’t known what she would do if she was reading the signals wrong and lost her best friend.
But it was hard to read a kiss under the bleachers during a football game (one they were supposed to be watching to see if anyone tried to steal the school’s mascot) as a “wrong signal.” Especially when said kiss left them both breathless.
Vallejo won the safety patrol pool and walked away with almost $500. If they had gone another week, Danny O’Farrell would have won the bet that had been laid down in middle school and occasionally been added to as people learned of the bet over the years.
Ingrid was too happy to be annoyed at her friends.
When Fillmore found out, he smirked and managed to convince Vallejo to give him $50 so he could take Ingrid on a proper first date, one that didn’t involve cheap Chinese food and bumming a ride from one of their parents’.
The FBI came after high school, and the police academy (Fillmore), and university (Ingrid, Masters in Forensic Chemistry). Fillmore opted to wait until Ingrid was done her schooling before applying to the bureau. The couple were already living together in an apartment in DC and while Ingrid had insisted Fillmore didn’t need to wait, he wanted to beef up his record so the FBI wouldn’t be able to turn him away. He claimed Ingrid had the one-up on him because of her smarts, that the FBI would be fools to overlook her, and he wanted to show them he could put his street smarts to good use.
Ingrid often told Fillmore he was incredibly smart himself, but it was a chink in Fillmore’s armour, the tiniest of insecurities, that he only let Ingrid see. She was more than happy to be his cheerleader, as he was hers.
When they got in and went to orientation, Ingrid and Fillmore were shocked to see Vallejo, Tehama, and Anza in the same group of almost fifty people. Fillmore gave Vallejo and Anza a hard time about not saying anything during their weekly “boys night,” but Ingrid and Fillmore were thrilled that their group was back together. The only one missing was Danny, but no one was surprised not to see him in the rows of plastic chairs. While Danny had stuck with the safety patrol in high school, it was mostly so he could keep seeing his friends. As it was often made clear on cases, Danny just wasn’t as driven as his friends to make crime fighting his whole life. He had other passions and wanted his future to hold less dangerous adventures. He always came for boys night when he was in town, and invited to every group gathering. Danny’s freelance photography took him all over the globe, but he had a home with his friends.
It wasn’t long into their FBI training that the group splintered off into their various specialities, each finding their way to help others and do some good in the world. It broke down like this:
Ingrid was accepted into the Behaviour Analysis Unit as a profiler (absolutely no one was surprised by this, least of all Ingrid);
Fillmore joined the counter terrorism division (also not surprising);
Anza gravitated to hostage negotiations and was one of the most requested negotiators in the bureau;
Tehama became obsessed with the FBI’s forensics unit;
And Vallejo put his law degree to good use as one of the bureau’s law officers handling complex legal cases. Fillmore had money down that Vallejo would be running the department in under five years.
Now, the farm.
Anyone who knew Ingrid and Fillmore knew they were city kids who didn’t know the first thing about country living, so what were they doing purchasing ten acres near the Potomac River, just outside of Washington, DC?
It happened like this: Fillmore and Ingrid had tied the knot the year before and were quite content with married life as FBI agents, living in a small – but comfortable – downtown apartment. Kids weren’t in their future, at least not for a few years, and they should have been happy. They had successful careers, good friends, they saw their families twice a year when they went home during the holidays, and went on a big trip once a year to cross a destination off their incredibly long bucket list.
But something was missing.
Ingrid, again, felt it first. She started to feel claustrophobic on the cramped city sidewalks; the constant noise during all hours of the day and night gave her headaches. She couldn’t concentrate. She noticed Fillmore would flinch when a car backfired on their street, sounding too much like gunfire for their liking. Fillmore started to take longer drives outside the city, claiming the quiet let him think better than anywhere else. It didn’t help matters that during those few months, they each dealt with particularly grueling cases that left Ingrid going back to her therapist and Fillmore seeking out a new one.
It was clear to them something needed to change, but they weren’t sure what that change looked like.
