Chapter Text
Frank set his hands on the kitchen counter and leaned against it. He stared unseeing out the window at the dark of the morning as the coffee maker burbled on the counter. He'd turned the lights on, but the quality seemed strange that morning. He'd been up and down most of the night, sleeping fitfully in the rocker in Jamie's room, soothing Jamie through nightmares. He desperately wanted coffee...well, he wanted sleep more, but coffee would have to do for the moment. He'd had a text waiting for him when he creaked his way out of Jamie's room, and he didn't want to miss Conover.
Who had slept less than he had, apparently, and who was knocking on the kitchen door. He straightened up, lower back twinging, and stepped over to the door, hooking open the screen door and holding it as the wrong O'Rourke entered his kitchen.
"Dr. O'Rourke?" Frank took the box and set it on the counter.
"I know Vere texted you, but she's finally sleeping. I didn't want to wake her." O'Rourke headed back out, only to return a moment later laden with tote bags.
Frank took what he was handed, setting bags on the island on autopilot.
"The box is meals for you that need freezer space and bagged smoothie ingredients. The bags are things that can either be on the counter or in the fridge." O'Rourke began unloading things onto the counter while Frank watched.
Containers of sliced fruit and vegetables, freshly baked bread, soda bread, containers of soup, and casseroles appeared in a ridiculous quantity.
"I wasn't expecting…" Frank trailed off. He really hadn't slept enough for this.
"Sir, no one ever expects Vere's cooking output. And since you're alone right now, she wanted to make sure you and Officer Reagan are taken care of. The smoothie things are for him--solid food might be a problem for him for a bit. Vere included a tub of the protein powder she tolerates, as well. Oh, and homemade yogurt." The soft Irish lilt was underscored with the warmth of O'Rourke's affection for Conover.
"There is delivery?" Frank tried as O'Rourke marshalled containers into order in his fridge and freezer. He'd have objected to the high-handed behavior, but he didn't have the energy. He could only appreciate that she moved so quietly.
O'Rourke just chuckled. "Sir, if I had a penny for every time I had that same argument with her, I'd be retired on a beach. Now, how are you?"
"Tired," Frank admitted. "I didn't sleep much last night."
She'd moved on to organizing baked goods on his counter. Frank watched as she popped a couple of scones into the toaster oven and snagged a giant thermos out of the last bag.
"No, you wouldn't have. If you need a break, before or after your family gets back, there's a houseful of people who are only a text away." O'Rourke turned to face him. "Where are your mugs?"
"Right above the coffee maker. And I will text if it's necessary."
She poured him a steaming mug of coffee from the thermos and handed it over. Frank cradled the mug in his hands and breathed in. The rich, heady scent bolstered him, and the first sip was heaven.
"Thank you for bringing coffee."
"We know police officers, sir. I'm going to get out of your hair. Call or text if you need help, and Dr. Jones will be calling you to set up appointments. Just, eat your scones and have your coffee, and try to sleep today. You need to take care of yourself as well as your son." Dr. O'Rourke bundled up the bags and departed as quietly as she'd entered.
Frank locked the door behind her, drank more of his coffee, and contemplated his now-full kitchen. He sighed, but finally moved to the counter and the toaster. Something to eat would help, possibly.
He was much too old for sleepless nights.