Fillmore found the farm during one of his drives and loved it as soon as he passed the front porch with the maple tree leaning over the two-storey farmhouse. He immediately turned around, the “for sale” sign in his rear-view mirror and picked Ingrid up at their apartment to see it.
Ingrid was skeptical. Sure, they needed a change, but moving here? Farther from their friends than they had ever lived? No stores or neighbours or anything for miles? What if something happened? What if something broke down, or they got snowed in, or their land flooded? Ingrid’s brain was full of worst-case scenarios by the time Fillmore parked the car in the gravel driveway. She was about to start listing them when she got out of Fillmore’s red Mustang and realized just how quiet it was. Peaceful. She paused, hand on the still-open passenger door, and gazed at the rolling fields of alfalfa. Birdsong, crickets, a distant train. The hand clenched almost constantly around Ingrid’s lungs loosened and she felt like she could take a full breath for the first time in months. She met her husband’s stare as he leaned against the hood of his car, arms crossed against his chest, a knowing smirk on his lips.
“When can we move in?” she had asked.
The first year – especially the first winter – was hard, but Ingrid wouldn’t trade it for anything. She thought she would miss the city, mainly the bookstores and coffee shops she frequented on her days off, but the farmhouse was much larger than their apartment, so Fillmore had built Ingrid her own library. Ingrid found she liked coffee and a book on her porch much more than at a crowded, overpriced coffee shop any day.
Fillmore converted the barn to a garage where he worked on restoring vehicles; it also held enough storage space for their ATV, dirt bike, and any other toy Fillmore spotted at the local junkyard that looked like it needed a good home. Ingrid sometimes joined him in the garage, a book in hand, and although she wasn’t exactly a “grease monkey” like her husband, her photographic memory came in handy when Fillmore forgot where he left a certain tool.
Ingrid and Fillmore commuted to the city for their jobs and that half hour jaunt down the gravel roads soon became Ingrid’s favourite part of the day. She often had the windows rolled down and sang along to whatever was on the radio. She refused to sing in front of others (unless there was karaoke and lots of alcohol involved) but she figured the birds wouldn’t care if she was a bit off-key.
Three years into country living, the spring buds were starting to poke out from the ground. Ingrid had the window in the Mustang rolled down and left her elbow resting on the windowsill, trying to get as much sun as she could. The nice weather never lasted long enough for her. She knew how quickly the seasons would change and she’d be curled up under her favourite blanket by the fire with hot cocoa in hand. For now, though, she let the swallows and robins entertain her on the drive home. She smelt fresh cut grass and pollen heavy in the air. Nearby fields were being ploughed in preparation for seeding. Everything was coming alive.
Ingrid appreciated it this year more than usual.
Two months prior, Fillmore had been shot during a takedown of a local terrorist cell.
Ingrid got the phone call each of them dreaded but had come to accept as a part of their job. She didn’t remember much after being told which hospital Fillmore had been rushed to. Somehow, she got there in one piece. Somehow, Fillmore survived a bullet that was almost touching his aortic valve. He should have died on scene. He should have died on the operating table. Hell, he almost did, twice.
But Fillmore was never one to give up. And that day, Ingrid was so glad for his stubbornness.
Their friends had rallied around Ingrid and Fillmore. Ingrid didn’t know who exactly was doing all the cooking, but she was incredibly grateful she hadn’t had to think about meal prep during those first two weeks when everything was still touch and go for Fillmore. Someone was always on hand to take Ingrid to the hospital, and she got an extended leave from work so she could spend as much time as possible by Fillmore’s side. Ingrid broke down in sobs when Fillmore – with the help of physical therapy – stood for the first time after his surgery. Fillmore’s hugs were legendary, so tight and strong a person just immediately melted into them, but this one was by far Ingrid’s favourite.
While Fillmore’s recovery was coming along, it was slow. He had hoped to be back to work, at least to some extent, by spring, but his physical therapist and doctors agreed he needed a few more months before he could go back to the bureau. Ingrid knew it was driving him crazy not to be back hunting bad guys, but at least he had no shortage of projects around the farm to keep him busy.
On this particular day, Ingrid guessed the barn doors would be wide open so Fillmore could get as much light – and a breeze – as possible on the old Chevy he was currently rebuilding. Their collie mix, a black and white mottled boy from the county pound, would be walking the perimeter of the front yard, watching for Ingrid and keeping one eye on Fillmore. Those two were joined at the hip. Chester normally slept on the front porch, but when Fillmore came home from the hospital, Chester refused to sleep anywhere but at Fillmore’s feet. It was a good thing the couple had a king-sized bed, as the cats weren’t huge fans of Chester’s energetic tail and big paws.
She hummed along to the radio, tapping a beat on the steering wheel as she turned into their driveway. They had kept the farmhouse’s original butter yellow colour and it paired nicely with the white porch and collection of thrifted outdoor furniture. The spring breeze tickled Ingrid’s neck and her cropped black hair blew in her face, attempting to cover her eyes. She had stopped straightening it in high school after Fillmore commented once that he liked her “bed head look” as he so affectionately called it. It was one less thing she had to do when getting ready in the morning, although she refused to give up her black eye liner.
She stopped in front of the attached garage, where she guessed Fillmore had moved their SUV after giving it a quick wash earlier in the day, and put the Mustang in park. Ingrid reached over to the passenger seat to grab her workbag when she heard the front door swing shut, the screened portion rattling in its hinges. Bag in hand, she got out to see Fillmore waiting for her, two mugs in hand.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked, shouldering her bag and kicking a rock out of the way with her steel-toed boots (another thing she refused to give up from her younger days).
Fillmore grinned, his five o’clock shadow just barely visible from the shaded area of the porch. “Thought my working girl could use a treat after a long day.”
Ingrid gave Chester a head scratch when he bounded down to her from the porch. He was off barking at something within seconds, taking his job as patrol dog quite seriously. She went up the steps and took one of the mugs, the welcome scent of hot cocoa greeting her. “And here I thought you’d be covered in grease and swearing up a storm,” she teased, taking a long sip of cocoa.
Fillmore set down his mug and leaned against the railing, his good side propping him up as his other arm snaked around Ingrid’s waist. “I had to get cleaned up before the gang arrives. Figured we could use some cocoa before Vallejo brings his latest concoction to kill our tastebuds.”
Ingrid laughed. Vallejo cooked with . . . passion. While his dishes didn’t always taste the best, he certainly gave it his all.
“Maybe Alicia will improve his skills,” Ingrid suggested, taking another sip of cocoa before putting her mug down on the railing by Fillmore’s. She wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned against his chest. He smelt of vanilla soap and her favourite cologne, a musky blend that calmed Ingrid no matter how stressed out she was.
Fillmore rested his chin atop her head, cradling her close. “Either that or he’ll give her food poisoning and send her running.”
“Be nice! I like her. She’s coming tonight, right?”
Once a month, the group tried to get together at someone’s house for a meal and games. The farm was frequently used during the spring and summer months. Fridays were usually the best nights for their gatherings, so it wouldn’t be long, two hours tops, before their friends began to pull into the driveway.
“’Course she is, do you think I could get Vallejo to come if she wasn’t?”
Vallejo hadn’t had much luck with relationships since his fiancé left him almost three years ago. It had taken quite a while for Vallejo to even consider getting back on the dating scene. Ingrid was thrilled the relationship had progressed enough where Vallejo was bringing Alicia to their hang outs. And although Fillmore teased and taunted, he was incredibly protective over Vallejo and would do anything to protect his best friend from getting hurt again.
“I got a text from Danny while I was at the office. He got a call to hop on the first flight to Morocco for National Geographic. He said he’ll try to make it next month,” Ingrid said.
“Lucky bastard. Wish I could take good enough pictures to have Nat Geo send me around the world!”
Ingrid snorted. “I don’t think such a prestigious magazine wants photos with your fingers in the corner.”
Fillmore playfully smacked Ingrid’s butt. “Are you sassing me, Mrs. Ingrid Third?”
“I most certainly am, Mr. Cornelius Fillmore. What are you going to do about it?” she asked, eyebrow raised in a challenge.
When it came to Ingrid, Fillmore had the advantage of height and muscle, although thanks to her physical performance reviews at the bureau, she could hold her own in a fair fight.
Fillmore never exactly made it fair, though.
With one arm, he scooped her up off the porch and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. It was a good thing they didn’t have neighbours, as they would have seen her underwear as her black skirt flew up, thanks to Fillmore.
“Put me down! Where are you taking me?” she squawked, a mix of confusion and laughter in her voice as she tried to be serious while Fillmore carried her towards their front door.
“I greet you with hot cocoa and all I get is sass in return! Gotta teach you a lesson,” he said, his voice taking on a husky quality Ingrid had gotten to know very well over the years. He planted a quick kiss to her thigh, skin still exposed thanks to her skirt still riding up and being blown around in the breeze. She knew exactly what kind of lesson he meant.
“Fillmore, we don’t have time for this, our friends will be here soon! I’ve got to tidy—”
“What do you think I’ve been doin’ this last hour? Kitchen is scrubbed clean and bathrooms so polished you could eat off the floor! I ain’t takin’ no for an answer, sugar.” He opened the front door and Ingrid had to duck her head to keep from grazing the top of the door frame. Once safely inside the foyer, Ingrid got a mischievous twinkle in her eye and tilted her head so she could nibble Fillmore’s ear. Two could play at that game.
He yelped in surprise and almost dropped Ingrid, but she managed to land on her feet. She winked at Fillmore and took a few steps back, staying just out of reach. “Have you been planning this all day?”
Fillmore’s bald head reflected the overhead light as she continued to back up, leading him towards the staircase to the second level where the bedrooms were. “I’ll have you know I am capable of planning and forethought,” he said, attempting to capture her hands in his, but she was too quick.
“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“Again with the sass!” She let him grab her hands this time and as soon as she was close enough, she kissed him, stopping any further comment about her sassiness.
Fillmore wrapped one arm around her waist and the other came up so his hand could cradle her head, drawing her closer to him. They’d had years of practice reading each other’s verbal – and non-verbal—cues, and this early spring evening was no different. Ingrid and Fillmore had had to be careful the last few months while Fillmore recovered, but it seemed to her that he was tired of waiting and being patient. She couldn’t blame him. They’d been together over half their lives and she still found him incredibly attractive. By the way one of his hands snaked down and grabbed her ass, she figured he felt the same.
She pulled back enough to elicit a frustrated groan from her husband. For a moment, Ingrid was overwhelmed with gratitude. One split second from two months ago, a slightly different bullet trajectory, and she could be a widow right now. Ingrid’s eyes welled up with tears too quickly for her to look away. Fillmore, of course, noticed. He got that serious look he was famous for at work and cupper her face in his warm hands. “Baby girl, what’s wrong? Why’re you sad?”
Ingrid sniffed. “I’m not sad!” Not very convincing, Third. She placed her hands atop his and squeezed. “I’m just . . . I love you. I love that you’re here. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Fillmore wiped away a tear trailing down her cheek and smiled. “I love you too, Ingrid. And don’t worry, you’re stuck with me. I’m not goin’ anywhere, I promise.”
They both knew with their line of work that was a promise neither of them could keep, but it was nice to pretend they were safe from all the ugliness of the world on their farm. Ingrid dropped her bag and kicked it out of the way so no one would trip on it later. She stepped away from Fillmore to the staircase and waited on the bottom step for a moment. “Lock the door,” she said with a wink before turning around and bounding up the creaking stairs.
“You better be naked when I get up there!” Fillmore called after her, a wide grin on his face as he went back to the front door.
Ingrid just laughed. She hoped for once their friends were late coming over.